The Saturday Evening Post 1920-03-06: Vol 192 Iss 36

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ed Weekl y by Ben}. Franklin 5c. THE COPY Beginning: The Book of Susan-By Lee Wilson Dodd

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[t’s Blossom Time In California— we again in California’s fairest val e é; ' $ par or ligreed Det Monre orchards are gay ’ : =e nature's fragrant promise of the rich e that only Det Monte experience and ill can preserve for your later en the yeal rfection add ite delicacy ON a FRUITS menu now. Over a hun- V us varieties —each the finest of its Xe ayy: FS AND ‘ady to put the warm touch and F L S ummer into winter meals 00 OD SPECIALT! 13 ALIFORNIA PACKING CORPORATION San Francisco, California

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v F. He nt, Kansas City. Gem. Com: ; N. ¥ At right, Ket hum Hotel, Tulsa, Obie ; mt Hers ¢ 7 Bric kmer, Tuisa, Okla "Re me « ont °" Bide saad continent Oil & Gas Archt: S numa her & Atkinson, : Builders’ Supply Ce o., Tulsa, Okla THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Guaranteed for 20 years The “Oil City of America” makes a Record— ULSA, Oklahoma, sometimes called the ‘Oil City of America,”’ is one of the fastest growing towns in the Middle South. In the past three years the population of Tulsa has jumped from 28,240 to nearly 79,000! More people mean more business, and more business means more buildings. That is why Tulsa is constantly building, building, building. The city’s skyline changes every few months! Tulsa insists that its new buildings be up to the minute—thoroughly modern in every respect. Thus it is that the buildings shown here, as well as most of the other prominent build- ings in this live city, are covered with Barrett Specitica- tion Roofs. New York Ch Boston St. Lou Cincinnat Pittsburgh New Orleans Birmingham Dallas Nashville Salt Bangor Washingto Jot Latrobe Bethlehem I THE BARRETT Cé IMPANY Below S. H. Kres Buslding covered with ieee > a Barrett 20 veer ’ . Spectfhicats Ro RoofCont TulsaRe wo ing Co., Tulsa, Okla, } | @ i Known Costs and Guaranteed Service The Barrett Specification represents the modern way of buying a roof. When you write the Barrett Specifica- tion into your building plans, you deti- nitely eliminate all uncertainty connected with your roofing problems. You deal with known costs and guaranteed service. For we are ready to guarantee Barrett Specification Roofs to give 20 years of serv- ice, free from maintenance costs of any kind. This guaranty, which is in the form of a Surety Bond issued by the well-known As S. Fidelity & Guaranty Company, of Baltimore, costs you abso lutely nothing. It is obtainable on all roofs of 50 quares or over, in towns of 25,000 or more, and 1 mailer pla ; our Inspection Service ts avatlable. Our only stipulation is se the Barrett Specification dated May 1, 1916, be strictly followed and that the roof lL by us ing contractor shall be appro The BGanitt Company" att Peoria Miiwauk Raltyt y « I Richmond Butta Leba At left, Kennedy B ng, iutsa diela Ar ‘ n. Cont 1 “ ii " i h mt: & { Tulsa, Okla Below R. M. M: Parlin Tm Mela. Archt |

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 6, 1920 There's no tell-tale la undered look to silks that have been washed with Ivory Soap Flakes |! S really fascinating to see a silk frock transformed into a thing of beauty again, after a dip into the wonder-working ils of Ivory Soap Flakes. he secret lies in the mildness and purity of the rich Ivory lather, which dissolves the dirt instantly, without affecting the lustrous finish. (Did you know that many manufacturers of fine silks and Ivory Soap Flakes silk garmentsrecommend | vory Soap for washing theirproducts?) + Washes or Cleans No rubbing is needed, so you'll have none of the tiny wrinkles . that simply will not press out of silk, once they are in. 5 “ You can’t imagine ,unti you have tried It, whata big help Ivory Soap Flakes is in keeping your loveliest things looking like new. You never have to worry about a thing Ivory Soap Flakes annot injure any fabric or color that wate r alone “ ill not harm, because it is genuine lvory Soap, pure, mild, unadulterated. lor 41 years expert laundresses have been washing these sam« fabrics perfectly with Ivory Soap. Now that Ivory comes also in these quick-working Flakes, it makes the washing of silks so easy and safe that it really is no task at all IVORY SOAP LAKES Snow-like Flakes of Genuine Ivory Soap that melt, in varm waur, t0 “SAFE SUDS in a SECOND” PRIAL PACKAGE FREI We re so sure you Ww like Ivory Se ip Flake uch better than anything you have ever used tor washing silks, laces, woolens, etc., that we will send ou, aes aleiy free, a sample package holding enough Flakes for a thorough trial. To get this sample package, together with a booklet of simple instruc tions for washing all fine fabrics, just send your name und full address to Department 25-C, The Procter & Gamble Company, Cincinnati, Ohi . at t J a+ b A

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Published Weekly George Horace Lorimer EDITOR Che Curtis Publishing Chines Witenes, ©. 8: Oe low Company A.W. Neall, Arthur Mc Keogh Cyrus H. AK. Curtis, President H. D. Walker, E. Dinsmore t ' Vice-President and Treasu Associate Editors ( ns. General Business Manager . er D. Faller, Secretar E A » Boyd, Advertising Dire< tor ntered as Se ' Class Matter, November IS Independenc e Square, Philadelphia Founded A?D' a8 by Benj. Franklin Pema Senaligneciea eae ndon: 0, Nenrietia Street Covent Garden, W. € Copyright, 1920, by the Curtis Publis g Coms the United Stetes end Great Britain Post- Off

Volume 192 sa. PHILADELPHIA, MARCH 6, 1920 $2.00 THE rear Number 36 Lid le OF SUSAN T HAPPENS that I twice saw Susan’s mother, ° my last. Bob’s defer re ber, was ; gned one of those soiled rags of humanity used by A ee i SOM © to me by a judge who had once borrowed fift careless husbands for wiping their boots; but i 7 }

dollars from my father, which he never repaid; at 1 does not remember her. John Stuart ILLUSTRATED BY JAMES mM. PRESTON least, not in Mill studied Greek at ree, and there is a ousa cast here are more onvenient

ian author who ng at the time ill elng weaned the first of his many ter experiences Kither Susan’s mental Wi ippointed to de fe did not waken so early or the record has faded. She remembers OnLy the consolate husband, her father; emembers him only too well. The backs ol t square, angry- ooking hands were covered with an un- isant growth of eddish bristles; his tr vere hairy, 0 and seemed formed by Nature olely tor the purpose f snorting with wrath t not be held t Susan that she ever loved her father; he was not created to pire the solter emo- ms. Noram | alto- ther certain just hy he was created at

Nevertheless, Robert Blake was in soberer hours from Tuesdays to Frida an expert echanic, thoroughly ersant with the nterior lack of econ- my of most makes of iles. He had lal of the repair department of the Eureka Garage, New } Haven, where my not-

; too-robust touring car f those primitive iys spent, during the pring of 1907, many eeks of interesting 4 f —_—— ind expensive invalid- m. IL forget how any major opefa- ns it underwent It was not at the Eureka Garage, how- er, that I first met Bob Blake. Nine ir before I there found him again I had led him in ourt —as it happened, essfully—-on a irge of assault with nt to kill. That ‘ is almost my first ise, and not far . tii “eis follo i Custer

heave! from Susan's Intuitions Had Been Correct. It Was the House With the Crowd in Front of It

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST wrath and the poverty aware of a small being blacl One eye ad eager 1] | ittle face angled ver very left waist, her her d lankly, right hand left th eneath my car imb she I’ inswered and ver placed the dinner pail tep of the car Why don’t you wait father?” I He'll come air in a minute That’s wl now,” said Susar Whereupon she ga half vhost ofa oe your ue ted I'm single kip —the then wall kip demurely from me and ou through the great door u BLAKE in lived in a some Re > day: what dilapidated four-room house, off toward the wrong end of Birch Street H family arrangements were peculiar He married again; had neve but not ver long after his wife’s deat! dull-eyed, oung woman rather mu i fond id taker with ness for rouge pot a} ip her abode with him t the scandal and fascinat of the neighborhood It \ an outrage of course! W t child in the house Something ought to be do about it! Yet oddly enough nothing that much worried Bob ev was done about it, r ” ing the various shocked-and grieved forms of conver tion as nothing \ never tired of asserting didn't give a damn fo cackle of a lot of het knew his about; did Pear Let the damned hens cac their heads off; isfied ! And so eventually, | forced to believe, In the earlier days guessed he and 80 he wa were he na, the scandal there was mur itter-clatter of having the law on him, and the cackle came to precisely Nor am I certain that, as the years passed, the ne ig) borhood did not patch of wickedness; while I Serving like; sometimes pape but, as her will, it naught little one proud of its em perfectly grow a crimson sure that more than one drab life took on a little borrowed flush af excite- ment from its proximity Of course greet either Bob or Pearl; them without a nod or a “‘ How’s things to-day?” no decent, God-fearing woman would ever but every time one passed one of it gave one something to talk about at home or over any amicable fe nce As for the men, they too were forbidden to speak; but You can't trust them safely five minutes beyond the sound of men, most of them, are unruly creatures if at large even one man, old Heinze, pro- grocery a revolutionary sentiment: “Dey lifs alvays togedder—lige man unt vife Vere iss der diffurunz, Mrs. Shay?” “Shame on you for them words, Mr. Heinze!” “Aber” “vere iss der diffur- unz, Mrs. Shay? your voice There Wis prietor of the Bircl then cautiously put forth Street store, who now and nod? with a slow, wide smile I leaf id to you.” That Pearl and Bob lived always together cannot be denied, and perhaps they also lived as some men and their lawful wives are accustomed to live —off toward the wrong end of city streets; and occasionally, no doubt, toward the right end of them as well, Midweek things wore along dully enough, but over Sunday came drink and ructions. Susan says she has never been able to understand why Sunday happens to be called a day of rest. The day of she was once guilty of naming it. Bob’s neighbors, half so seandalized by his week-end arrest, | fear, were not “I'm Not So Awfully Bad,"’ She Went on, “if You Don't Count Thinking Things Too Much"’ drunkenness as by what Mrs. Perkins invariably called his‘ ‘brazen immorality.” Intoxication was not a rare vice in that miscellaneous block or two of factory Nor can it be said that immorality, in the sense of Mrs. Perkins, was so much rare as it was ner- vously concealed. The unique quality of Bob’s sin lay in its brazen element; that was what stamped him peculiarly as a social outlaw. Bob accepted this position, if sober, with a grim disre- gard. He had a bitter, lowering nature at best, and when not profane was taciturn. As for Pearl, social outlawry may be said to have been her native element. She had a hazy mind in a lazy body, and liked better than most things just to sit in a rocking-chair and polish her finger nails, as distinguished from cleaning them. Only the guilt- less member of this family group really suffered from its low social estate, but she suffered acutely. Little Susan could not abide being a social outlaw. True, she was not always included in the general con- demnation of her family by the grown-ups; but the operat: ves, March 6,1920 children were ruthless. They pointed fingers, and there was much conscious giggling behind her back; while some of the daintier little girls—the very little girls whom Susan particularly longed to chum with—had been forbidden to play with “‘that child,” and were not at all averse to telling her so, flatly, with tiny chins in air and a devastating ex- pression of rectitude on their smug little faces. At such times Susan would fight back impending cataracts, stick her own freckled nose toward the firmament, and even, I regret to say, if persistently harassed, thrust forth a rigid pink tongue. This, Susan has since informed me, is the embryonic state of “swearing like anything.” The little boys, on the whole, were better. They often said cruel things, but Susan felt that they said them in a quite different spirit from their instinc- tively snobbish and Grundy- ish said them merely by way of bravado or just for the fun of seeing whether or not she would cry. And then they often let her join in their games, and on those happy occa- sions treated her quite as an equal, with an impartial and, to Susan, entirely blissful roughness. Susan early de- cided that she liked boys much better than girls. There was, for example, Jimmy Kane, whose wid- owed mother took in wash- ing, and so never had any time to clean up her huddled flat, over Heinze’s grocery store, or her family of four two boys and two girls. No one ever saw skin, as in itself it really is, on the faces of Mrs. Kane’s children, and Jimmy was always, if com- parison be possible, the grimiest of the brood. For some reason Jimmy always had a perpetual slight cold, and his funny flat button of a nose wept, summer and winter alike, though never into an unnecessary hand- kerchief. His coat served, even if its ministra- tions did not add to the tidiness of his countenance. Susan often wished she might scrub him, just to see what he really looked like; for she idolized Jimmy. Not that Jimmy had ever paid any special attention to her, except on one occasion. It was merely that he accepted her as part of the human scheme of things, which in itself would almost have been enough to win Susan’s affectionate admiration. But one day, as I have hinted, he became the god of her idolatry. The incident is not pre- cisely idyllic. A certain Joe—Giuseppe Gonfarone; ztat. 16—whose father ped- died fruit and vegetables, had recently come into the neigh- borhood; a black-curled, brown-eyed little devil, already fur too wise in the manifold unseemliness of this sad old planet. Joe was strong, stocky, aggressive, and soon posed as something of a bully among the younger boys along Birch Street. Within less than a month he had infected the minds of many with a new and rich vocabulary of oaths and smutty words. Joe was not of the unconsciously foul- mouthed; he relished his depravity. It was one fine spring day, two years or so before I met Susan in the Eureka Garage, that Joe, with a group of Birch Street bays, was playing marbles for keeps, just at the bottom of the long incline which carries Birch Street down to the swamp land and general dump at the base of East Rock. Susan was returning home from Orange Street after bearing her father his full dinner pail, and as she came up to the boys she halted on one foot, using the toe of her free foot meanwhile to scratch mosquito bites upward along her supporting shin, sisters sleeve

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~— “TT'lo, Susan!” called Jimmy Kane, with his perfune- tory good nature, “‘What’s bitin’ you?” Then it was his turn to knuckle-down. Susan, still balanced cranelike, watched him eager-eyed, and was so delighted when he knocked a fine fat reeler of Joe’s out of the ring, jumping up with a yell of triumph to pocket it, that she too gave a shrill cheer: “Oh, goody! I knew you'd win!” The note of eestasy in her tone infuriated Joe. “Say!” he shrieked. ‘You getta hell outta here!” Susan’s smile vanished; her white, even teeth—she had all her front ones, she tells me; she was ten—clicked audibly together. “It’s no business of yours!” she retorted. “You’re right, it ain’t!”” This from Jimmy, still in high good humor. “You stay here if you want. You're as good as him!” ““Who’s as good as me?” “She is!” “Her?” Joe’s lips curled back. He turned to the other boys, who had all scrambled to their feet by this time and instinctively scenting mischief were standing in a sort of ring. ‘‘He says she’s good as me!” Two of the smallest boys tittered from pure excitement. Susan’s nose went up. “I’m better. I’m not a dago!” Joe leaped toward Susan and thrust his dense, bull-like head forward, till his eyes were glaring into hers. ““Mebbe I live lika you—eh? Mebbe I live,’’ cried Joe, “with a dirty ——” There was a gasp from the encircling boys as Susan fell back from this word, which she did not wholly comprehend, but whose vileness she felt somehow in her very flesh. Joe, baring gorilla teeth, burst into coarse jubilation. It was just at this point that Jimmy Kane, younger than Joe by two years, and far slighter, jumped on the little ruffian—alas, from behind!—and dealt him as powerful a blow on the head as he could compass; a blow whose effectiveness, I reluctantly admit, was enhanced by the half brick with which Jimmy had first of all prudently provided himself. Joe Gonfarone went to earth, inert, but bleeding profusely. There was a scuttling of frightened feet in every direc- tion. Susan herself did not stop running until she reached the very top of the Birch Street incline. Then she looked back, her eyes lambent, her heart throbbing, not alone from the rapid ascent. Yes, there was Jimmy—her Jimmy kneeling in the dust by the still prostrate Joe. Susan could not hear him, but she knew somehow from his attitude that he was seared to death, and that he was asking Joe if he was hurt much. She agonized with her champion, feeling none the less proud of him, and she waited for him, hoping to thank him, longing to kiss his hands. But Jimmy, when he did pass her, went by without a glance, at top speed. He was bound for a doctor. So Susan never really managed to thank Jimmy at all. She merely idolized him in secret, a process which proved, however, fairly heart-warming and, in the main, satis- factory. It took three stitches to mend Joe’s head—a fact fa- mous in the junior annals of Birch Street for some years— and soon after he appeared, somewhat broken in spirit, in the street again, his parents moved him, Margharita and the sloe-eyed twins to Bridgeport—very much, be it admitted, to the relief of Jimmy Kane, who had lived for three weeks nursing a lonely fear of dark reprisals. wi HERE was one thing about Bob Blake’s four-room house—it exactly fitted his family. The floor plan was simple and economically efficient. Between the mono- lithic door slab—relic of a time when Bob’s house had been frankly in the country—and the public street lay a walk formed of a single plank supported on chance-set bricks. From the door slab one stepped through the front doorway directly into the parlor. Beyond the parlor lay the kitchen, from which one could pass out through a narrow door toa patch of weed-grown back yard. A ladderlike stair led up from one side of the kitchen, opposite to the single window and the small coal range. At the top of the stair was a slit of unlighted hallway with a door near either end of it. The door toward Birch Street gave upon the bedroom occupied by Bob and Pearl; the rearward door led to Susan’s sternly ascetic cubiculum. No one of these four rooms could be described as spacious, but the parlor and Bob’s bedroom may have been twelve by fifteen or there- about. Susan’s quarters were a scant ten by ten. The solider and more useful pieces of furniture in the house belonged to the régime of Susan’s mother—the great black-walnut bed which almost filled the front bedroom; Susan’s single iron cot frame; the parlor table with its marble top; the melodeon; the kitchen range; and the deal table in the kitchen, upon which, impartially, food was prepared and meals were served. To these respectable properties Pearl had added from time to time certain other objects of interest or art. Thus, in the parlor there was a cane rocking-chair, gilded; and on the wall above the melodeon hung a bar }o THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 5 uspended from a nail b broad sash of soiled blue rib- bon, On the drumhead of the banjo someone had painted a bunch of nondescript tlowers, and Pearl always claimed these as her own handiwork, wrought in happier days. This was her one eagerly contested point of pride; for Bob, when in liquor, invariably denied the possibility of her ever having painted “that there boug .” This flat denial was always the starting poin r those more violent Sunday-night quarrels, which had done so much to reduce the furniture of the house to its stouter, more imperishable element During the brief interval between the death of Susan's mother and the arrival of Pearl, Bob had placed his domestic affairs in the hands of an old negro woman, who came in during the day to clean up, keep an eye on Susat and prepare Bob’s dinner. Most of the hours during Bob's absence this poor old creature spent in a rocking-chair, nodding in and out of sleep; and it was rather baby Susan, sprawling about the kitchen floor, who kept an eye on her. Pear!’s installation had changed all that. Bob naturally expected any woman he chose to support to work for her board and lodging; and it may be that at first Pearl had been too grateful for any shelter to risk jeopardizing her good luck by shirking. There seems to be no doubt that for a while she did her poor utmost to keep house but the sloven in her was too de« ply rooted not to flower. By the time Susan was six or seven the interior condition of Bob’s house was too crawlingly unpleasant to bear exact description; and even Bob, though callous enough in such matters, began to have serious thoughts of giving Pearl the slip—not to mention his landlord—and of run- ning off with Susan to some other city, where he could make a fresh start and perhaps contrive now and then to get something decent to eat set before him, It never occurred to him to give Susan the slip as well—which would have freed his hands; not because he had a soft spot somewhere for the child, nor because he felt toward { ion, Sumply, it never her any special sense of moral obliga ' occurred to him. Susan was his kid, and if he went she went with him, along with his pipe, his shop tools, and his set of six English razor his dearest possession, of which he was jealously and irascibly proud, But as it happens Bob never acted upon this slowly forming de sire to escape; the d ire insensibly receded; and for this Susan herself was directly responsible. Ve ry early in life she began to suy ple ment Pearl’s feeble housewifery, but it was not until her ninth year that Susan decided to bring about a domestic revolution, Continued on Page 122 Jimmy Dealt Him a Blow Whose Effectiveness Was Enhanced by the Half Brick With Which He Had Prudently Provided Himself

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Al SUBSTITUTE FOR S' F ALL the important problems that have crowded themselves into this hour undoubtedly the one most poignant in it interest to Americans has been that created by the contest between capital and labor. “he ibject of course, which has produced the most oratory came ridi ginon the red wave of what orators have called “Bolshevism.” This attack of the foreign disorder was not only extremely acute but probably was the most infectiou ything we ever caught from Kurope Every man who could orate saw red at once, and ll began to | proportion a olun of oratory against it grew It inger which diminished in of that courage which America is alway leeve And while the country was talking ‘ 4 is menace to its deserved was a fine ignominious death T ubtle and far-reaching was growing up ir otion which the radical leaders of organized labor had formed —that organized labor's right were paramount to the right of th e public, and that indu trial warfare, no matter to what extremes of economic waste or actual human suffering it led, required no license from the government under which it carried on its activities. It seems to have been the settled policy in this country for so long that minorities representing capital on the one hand and labor on the other could fight each other over the public's shoulder that the thought that the public had any rights which either capital or labor was bound to respect had disappeared. So while brave Americans buckled on their armor and went forth to fight the red vindmills those peculiar American organizations which control the essential industries calmly issued their threats of a yeneral trike, and the American publi hivered at he thought of what would happen to us if all the railroads topped running, all the coal mines ceased producing coal, ill the millers stopped grinding wheat and everybody else ovined in a sympathetic walkout Kansas and the Coal Strike We HAD just come out of the world conflict with tremendous emotior We had caught a lot of European vibration The high period of inflation at home was filling the daily affairs of the people with confusion and excitement. There was little clhar thinking. We sought re- lief by making speeches against the reds and demanding that everybody be made instantly to kiss the flag. But the thought of taking vigorous action in the name of govern- ment to control our own American unions, which threatened the destruction of all the essential activities of American civ- ilization unless wage controversies were settled according to their demands, was of slow growth. Suddenly a general coal strike was ordered, and the publie turned in a helpless sort of way to government and uid: “What are you going to do about it?” There were two sides to the quarrel between the operators and the miners. Immediately with the first lifting of the fuel ban the operators had increased the price of coal; they said the war was over and coal should cost more. The miners immediately demanded an increase in wages conditioned upon the increased selling price of coal. The operators March 6,1920 | J By Henry J. Alem Governor of Kansas said the miners were bound to mine coal on their old war contract without increased wage. The miners took the position that if the war were over for the operators it was over for the miners. This sounded like a reasonable con- clusion. Then the miners demanded a sixty per cent increase in wages and a reduction in working time to six hours a day, five days a week. This matter of short hours was one of the ideas caught from Europe. The miners didn’t expect it to be granted. It was a part of their accustomed bluff to start with big demands, expecting compromises. I've watched the process of negotiation between the mine operators and the miners of the Kansas bituminous district for many years. It’s always a game of bluff and cunning. The question as to what l fair and rea onable never appears, The element of mutual confidence never enters. The rights of the pub- lic are never mentioned. The sole consideration is as to which side shall, in the language of the sordid quarrel, “sting the other fellow.” When they reach an agreement the general public is usually the real victim. So the strike started in the dead of winter with the ruth- less declaration that the helpless public should freeze while the quarrel, in the making of which the public had no part, was going on. The idea that government could do anything about it was new. Ever since the episode of the Adamson Law, when the four brotherhoods of American Railway Train- men issued their orders to Congress and held the stop watch while intimidated statesmen passed the Adamson Law, there has been a feeling that this country would have a recurrence of government by coercion whenever organized labor in any craft gained a solidarity sufficient to enable it to threaten the public with a general calamity. Had the public any remedy for the general coal strike? Judge Anderson, from a Federal bench in Indiana, acting upon the technical assumption that the war was not over, sought to answer the question by ordering the arrest of the miners’ officials unless these officials should recall the strike orders, The officials made a thin pretense of yield- ing, but the strike went on. It is a singular fact that, proud as we all were of the Government for the strength and glory of which sixty thousand young Americans had just been buried in France, few people really believed that we were strong enough to protect the public against the tragedies of a fuel famine brought upon us by the United Mine Workers of America. The reaction of the public was strong and instant, but the explosive utterances of indignation held in them a note of de spair and he Iplessness . The public closed the damper in the furnace and read with growing concern the news- paper reports relating to the progress of negotiations at Washington between the representatives of operators and miners, In Kansas the coal fields were a hundred per cent union- ized. These miners would pay no attention to the fact that the strike order of their leaders had been recalled. They understood perfectly well that they were not to go back to work until they had received a certain word from their own officials, not delivered under the duress of Judge Anderson’s order. Their action was openly defiant of Judge Anderson’s order. The arrest of their officials had no effect. The coal famine became general. Industries closed down. Schoolhouses locked their doors, towns and cities went without lights, and there was suffer- ing in hospitals and in homes. In the meanwhile the coal operators and the miners’ officials carried on a joint debate in Washington while the nation shivered and looked on. Neither the operators nor the miners hurried. They both had coal. In Kansas the determination was reached to meet the situation by producing coal under state operation of the mines. The result of the experiment not only produced coal under volunteer effort in sufficient quantities to relieve the emergency but led to the establishment of a court of industrial relations. Since it is the first effort to find, in a court of just and equitable jurisdiction, a substitute for strikes, lockouts and the other barbaric features of indus- trial warfare, it may be of interest to give you a succinct account of the state mining operation and the legislation which has followed. Wonderful Workers Without Union Cards HEN the famine became critical the state took over all the mine properties under an order of the supreme court, and announced its intention to mine the coal itself if the miners would not undertake it to relieve the famine. A week was spent pleading with the miners to return to work for the state at the old wage, under the state’s guaranty that whatever benefits were gained from the negotiations at Washington should be retroactive. The pledge also was made that if, by January first, the operators and miners had not reached a composition of the quarrel the state would fix a satisfactory wage, and that, too, should be retroactive. Though many individual miners expressed their desire to return to work, their officers, from Alexander Howat down, in open defiance of Judge Anderson’s order, directed the Kansas miners to continue the strike. So the state called for volunteers to dig coal. Both the operators and the miners jeered at the thought that coal could be mined in this state by volunteer forces. They told us that coal could be mined only by certain self- chartered individuals, most of whom were not born here, and who worked at certain hours of the day under certain regulations and restrictions and struck when any of these were violated or for any other fancy. They said it had been thus for many years and thus it would remain. And yet there was the coal, sufficient for many genera- tions, buried in those silent mines as Nature’s provision that the human family was not to freeze. With the known existence of its superabundance nothing was more unnat- ural than the thought that these mines could not be oper- ated until a quarrel, in the making of which the public had no part or interest, had been settled. It seemed to me that the public was entitled to this coal and I knew some ee ett

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—~ Se Spee ~ — eo a 2 ee rer ere: THE SATURDAY EVENING POST young men whom I had seen performing some wonderful labors without any union cards and without much prelim- inary training. I had seen them in France building roads and constructing bridges and digging fox holes under Ger- man fire. In a land of monstrous obstructions I had seen them go forward, taking whatever objective they had been commanded to reach. A call was issued for volunteers to mine coal in these deserted mines from which thirteen thousand miners had departed. The response was instant, electric. It was the first really American exhibition I had witnessed since the war. Many believed it was the beginning of what should be America’s answer to the general strike. The first few hours after I had cailed for volunteers enrolled more than ten thousand men from every walk of life: Students from farmers; clerks; daily laborers; and sprinkled through them was a great per cent of those veterans who had only a little while before come back from the war. On the surface they had but one purpose and that was to dig coal to relieve the fuel famine, but the motive which animated them was more fundamental than this. They wanted to see whether government still had the power to protect the public. It was an interesting exhi- bition of the sudden stirring of the submerged nine-tenths. For a long time in this country about one and a half per cent of the population, representing employing capital, had been at the top of the industrial system. About six per cent, representing organized labor, had been at the bottom. Something over ninety-two per cent, a good-natured mass having no strength save that of passive resistance, was wedged between. In the last few years the positions of capital and labor apparently had changed. The one and a half per cent went to the bottom, the six per cent came to the top, but the public was between as usual. colleges; store keepe rs; An Aroused Public Rallies | DOUBT if anything less dramatic than the threat to freeze the public would have stirred it to anger, but once tirred it could neither be frozen nor starved. All the imaginary chains with which civilization had bound itself vanished a ; rude awakening. The old primitive idea that the individual had a right to protect himself became ippermost and transmitted it elf to the mass. Kansas tarted for the coal fields to get the coal which Nature had to provide a cause of industrial war- fure but as fuel for the masses. In two weeks with zero weather, often working in bliz- zard > these ine Xp iene d re preset tatives of the ene ral sublic had produced enough fuel to relieve the emergency, deposited there, 1 ind with every car they sent out they gained new realiza- f public determination. They did not top until the striking miners appeared at the mines and mn of the poter ignified their wish to go back to work. Then they quit, ind the National Guardsmen, who had preserved order, gathered up their camp equipage, gave a military parade listrict. But every man came home with ymething to make the the realization t t we should do recurrence of that particular form of industrial warfare impossible. A special session of the legislature was called to enact industrial legislation. The members came in a spirit of calm determination to make a finished job of it. The radical labor leaders, headed by representatives of the four railway brotherhoods, swarmed. They tried first their old-fashioned plan of intimida- tion. They sought to reénact the tragedy of the Adamson Law. Their threats struck against flint. Then they pleaded. Frank P. Walsh came from Washington and talked five hours. Patrick Lee ar- rived. Their statistician came hurrying from Washington. The legislature held open sessions and listened. carefully to their protests for a week. Then the attorneys for the operators and employ- ees came and protested against the bill for three more days, and after that these Kansas legislators passed the bill and went home. I believe it blazes a good trail. It is a court of industrial relations which makes strikes, lockouts, boycotts and pickets unnecessary; it offers its fair and impartial functions as a substi- tute, and compels both sides to come in asa last resort. It does not eliminate the process of collective bargaining; on the other hand it legalizes it. It recognizes the fact that the ideal form of industrial peace is that which rests upon mutual understanding and mutual justice be- tween capital and labor, but when efforts at negotiation between capital and labor have failed then the court of industrial relations is offered as a substitute for the strike and the lockout. The union la- borer says it takes away his weapon of the strike. As a matter of fact it gives to labor, in all its just contentions, the weapon of state government. This tri- bunal is not a court of arbitration. It consists of three years judges, to be appointed by the governor, with special references to their fitness for righteous and impartial judg ment. It represents government, with all it justice. It recognizes the fact that arbitratior of solving industrial controversies has seldom met with conscious of the success, Arbitration holds no guaranty of justice to either side, and into such a body there seldom comes a represen- tative of the public or a consideration of the public’ When each side appoints an arbitrator and these two select a third party this umpire may do one of three things: He may join one side or the other and obtain a partisan deci- convinced us al sion or he may dicker back and forth and obtain a tem- shall no longer rest on the either side, porary compromise which does not sati The Time Has Come for the State to Shoulder its Responsibility during which indus erection in thi Hence the Kansas court is founded upon the principle that the public has the same right to take jurisdiction over tted against it industrial war- fare that it has po sessed through its criminal and civil ollense com courts to take jurisdiction over recognized crime If moral principles do not exist in Anglo Saxon institutions to justify their extension to meet tl vital Ame! il need, then Anglo-Sax titutions are doomed to failure. Industrial Tyranny iy MUST be apparent to all that we cannot allow the t country of a recognized condition of warfare between government and any organized portion of society which claims the privilege to menace the public and to chal- lenge government itself. Any minority which has secured control of a product upon which uman life depends and which undertakes, for the purpose of ecting wage or prot, to withhold that product from the public until the publie shall freeze or starve has in effect uperseded government and ha a imed control of the destinies of human life which Zz t ¢ bone ma ha the powe ifeguard The t of establishing a court ol enaracter is not a new e. Ith come out of the evolut of a hundred trial controversies have beer growing in number and importance, an evolution which has brought us to the same point of determination that pledge of ociety reached after the evo of events had brought asameans the need of the cri ind « court I am not un- f f t | bettered its condition through its organized larit that capital has been forced to make conce right. } ive made volur iris a form of legislation which de ol whotesome oryal itioy i, ll ¢} tt} fry I] = aa, — ox RE \ a. Re eee tej -. Members of the Engineering Department of the University of Kansas Answered the Governor's Call for Citizens to Dig Coa inder threat which it should d I would be opposed to any | labor of the proper use But the trend of events has il appeal in labor controversie i

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST OLD TANT By Ben Ames Williams di >THI Ww ! het Ausland te the tale his v yecomes husky and h ILLUSTRATED ( malice thing but a human large heartedne Lo ward every mar ind beast. In Tantry’ time Chet was a bachelor living alone at his farm Frate nity, cooking and above earing for hin elf, n well « inaging ough, He had been a grat ite cutter, a fisn erman upon the Banks, a keeper of bees N OW he farmed his rocky hillside farm He was a man of middle mall man witha age--a and deep et way of set , his chin pressed and free had al oO avoca had hunted, had tray \ the and a pair 1y eyebrows When he t on his neck firm jaw piercing eyes, had a ting his head firmly down, and his laughter was robust and fine. ave spoken of hi tions All his life he the forests far loved the the mud along the river occupations; he had fished wice man who loved ersed and loved the very imprint of a deer’ A good companion, oper evil word for any man but this was not open wood hoof ir hearted, with never an He was, as has been said, a bachelor; of Chet’s own choosing, as at least one person in Fraternity Old Tantrybogu called ew hi also — knew Job He knew hi knew her as truly well knew. knew even in the days when he was mistress as well as he kr is though she dwelt already at the farm upon the hill None young master; Between her and Chet was his allegiance divided ther shared it ever, even to the end (het a the hill and this was especially true when there was fishing A Rockland man He and Chet found sport to a friend The Rock a bachelor kept open house at his farm upon r gunning to be had came one October for the hooting ether and found — each in the other land man had fetched he dog of marvelou raft and from her ent a pup to Chet In honor of the giver Chet called the dog Job And Job antrybogus that was to be— learned that the farm rld and his home some eighty woodcoch with him a next litter he Old ipon the hill was his we Chet’s meadows includ d it included and it ran down to the farn ! acres, that cut t) iImbering irty or forty tons of hay; imple pasturage for a dozen cow George’s River behind the barn through a patch of hard vood growth that furnished Chet with firewood for the cutting a farm fairly typical of Fraternity. No might grow rich upon its fruits, but any man with a fair measure of industry could draw a pleasant living from it ind find time for venturing along the brooks for trout or after woodcock or into the swamps From the wall that man through the alder runs wr deer, according to the season. ounds the orchard you may look down to where the little A dozen or crupulously along the river. so of houses, each neat and pire rising above the trees; village lies painted; a the mill bridge, and a store or rupulously hurch with its whit traddling the river just below the Will Bissell’ } market place a just above the bridge, serving The there, and round Fraternity foregathers 4 atore is d forum upper the yveur two post office is there alter white Y BY CHARLES LIVINGSTON March 6,1920 “Whoa,” and checked Job with the cord. At which the puppy, with the utmost singleness of purpose, caught the cord in his mouth, squatted on the floor and set about gnawing his bonds in two. Chet laughed at BULL Job Weald Point and Hold His Point as Long as the Bird Would Lie In Fraternity most men own dogs; not the cross-bred and worthless brutes characteristic of small towns in less favored countrysides, but ancient stock or used to the trail of fox or rabbit. Now and then you will see a collie or a pointer, though these breeds are rare. dogs which have tasks to do and know setters of hound Utilitarian dogs their tasks and do them Most Fraternity wonderful dog of which they love to tell men in own or have owned some single a dog for them, a dog whose exploits they lovingly recount. And it was to come to pass that Job, better known as Old Tantrybogus, should be such a dog to Chet MceAusland above all other dog I . J)UR true setter is born, not made. The instincts of his craft area part of his birthright. Nevertheless they must be guided and cultivated and developed. There are men whose profession it is to train bird dogs, or as the phrase goes, to break them. With some of these men it is a break- ing indeed, for they carry a lash into the field, nor spare to use it. Others work more gently to a better end. But any man may make his dog what he will if he have pa- tience coupled with the gift of teaching the dog to under- tand his wishes. Chet decided to train Job himself. He set about it when the pup was some six months old, at a season when winter was settling down upon the farm and there were idle hours hands. He had kept as trophies of the gunning season just past the head and the wings of a woodcock. hese he bound into a ball of soft and woolly yarn and on a certain day he called Job to his knee and made him sniff and smell this ball until the puppy knew the scent of it. Job wished to tear and rend the pleasantly soft and yield- ing plaything, but Chet forbade this by stern word, backed by restraining hand, till the pup seemed to understand. Then he looped about the dog’s neck a stout cord and he held this cord in his hand, the pup at. his feet, while he tossed the woolen ball across the kitchen floor. The pup turned and leaped after the ball. Before he could make a second jump Chet said sharply, **Whoa!” And he snubbed the cord he held so that Job was brought up short in a tumbling heap, his toe nails scratch- ing on the floor. Chet got up and crossed and picked up the ball; he re- turned to his chair, called the pup to his knee, tossed the Again Job darted after it and again Chet said, on hi ball again him, called him in, fetched the ball, and tried again. After Chet had checked him half a dozen times with voice and string the pup sat on its small haunches, looked at Chet with his head on one side and wrinkied its furry brow in thought. And Chet repeated slowly over and over: “Whoa, Job! Whoa! Whoa!” The lesson was not learned on the first day or the second or the third. But before the week was gone Job had learned this much: That when Chet said ‘*‘Whoa’’ he must stop, or be stopped pain- fully. Being a creature of intel- ligence, Job there- after stopped; and when he was sure the pup understood, Chet applauded him and fed him and made much of him. One day in the middle of the second week, Job having checked at the word of command, Chet waited for a mo- ment and then said, ‘‘Go on!” Job looked round at Chet, and the man motioned with his hand and repeated, ‘‘Go on, Job!” The pup a little doubtfully moved toward where lay the woolly ball. When he was within a yard of it Chet said again, ‘‘Whoa!” When he stopped this time he did not look back at Chet but watched the ball, and Chet after a single glance threw back his head and laughed aloud and cried to him- self, ‘‘ Now ain’t that comical?” For Job, a six-months’ puppy, was on his first point. Head low and flattened, nose on a line toward the ball, legs stiff, tail straight out behind with faintly drooping tip, the pup was motionless as a graven dog—a true setter in every line. And Chet laughed aloud. This laughter was a mistake, for at the sound the pup leaped forward, the cord slipped through Chet’s fingers and the dog caught the woolly ball and began to worry it Chet, still laughing, took the ball from him, caressed him, praised him and ended the lesson for that day. And by so doing he permitted the birth in Job of one fault which he would never be able to overcome. The pup supposed he had been applauded for capturing the woolly ball and that notion would never a'together die in his dog brain. Job would break shot; as the gunners say, till the end of his days. RARE) IRON Ovi u Y OCTOBER of his second year Job was sufficiently educated to be called a good working dog. He would stop at the word of command; he would swerve to right or left at a hand gesture; he would come to heel; he would point and hold his point as long as the bird would lie. He was a natural retriever, though Chet had to correct a tendency to chop the object that was retrieved. The man did this by thrusting through and through the woolen teaching ball a dozen long darning needles. When the dog, retriev- ing this ball, closed his jaws too harshly these needles pricked his tender mouth. He learned to lift the ball as lightly as a feather; he developed a mouth as soft as a woman’s hand; and even in his second year he would at command retrieve an egg which Chet rolled across the kitchen floor and never chip the shell.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 9 His one fault, his trick of breaking shot, was buttressed to the dog’s very soul by an incident which irred in his first year’s hunting. He and Chet left the suse one afternoon and started down through the ve of woodland toward the river. It was near sunset ( I his gun, and as he expected they found game; (het had ample warning when he saw Job stiffen at half t, his tail twitching. He watched until the dog began » move forward with slow steps, and he said to himself, He's rod ya pa’tridge, I knew there’d be one here.”’ Job’s head was high, evidence in itself that he had ted partridge rather than woodcock. Chet skirted the ringe in the open land, studying the ground well ahead of he dog, alert for the burst of drumming wings. He moved lletly and Job moved among the trees, his feet stirring he leaves. The dog was tense; so was the man. And resently the dog froze again, this time in true point, tail gid as an iron bar. Chet knew that meant the partridge had squatted, vould run no more. Forced to move now, the bird would He waited for a long half minute, but the partridge vaited also. So Chet, rather than walk in among the trees ind spoil his chance for a shot, stooped to pick up astone, tending to toss it in and frighten the bird to wing. When he stooped, out of position to shoot, he heard the drum of pinions and saw rise not one partridge but two. l'hey swept across the open below him unbelievably swift, ind Chet whipped up his gun and fired once and then again. And never a feather fell. The birds on set wings ded out of his sight into the edge of an evergreen growth wn the hill where it would ss to try for a shot e | Ope le there was much in his life that was worth the telling. His reputation rests not on Chet’s word alone—the village knew him and was proud of him. His renown began in his third year in deep winter when Chet and Jim Saladine went fishing one day through the ice on Quantabacool Pond. Chet and Saladine became separated, one on either side of the lower end of the pond, and Jim had the pail of bait Chet made Job xo after the pail clear acro the pond and fetch it to him and take it back to Saladine again. The dog’s sagacity and understanding, evidenced then and chronicled by Saladine at Bissell’s store that night, were to wax thereafter for half a dozen years; and even when the dog grew old his understanding never waned. It was in his ninth year that Job had his greatest day a day into which he crowded epic deeds enough to make heroes of half a dozen dogs. And the tale of that day may perhaps be worth the telling. Chet had taken Job out the night before to try for a partridge in the fringes of the wood below the farm. They were late in starting, but within fifteen minutes Job was marking game and just at sunset the bird rose and wheeled toward the thickets of the wood. Chet had a snap shot; he took it and he saw the bird's legs drop and dangle before it disappeared. He knew what that meant. A body wound, a deadly wound. The bird would fly so long as its wings would function, then set its pinions and glide in a long slant to earth, and when it struck ground it would be dead. He sent Job into the wood, himself followed the dog, and he was in haste, for dark was already coming down. He hunted till he could no longer see—found nothing. In the end he called Job in, and the dog reluctantly aban- doned the search at Chet’s command and followed hi master back to the farm Iwo Rockland men telephoned that eve y asi they might come to the farm next day and try for bird and Chet, who can alwa fird time for a day’s gunning, bade them come, Doctor Gunther, who was telephoning sd tlaye ind | De there hall pou ‘ t M 1 we | g our dog Mind No,” said Che ! ‘They're wild,” said the doctor but Pd them work with Job—do them good.” ‘Best thing in the world for them,” Che ivreed **Let them back him on a few points and it teady then I'll look for y In the morning he rose early and busied himself with hi chore o that he mig! be ready when the hunters came. It was not an ideal hur ting day The morming wa lowery and overcast and warm and there was a wind from the east that promised fog or rain. With ar »on the clouds Chet worked swiftly He fed Job in the shed where the dog usually slept and it chane-d that he left the door latched so that Job was a prisoner until the others ar- rived. They were a little ahead of time and Ct them to wait a little. He had been picking apples in the orchard behind the shed and he took them out there to see the full barrels of firm fruit. Job went out into the orchard with thera and no one of the men noticed that the dog ' t asked slipped away beyond the barn toward the wo« When a little later they were ready to start Chet missed the t them again. And Job pursued them, As the birds rose the dog had raced ks the dog went out of sight ifter them. Ejecting the empty hells from his gun, Chet swore himself for his poor shooting nd swore at Job for breaking ot and loudly commanded he dog to return. Job did not 1 o; did not even respond when Chet put his whistle to his ps and blew. So the man ift ¢ ‘ ed i ur er the dog, whose bell he could faintly hear, and prom ed to find Job and teach him i thing he needed to know. Ile tarted toward the cover, whistling and shouting for Job e to heel. When he was halfway across he open Job did emerge from he shelter of the evergreens, d he came toward Chet at wift trot, head held hig! (het started to abuse him, And hen when the dog was still SR RODIN odds mn w ilf a dozen rods away he saw a at Job carried a cock par- tridge in his mouth. The bird, wounded unto death, had flown last wing beat far into the wood. And Job pursuing had found the game and was fetecl ng it in. For consistency’s sake and for the dog’s sake Chet should till have punished Job —should | have made him understand hat to break shot was iniquity. But—Chet was human and too warm-hearted to be a ciplinariar Perhaps he is not to be blamed for praising Job afterall. Certainly the man | praise the dog, so that Job’s brain was given again to tand that if he chased a ind caught it he would be lauded. The fault dwelt in thereafter. | tried to break him all his e,”’ Chet will say. “I put a ype on him and a choke collar d 1 shook him up—every- ng I knew. It wan’t no od. But it was my fault in e beginning. I never really lamed Old Tantry—never This is not properly the = 6 apres ite telat [RRS ne Try a aal px am, dog. He is a profane man, and he swore and whistled and called Hayes, the man wl had come with Gunther, winked at the doctor and asked Chet ‘Is he a self-hunter? Has he gone off on hi wn?” “Never did before,” Chet said hotly. Hi heat was for Job, not for Hayes. “I'll teact him something!” He went out behind the barr till whistling and calling, and the others followed him. The dogs were in the car in whic! from Rockland The three men walked acro the garden to the brow of the hill above the river and Chet they had come blew his whist t he t purple of suuntenanes Phe other two were secre imused me ire apt to be amused when they find that an ido has feet of clay. For Job wa a famous dog of Job’s youth or of his fe, but of his aging and the ( th of him. Nevertheless The Cat May Have Been Astonished, But it Made No More Than a Muffled Protest Haye t was who caught first ght of him and said Phere ! on W Phe ill looked and J | gy hea yp the lope through an oy ye birene But it i he rambled er the t} thie iw he yeti ’ putt Hlaye 1 H t A Machu ( het, w ! ePener e tured exultantl tle yot that partridge I killed down. the ist ght! I ew that | V iead he were ! edulot PVE ifte hie hie } had shot the 1 the before The We ed i i lob came ear igh] ther 7 eon e trotting Chet and proud a ped ‘ Hendid | 1 I ! er leet Wi { ‘ i doubt they « med, | i feat ee igh tol i dog reputa As for Chet he w Veiled A ] le rhe I ight of the ‘ ‘You = 9 A though,” he said. “Th lies or day like th I rain by noor e want Continued on Page 181]

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Housing for Mine Workers, Lens aue at “ve Oo cloe} toArrasatelevet temporary FIVE trair pulled haltingly1 Ve descended upon a woodet platform replacing a ed by hell fire Overhead keleton of what had been a perma ner y ce tro. was the yla marquise and wa wa bare and f ittered framework from which frag nents of tin swung winter wind Undera Vv I tv picked ¢ wil cru the trac h fragmer f gla crunching through the tickets at a two ade our exit and formality of giving up ou fences tretched between temporary wooden shed no light; the picket At thi point there wa pector too and examined the tickets by an el torch | had made thi yourney Arras, one gateway to the ce and had failed either to hotel accom modatior a hotel Act pen se wefor tation a single f ywwed the light, The place was humble café . it o ndow had ct The other vastated " 0 hort notice telegra ead for there was ooen lighted window hed the tumblir y overt humm«a and my guick mall which was the black two in were covered witl Inside, under madame stood before a very drink toa wcanty array of bottles and glass o table serving oldier and two i few chairs, one advertising ca dar, a beer sigt otherwise nothing Thousands, literally the tinted plaeter of wal d cei They jagyed holes carred varied in size from lath Ye there was a hotel mere pin prich and girder overt therein, said madam two hundre« If that failed ther ’ ish hospice four kilomete verse, sore treet way to get there wa madame’ gesture ind oughly, finally, definitel The Hotel of the Universe dual who hi Hotel of th DY THE best of luck, an indiy It legraphed for quarter failed to show ip proprietr the last one in the he train, at the L niverse with madame, the cur on our past four, waiter, cy herded us into the dining roon Me he seated and we sitting up fo emerge 1 shivered under my cloth of that in a cold corner, where ulster before a table set A waiter, with the evening's dinner ome fifteen vear old, appeared present removed the over, displaying ar d du war bre hook it and turned it a trifle le tained ar cl ul in of der side only hen he brought a bottle of wine, a slice THE SATURDAY EVENING SHES O March 6,1920 What Was Once a Main Street in Lens describe it. The building was one of those gutted by shell fire, but left with its walls and framework still standing. In the most hasty manner possible it was put into shape for guests last sum mer and autumn. On the lower floor all the rooms showed those white spots. The upper floor, where I lodged, had been more heavily damaged when the roof went. There the rebuilders had torn off the plaster altogether when they patched up the walls and had not yet replaced it; I slept inside four blank brick walls, The central part of the hotel was heated. There had been no time or no means to restore the heating system in ey 4S ia r Sate of Condemned Army Horses, for Peasant Use, at Lille By WILL IRWIN as the head waiter explained, was all the house had to offer at that time of night; they were even out of cold meat As you crossed the floor you had a faint sensation of being on a ship at sea, what with the wavy irregularity of the planks. The windows had been replaced, but not with the great six-foot panes of old days. An unpainted frame- work holding small panes had been introduced into their Once this room had been gayly decorated in a pinks tint with an ornamental border of cupids and roses. Now white spots, from the diameter of a marble to that of a washtub, sprinkled it everywhere—new plaster. I slept nights at this hotel. Let me without further ado ashes three the wing where I lodged. It seemed as though the mortar between the bricks had never been dried out. The atmos- phere was clammy, rheumatic, so that I felt myself shiver- ing even under the feather quilt by which Northern France defies winter. The wall of the corner room by the staircase had been pierced at a height of about seven feet from the floor by a shell hole perhaps a foot in diameter. This had not been stopped up. As the boots explained to me, there were so many things to do in repairing the hotel that one did only necessary things. Remains of Former Grandeur ” HE hole is too high up for anyone to look in—is it notso?”’ he explained, ‘‘andonly a very indecent person would advantage himself of a stool or chair for the pur- Still we put only gentlemen in that chamber.” Once the café of the Hotel of the Universe was the largest in town. It would nave been large and pretentious, indeed, for any town. Arras was trading center for the wheat-growing region of Artois and Picardy —a city rich not only in current but accumulated wealth. The café you could see even yet was once a riot of mirrors, gilt and crystal. Now the mirrors ten feet high at least—-which decorated two of the walls had all been smashed save one. That one had been cracked all over its surface and the fragments were held together by little The frames of the others were simple squares filled with black paper. The rains and snows of four war years, blown in through the gaping windows, had peeled off most of the gilding from pillars and mirror frames. Many of the chandeliers, ornamented with long festoons of glass crystals, had some- how survived the bombardment; but the festoons hung ragged or showed long bare gaps, where crystals had paid tribute to in- tensive shell fire. Nevertheless, there was a new bar, set forth with bottles, glasses, black coffee cups and saucers; there were new, skimpy and uncomfortable chairs; there were new iron-topped tables. And every evening, between five and seven, the place was measur- pose. wooden bosses. Wreck of a Lens Shaft House, December, 1919 ably crowded and soberly gay. Continued on Page 149)

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Why is Suge INhue consumer THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Secarce amd lig By ALONZO ENGLEBERT TAYLOR coromionorsus Oo wal naturally associ C undit ind weet ates high price beverage | Yr & I a . ' \ iy nave t and scarcity with low che | come daily items in the msumptior But 4 1 i on su diet trade factors are so ab- r ut Perfection in the normal in the world at ar techni f refine a chnie of refinement present that it easily | has enabled the man comes to pass that | ufacturer to place high price and scarcity are within the horizon of the bv-yer associated with high consump- tion. This is the case with sugar. The year 1919 wit- nessed the highest sugar consumption in the history of the United States in terms of total and per cap- ita per year. De- spite this fact many sections of the country suffered during the last two months of the past year fromscarcity of sugar more pro- nounced than during the years of war con- trol when the per cap- ita consumption was much lower The explanation lies in a series of cir- cumstances whose re- upon the market an absolutely white prod uct of uniform grade and appearance and of more than ninety nine per cent purity The return to brown sugar, advocated ir certain quarters, Is a fad, unless one cares for the particular ‘it taste The molasses, once widely employed in the diet, has be- come scarce because improvement in the technic of refining has enabled the manufac turer to crystallize out practically all the sugar, leaving only a coarse molasses of low food value, but valu- able as a feed for do mesticated animals and important as a source of industrial alization should be A Texas Sugar Mill and Refinery alcohol. Improve- ment in the technic of brought home to the refining has beer it large, since several economic and sociological amount used in the baking of bread decreases; so that accompanied by efficie: in organization and distribution may be drawn from them. At the same time it gradually we are shifting from a bread-eating to a cake- with the result of cheap sugar. For many years sugar ha seems fitting to discuss the réle of sugar in the normal eating people. In this country sugar is commonly used in been one of the cheapest foods, whether judged as a ready diet the preparation of baker’s bread, a practice unknown in to-serve article of the table or as a staple in the kitchen The United States draws sugar supplies from five the Latin countries of Europe. The increase in the use of public | lessor Sugar at six cents a pound furnished more calories pet sources. In 1913 our supply was secured as follows: breakfast cereals and fruits has carried with it an enlarged penny than bread at five cents a pound The following table gives the total sugar Continental cane . . 208,000 = . ee ee consumption of the United States and the per Continental beet “o 625,000 f ae ae oe capita consumptiotr during the past ten year . =~ & 40,000 | | rhe figures for total cor imption are tati eign, West cane urge Cuban 2,049,000 | | tical data: those for per capita consumptior - = , 2 “approxrir ( Lut | ie,000 | be a —* whey i { —— | Lotai Consumptiol 720,000 ¥- SAP Fen iraian ar ™ = ’ " Si.t ' 4 . "ou TE ae ~ , ) For decades Gulf cane sugar, largely in : Louisiana, has played what may be advisedly : a. 4 } termed a disturbing rdle in the halls of Con- ‘ 443 ; gress and in the sugar market of the United ‘ 0” p \ States. A small and limited industry that SUK 7 i during recent years has supplied less than ) ee, wf , ten per cent of the sugar of the country, it has y i333 14 " 6 for decades wielded a club over every con- sumer in the United States. And true to his- torical form, Louisiana sugar is to-day the more than approximate { everal reaso disturbing factor in our sugar situation. The crop year f war beg m Septembe The consumption of sugar has been rising first. The fiscal year d les the sugar : the United States for many years. During paigt The calendar year includes a part of 5 the eighties the average per capita consump- the early new crop. The fact of varr ‘ tion was forty-eight pounds per year. This reserve and marke make it diff t to nerease in the consumption of sugar is one convert yp Tip t ( plion figure of the elements in the higher standard of liv- for the calenda { 3ut more than this, it is an American characteristic. A Nation of Cake-Eaters HE figure for the population since 1910 ] ; ng of the Anglo-Saxon. f " largely an interpolation from the census r JHE American cuisine has been developed curve During the pa t three years consider ' I round sugar in a fashion that distinguishe able sugar has been exported in manufactured } t from the diet of most other nations. Other form, especially in condensed milk, of whict forms of sugar than the commercial crystal- no account is taken in the table The sugar ed product have also advanced in public of the ldier in France must be counted in | favor. We have a considerable consumption the Amet in consumption. With correctio of molasses made from the sorghum plant; applied it is quite certain that the figures for } honey; malt sugar and glucose prepared from the consumption for 1917 and 1918 would be stare h; the combined total of which is more lowered a co iple of pounds each The cor 1919 was lowered | Imption fi during the last three months. If consumy than ten pounds per person per year. h Corresponding to this high consumption of igar our consumption of flour is relatively low. With the gradually increasing use of : ‘ sugar the amount of flour used with sugar in RECULAEHE Gx GUMMMMGRGE & GMMEEUSTER Wok come cats iti elieuhen secant the preparation of foods increases, while the Untoading a Traintoad of Sugar Beets in Central Nebraska tion during the last quarter had been the same as for the first quarter the figure would have Continued on Page 40

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THE SATURDAY BEAIND THE VELVET EVENING POST March 6,1920 “Mac,"* Said Hiram to Me One Day, “I Like You. By Lowell Otus Reese MACPHER rnia i \ rye ervice OHN ON guide watt tatior ealif | pruice meeker,”” I had after nd when | Il mea and started month « ! ran be ins the etter and a tel ome 1 came by | back to iil when I sat down to doi NM that I got camp. Iwa } ip the tr ake a rock out of my " el wa to wonder ng ‘ ot read it here, Mayle there’ ike ser and sideways till I didn’t get out it old Ortie att I rht about it, 1 it bac eany howed and a to Weaver Forest Ortie, iar half to have ther re] di t ve mil ) the No, and Reserve teleph« it's a heap cloud *Maylx *m danged k to the root and read my from a feller it you'll the deer 1 if he'd ‘He wante there had beer few cents more He must be Yo ré opl that wa o rich they wa ‘I used to drive a dray dow: d Daddy Pimble. “That wa old feller | worked for wa free-lunch cou esa week he'd | That's righ } t\ tor the ive Uv STRATED Br CLARK Well, at first the telegram made me happy, and then it made me blue. I needed money; I needed it worse than any fellow you ever heard of. But, thinks I, a man that’s so hard up he can't afford to send a regular telegram, but two or three words you can guess at the aman as poverty-stricken as that ain’t going to help a poor old guide buy many beans. So | went on to camp and passed Hiram Meeker up. And I sure was mighty blue. I had had a hard winter. There had come a heavy snowfall early in November and it didn’t go away until the middle of March—and then it went with a warm rain and took all my traps with it. I had been trapping in the river when the snow caught me. Worse yet, all my bear dogs got distemper and died. Still, | had expected to tide over another season on the money I'd get acting as guide for deer hunters. But the season opened the fifteenth of August and here it was the middle of July—and no parties hooked up for the deer Yes, sir; | was pretty blue; for no man likes the look of six long months with nothing to eat but jerked venison and ground hazelnuts. Besides, there’s the matter of smoking tobacco. Believe it or not, but a whole winter smoking willow bark gives a fellow a bad taste in the mouth instead send just enough so’s rest season. along toward spring. And then here comes this telegram. I cussed it plenty as I drove the old jackass into camp and unpacked him. Why couldn't it have come from a free spender instead of from a man who couldn't afford a few cents to make it read more like human speech and less like a conundrum? I was sitting by the camp fire smoking and thinking about turning in when I happened to remember the letter that Len Williams had handed me along with the telegram. I hunted it up and found that it was from Doc Stilwell. Doc Stilwell was a San Francisco dentist who had been out with me three years before. He wrote that old Hiram Meeker was coming up on the Chanowah and wanted a guide “Old Hiram is a rank tenderfoot,”” wrote Doc. “‘ He has never been in the hills. Been too busy getting rich, I guess. I've recommended you as the best guide in Cali- fornia, so it’s up to you to make good. Shine up to Hiram, Mac, he’s got all the money there is in the world.” I knew somebody had it all, for I didn’t have any of it. But all the same Doe's letter cheered me up a lot. Maybe Hiram wasn't so darned poor after all. Maybe he’d been ind had overlooked a few words that would FAY You're the Only Man I Ever Met Who Could Visit With Me All Day and Not Say a Word!" have meant a lot to Ortie Hixon and me. I got my pen out and wrote to old Hiram that very night, setting the lowest price I could think of. I didn’t have time to sleep any, for I didn’t get the letter done until daylight and then I had to hurry down to Watts to catch the Red Bluff mail stage. I was sure I was safe now, so I went back and started fixing up a comfortable camp on the low bank of the Chanowah at the point where Pate’s Creek empties into the river. It’s a beautiful place; maples throwing a cool shade and Pate’s Creek rushing right through the middle of the camp over cool stones; old weather-stained deer horns nailed into the bark moss of the trees; ferns—you know—and aspring. And there’s a deer lick a few hundred yards up the river. A tenderfoot can sneak up there through the alders and photograph old does and fawns by the dozen. Tenderfeet go nuts over that sort of thing. I don’t know why, but I never object. It doesn’t hurt the does and fawns and it helps entertain the tenderfoot while the tired old guide can stay in camp and sleep at five dollars a day. About the time I had the camp finished I got an answer to my letter. It was another telegram and it read: john macpherson guide watts station california regarding yours july 20 beg state consider price too high hiram meeker I reckon I was the maddest guide in California. But I was desperate, so after I cooled off I wrote again, trimming my terms to a scandalous figure. But it didn’t get me anywhere. Ina few days I got a third telegram beating me down again. I blowed up then and started to write old Hiram a letter that would have curled his whiskers if I had sent it. But before I was halfway through the letter I got to thinking how bad I needed a sack of flour and of how lonesome it was going to be sitting by the fire all winter with no frying grease in the cupboard. So I tore up that letter and wrote another one, shaving down my price until it was nothing but skin and bones. I was ashamed to look at it after I wrote it. I was sure he wouldn't object this time—but he did! He wired me in the same old vein and asked me to submit another estimate. This time I told him to go to hell. What if I did have to gnaw buckbrush and paw the snow for toadstools all winter like a starved deer? My self-respect was worth something. I had spent four bits for postage stamps and paper and IT had worked myself nearly to death writing those letters. I wouldn’t have minded so much if I could have pune hed old Hiram in the no e, but I couldn't } uve

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= i THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 13 even that much comfort out of the business. It was tough any way you looked at it. I started to pull the camp to pieces, intending to light out for my winter cabin up on Chowder Creek. But just us I was getting ready to leave Ran Benjamin came along and left me another telegram. I tore it open and read: john macpherson guide watts station california won’t go to hell meet me watts station next tuesday ‘rms accepted hiram meeker Well, I was both mad and glad. I don’t know which I was most. I was to get hold of a little money after all, and of course it’s mighty pleasant to know that you’re going to eat once in a while all winter. But I still hankered to punch old Hiram in the nose. Well, maybe I’d get the chance yet. The thought cheered me up a little, so I went ahead and finished the camp and when Tuesday came I saddled the two old jackasses and drifted off down the river to meet this here millionaire who jewed a poor old guide down to his last bacon rind and wouldn’t go to hell. I had it all fixed up in my mind. I'd be his guide all right, but if he got to see a buck to shoot at it’d be a miracle. I'll run myself half to death hunting bucks for square sports to shoot at, but this stingy old cuss was no sport. He didn’t belong in the hills with real people. He didn’t belong anywhere in the world, the mangy coyote! A man as stingy as Hiram was of as much use in the world as a rabbit’s tail is in keeping off the flies. I was full of these thoughts when I rode into Watts Station. I found Tom Milton and half a dozen forest rang- ers standing round a pile of boxes and bags and rugs and tents and things that were stacked on the post-office porch. Tom Milton looked up and grinned. “You goin’ to start a department store, Mac?” he asked. I pawed the pile over. It was all Meeker stuff. “When did this come, Tom?” I asked. “Just after breakfast,” said Tom, “A light truck brought it in from Red Bluff.” I had to hire Tom Milton to pack it up the river. Tom charged me ten dollars. I had to keep the jackasses, for no doubt Hiram Meeker would have a lot of stuff—guns and rods and things. About half an hour after Tom got away a big automobile came sliding into the station. It was driven by a young man wearing a drab uniform and a stiff neck. An oldish man dressed like a picture I once saw of an English duke hopped out of the rear seat, shot a look round the group and walked straight up to me. “Hello, Mac!” he said, and grinned. “Hello, Hi!” I answered—before I knew it. And I’ma son of a gun if I wasn’t grinning too! au ’VE heard it said that trouble always comes at you big end first. I think that’s a mighty true saying, for I’ve noticed that trouble always looks biggest just before it reaches you. I had figured Hiram Meeker as a stingy old scoundrel who would make life miserable for me all the time I was on the job. I had been sure he’d have me up in the hills every day chasing bucks out of the brush for him to shoot at and insulting me every time he failed to hit one. You can imagine how astonished I was, then, when it turned out that I had him placed exactly the wrong way about. He had the most beautiful rifle I ever saw and he had trout rods and creels and flies and landing nets and everything—but he didn’t go hunting a single time. Then why did he bring all those hunting things? Mystery! Maybe it ain’t generally known, but to us mountain folks city people are full of mystery. Up here in the hills all things are natural, men and women included, and we understand them. Whatever we feel we show in our actions and our speech, just as Nature meant we should. But the city man’s real self is nearly always hidden behind a velvet of polish and politeness, and you can’t see it. All his life he has been taught to cover up. Now nobody likes to be puzzled and stay that way. It’s all right to run up against a mystery that you can figure out after a while, but if you get mixed up with one that grows worse and worse and never does get unraveled, why it worries you off and on for the rest of your natural life. That's the way it was with me in the matter of Hiram Meeker. Just when I’d think I had him solved he'd go back behind the velvet. I've said that Hiram never went hunting. I don’t know to this day if he went fishing or not. But day after day h« would take his newspaper and a box of cigars and sit with his back against a tree dangling a fly in the water. Noma on earth ever caught a trout that way and I told him so one time. He was reading the market page and I had to speak twice before he heard me. “T faney you're right, Mac,” he said without looking up. “And if one should happen to strike, why, you hurr; and turn him loose, will you?” I didn’t say anything more about that, but I still lie awake nights and wonder if he was really fishing or not I'd think he was crazy if I didn’t know better. But if he wasn't fishing, then what was the sense in dangling ar expensive fly in the water all day? And what was the use of buying all those costly rods and creels and nets and thir xz ? Behind the velvet! So I got in the habit of sitting on the river bank close to old Hiram, smoking his cigars and keeping still while he read his paper and his bales of telegrams. Of course I jogged down to Watts every day and carried up the mail, and I got the meals, too, but that wasn’t work. It wasn’t even exercise. Most of the time I sat and smoked and kept Hiram company. Sometimes I slept. I enjoyed myself a heap doing these things, expensive, ““Mac,”’ said Hiram to me one day, “I like you. You're the only man I ever met who could visit with me all day and not say a word!” ut I got to say something now,” I told him. but they made me feel mighty You see, my conscience Was bn gint ing to trouble me Old Hiram looked up and I felt as though his eyes were taking me all apart and examining the little pieces, “What's the matter, Mac?” he asked. * Workir g you too hard?” “Oh, no!” I said. ‘But say, Hi, a guide is supposed to take his party up on the ridges and show him bucks to shoot at. It’s what he’s hired for.” Hiram looked worried. : Continued on Page 60 | 1 Thought I Heard Her Sobbing. It Was as Though She Was Terrified at the Near Whiz of That Bullet

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l4 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST MEMORIES OF M& By BRANDER MATTHEWS it very few of the sands of Marl rs whose admira- than when his first Yy a mine, now more ‘ y fact, in 1867, , The j jing Frog and Other Sketches, was lished and when a copy came into my posses- n, I being then a bookish lad of only fifteen. For years I read after him, as the phrase is; is that I have been able to profit by it I believe to be an inestimable advantage appreciation of an author—that of work from first to last, growing up ripened and varied and broadened, and richly the man whose elf-expression it was. It is a far cry from The Jumping Frog to The Mysterious Stranger, and the long road from the bold humor of the one to the bitter satire of the other had many an unex- pected turning. Four for the proper following his vith it as revealing more more after The Jumping Frog had ap- peared : was elected to the Lotos Club, though I us then still an undergraduate at Columbia; and I have a doubtful impression that in the Lotos Club, then newly settled in its first home at Irving Place, next to the Academy of Music, I saw Mark more than once, gazing at him with the remote respect proper in a youth who had his own vague literary aspirations for an author who had already published the widely popular Innocents Abroad. What I can assert with absolute conviction is that I did see him in 1875 at the hundredth perform ance of the happy-go-lucky dramatizaton of his half of The Gilded Age, in which Charles Dudley Warner had been his collaborator. John T. Ray a most accomplished comedian, had iden tified himself with the optimistic character of Col. Mulberry Sellers, At this performance I not only saw Mark but heard him make a speech when he was called before the curtain. As I remember it this was not one of his happiest addresses, since it consisted of little more than his telling the story of the celebrated Mexican plug, an unbroken broncho possessing the power of speedily reducing the man who attempted to ride him to a condition of exhausted speechlessness, “And that,”” Mark concluded, “ ich I find myself to-night. I stand before you now quite speechless!” Then in 1882, Laurence Hutton and Lawrence Barrett, Frank Millet and E. A, Abbey, W. M. Laffan and I organ- ized an intermittent and sporadic dining club, which we called The Kinsmen, because we intended to gather in the , and which had no officers, years mond, is the con- dition in wh practitioners of the kindred arts and no rules, except that an invitation to one of our meetings was to be accepted as an election to member- I gave the first dinner; and at the second, given by Hfutton a full year later, I was delighted to find myself sitting by the side of Mark Twain. The n began an intimacy which lasted until his death nearly thirty years thereafter, Later, when Huckle- berry Finn was issued, I had the pleasure of reviewing it for the aturday hailing indisputable mas- This he had some- no dues ship. London 8 Review, one of the tk rpieces of American fiction. pleased Mark; andas how discovered that I had written ’ ia the criticism he took occasion to thank me, A Strained Relation Mak {K was also one of the ear : t members of the Asters th, of which I bad been one of the minders; and I tl executive American ( opyright La ague. t was during our eight-year cam vaign for international copyright with Mark was gh fortunately Until the 1891 erved with him ommittee ol relation trained thou ly for a brief period. age of our eign author r the publics the Unite 1 publi payment anything any t my tate vuld reprint man of letters wrote: and result every American man of letters had to see his books March 6,1920 IR The facts in my article surprised many who had been ignorant of them; and the editor of the New Princeton Review, Prof. William M. Sloane, suggested that I might get together material for a second paper. So I wrote to half a dozen American authors who had been maltreated by British publishers, re- questing them to supply me with particulars. One of my letters went to Mark; and a few days later Professor Sloane let me see Mark’s reply, which he had sent not to me but direct to the editor for publication in the New Princeton. It was a vehement protest against my suggestion that the British law needed any alteration; and it held me up to scorn for making the needless suggestion. Mark let his pen run away with him and poured ridicule upon me, in a fashion which was lacking in consideration for my feelings, even if it was not actually wanting in courtesy. It was a brilliant letter, certain to evoke abundant laughter from every reader—excepting only the one to whom it was addressed. It was also an unanswerable let- ter, so far as its inimitable manner was concerned; and yet it had to be answered somehow. Copyright Controversy wir had roused the sudden wrath which had blazed up in Mark's epistolary excoriation was my assertion that the British law could be im- proved, since it was perfectly satisfactory to Mark himself. Now the British law was better than the American in only one particular! No British author could get any protection in the United States, whereas the British courts had held that any book first published in Great Britain while its author was domiciled in any part of the British Empire was entitled to the full protection ac- corded by the statutes to a book by a British subject. In accord with an old rule of controversy—to A Woodcut From Carroll Beckwith'’s Portrait competition with stolen goods. We all felt this keenly; but only a few of us knew that there were certain London publishers quite as willing to reprint American books without payment as certain New York publishers were to appropriate British books on the same terms. While we wanted the rights of the authors of the United Kingdom to be protected in the United States we also wanted the rights of the authors of the United States to be protected in the United Kingdom, In 1889 I prepared a paper for the New Princeton Re- view, which I called American Authors and British Pirates, and in which I collected examples of the cruel treatment accorded to certain of our writers, forced to behold their works reprinted in England without their permission and often with an offensive mutilation of the original in the vain effort to adjust it to the supposed prejudices of British readers. answer earnest with jest and jest with earnest I wrote a short and simple reply, strictly legal in tone. I pointed out that Mark having permanent relations with a satisfactory publisher in London could always run up to Canada or slip down to Bermuda so as to be under the British flag on the day when any new book of his was to be issued in England. Then [ made it plain that this procedure was not possible for a young writer with his first book, often his best and often made up out of con- tributions to periodicals. There was no fun in my response and it must have seemed pretty pale in comparison with Mark’s coruscating fireworks; but I had on my side both the facts and the law. I had cause to feel aggrieved that he had seen fit to pillory me in the market place; but I was unwilling to take offense and I was unable to see any reason why he should resent my studiously respectful retort. Yet I soon heard from more than one of our common friends that Mark was acutely dissatisfied; and when I next met him he was distant in his manner, and I might even describe him as Nase tye bm 4. 4 y 2Lf49F. ony ce Ags a Pen as.,e-y S&S 2 Wra~ Ch _ » exe gad Es, Va, hoes ions, aot. elag oti e? Peer i aAnm4 Se Lana, pre Ker G haoy tol. \... ska, b..t Lesa Art wtp Ce. + fa mene SF Kama ptem ent Ln Olkay t TY Shop. GB see wee — Ace , % Ann go Bese: “Oo ore, ea ek wa. chilly. Of course I regretted this, but I could only hope that his fundamental friendliness would warm him up sooner or later. I knew that Mark had a hair-trigger temper and that he was swift to let loose all the artillery of heaven to blow a foe from off the face of the earth. I was aware, also, that a professional humorist is not in- frequently a little deficient in that element of the sense of humor which guards a man against tak- ing himself too seriously. I had been told, also, that Mark, genial as he was and long suffering as he often was, could be a good hater, superbly exaggerating the exuber- ance of his ill will. His old friend Joe Twitchell, once wrote him about a piece of bad luck which had befallen a man who had been one of Mark’s special antipathies; and Mark wrote back: “T am more than charmed to hear of it; still it doesn’t do me half the good it would have done if it had come sooner, My malig- nity has so worn out and wasted Gn away with time and the exercise

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—— —— ao, ag eee rete — f charity 1} t even his death would not afford me any ng more a mere fleeting ecstasy, a sort of mo entary, pleasurable titillation now—unless of course it happened in some particularly radiant way, like burning r boiling or something like that. Joys that come to us ilter the capacity for enjoyment is dead are but an ffreoyr + ” I did not have to wait very long before our friendship was renewed, never again to be disturbed. We spent part f the summer of 1890 in the Catskills, at Onteora Park, he hilltop park dotted with unpretending cottages which used a colony of workers in the several arts: Mrs. Can- dace Wheeler, Mrs. Dora Wheeler Keith, Mrs. Schuyler Van Rensselaer, Mrs. Mary Mapes Dodge, Mrs. Custer, Mrs. Runkle and her daughter Bertha, Carroll Beckwith, Laurence Hutton, Heber Newton and Mark Twain. Within a week after our arrival Mark tepped up on our porch, as pleasantly as if there had never been a cloud on our friendship. ‘I hear you play a French game called piquet,’”’ he began. ‘I wish you would teach me.” And we taught him, though it was no easy task, since he was forever wanting to make over the rules of the game to suit his whim of the moment—a boyish trait which I soon dis- covered to be entirely character- } But we were all boys together that summer; and we invented new ways for discharging high pirits. On the Fourth of July we had a succession of sports, including a race round the club- ouse. Mark officiated as time- keeper, supplying a host of fanciful explanations why the runners took twice the time really necessary for the circuit of the building. He had to ad- mit that the joke was on him when at last they did appear coming back on the side from which the originally started. A Moderate Smoker pa )M the first he felt himself at ease with the friendly folk of Onteora; and I think he was appreciative of the high regard we had for him. He was a hard yorker at intervals; and he was then worried by the difficulties which his business as a pub- her was becoming more and re deeply involved. But he liked to play, especially with his own children, making them accept him as of their own age; and he also could play with the grown-ups a if he were a child. One evening we all gathered at Mrs. Wheeler’s log cabin and it round a crackling wood fire, which was the only light in the large room. We swapped ghost stories; and at the end Mark told us, as only he could tell it, with a marvelous mastery of pause and intonation, the hor- rific tale of The Golden Arm. The curious reader will find full directions for the proper deliv- ery of this bloodcurdling narra- which he abominated and objurgated vigorously, were permitted even in the dining room. He was an incessant smoker, yet he was wont to say that he never smoked to excess—that is, he never smoked two cigars at once and he never smoked when he was asleep. But Mr. Howells has recorded that when Mark came to visit him he used to go into Mark’s room to remove the still lighted cigar from the sleeping lips of his guest. As Onteora had seemed a perilous experiment to its originators the Bear and Fox Inn had been run up as inexpensively as might be; and the partitions separating the upper bedrooms were only of burlap. Mark had spent a night at the unpretending clubhouse, where he had earlier come up to make sure that the cottage he had taken would be comfortable for Mrs. Clemens; and as a result of this brief sojourn he was moved to declare that the walls THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 15 Once and once only did Mark ment his wife print This was in a letter on the | ying up of « ire wWhiecl he had sent without her knowledge to Christia Union —now The Outlook in S85, five years before I summer together at Onteora The mother of my children adore el here milder term for it —and they worship he } eve worship anything which the touch of her | 1} mace sacred, The y know her for the best ar t est friend the ever had, or ever shall have; they know ‘ for one who never did them a wrong and cannot do th wrong who never told them a lie nor the sl w of one; who never deceived them ever by an ambiguous gesture who never gave them an unreasonable command, nor eve tented herself with anything short of a perfect obedience who had alway treated them a p lite! ind a or | erately a he y ild th best and oldest it tive in the paper he called How to Tell a Story; but the reader who tries to follow the precepts here set down will need to toil long before he can even approach the perfection of Mark’s technic in telling the At Onteora. He sat to Mrs. Wheeler’s daughter, Mrs. Keith, for a portrait which adorns to this day the walls of the Bear and Fox Inn, companioned by portraits of several of the other men of letters whose stay made that summer ever memorable in the annals of Onteora. He also sat to Car- roll Beckwith, a native of the straggling town in which Mark had spent his boyhood, for a portrait which is, I think, the best that artist ever painted. It represents Mark with a corncob pipe in his mouth. Generally he smoked cigars of a specially atrocious brand, but he kept returning fondly to the corncob of his youth. At The Players, which he joined about that time, he protested with all the vehe- mence of his resplendent vocabulary against the rule forbid ding pipes except in the billiard room, though cigarettes, Mark Twain, Mr. Matthews and Laurence Hutton, With Carroll Beckwith in the Background at the Left of those bedrooms were so thin that he could hear the young lady in the next room change her mind. That he came up in advance of the family was typical of the care he was never tired of taking to assure his wife’ well-being. His devotion to her was a matter of daily observation to all of us. He waited on her, protected her, thought for her, as though nothing else mattered; and to him it did not. He treated her as a creature of a finer clay, fragile and infinitely precious, needing to be guarded from careless contacts. If ever in this world of mismating a perfect marriage existed, then it was Mark’s. As Mr. Howells—who knew them both better than anyone els¢ has told us, Mark’s love for his wife ‘‘was a greater part of him than the love of most men for their wives; and she merited all the worship he could give her, all the devotion, all the implicit obedience by her urpassing force al d beauty of character,” aineda always requ toward all, of at d alway the uttermo word, they know her, ood to be bu withwhom they contact: the kn dearest mother om at from. hin vatient suffering he carried her I back to the hom } ried, and he caused to be carved eight line w ply, pathetical leep feeling o Wa S/iine the land ind who red of them gentle ru conduct whatsoeverdegree, hanced tocon w her for one whose promise, whether of reward or punishment, is gold, worth its face, to t farthing. In a r the best and that live and r way the wisest.’ Tom and Huck last she was taker 1 “aiter year 0 ipor her tombstone hich expre im y, beautifully, the f hi deep | ‘ mmer t ndly he (rood n j It was in the vis alt cmd ol our many conversatio ra) ‘ i that Mark cde ribed ft me } method of w in w Hig Tom Sawyer and Hu ‘ berry } He declared that there wa » ey ly the of these stories which had not actually happene 1, either ts himself or to one or another of the boys he had know Stas tie gan on the « posit of Ton maw ye with ert of his } ish re hectio n 1 writ ar e had ut j then all, whe | } put } a ! 1 ceased t +} bys ept far ‘ ht re f > time bon t t ind 1 l the ‘ lect if those eal * t he 1 re to to! i ‘ ‘ { eT r he had re t } te W he e had } t f . p ne } \ r tj tir I would he } t ill bac | } r ‘ tior When at last he became ¢ made } profit out of every | went over what he had written wit the several installment one to t transposing a chapter or tw nd some the earlier chapters the nece tures in the later chapters unforeseen wl} on the beyginr ng of the ” I} be tow on the « mmplet d stor in than hi hap izard procedure would A few years later, whe Marl } dinar Iw WV Tose ‘ r bined with t e of | } iW ejected therefror ‘ ise the et of | na { ! essed fT Continued on Page 77 ré ence he } ‘ P ‘ f j Llve he ‘ f ‘ bled t wise have at . —_— ii e] 1 had bee eT ; f }

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16 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST SWEETIE u wilt It was | of the way two miles up Broadway, e West Eighti ght wher there yur, and tl ght him, or four, so o healthily known to have t} whi was hi ’ ! wasn’t a blizzar one of the at a casual glance, not that y more tl he, Exerci e,even effect. itwa reasor thou ‘ lenderly le wa three up} rudd) hi Kin. thi ye way, has been of iirm way the willing to conces ourse if you looked hi lip corner f tho ame lear him his real quota of thirty crowd of men—all « poor blue eyes, the veruge from too m 1 or too httk od, m ral " lac K f ul ! “air Brit a liv mal imeor dumm«t Musée, People thought that he Not thought of him, V poratior head who cretar na ee If he could ho I ! old Jol t of the wo is for of taking | onfidential not too y yeu 0 rvice, big fancy ched, Worl beer if he intensely ambitiou loved me like who sav ! ) ne fir tin . ‘ ] that you! , ared at all wa the ar had a Way men them, after with but jobs work Frank middle name He workec honest, brainy, young man can work his he wa in derision, but As he came up the breeze greeted him bent his head to ay Above Forty-fiftl ide of Broadway as le populous, three-miles-ar othe nickr with respect ibway stairs a ad he d malodorou he took the and treet hour gait treet nor customary steady looked neither at the people on the the flaring billboards of the theater Passing edi +} » all ' ba eonfectioner’ tle and caramels wi kground a frown came tered balefully *Damr Not that he was thinki tioner’ his mind wa that had ippar ntly no cont! and peanut brit the Joh Estabrool ‘stabrool | : chocolate of the conf hop chocolat before chat subject wi leaving office he old young Joht | with mm irried sid Estabroo!) cigar co Junior, who had recent! “You know, Frank,” late senor, his afternoor contented angl “‘whata brat Johnny ha You've had t r>hely get of more than one nasty mess and hush the thing up. And ven he married this lit at a m him out Ww tle round eyed red headed kitten | ju ki ed him good | y | aid to myself, and to you, too, “That's the fir ish of John y * But fooled He got and prowled round h ‘ me % office with its windows looki seaward, “‘Womenare funny,” I'd hadn't an went on have that Nina her head ¢ xcept dan he idea i ing and ot an accom had the most ation; he’ never done a lick of real work in her life, but she’ thing that not mi he knows And she who's a decent dress, ‘She’ plished girl; superficial he’ educ 3 got one iny peopl what he wants a hu have wants, band man, of knows him up on white he saw the making Johnny Heaver I didn’t I She's che« booze and po eT and one in custom to get off here and walk the r young in the Eden N THE choking, seething five-thirty Subway jam, at Times Square, Fran Rodham made hi ‘ tomary determined way, getting throug! yet with ho unpleasant pushing or elbowing st to the apartment in He did this eve ry a torrential down- o clear hi years, nerves, e 1 what Re it and called for more. umed The Original Workhound, not put up a hand to his dust right-hand truck hi at a peanut brit of row and he mut ( omethir v By SOPHIE KERR ILLUSTRATED MITCHELL ou would have an twenty- blue Broad- at him closely and observed the hut together and the very faint lines at you might be uut of drawing flabby todham usually anyone ng and powerful cor- mn fidential Estabrook John Estabrook he man putting into big fancy Also big fancy x = we 3 *, iors 7 ain oe Bare of All Except Essentials

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ne THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 17 ‘Oh, Don't be Such a Fuss You're a Regular Old Maid, Frank 1 Like to Drop Things Round Where from the unpretentious walk-up where the first seven years of their married life had been spent. And as he approached his home it might have been ob- served that Frank Rodham’s steps grew slower and slower, as one suffering from reluctance to reach his journey’s end. Also the absorption of great thought was obviously upon him; so much so that when he finally did pass between the white-marble entrance pillars Dan, the leisurely youth who was master there, forbore to offer any comment about the weather or the presence of two warships in the river, both of which had been his conversational shibboleths all day. The apartment inhabited by the Rodhams was built on a familiar plan. You open the front door and you are in a little square hall. At your left are living and dining rooms, A long hall runs back to the bedrooms and bath, and along its length are concealed the kitchen, pantry and maid’s room. Not being of the newest type this particular domicile had not squeezed down its space to postage-stamp dimensions. The rooms were of fair size and would have been pretty had they not been so breathlessly over dec- orated. Rodham, entering, tried to put his hat on the little table in the hall and something clattered tinklingly to the floor. “Oh, you naughty boy!” a voice from the back of the apartment chided him. ‘‘You’ve knocked down my dar- ling little basketful of tin flowers—the very latest thing, so quaint! I hope you didn’t hurt them.” Rodham obediently picked up the fallen ornament and found it quaint indeed—a little basketful of flowers, even as the voice had said, of tin, all painted in a way to put Nature to the blush. He raised his eyebrows at it hope- lessly and put it back on the table. It seemed best to carry his hat with him, and he proceeded toward the voice. ‘“Come on back,” the voice called, foreseeing his inten- tion. ‘Here I are.” A froth of pink lingerie and perfume rushed up to him, and a pair of overplump arms caught him round the neck as he entered the larger of the two bedrooms at the back of the apartment. ‘Well, old dear—are you early or am I late?"’ demanded Mrs. Frank Rodham affectionately. ‘‘Here, kiss m« kiss your Sweetie Peach.”’ She laughed gayly and rushed back to her dressing table. ‘I’ve been to the movies this afternoon, Frank—of all places! Martie Anderson, Lillie Swain and I started out to go to a matinée, but we couldn't get seats at anything we wanted to see, so we finally went to a movie, and then Martie suggested we stop for tea at that French place on Forty-fourth Street—m-m, what good cakes they have there!—and when I got home started to change my frock my corset lace broke, and I'v« been simply hours struggling with it.’’ She was struggling with it as she spoke, and the bulge of flesh that appeared over the top of her corset was not pretty. The tying finally accomplished she drew a sigh of relief. “Better get into your dinner coat, Frank,” she sai “*Martie and Theodore are coming over after dinner for auction. What do you think would be nice for a little supper? I believe I'll phone over to the delicatessen and see if he’s got any shrimp salad; his isso good. And maybe he’d make some sandwiches for us.” ‘“Where’s Babe?” asked Rodham. “Oh, I asked Miss Jones to give her her supper and put her to bed. She was sleepy. Miss Jones is so sweet wit! her. I tell you, Frank, that girl’s a perfect treasure! I wouldn’t have a minute to myself if it wasn’t for her.” “Babe's at kindergarten all morning.” “That’s just it,’’ assented his wife with perfect humor. **In the morning I’m at home, and she wouldn’t bother me a bit; but in the afternoon, when I’m ready to go out, why, it means trailing off to the park with Babe—and nowhere else,”’ She had piled up her abundant and very pretty brow: hair, and was getting into a semieverting dress of black lace as she spoke. “You'll have to hook me up}’ she said. ‘ Even this old rag is getting too tight for me. Honestly, it’s disgraceful the way I’m putting on flesh. I’ve got to quit it. Martie was telling me about a woman she heard of who has the | | | | | | \ } a x | | I Can See ‘em, and Find ‘em Again sesamin shai and lerfiy) es ha’ , ‘ . ‘ most wondertul ystem ne yot ever so many actresse who go to her regulagy. Of course she’s expensive, but it 2 would be worth it to get my figure back She did not look di approvir gly at the reflection in her mirror in spite of her words. Her hands went out mechan- ically toward a little lac juer box on her dre ing table. “Don’t use that lip stuff,” said Rodham, ‘“ Please, Cora. It’ t clean.” ( iughed—she had nice white teeth, hence laughed olte and ea . “You old-fashioned goose!’ she said. ‘All right then. I won’t—when you're around.” And she arched her brow at him coquettishly. “Oh, bother, there goes another hook!’’ She picked up a hand glass and looked at the bacl of her frock, which gaped widely above the camisol ‘If I only had someone who'd come in and mend for me. I haven't a rag that hole; not one.” Nor | 1 her husband a little dryly. ‘‘Cora, thi bedroom is alwa ich a me Can’t we do something to keep it order?” “Oh, don’t be such a fuss,” said Cora easily. ‘You're lar old maid, Frank. I like to drop things round a regu 1 r where I can see ’em and find ’em again. I hate having to dig every mortal thing I want out of the highboy or the closet Are you re idy? I rather think dinner is too.” They went together into the dining room and sat down There was dust in rolls on the rug and under the sideboard On the table a centerpiece of wilting roses filled the ai Rodham lifted it from its place and put it or the sideboard, but said nothing “Oh, dear,” said Cora, perfectly unconcerned, but will ing to go through the set phrases of contrition, “‘I meant to phone for some fresh flowers. What a disagreeabl odor —open the windows a moment, won't you, dear? | do wis! I could get a maid wl 'd attend to thing like that Continued on Page 167

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et at ‘ ed It i sine deal iT ike the W | > oF Tt ' i ia ad ‘ y tre ile ol flour mill ive ta bu i stor I givant m M4 it make the of the He from Egypt, the flight of the Tar tars or the migratior of our fathers to the great West re s] mble football excursion, It is a stor that bewar in Cherokee ( ount lowa, and McLear Count Illinois, and mayend either in the miller nium or at the dow fall of the United States of America both some distance in the future the greatest I write of world’s land boom, modern THE SATURDAY EVENING POST By HARRY R. O*BRIEN March 6,1920 In one of the banks i thet street there was $300,900 in cold cash that had been brought to the town there were | about three other | banks besides this one—for the purpose of making first pay- ments on farms. The head officials of the bank were gone on and the men in charge, with more cash there than had ever been in the vacations | town before and afraid of safe blow- ers, sent for a pri- | vate detective. AsI walked pastthe bank that night this man was sitting inside by the vault door, a loaded gun his knees, guarding the funds that were being used to make payments on farms. Scenes like this Saturday in Atlantic were enacted in every county seat and village in Iowa last summerand toa degree in towns all over the Central West. One ean hardly describe just how it was without writing a novel about it. You had to be there, see, hear, sense what was going on. Even then you could hardly realize it. across that which struck the Middle Western States of this count along in the early months of 1919 in northwestern lowa and central Hlinot pread like a prairie fire over a dozen tates, boosted the price of farm land almost overnight ywhere from $50 to $150 an acre higher; resulted in tens of thousands of farms cha ging hands, of mer growing rich in a day or week, of frenzied buying, of wild specula- tion, of men putting themselve under obligations that total toward the billions of dollars, of being responsible for half the far of the Corn Belt having to pring and of may be mers in part move thi etting In motion great economik forces the results of which no man can measure until dec- ace have come and gone All of which sound e unto a familiar brand of canned wlitical rhetoric such a handed out to us on July Fourth or Labor Day tead of a plain statement of fact But listen to the story | have to tell. The Land Frenzy in lowa —' AST a tl g has happened that it not yet po sible WJ tograsp itall, It will be years before complete data are e our learned parlor economists pathered together and befo explain the why and how of it. But being just a plain dub of a reporter, as I have traveled over the land in the past ix or eight months on various errands I have listened, een, asked questio until now I rush in where learned conomists yet fear to tread In these eight months I have over the Corn Belt by 10,000 have traveled ne arly miles vuto and by train. I x with farmers who have sold their who have bought, with those who re- talked as 1 went alot farms, with those I have tened to village and city bankers, real-estate tre county agricul ural age by the score tting in dusty country newspaper offices I have ned through the musty files of last summer's papers to find and copy down in my notebook records of farm sales. itting in the bach m at banks | have waded through tacks of farm-sale contracts of several year back to ob- tain the exact records of how much farms were sold for, the exact terms of sale—evidence and not hearsay I was ifte I have clipped hundreds of sale records from daily and weekly newspapers. 1 have fror e source or another Typical Ohio Farming Country records of nearly fifteen hundred actual Lowa sales repre- enting nearly every county in the state, besides hundreds in Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Minnesota, Nebraska, Missouri and other states Waiters behind village lunch counters, men whom I picked up along the road to ride with me, sun-tanned men who shaved beside me in the Pullman of a morning, coun- try preac hers who told me with tears almost in their eyes of how this great land boom would mean the breaking up of their congregations, teachers who saw their district schools inevitably broken up, college professors and noted agri- cultural authorities were others whom I found ready and willing to talk, to give me information. No matter where I went last summer it was all the same. Land buying was in the air. Let Bill Jones and John Smith meet on the highway and they stopped to talk land. Let two farmers come to the ends of their respective corn rows at and the horses would browse un- heeded while over the line fence the two swapped yarns of how this farm or that farm had been sold. Go to church of a Sunday morning and an hour after the sermon was ended there would still be knots of men standing round the door of the meeting house talking sales, making deals even. If the grange or the live-stock shipping association or the school board or the commercial club or the village council or the sewing circle in any town in the Corn Belt met, or let a doctor meet a lawyer or a grocer meet a butcher—and dollars to Salvation Army sinkers the talk was of land sold or farms for sale, of what this man had made or that man asked. I stood on the main street of Atlantic, county seat of Cass County, Iowa, one Saturday afternoon in early July when the boom was at its height there. It had rained that morning so that farmers could not work in the fields. For three blocks the sidewalk was lined on the shady side of the street with autos. In nearly every car or round it was a group of men. I stopped to listen. Every group as it smoked and chewed was talking excitedly or calmly or carelessly —but talking, buying, selling land. Fully a dozen men on that shady side of the street that afternoon were real-estate men, legitimate dealers some, and others sprung up overnight—a retired farmer, a stock a cobbler maybe, before the land boom came, these the same time buyer, The boom began in the northwestern O’Brien and Clay counties, I had observed signs of un- It was just as if a great prairie fire had been lighted up there that in a few weeks was to sweep the whole state and to burn with ever-increasing fury for several months, not always at the same place. The boom swept from town to town and county to county. It might die out in one town in a county only to spring up in another. By May the whole state of lowa was land mad. No other words quite fit the situation. of Iowa, in Cherokee, ulong in early March, though usual activities in land selling late in February. countie The Boom in Central Illinois HIS state of affairs continued up to the middle of August with unabated fury. Thena drop in the price of hogs warned people that prices might not stay up forever. The state bank examiner issued warning that banks would not be permitted to loan more than $100 an acre on farm land regardless of how much it had sold for. Roberts, a New York banker but formerly from Iowa and a man whose opinion is highly thought of throughout lowa, came out to a state bankers’ meeting at Ft. Dodge and strongly condemned the whole boom. His warning had a wide effect. The Federal Farm Loan Bank would not increase the amount of money it would loan on an acre. All of these things, together with a land-sick headache, the fall plowing and the frost maybe, checked the boom generally by the last of August and pretty nearly squelched it by the end of September. But it still burned furiously here and there as long as real-estate men and speculators could keep it up. A similar fire was lighted in Central Illinois, in McLean and Woodford nearly as can be deter- mined. It swept over most of the state and all summer long there was buying and selling of farms, a boosting of prices overnight, men getting rich at a jump and all the rest. This was not so frenzied as in Iowa, but just as vast and at even higher price levels probably. There seems to be a general impression that this boom was confined to Illinois and Iowa alone. But this is er- roneous. Once lighted, the fires of land speculation swept from lowa up to Minnesota and the Dakotas, out into Nebraska, into Missouri. It went east from Illinois into George E. counties, as

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ee - - ES Se THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 19 Indiana, on to Ohio and reached Michigan even. In places you can almost trace the march of the boom from place to place. | The way to visualize just | what happened in Iowa, for ex- ample, is to submit concrete facts and examples. But before I do I want you to keep in mind all the while that the average price of land in Iowa was $9.09 in 1850, $11.91 in 1860, $20.21 in 1870, $22.92 in 1880, 2 $28.13 in 1890,$43.31 in 1900and $96 in 1910—always a slowly rising increase, It was fifteen years ago that Dean C.F. Curtiss of lowa State College at Ames, a noted agri- cultural authority, made a pub- lic prediction that he would live to see the day when black Iowa corn dirt would sell for $500 an acre. Folks laughed at him and wondered if the dean expected to live until the judgment day. But the year of our Lord 1919 saw the dean vindicated with a vengeance. January 1, 1919, I began to gather data on land sales in lowa just as I happened to come across them. I never dreamed ey prices through a series of years and also furnish an index to the increase in the value of Iowa land. Fourteen farms that had | been bought from 1870 to 1900 averaged fifteen dollars an acre. | Six bought from then until 1905 averaged seventy-six dollars an acre, Right purchases from 1905 to 1915 averaged $179 an acre Twelve farms purchased during the first six months of 1918 av eraged $219 and eleven during the last half averaged $239. High Figures OOKING at this from a dif ferent angle, 1 took the fig ures from eighty farms sold between June twenty-seventh and November first on which I have the records of previous sales and figured out just what the increase in value had been while the land had been held by the person selling it the second time. Twenty farms bought up until 1915, mainly since 1910, and then sold during the latter part of 1919, had made an av- erage gain in value for their owners during that time of $205 an acre. Twelve farms bought of the use that I should have to put this information to. Up to June fifth I had a record of 605 with actual figures paid. Most of these were from March fifteenth on. Adding up all of these sales and their acreage on an adding machine I found that the average farm sold for $257.36 an acre and that it had been 187 acres in size. Recent Sales in lowa RECORD of 125 sales between June fifth and June nineteenth showed that the average size of the farm was 211 acres and that the average price was $304 an acre, an increase of nearly fifty dollars an acre. Sixty-one sales between June nineteenth and June twenty-seventh aver- aged 252 acres and the average price paid was $335 an acre. From then until November first 361 sales from all parts of the state, with an average of 176 acres, had an average sale price of $318 an acre. In this period the boom struck the portions of the state where there is cheaper and poorer land. In the best sections the poorer farms were selling. From the first of November to the end of December I made no spec ial effort to look for sale records, but I came across thirteen such in Iowa newspapers. These farms were 161 acres in size and the price averaged $442 an acre, PHOTO. BY EUGENE J, HALL, OAK PARK, ILLINOIS A Good Farm in the Corn Belt This much smaller number means that though the large sale of farms is now over prices have not gone down but in fact have gone higher than they were. They are going still higher. These figures I give are my own, gathered in my own way. They are as accurate, however, as any that can be obtained until such time as deeds are recorded this coming year at the time the transactions are completed. But these figures are comprehensive enough to show that all over Iowa there has been a widespread transfer of land together with a swiftly rising price. Out of the sales up to June fifth that I have listed some 150 were for $300 or more, located in forty-six Iowa counties. Forty-three of the sales were for $400 or more and fourteen of them were for $500 or more. Out of the 361 sales between June and November some 107 sold for more than $400 an acre and thirty-five for $500 or more. These thirty-five sales were in nineteen counties. There were sales at $565, $600, $620, $900 and $980. In the last thirteen sales up to the end of December only three of the farms sold under $400 an acre and prices went as high as $500, $515 and $700. For eighty-nine of the 605 sales I have a record of what the previous owner had paid for the farm. These give farm from 1915 to 1917 made a gain for their owners of $181 an acre. Eight farms bought in 1918 sold for an average price of $80 more than had been paid for them. On forty farms bought in 1919 and sold again during the year there was an average profit of exactly $75 an acre. These figures of $205, $181, $80 and $75 represent what economists term unearned increment. For 1919 they rep- resent in addition the spoils of land speculation. Just how much land changed hands in lowa in 1919 is impossible to estimate now, since scarcely any of the deeds have been filed as I write. A tabulation of 1400 sales that I have recorded shows that these totaled 224,281 acres and sold for a total of $60,296,906—a mere drop in the bucket compared with the total amount sold and the total sum involved in the contracts. Late last summer the Department of Agriculture became alarmed over the land boom and sent out a number of men into about nine states to make a survey of condi- tions. These men in Iowa covered thirty-four counties, They reported that the number of farms sold had not been so large as was thought and that on the whole only 8.9 per cent of the farms had changed hands. This is far too low, according to the investigating that I did. (Continued on Page 133 A Fine Nebraska Ranch

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST HE brick road ends a half mile this side of Pickle- burg, if you are traveling west. Then you are in Rich County. The name is a misnomer County is poor, its roads notoriously so. You brick with a Jump and a t and joggle down a hill ILLUSTRATED BY w. H. D. By Herschel S. Hall KOERNER March 6,1920 He picked up a glove—a much-soiled, much- crumpled glove—that lay on the floor mat by the foot levers and handed it to her with a bow. “I assure you, miss, it is a pleasure to me to find your glove in my car. For this is my car—it isn’t Willie Figg’s. It may have been ps and bumps, to shudder up rullied and gorged by a thousand to bounce and pounce over four dred yards of demacadamized high and 0 ome to the bounds of leburg, where the road makes a ickknife bend to the left. You must, i positively mu take this angle or If Deems Stanwood had known some- rabout the appre ach to Pickleburg ht } gotiated the jackknife t he didn't know, t know there is a ved at the dangerous point 1 dilapidated, depraved Thapsacus roadster, going at the rate of forty miles in hour He had checked his apeed to fifteen miles when he struck the side of Mi Rebecca Stoneman’s barn, which tood where the road would have run had not some pioneer trail maker werved to the south at that spot. The side of Miss Rebecca Stoneman’s barn was of flimsy material tacked to It vielded to the a ault of the Thapsacu roadster, cracked flimsy stringer twice and toppled inward, and the ttle ear rolled upo t and over it into t he barr There rose a great hubbub of cackling, fluttering and squawking. A oung womar : ery pretty young woman, with blue eye a snub nose, illuring lips and a dimpled chin, hold- ng a speckled hen in her left hand, a tin can in her right, out of which she was haking a gray powder over the strug ng fowl, looked up and something like annoyance showed in her blue eyes Good afternoon,” said Deems Star wood ‘Good afternoon,” returned the girl none too cordially Is that taleum powde r you're put ting on the chicken?” he asked, No, it’s lice powder.” ‘It’s what? Lice powder! Lice! L-i-c-e! Plural for louse! Cooties!” Honest? I didn’t know anything but soldiers had cooties. I’ve had 'em.” Willie’s up to an hour or so ago, but I own it now. I paid a young man I met down the road two hundred and fifty dollars for it.” “Two hundred and fifty dollars!” she exclaimed. ‘‘Oh, dear!’’ And she began to laugh. ‘“‘Why, Willie gave only fifty dollars for it three years ago!” “That so? Well, I felt at the time I was dealing with Willie—I have no doubt it was Willie—that Willie was a pretty clever and shrewd young chap. You see, it came about in this manner: I was on my way to Pickleburg, or rather through Pickleburg, for I am going to Manstown, driving a new Cellini eight which I recently pur- chased. The car never did give me sat- isfaction—it was heavy, cumbersome and hard to manage. About a mile this side of Oakland I went into the ditch. Just why I went into the ditch I don’t know, but I went and I couldn’t get out. “IT waited with patience until a young fellow came rattling down the road in the most disreputable-looking roadster I ever saw—that thing there when I stepped out and waved him down and asked him if he would stop at Rickar’s garage in Oakland and tell them to send outa truck to pull me out. ““*Noneed of that,’ hesaid cheerfully. ‘T’ll pull you out.’ ““*Yes, you will! You could pull this dreadnought out of this ditch with that Thapsacus about as quickly as you could pull a hog molly out of a quarry!’ ““*What will you bet?’ he asked. ***My car against yours,’ I replied. “He climbed out. ‘If it’s a bona fide bet shake hands on it.’ “T shook hands with him. ‘It is bona fide.’ “**Tf I pull you out I’m to take your ear; if I don’t pull you out you’re to take my car, eh?’ ““*You have stated the terms of the wager correctly,’ I told him. ‘**He turned his car, backed it to the front of mine, took out a tow line and hitched up. Then he pulled—I steered. And he watched me all the time too to The girl released the hen, which urried away through an open door She looked at the young man in the ear again and the hmt of ar noyance in her eyes had given place now to a look of interest “Were you over there?” she asked Oh, ve ixteen months.” “My brother is over there yet. He's in Germany —at Coblenz.” “He'll be home pretty soon they'll all be back before the snow falls again. I was one of the first over and one of the first back. What kind of chickens are these you raise ‘Yanconas.” “Never heard of them before. They are certainly pretty. And what a lot of them you have!” He looked through the doorway into the inclosed yard > veyond, where a great flock of hens was milling about. ‘How many? ‘Three hundred—maybe a few more.” “What are all these you have shut up in this pen here?’ “7 ilies ‘ “Yillies? And what, tell me, is a yilly She laughed You don't know what a yilly is? A yilly isa pullet that gins to lay at four months of age or earlier. They are > ire have been unusually fortunate in raising so many. ome day I hope to have my entire flock yillies.” I've learned something. Glad I called. I believe I'd ike to buy some of your birds.” “What do you want with them? “Oh, just to look at! And I think I'll start a chicken farn “When did you decide to do that?” “What For? Everybody Asks Me That Question. I Can't Loaf Always. “About two minutes ago.” And he looked at her with such intensity and with so much of admiration in his eyes that she blushed. ‘The hens will be six dollars apiece and I ask twenty dollars for a cock.” Her tone now was very businesslike. “T’ll buy a dozen of each, but I won't take them to-day. I think the thing for me to do right now is to hunt up a carpenter to repair the damage I've done here, don’t you? Is there a carpenter in the village?” “Oh, yes, Tom Trickle is a near-carpenter. He con- verted this barn of my aunt’s into a poultry house for me. You'll probably find him et the blacksmith shop down the road past the church.” ‘Tom Trickle? All right, miss, Ill send him up. Aw- fully sorry I smashed into your hen stable in this way. I never drove this car before, or this make of a car, and I find it very obstreperous at times.” He climbed out and went to the front of the machine to crank the engine. “Why — why, thatlooksjustlike Willie Figg’s Thapsacus,” said the girl, walking up to the side of the roadster and examining it. “And who is Willie Figg?” he asked, dropping the crank handle and straightening up “Oh, he’s Pickleburg’s Mark Tapley and Admirable Crichton Also— according to his statement—he’s my beau. I'm very much mistaken if I haven't ridden several hundred miles in this car with Willie Figg. Why, there's glove I missed it last night after we’d come home I Must Have Something to Do, Miss Hadley— Under No Circumstance Would I Drop It" see that I didn’t do any crooked steer- ing. Ina minute the Cellini was stand- ing on the brick. I climbed out. I was too astonished to peep, and while I was recovering my lost speech he had turned both the Cellini and the Thapsacus in the road and had the hood of the Thap thrown back and was working about the engine with a wrench. *“**Say, what are you going to do?’ I demanded. Going to fix this Thap so no one can hook it while I’m taking the Cellini into Oakland. Then I’m coming back for the Thap.’ “*But what about me?’ I asked. “*Well, what about you? I'll bite.’ ““*You’re not going to take the Thapsacus! I didn’t intend to take it if I had won the bet!’ ““«'Phat’s where you and I have different business views,’ he said calmly, and he again set to work with his wrench. “*Wait a minute!’ I called to him. ‘I’ve got to get to Manstown this afternoon.’ “*You can pick up a ride. You can go in to Oakland with me and make a new start, or—the Thap is for sale, And I’m in something of a hurry too.’ “*How much?’ “*Two hundred and fifty dollars.’ “I offered him a hundred, a hundred and fifty, two hun- dred, and then paid him two hundred and fifty. And here I am--this far.” “How much did you pay for the Cellini?”’ inquired the girl. ‘Six thousand.” She looked at him in amazement. Then she laughed. “But I must be going —must get over to Manstown,” he said, cranking his engine and climbing into the car. —s 4s - ee

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST I'll send up Tom—what’s his name?— if I can tind him. If I don’t locate him will you get him and have the damage repaired and let me repay you his bill the next time I am out this way? Ill call for the chickens in a day or two. Good afternoon.” “Good afternoon,’ ing. He backed his car out through the opening it had made and disappeared down the road in the direction of the church. The girl threw a handful of shelled corn into the yillies’ pen, shut the door of the building and went into the house, where she related to her aunt what had oc- curred at the poultry house. “That must be Deems Stanwood,” said the elderly spinster —“‘John V. Cooper’s nephew. John V. left his fortune to this nephew, and a large inheritance it is. I knew the boy’s father years ago. He was a splendid char- acter in his young days, but I understand the son is a harum-scarum.” “He seems awfully nice,” said the girl. “Tut, tut, Julia!” sniffed the old lady. ‘‘ Don’t get fool- ish notions into your head. No young man of his age—he isn’t much over twenty-five—with as much money at his disposal as he has can be anything but wild and harum- secarum. John V. in his will stipulated that the heir was to live in Oakland and spend his money there and thereabouts, so I suppose we'll be hearing a good deal of his escapades until the fortune is gone. And it won’t last long either, I’ll predict, even if it is nearly two hundred thousand dollars, if he keeps up the pace he has already set. Fancy handing over a six-thousand-dollar car to Willie Figg and then pay- ing Willie two hundred and fifty dollars for that broken- down rattle trap of a Thapsacus! Oh, he must be a wild scatterbrain of a youth!” ‘*Where did he come here from, aunt?” “From down East—Rhode Island, I think. He was raised there. Both of his parents are dead. John V. had most of the expense of raising him. He brought him to Oakland a few years ago and tried to induce him to stay there with him, but the boy remained only a few days— said the place was too slow for him. That was before you came to live with me. Now he must settle down in Oak- land, or somewhere near Oakland, in order to get the for- tune. I understand it is all in bonds. John V. named Philip Thawson executor of the will and guardian of the estate a queer choice, I must say! Philip Thawson never had the best reputation in the world for honesty and square she returned, and she was still laugh- dealing. He is to handle the inheritance until the heir is thirty years of age. Another crazy arrangement. But you mark my word, Julia, there won’t be anything of John V. Cooper’s fortune left by the time this young prodigal is thirty. What he doesn’t waste Philip Thawson will get.” ‘“*He’s been to France,” said Julia. “So has our Joe, and Joe is still there and I wish he was back. How does it happen that this young Croesus is sent back home so soon, while our Joe is held there?) Money!” “*Mr. Stanwood told me he was one of the first soldiers over there. Joe didn’t get there till quite late.” “‘Humph! How are the chickens?” “They're doing nicely. He is going to buy some from me. He is coming for them in a day or two.” ‘Oh, he’s going to buy some chickens, is he? Some more foolishness. I hope you charged him enough. Well, when he comes, Julia, I will wait on him.” “Very well, aunt.” And Julia Hadley went back to the poultry house. Meanwhile Deems Stanwood had found Tom Trickle at the blacksmith shop and had handed him a ten-dollar bill, which the near-carpenter thought would be about right for the labor of repairing the damaged barn at Rebecca Stoneman’s. He had then taken the Manstown road out of Pickleburg. It was a poor road, a rough road, and the Thapsacus roadster bounced him and jounced him. Slower driving would have meant smoother riding, but he was not in a slower-driving mood. “‘That’s her!’’ he said emphatically and ungrammati- cally as he rushed past the last Pickleburgian villa and came into open country. ‘‘That’s her! I knew it the minute I broke in there! It’s fate, nothing but fate! Seas have separated us, yet have I come straight to her—straight through the side of a barn! It’s her! And it’s fate!” He fairly trembled as he thought of the mysterious, almost uncanny workings of fate to bring him to this girl with the blue eyes, the snub nose, the alluring smile and the dimpled chin. Every little event of his past life, the very tiniest event, was—he could now see—just a step toward this great event of to-day. What a glorious con- spiracy of events it was—hurrying him back from France with the first home-coming troops; leading him to Oakland to enjoy his huge inheritance; inducing him to buy a Cellini eight—an unmanageable Cellini eight; putting him into the ditch; prompting him to wave down Willie Figg. Ah, now! This Willie Figg person! Just what part was Willie Figg to play in this drama in which he was to act one of the leading parts? Willie Figg, he had to admit as he now considered him, was an shrewd and clever and decidedly good-looking young man. And had said he was her beau! No, she had said that Willie Figg had said he was her beau. Still it seemed that she rather liked “Ouch! Je-rusalem!” The Thapsacus had responded eagerly to the uncon scious touch he had given to the throttle and had struck a succession of humps and holes with rattle and bang and clatter before. “Got to get a new car first thing!”’ he declared aloud ‘Let Willie Figg have the Cellini— I'm off Cellinis. He'll go broke pretty quick, too, buying gas for it J could never get more than five miles out of a gallon. I'll get a Da Vinci this time — costs eight thousand, I think. I must see the colonel to-morrow. My Da Vinci will make Willie Figg and his Cellini look like thirty But a car everything. Let me think.” He rode for a half mile with hi thought. “Exactly it!” he cried. energetic, she He was jounced as he had never been jounced ous. isn’t brow puckered in “T’'ll make my joke to her about going into the chicken business a serious matter! I'll start a genuine chicken farm somewhere out in this neighbor hood and raise nothing but Yanconas just like those she raises. I'll buy all my stock from her, go to her for advice, consult her frequently, have an excuse for meeting her, have something in common—whoa!” For a hundred yards or more the Thapsacus had been bounding along a rutted and gullied fill, the approach to a high bridge. Without a hint that it had wearied of follow ing the rutted fill the car suddenly swerved to the right and shot down the steep grassy slope of the fill, struck a rail fence at the bottom, threw down and scattered four panels of rails and rolled into a newly plowed field and stopped. A man planting potatoes raised his head, ther straightened up and leaned on his hoe “Well, sir, what’ll you have?” he asked good-naturedly “T’m looking for a farm that is for sale. I’m going to start a chicken ranch,” replied Deems, crossing one knee over the other and taking out his cigarette case and light ing a cigarette. “Well, sir, you couldn’t find a better site for a chicken ranch than this here farm right here is if you'd hunt all over Rich County,” said the man, hoe and dropping hi (Continued on Page 99 Sir, What’ul You Have?"' the Man Asked Good:Naturedly

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 6,1920 Forty Years of a D iplomat’s Life XVI r HE situation v hat last compelled an appeal to the sti hip of Count Witte had be me ¢ of extre yt t The revolution ne count news ur ipl cu whole re olutior iry movement a rected wy a alled Counc Workmen's Del gale prototyp of the oviet of our days, preside over by a countr) No ar Known by hi lawyer, revolutionarysur Khrousta leff; in a word, a tate of comple te anarchy hame, almost relieved only by ibility of relying on the troop of the juard stationed ut St. Petersburg, who were ill faithful to their could the po oath and By BARON ROSEN Former Ambassador From Russia to the United States time of the gravest peril threatening the empire. To asociety, however, whose mentality is influenced partly by the characteristic national leaning toward a vague communistic ideal of equality, partly by atavistic tenden- cies born of cen- turies of slavery, and which is in- tolerant of any kind of superior- ity save that of the master, the sudden elevation of Witte to the premiership of the first constitu- tional govern- ment came as a shock that was certain to array against him the host of the jealous and envious of all parties, the liber- als considering him unworthy of confidence and the reactionaries holding him sus- pect of aiming at the preparation of the ground for his election to the presidency of a future republic. The consequences of this condition of things, which Witte was power- less to counteract, were disastrous, as will be shown presently. As soon as the emperor hadgiven his consent to the projected consti- tutional reform, it became necessary to apprise the na- tion of the mo- nh an emergency suppressed any revolt One of the most di quieting feature the attitude of the atalistic helplessness sympathy with the revolutionary movement evidently orn of noncomprehension of its sinister meaning. Count Witte, who realized the impossibility of continu- ng to carry on the government without the support of the undertook to convince the emperor of he necessit) of constitutional reforms, In his endeavors he was at the last moment, as far as I know, energetically ussisted by the Grand Duke Nicholas Nicholaevitch—late supreme commander in chief of our armies—who must surely have realized the danger to the throne and to the lynasty of an obstinate clinging to the antiquated and thoroughly discredited régime of autocracy. The emperor had moreover been prepared to listen to similar advices by a letter from his own mother, the Empress Dowager Marie Feodorovna, who was then at Copenhagen on a visit to her brother, King Frederick VIII of Denmark. The late Mr. Iswolsky, who was at the time minister to the Danish court and soon to be appointed Minister of Foreign Affairs, relates in the first chapter of his reminis- cences printed in the Revue des Deux Mondes of June 1, 1919, how he had succeeded with the aid of the king in of the nece sity for the ¢ mperor to lave open of the situation was educated classes, wavering between and more or less open sentimental educated classes, convincing the empress consent, while there was yet time, to make reasonable con- ceasions to the moderate liberal parties in order to secure their support in resisting the exaggerated demands of the radicals and the revolutionists. The empress consented to write a letter to her son advising him to grant a consti- tution to Russia spontaneously, and Iswolsky, undertook to deliver thi his best to plead for the acceptance by His Maje sty of his } ] ' etter personally to the emperor and to do mother’s wise advice, From what I was in a position to know of Count Witte’s way of thinking, having spent some weeks at Portsmouth in constant intimate intercourse with him, I felt fully convinced of his absolute sincerity in taking up a decided introduction of a tand in favor of the timeliness of the St. Petersburg During the 1905 Revolution constitutional form of government in Russia. Nor did I doubt that at the same time he considered it to be neces- sary, in admitting the educated classes to a share in de- termining the policies of the government, to provide some safeguards enabling it to resist political tendencies born of their as yet total inexperience in affairs of state, which might turn out to be detrimental to the true interests of the nation, These were questions which naturally occupied our minds hardly less than the most important work we had in hand, and we frequently discussed them from every point of view. I remember telling him of a conversation I once had in the early eighties of the last century with Prince Ito—then plain Mr. Ito—on a similar subject, when the question of the introduction of a constitutional régime was under discussion by the Japanese Government. That great statesman—with Count Cavour, the creator of modern Italy, one of the four great constructive statesmen of the nineteenth century whose life work has endured and not been wrecked in disaster and anarchy as that of Bis- marck and Porfirio Diaz—thought that it would not be safe to place at once into the quite inexperienced hands of elected representatives of the people the uncontrolled power of the purse, and he was in favor of some stipulation in the constitution empowering ministers, in case of parlia- ment refusing to vote supplies, to carry on the government on the basis of the budget law of the preceding year. Count Witte’s views on these momentous questions were those of a patriot and a statesman of wide and mature experience, who during a decade had practically wielded the most powerful influence in the government of his country, though officially exercising only the functions of Minister of Finance. The very fact of Witte’s having been called back to power by the sovereign, who in taking this step had to conquer for the good of the country his personal dislike and distrust of him, meant an open recognition of the superiority of his statesmanship and of his unique qualifi- cations for the part of steersman of the ship of state at a mentous decision taken by the sovereign. Witte’s idea was to have this done by the pub- lication, instead of an imperial manifesto, of a report ad- dressed by him to the emperor and indorsed by His Majesty’s approval, embodying the outlines of the plan to be followed by the government in preparing the necessary legislative enactments for the introduction of the new con- stitutional régime. The publication of this report he deemed sufficient to allay the impatience of the nation, and it would have allowed the government sufficient time to prepare without undue haste the draft of the new constitution and the enactments necessary in order to render it effective. But Witte’s idea, inspired solely by prudence and the teachings of experience in practical statecraft, was seized upon by some of the reactionary elements, surrounding the throne and hostile to him, in order to represent it in the light of a desire on his part to monopolize the glory of having procured for the nation a constitution, whereas, the sovereign having—whether for good or for evil—seen fit himself to limit his autocratic power, the whole credit of this act of renunciation should accrue solely to him and that, therefore, the imperial resolve must be announced to the nation in the form of a manifesto. The defect of this reasoning consisted in this—that if followed it would, though securing to the sovereign the apparently exclusive credit for the contemplated act of renunciation, at the same time leave with him the entire responsibility for an act of such paramount importance to the state and would render it impossible for him without a breach of faith with the nation to recede from a position which circumstances might subsequently prove to have been taken up prematurely and therefore to be untenable. Witte’s plan obviated the possibility of the sovereign’s being placed in a position where he might have had to choose between persistence in a line of policy which he might have come to consider impracticable and dangerous to the state and a breach of his plighted troth, inasmuch as it would always have remained open to him to alter the course of his policy by a dismissal of the minister respon- sible for its adoption. It was plain therefore that Witte

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a ee a Sed ee THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 23 hould have been held free from any reproach of disloyalty to the crown or of being unworthy of the confidence of the liberal parties. Unfortunately he did not escape the one the other. When I say unfortunately I mean it not for his sake but for the sake of the nation, which for the eight remaining years of his life was deprived of the invaluable services of her greatest statesman. The counsels of Witte’s adversaries prevailed, and it was decided that an imperial manifesto should be pub- lished simultaneously with Witte’s report, approved and indorsed by the emperor. Witte, I believe, much against his better judgment, had to yield the point and undertook to frame the manifesto which was published on the 17 of October, 1905, at the same time as his report to the emperor, in which after tracing the existing revolutionary agitation to the contrast between the system of govern- ment and the aspirations of the thinking public he expressed the opinion that ‘‘the chief problem of the gov- ernment consists in making effective—even before ap- proval by the State Duma—all elements of civil liberty by the elaboration of normal legislative measures establishing equality before the law of all Russian subjects without dis- tinction of race or religion,’’ as well as proper guaranties securing to all the people the benefits of civ il, political and “‘under such reserves as safeguard the laws in all civilized countries,’ and furthermore called attention to the impossibility of attaining all these objects immediately, as the elaboration of necessary legislative enactments regulating the new liberties for a nation of 135,000,000 souls would require some time. In view of its historical importance I will reproduce here the text of the manifesto as it had been transmitted by cable to the American press: any more than economic liberty We, Nicholas II, by the Grace of God, Emperor and Autocrat of All the Russias, and so on, declare to all Our faithful subjects that the troubles and agitation in Our capitals and in numerous other places fill Our heart with excessive pain and sorrow. The happiness of the Russian Sovereign is indissolubly bound up with the happiness of Our people and the sorrow of Our people is the sorrow of the Sovereign. From the present disorders may arise great national disruption. They menace the integrity and unity of Our Empire. The supreme duty imposed upon Us by Our Sovereign office requires us to efface Ourself and to use all the force and reason at Our command to hasten in securing the unity and coérdination of the central Government and to assure the success of measures for pacification in all circles of pub- ic life which are essential to the well-being of Our People. We therefore direct Our Government to carry out Our inflexible will: 1. To grant the people the immutable foundations of civil liberty, based on real inviolability of the person, freedom of conscience, speech, meetings and associations; 2. Without deferring the elections to the State Duma already ordered, to call to participation in the Duma—as far as it is possible in view of the short- s Pr FROM UNDERW & UNDERW NEW YORK Alexander F. Iswotsky, Former Russian Minister of Foreign Affairs, Exonerated Emperor Nicholas of Duplicity Toward France bears unmistakable traces of the haste which under the cir- cumstances was unavoidable in its composition. It estab- lishes, however, beyond cavil the following points: First, the transformation of the purely consultative State Duma into a legislative assembly elected on the basis of a widely extended right of suffrage and invested with the right of supervision of the legality of the acts of the constituted authorities; and second, the grant of the fundamental lib- erties—inviolability of the person, liberty of conscience, of speech, of meetings and of associations; in a word, it meant the grant of a constitution. It was in this sense that the public understood the manifesto, and it was accordingly received at first with general rejoicing everywhere. The Council of Workingmen’s Delegates in the capital took, however, a different view of the situation, as appears from a resolution passed by them on the very next day, the eighteenth of October, in which they declared that ‘‘the fighting revolutionary proletariat cannot lay down its arms until the time when the political right of the Russiar people will be established on solid foundation; until there will be established a democratic re public, the best mean for the further struggle of the proletariat for socialism.” I am quoting from Modern Russian History by Alex lated by Alexander S. Kaun, page 309. resolution cannot leave any ander Kornilov, trat he very wording of thi doubt as to its authorship in the mind of anyone a quainted with the mental outlook of the deluded victim utilize as cannon fodder cial order and the other hand the vagueness whom the revolutionary leaders in their criminal warfare against the s welfare of their country. On the of the terms of the manifesto granting the new liberties and the absence of any legisla e enactments regulating their use could not fail to cause the gravest misunderstanding Report the country of disorders, between the authorities and the populations irom all over began to riots, mutinies in the fleet and even in the army in Man- churia, which was still in the beginning of its demobilization Sut the deadliest blow to the new régime was dealt by the very parties whose dream of a national representatior lized. If Witte had succeeded in con- ity of a fundamental holding was about to be re f the nece vincing the emper constitutional reform it could only have been by out the hope that by satisfying the reasonable and mod- erate aspirations of the educated classes the government would secure their earnest support in the fight against the subversive demands of the revolutionary parties With his appointment as Prime Minister, Witte had been given a fr regards the composition of the cabinet over which he was He summoned to St. Petersburg the leaders of all the liberal parties with a view to elaborating in common a working program for the first constitutional government that was to place the new régime on a working basi Not one of these gentlemen was found willing to collaborate with the great statesman who had secured for the nation the grant of a constitution and to enter the cabinet he was endeavoring to form from their own midst. No plea of want of confidence could justifiably be put forward in palliation of this betrayal for such it was of Witte but also of their own cause by these party leaders, some of whom have had power was literally thrust their he Ipless incompetence ree hand a to preside not only occasion subsequer tly wher upon them to demonstrate when the fate of the country was It would perhaps not be quite fair to taunt them with their inability to free themselves from the influence of that spirit of bitter and spiteful partisanship so commonly prevalent among our politicia! nor 1s it to be wondered at that they failed to understand the the blow they were unwitting) Russia by their refusal to initial organization, consid- nor could have had under existing conditions of publie life—any ex hanging in the balance. erious meaning of dealing to the cause of constitutional government in collaborate with Witte in it ering that they never had had ness of the time be- fore assembling of the Duma— those classes of the population now completely de- prived of electoral rights, leaving the ul- timate development of the principal of electoral right in gen- eral to the newly es- tablished legislative order; 3. To establish as an immutable rule that no law can ever come into force with- out the approval of the State Duma and that the elected of the people were se- cured a possibility for real participation in supervising the legal- ity of the acts of au- thorities appointed by Us. We appeal to all faithful sons of Rus- sia to remember their duty towards the Fa- therland, to aid in terminating these unprecedented troubles and to apply all their forces in co- operation with Us to the restoration of calm and peace upon our native soil. Given at Peterhof, October the '%so0 in the eleventh year of Our Reign. NICHOLAS. The text of this quote. sade vane! , SuaaueGie, Ua tone mportant decument The Kaiser and the Czar During the Latter's Last Visit to Germany perience in practical politics, their politi cal ideas beir g mostly derived from learning and in but book very rare cases from actual observation of political life in more advanced countries But it is impossible not to share the feel itter disap ment | and indignation which Witte must have ex- perienced in finding that the hope he had held out to the em belied by the attitude of those very element on peror was Vnose patriot sup r port he had thought t p ble to rely His failure to se re their ippo! t Continued on Page 91

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SATURDAY EVENING POST By BEN AMES Pr ae£e@ & Fev e we Vv ae 2 March 6,1920 WILLIAMS BY £. F. wA R D e that were he wind wa ulwa au ( ner ibout t M iste in t, and h it r, and | ev ibroad wiftly, ild thing The crows haste it i that were verhead thew tum bling he idlong in the racki 4 t A flock the murh air curret ot geese passed once, high in 9 their honking drifting faintly earth. The few eemed to dart the late- down to ground birds from cover lo cover had gone early barn Nig L wu pasturing Cow to the ing early; an omine ‘ eemed about t world, The threats and down upon the held whispers of harn KE vered very ult Dar dowt and walked in silence the old birch wood road, tl ‘ clump, pa out growing darkness. A pelting spray of rainswept over them, the drops like ice. Above them the hill was black against the gray western sky. Behind them and below the swamp brooded, dark and still. Sur- rounded by gloom and wind and rain the two moved thus a dozen paces—Evered look- ing straight ahead, Danvers pressing the pistol against the other’s ribs. Then Danvers leaped past the other, into Evered’s path, his weapon leveled. “Stop!” he said, harshly. ‘You wife killer, stop, and listen tome!” Evered came on; and Dan- vers in a voice that was like a scream warned him: “I'll shoot!” Evered did not stop. There was a certain dignity about the man, a certain strength. Against it Danvers seemed to rebound helplessly. Their roles were reversed. Where Danvers had been dominant he was now weak; where Evered had been weak he was strong. The older man came on; he was within two paces. Danvers’ finger pressed the trigger —indecisively. Then Evered’s great fist whipped round like light and struck Danvers’ hand, and the pistol flew from his grip, end over end, and struck against a bowlder with a flash of sparks and the shelf dwarfed oal the open on the spring Halfway acro thi helf Danver iil ‘T've got ome ques to ask you, Evered Evered did not answer, Danvers had not stopped and ivered kept pace with him The ye that day man said, “This was the you came killed, Evered turned his head a way ) unger your wife w wasn't it?” though to speak, hesitated, topped and caught his eye. ‘You've nothing to hide in that Janvers ** Look here,” he said you?! business, have ‘No,” said Evered mildly. He wondered why he an- the other at all; yet there was something in the bearing which he did not wmething dominant and commanding, as though Danvers had a right to ask, and knew that he had this right. “‘ No,” aid Evered; to hide.”’ And Danver 1 hi you came . Evered nodded \ uched hi werea younger man’s care to meet, ‘nothing repeat question: “Was this the way they went on nearer the spring “‘T want you to show me where aw them—your wife, and Semler, Danvers ¢ arm wher bull.” Evered made no response; but a moment later he topped ‘Here,’ he iid. Danvers looked down toward the spring and all about them, And Evered repeated, Here, by thi rhe vere you first ind the rock mat down to vided and passed the him, Danvers sat down and younger spring, with Evered beside motioned Evered to What did you think, when you saw them?” he asked. Evered’s lored slowly; they turned from to red, from red to purple, “When you saw your wife and chee ri bronze Danvers Semler here What voice he ld Danver supgyeste ] prompted him: together would you have thought?” Evered asked, his teady nodded under ding. ‘You were angry?” he ide with a fierce gesture, unwelcome sight that as- i fl ng his head on one s to shut out Kivere as though ome saulted his eyes watching him acutely waited for a little before “Where was the bull, when you came upon them here?” Evered jerked hi Danvers he asked ind toward the right. “‘There,”” he said Danvers got up and went in that direction, and moved to and fro, asking directions, till Evered told him he was near the spot. Danvers came back then and sat down. “You've Been Hating Me, Ruthie,"" He Totd Her Gently. ’ “You thought she loved him?” he asked under hi breath. Evered shook his head, not in negation but as though to brush the question aside. Danvers filled his pipe and lighted it, and puffed at it in silence for a while. “Pitkin told you the bull was loose, didn't he asked at last. se “So you came down to get the beast?” “Yes, I came for that.” “Expect any trouble?” “You can always look for trouble with the red bull.” “*How did you plan to handle him?” “Brad, and nose ring.” Danvers eyed the other sharply. ‘‘Wouldn’t have had much time to get hold of his nose ring if he’d charged, would you?” “T had a gun,” said Evered, “A forty-five.” “Oh,” said Danvers. ‘ You had a gun?” Evered, restive, cried, ‘‘ Yes, damn it, I had a gun!” “You must have felt like shooting Semler,’’ Danvers suggested; and Evered looked at him sidewise, a little alarmed. He seemed to put himself on guard. Danvers got to his feet. “They were sitting by these rocks, weren't they?” “Yes,” The younger man bent above the other. “‘Evered,” he said, “why didn’t you turn the bull from its charge?” He saw Evered’s face go white, his eyes flickering to and fro. The man came to his feet. “There was no time!”’ he exclaimed. His voice was husky and unsteady; Danvers dominated him, seemed to tower above him. There was about Evered the air of a broken man. Danvers pointed to the knoll. “‘ You were within half a dozen strides of them, The bull was full thirty yards away.” Evered cried, ‘‘ Damn you!’ He turned abruptly, climbed the knoll. Danvers stood still till Evered was almost gone from his sight, then he shouted, “ Evered!” Evered went on; and Danvers with a low exclamation leaped after him. Evered must have heard his pounding steps, but he did not turn. Danvers came up with him; he tugged his pistol from its holster and jammed it against Evered’s side. “Turn round,” he said, “or I'll blow you in two.” Evered did not turn; he did not stop. Dusk had fallen upon them before this; their figures were black in the im he , “‘why Do You Cry for Me?" in the darkness. Danvers’ hand and wrist and arm were numbed by the blow; he hugged them against his body. Evered watched him, still as still. And Danvers screamed at him in a hoarse unsteady voice his black accusation. “You killed her!” he cried. ‘In that black temper of yours you let the bull have her. You're a devil on earth, Evered! You're a devil among men!” Evered lifted his hand, silencing the man. Danvers wished to speak and dared not. There was something terrible in the other’s demeanor, something terrible in his calm strength and purpose. He said at last in set tones: “It was my right. She was guilty as hell!” Danvers found courage to laugh. ‘You lie,’”’ he said. * And that’s what I’m here to tell you, man. I ought to take you and give you to other men, to hang by the thick neck that holds up your evil head. But this is better, Evered. This is better, I tell you your wife, whom you killed, was as clean as snow.” When he had spoken he was afraid, for the light in Evered’s eyes was the father of fear. He began to fumble at his coat in a desperate haste, not daring to take hi: eyes from Evered’s. He fumbled there, and found the letter he had read beside his fire so carefully; found it and drew it, crumpled, forth. He held it toward Evered. “Read,” he cried. “Read that, and see.” Evered took the letter quietly; and before Danvers’ eyes the fury died in the other man. Over his face there crept a mask of sorrow irrevocable and profound. He said no word, but took the letter and opened it. The light was dim; he could not read till Danvers flashed his electric torch upon the page. A strange picture, in that moment, these two—Evered, the old and breaking man; Danvers young and vigorous; Evered dominant, Danvers tremu- lously exultant; Evered, his great head bent, his unaccus- tomed eyes scanning the written lines; Danvers holding the light beside him. Evered was slow in reading the letter, for in the first place it was written in his wife’s hand, and he had loved her; so that his eyes were dimmed. He was not conscious of the words he read, though they were not important. It was the message of the lines that came home to him; the unmistakable truth that lay behind them. The letter of an unhappy woman to a man whom she had found friendly and kind. She told Semler that she loved Evered; told him this so simply there could be no questioning Would always love Evered. Bade Semler forget her, b gone, never return. Nothing but friendliness for him. Bade him not make her unhappy. And at the end, again, she wrote that she loved Evered.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST The man who had killed her did not so much read this letter as absorb it, let it sink home into his heart and carry its own conviction there. It was not curiosity that moved him, not doubt that made him ask Danvers quietly: “How got you this?” “From Semler,” Danvers told him. “I found him—fol- lowed him half the told him what I guessed. That was the only letter he ever had from her. Written the day you killed her. Damn you, do you see!” ““How came they together?” “*He knew she he found her there, argued with her. She told him she loved you; there was no moving her, She loved you, who killed her. You devil of a man!’’ Evered folded the letter carefully and put it into his coat. “*Why do you tell me?” he asked. “Because I know you cared for her!” Danvers cried. “Because I know this will hurt you worse than death itself.”’ Evered ‘That was “That is my much trouble for this? Danvers?” The younger man had waited for this moment, waited for it through the years of his manhood. He had planned toward it for months past, shaping it to his fancy. He had looked forward to it as a moment of triumph; he had seen himself towering in just condemnation above one who trembled before him. He had been drunk with this an- ticipation. Sut the reality across country liked to come there: very still shook his head slowly. my meaning,” he explained patiently. Why did you tell me? Why so How did the matter touch you, standing not concern. was not like his dreams. He knew that Evered was broken; that his soul must be shattered. Yet he could not exult uch a strength of honest sorrow in the old man before him, there was so much dig- nity and power that Danvers in spite of himself was shamed and shaken. He felt something that was like regret. He felt himself mean like a malicious, mud- slinging, inconsiderable fragment of aman. His voice was low, it was almost apologetic when he answered the other’s question. “How did the matter touch you, Danvers?” Evered asked; and the rain swept over them in a more tempestu- ous fusillade Danvers said in a husky choking voice: “I’m Dave Riggs’ son. You killed my father.” There wa and small; Evered, silent a moment, slowly nodded as though not greatly surprised. “‘ Dave Riggs’ boy,” he echoed. ‘‘ Aye I might have known.” And he added “T lost you, years agone. I tried to make matters easier for you, for Dave’s sake. I was sorry for that matter, Danvers.” Danvers tried to flog his anger to white heat again. “‘ You killed my father,”’ he exclaimed. ‘“* When I was still a boy I swore that I’d pay you for that. And when I grew up I planned and planned. And when I heard about your wife I came up here, to watch you—find out. I felt there was something. I told you I'd seen Semler, trapped you. You told me more than you meant to tell. And then I got trace of him, followed him I did it to blast you, Evered; pay you for what you did to me. That’s why He ended lamely; his anger was dead; his like a plea. Evered said gently and without anger, “It was your right.””, And a moment later he turned slowly and went away, up the hill and toward his home. Danvers, left behind, labored again to wake the exulta- tion he had counted on; but he could not. He had hun gered for this revenge of his, but there is no substance in raw and naked vengeance. You cannot set your teeth in it. Danvers found that it left him empty, that he was sick of himself and of his own deeds. “It was coming to him,” he cried half aloud. But he could not put away from his thoughts the mem- ory of Evered’s proud and unbroken sorrow; he was abashed before the man. He stumbled back to his rain-swept camp like one who has done a crime. voice was xvVvil HEN Evered got back to the farm dark had fully fallen; and the cold rain was splattering against the buildings, driven by fierce little gusts of wind from the northwest as the direction of the storm shifted. The man walked steadily enough, his head held high. What tor- ment was hidden behind his proud bearing no man could guess. He went to the kitchen, and Ruth told him that John must be near done with the milking. Evered nodded, as though he were tired. Ruth saw that he was wet, and when he took off his coat and hat she brought him a cup of steaming tea and made him drink it. He said, ‘* Thanks, Ruthie!” And he took the cup from her hands and sipped it slowly, the hot liquid bringing back his strength. His trousers were soaked through at the knees, She bade him go in and change them; and he went to his room. When John came from the barn Evered had not yet come into the kit t and Ruth out went to | dk nd He came out nd b hen agal ipp wus ready tilled to hin oth Ruth and John saw the strange He did not pe sand the v did not } yut him held them to hi iain and hear him for a little while, ound of his footstey room and the kite light in the speak to hin which ilent. He ate a little, then went shut the door. They could walking to and fro. Then the Only between hi and unconsciously the o that they might not disturb him nto dry clothes, then helped Ruth with the dishes, brought fresh from the pump to fill the t k at nd of the stove, 1 the 1 the then room s ceased one door lay hen: two hu hed t VOICe® water brought wood for the mornins eparator, and of that but there was were smoking while They finally sult part instrument, poke now ome constraint between them Both of thinking of Evered. Ruth, her work finished, came and stove with a basket of to be them it down by the sock darned, and her needle began to move carefully to and fro in the gaping holes she tretched across her darning eyy John asked her in a low vi in my father this night?” She looked at him, ‘Did you mark trouble “Yes. There yet very concern ! eye wa omething He seemed |} omenow; ad too.” He said, “ His ey “T saw,” she agreed John what it is,”” he were shit moked for a little wl I'm wondering nurmured, “‘Something has happened te him.” Ruth, head bent above her work, remembered Danvers’ But she iid till John “Do you know what it was?” coming, his summon asked: “He was talking with Fred,” she said; and slowly, cheeks rosy, amended herself With Mr. Danvers.” John nodded, “I knew the “Mr. Danvers came for him,”’ said Ruth father away.” They said no more of the matt for there wa more to say; but they thought j then they spoke of other thing wind was whist rain; and after a while nothing were away together.” He took y yur nothing and house the with of the raindrop ; Ni Ww lashing weatherboards the shary ound Continued on Page 112 ing and Danvers Leaped Into Evered's Path. “Stop! You Wife Killer, Stop, and Listen to Met"’

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST SIBIL By George Kibbe Turner D 7 y ared at Spinner with : wiare of } its ay ‘ casm don’tyou? No. Ithink I'm i labor faker— tal ing ix-jointed words I don't } the meantit gof,”’ re ponded Spinner I get up and roll over before my re flection in the gla every morning be fore breakfast Trhat’s keeps my Aw, me foot former pronouncer of measured language; and he launched “The Time Has Come When They'it BRither Pish or Cut Bait" what comple xion so good and my hands so soft!" you lying, thieving mutt!” exclaimed the into a few unrestrained characterizations of the radicals “I’ve been in the labor game twenty years,” he claimed; “and I've yet to see the red that would keep his word to a dying mother.” *‘Maybe,” suggested Spinner, goading him on, "t see the best side of them the “you being what you are! How dor can anybody show best there is in them to a labor skate?” “Didn't you tell me you'd play our game if I gave you the right to come down here and organize?" the other man inquired ‘I said I'd organize the Brown field for you,” said Spin ner, smiling. “I have, haven't I? *Yes,”’ said the official, “and split omer ia And he turned off general and Spinner in particular. the district wide reflections on radicals in The man, Spinner into new aw, was almost hysterical with rage—rage and some thing more, I'm down here,” he said, now turning to threats, “to To tell you this thing has got to stop. I'm too wise a bird. I've got I may have something up In his excitement the Spinner, with an amusing return to his oratorical manner ‘You'll stop here!" he reasserted, “And you'll stop quick or there'll be trouble!” “What trouble?" inquired Spinner, raising his pale blue eyes from where he sat, still unexcited, to the red face give you warning You can't double-cross me something to say about that. my sleeve myself,” he said ery ptically. his forefinger warningly at he shook unresponsive close above his sallow one, “Never mind what trouble!” cried the other darkly, threatening some vague, unmentionable danger. ‘Don't! eried Spinner with a sudden affectation of alarm. “Don’t! You make me nervous!” The official stood and gazed Don't get window,” Spinner explained im. “Please! If some of the boys knew you were in town it would give me a lot of trouble keeping them from beating you todeath! I wanttodoalll can, I don’t want them to say I got you down here and didn’t do my best to xo near that keep you from being beaten up by the miners.” The n at this taunt over their relative strengtl members, He turned into a fresh of rage, drawing back, however, away from the window as he did so. Spinner waited, his dry smile upon his lean face, till had talked back to silence ‘Now are you a | through ’” he asked him. “ Because not to tell you; to remind know it now,” an was scarlet with the unior explosion the other mar ' I've got something if you are you of! For you O era & Fs & BY cL His man, he was eared and anxiou What’s the use of this —all this good hot air wasted?” nquired Spinner We've the here-—all the cals. Why get hoarse hollering about it? It’s done.” Your vote at the district election didn’t show you said the other with ineffectual loudness. The other fellows seemed to could see, was not merely angry; he got votes getting them!” Not so you'd notice it. do that.” ‘Yes,”’ said Spinner. ‘‘How did they get them—that old gang with their old manipulations of the bunch in the center of the old-time locals? Votes in the halls where the miners don’t get to—ballots counted in the aloons—snap notices of election dates! That's old stuff. It used to go, but it don’t any longer! If you want a real test of just how they feel about you and the old district gang,” he suggested, ‘‘don’t let’s talk about it. Let’s make a test of it. Let’s get you and your old district crowd and make up a little party and go round to the local unions right down through in their own halls. I'll promise you this,”’ he said with his faint smile——-‘‘I’ll get you a good big audience; “ The man sat down and wiped his forehead. “I could do it simpler than that,” continued Spinner. I could promise you a crowd right now by going to the working and some real excitement window and hollering out to the boys that you were here. It was an amusing and gratifying thing to see—from Spinner’s standpoint. This man was panic-stricken, afraid of him—of this radical, this subordinate whom he could technically have discharged immediately, but who now sat there insulting and defying him. It was all too obvious. His bluster was most amusing. For he knew and showed he knew the power that was now in Spinner’s hands. “What's the use?” asked Spinner in his continued ‘You know this, and [knowit. They think you've thrown them! All of you officers—district and International! They have all through the war and more than ever since. They do now all over the United States! And it’s time you got qos silence, down to business He stopped in a lean, oratori- cal effect of his own. The other sat now with his arms folded with some in- stinetive rem nants of his old grand manner. “What is it you want?” he asked, looking up finally. ‘““We want the district of- ficers we should have elected!” “You don’t want much!” the other man stated. ““No,” said Spin- “only what's coming to us.” ‘Now, how could we give that to you now,” the official procrastinated, ‘‘if we wanted to? If it was right we should **Don’t worry about that,” Spinner. “I don’t There’s plenty of ways it could be fixed.”’ ‘I can’t tell in advance what the executive board will do—you know that,” the other persisted a little plain- tively. ‘I know all that,” said Spinner with entire indiffer- ner; said ence, “But I think myself,” his superior officer admitted, A RK F More and More Often the Gunman Was Going With Her as an Escort March 6,1920 moving a little in his chair, shift- ing his ground mentally, “you can put up quite a case on some points.” Spinner smiled maliciously. “Suppose they decided against you,” asked his superior, still sheering off from making any offer, ‘“‘what would happen?” “You'd havea district headquarters—and no members if they tried any of those little tricks again. If you had even that!” responded Spinner. “I’ve had my hands full already,” he added, “keeping them from going on a march down there and smashing up the place as it is.” The official waited. “Suppose this happened,”’ he suggested finally. ‘“Sup- pose this other crowd, this old district board, got out resigned —of their own accord; and gave you a chance at a special election; and your men got in!” “Yes?” said Spinner when he stopped. There it was at last—the man’s offer of compromise and surrender! ““What could you do?” he was going on asking. “‘ What could you promise?” In spite of himself—his long practice in political trad- ing —there was a clear anxiety in his manner. Spinner watched his face with something more than amusement now —with a deep, serious satisfaction. That big flaccid face with the suggestion of sweat upon the forehead was a sign of the times. Spinner took, of course, the usual noncommittal attitude of the skilled man who has the upper hand in any bargain. He put all the initiative up to the other. “How?” he asked laconically, his pale eyes upon the other’s face, only his thin lips moving. “‘Could you promise to keep your hands off now? Hold off unauthorized strikes? Keep this district in line? Give us a chance to work out our new policies?” “Why should we?” inquired Spinner coldly. “You know nat- urally what they decided to ask for at the policy meet- 909 ing? A Yr a“ Yes,” Spinner answered. It was spring now — April — af- ter the time of the March meeting of the United Mine Workers’ special committee, called in to outline future policiesin response to the growing radical clamor. It wasamovement as everyone in the union knew which had risen di- rectly from the in- dividual miner’s unrest and discon- tent, urged on by the radical agita- tor—often an I. W. W. emis- sary or some other red, with no real connection with the miners’ union whatever. The great universal »ground swell of radicalism, rising up beneath them, was quickly sensed and ridden by the adroit and resourceful labor politicians. The local men caught it first, of course, and then the politicians in the dis- trict. And the various factions among these who were opposed to the present International administra- tion were quickly seizing the advantage to be gained by using a new popular movement and were soon busily en- gaged in framing demands so radical that they believed the International

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eee = a ad — — a Sete ae ——e-— eee, THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 27 officers could not dare to presentthem. It was in the begin- ning the familiar political process—fully as familiar in the labor union as in the polities of the city or state—of put- ting the opposition in a hole; between its constituency and ts situation. And this move now, Spinner thought he aw, was to have far-reaching consequences, which these people, tl se labor politicians —or fakers, as Spinner’s radi- cals called them—only dimly realized, if they saw it at all; but which would have meant to them comparatively little if they had seen it, Spinner thought. For they had other mat ds The labor-union politician has the same main purpose tice And he is cer tainly no les irceful and adroit than his fellow in the more general political field. He has, in fact, opportunities ind instruments, with the specialized constituency and rs OT their Y any politician—to get and retain of res the loose ly guarded p liti- cal machinery in the labor And at this time this country must realize, and will, I believe, the sacrifices made for it by the coal miner during the war—and long before!” A dissertation followed upon the relative wages in the coal mines and other industries—under the Government’s war agreements. The sincerity and convincingness of the statesman-priest’s manner--now that he was apparently 1ining ground with Spinner —were back upon him Spinner let him talk; made his agreement with him, a he proposed. Why not? What more could a possibilist ask than he was allowed; the voluntary resignation of the present district officials; a new special election—almost certainly of radical officers. And in return his fellow bargainer—most ridiculous to relate —asked merely that he and his kind be let alone to carry through a program so radical that it could searcely avoid in the end encountering union, which give him an ir irmory of tricks which | night w } f | the envy ol This tuation was no he radical programs were advanced hy the politicians outside the main governing power, who had nothing to lose ind everything to gain by presenting them. This was, ye rfectly sound But the existing ration of the In- il no less adroit than they, and playing ex- tly tne ime game—now made the countermove, which astonished ever their opponer They ac- cepted the radicals pro gram and went mucl farther yutradicaled the rad That they would go in this general direction spi er had never doubted; but | the le rt to which the had gone gave m a sud- den shock of grim satisfac tior almost of exultation. Here wa 1 great flaring rn of the times, et up for 1 me to read These men understood the situa- t n their field—none They were panic stricken. tudying the other man as he went explaining, making his nterpretatior of the gen- eral policie S proposed by the International officers So Spinner sat ind their policy committee March: The six-hour day and he five-day week, with the eat raise of pay in addi- tion: the nationalizatior if the coal mines li those le is so similar to and ' framed upon the npossible demands of the English unions, which were lreadyv bringing England to the verge of economk inarcen\ Spinner thought as t in wa tal ing Oi the listance that radicalism the country, he himself He could have the more mental enthusiasms of Spinner. It seemed ircely be expected —his physical type —to to Spinner fortunate beyond his most incredible dream: “The labor skates all see it coming,”’ he said to Hecker ‘as plain as you and I do. The whole country is full of them —running like rats before a forest fire!” He shut up then —realizing he was talking too muct ly would not see the thing that threat This man naturi ened as he did. XVII HE threat continued, called more loudly to the att tion of the country as the summer came and went along 7 hasic industries of the United Stats were een b many besides Spinner to be more and more sharply i jeopardy from the wave of labor radicalism. Even the crazy speculators in Wall Street saw it finall Spinner’s district of the miners’ union went radical in its new election—as he and the old officials as well had known it would it advance In the large! field of labor national politics and intrigue the coal miners went forward withouta top on the main } road toward a general en- gagement with the country at large with searcely a } dissenting voice of conser- vatism from within. The railroad brotherhoods sud denly made their revolu tionary demands for railroad communism. | There was no one appar ently in the labor organiza | tions of either of these two | fundamental industrie | who dared to stand up against that unnerving hout of suspicion of the radica in the union meet ing: “‘Who’s got you hooked?” threatening went forward with some few carefull concealed cross current rhe radi cals’ Organizing campaigi in Gary and other centers of solid fore ign popu had been most suc about Pittsburgh languished atti because of the large wage paid, the teady employ ment, the trong ant union organizatior of the teel con panies; partly because the mo a the loeal radicals had not yet been brought into full cooperatior The annual convention of the American Federa- tior f Labor came and went; there was no radi he past two ned inered back, that he should find himself at thi + } } P ing to what in essence was a plea ior perators stand for this?” he inquired, playing They'll have to,” said the high official, impressiveness of manner now somewhat academic subject matter of discussion; and ensing, too, a hint of compromise in Spinner’s attitude as he talked on. “If they do not,” he stated heavily, “‘it will their lookout! And this country will realize it. The me is now come in the world’s history,” he asserted, still expanding under a more and more lively hope of success, ‘when the laborer is seen to be worthy of his hire, when given the full economic value of his product! Sonia Still Made a Speciaity of the Foreigners’ Families general wreck —in a general strike, for which this man and his kind would be generally held responsible —in perhaps the most basic industry of the country. Could anything be more amusing—ridiculous? All over the United States, Spinner could see them —these old-time labor leaders of the old craft organizations of the Federa tion of Li bility, to tie up the basic industries of the country. H« could not help but think of Frenac’s prophecies continual! as the man was talking. ““Do you know what it is den burst of communicativeness when the man was gone “It’s anarchy!” “It is, huh?” returned the gunman careless] “Well the more the higher!” yor—turning, apparently on their own responsi > he satd to Hecker in a sud- | cal raid of any kind Each de waited and felt out | the other’s strength, kept | asl v iriace onevent il | i Killed € i m oft any issu¢ | Fhe radicale, Spinni eould ot A rt ‘ el ther ery like by the inevi table drift of circum tance r ing into the i t FI ‘ lagenera engagement wit}! the mu if f t? suv Lhe a ee act | if Lhe ve eral tr ‘ in at least three basic industri Phe rious mo t} great labor political game all showed that the highe political strategists all expected Spinner, watching this keenly in com: y th his kir all over the United State remained where he w and vorked, on to accelerate the processe { Tad n t! the district of the coal miners’ organization, which he cor trolled so largely through his newly elected district board of radical From time to time, in private conferences, In repor from the union officials, through Sonia fro (Chicago, ne had been in touch with the sentiments and reactior young Brown, the head of the newly unionized coal mine Continued on Page 82

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28 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 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 Five Cents the Copy of All Newsdeaslers. By Subscription: —East of the Mississipp! Kiver, $1. 0¢ the Year; West of the Mississippi Kiver (including all of Minnesota and Louisiana), $1.56 the Year To Caneda—By Subscription, $1.66 the Year. Single Copies, Ten Cents Foreign Subscriptions: For Countries in the Postal Union. Subscriptions $4.06 the Year. Remittances to be by Draft on «a bank in the United States A request for change of address must reach us at least 4 days before the date of the issue with which it is to tke effect. Duplicate copies cannot be sent to replace those undelivered through failure to send this advance notice. He sure to give your old address as well as the new one PHILADELPHIA, MARCH 6G, 1920 Wiping the Slate OHN MAYNARD KEYNES, a fellow of King’s Col lege, Cambridge, the leading British authority on gold, during the war a special assistant to the Chancellor of the Exchequer and expert financial adviser to His Majesty's government during the peace conference in Paris, has written a remarkable book entitled The Eco nomie Consequences of the Peace. He had good oppor tunity for observation in Paris He was the trusted adviser of the Treasury, sat as the deputy of the chancellor on the Supreme Economic Council, and when Lord Robert Cecil went on the Supreme Economic Council, Keynes worked in close coéperation with him. The book allows one to infer that he labored to educate Mr. Lloyd George, but with little success. In the preface Keynes states that he resigned from these positions when it became evident that hope could no longer be entertained of substantial modification in the draft terms of peace In passing it is interesting to note Mr. Keynes’ opinion of Mr. Hoover, given in a footnote to his chapter on Remedies: Mr. Hoover was the only man who emerged from the ordeal of Paris with an enhanced reputation. This complex personality, with his habitual air of weary Titan—or, as others might put it, of exhausted prize-fighter—his eyes teadily fixed on the true and essential facts of the Euro- pean situation, imported into the Councils of Paris, when he took part in them, precisely that atmosphere of reality, knowledge, magnanimity, and disinterestedness which, if they had been found in other quarters also, would have given us the Good Peace Nowhere is there any attempt to obtain prominence by pretending to reveal things confidentially learned; the book is the author's interpretation of facts and event available to the world. American readers will turn first to the chapter entitled The Conference in order to scar the pictures of Clémenceau, Lloyd George and President Wilson in diction that suggests the influence of Whistler is well as of Thackeray. But the most important portions of the book are devoted to economic discussion. Convinced that the Treaty of Peace will not work and cannot stand, he presents a substitute program for the salvation of Europe Keynes would revise the treaty in the light of hope for the future instead of bitterness for the past. He protests hat the treaty contains clauses out of harmony with the wirit and the letter of the Armistice agreement These lauses he would cancel or alter appropriately. He sug- gests that reparation be accepted as complete in the figure of $10,000,000,000, of which one-fourth shall be regarded is already paid—in ships, cables, territories, and so on. This would leave $7,500,000,000 to be paid, in thirty installments, beginning 1923, without interest. Keynes’ estimates do not differ widely from those of the Germans. Erzberger has stated that the indemnity could not be over eighty billion and might not be much over forty billion narks. Keynes suggests that the coal clauses of the treaty he abrogated except for the obligation to repay France for the destruction of her mines, Other suggested revisions do not concern us here. The recommendations of financial propositions are the heart of his program, that presupposes a league of nations. He advocates: Reform of the currencies, founded on ndireect repudiation of internal national debts, by levy of capital taxes; cancellation of inter-Ally indebtedness- the United States, United Kingdom, France, Italy and Belgium and Russia to cancel all obligations dating within the period of the war; an international loan— $2,000,000,000 suggested —to get Europe started on the road of industry and production, to be secured from neutrals and the United Kingdom in small part, from the United States in largest part. Two points deserve especial attention: The first is that the trouble with Europe is not so much the peace as the war. This book, from its contents, would have been better named The Economic Consequences of the War; because it is clear that, bad as the treaty is in the view of Keynes, that is a minor trouble, and correction will do little ulti- mate good. He does not rest his case with advocacy of revision of the treaty. This would accomplish little for the breakdown of Europe, and he proposes, therefore, far- reaching and extraordinary measures of reconstruction. One concludes from the contents of the book that an anti-German uneconomic peace would mean that the Central Powers would collapse first, dragging down the rest of Europe; that a pro-German uneconomic peace would mean the collapse of France and Italy first, dragging down the rest of Europe; and a neutral-minded economic peace would mean that all of Europe would collapse together. In his view the nature of the peace wil] merely determine who goes down first; in the end all will go down, so far as any treaty of peace is concerned. If this view be correct, then the clauses of the Treaty of Peace lose most of their importance for living Europeans. The second point concerns the cancellation of inter-Ally indebtedness. We infer that similar cancellation is as- sumed for the ex-enemy states. The United States would cancel a credit of ten billion and cancel no debit. The United Kingdom would cancel a credit of $8,700,000,000 and a debit of $4,210,000,000, losing in the transaction $4,490,000,000. France would cancel a credit of $1,775,- 000,000 and a debit of $5,290,000,000, a gain of about $3,500,000,000. Italy would cancel a debit of $4,000,000,- 000; and Russia and the other Allies debits of about $6,000,000,000. In addition, according to the reparation proposition of Keynes, France, Belgium and Italy would have all the German indemnity of $7,500,000,000. Keynes urges that this is an ‘act of generosity for which Europe ean fairly ask,” because ‘the financial sacrifices of the United States have been, in proportion to her wealth, immensely less than those of the European states.” We wish to call attention to the relative positions of the United Kingdom and the United States. Keynes argues, tactfully it must be conceded, that the war expenditures of the United Kingdom compared to those of the United States, on the basis of capacity, were as eight to one! Why not the British Empire instead of the United Kingdom? The war will be largely paid for by developments of new sources of wealth, just as we paid the cost of the Civil War and of the panic of '73 by the development of the West. The British Empire possesses in Canada, in Australia and in Africa the largest partially developed areas of the earth. The British Empire contains for the future more undeveloped resources than does the United States. In these lie her future, politically and economically. Are these not to share in the burden of Europe? Can the United Kingdom disassociate herself from the empire March 6,1920 when it comes to obligations and associate when it comes to increments? The outcome of the war has removed German competition to British world trade. The outcome of the war has guaranteed to the British Empire the greatest security in history. Are these worth nothing in the computation? The entry of the United States into the war has done for France, Belgium and Italy nothing economically; it has advanced the British Empire enormously. American public opinion, if we judge it correctly, will not entertain any suggestion of cancellation of our loans to the United Kingdom. The Habit of Work UROPE was the battlefield of the world, ground four BE years to powder. Now travelers coming back all assure us that the greatest and most ominous of losses there has been the loss of the habit ot work. The waste of war, as a great American surgeon points out about Belgium and Western Europe, is not measured alone by property losses—or even by the physical losses from disease and wounds and death. Back of these, and greater still, lie the shock and disorder given to the nervous systems of whole populations, a great share of whom never saw a gun. Now nervous shock, scientists tell us, tends naturally to operate against the higher, more complex and more re- cently acquired characteristics of the human nervou system. Habits of action in civilized society are certainly among these, as anyone who has had the business of training a human cub knows without information from a scientist. And it certainly needs no scientist to point out to any of us personally that of all habits the hardest and latest and most difficult to seat in the nervous system is the habit of consecutive and efficient work. Indeed some of us—looking back no further than the last day—may well wonder if we personally ever have acquired it as we should have. At the same time we know— however crude and ineffec- tive the work habit may be in all of us—that the one great distinction between the savage and the modern civilized man is the latter’s capacity, such as it is, for organized work and production. We also know that, following the horrible nervous strain of war, whole populations in Europe have slid back to the yawning edge of barbarism quite largely through the loss of this habit; and that we ourselves in this country are under a great stress from this especial nervous reaction from the conditions of war. This is a world condition Is it then, all things considered, a particularly valuable time to preach the millennium of fewer hours and less individual toil just now when the whole world is on the verge of a nervous breakdown in that direction? Or may it be—possibly—that the outcries of the radical reasoners proclaiming this millennium so loudly now are just one more symptom of a general postwar nervous hysteria? Investors and Speculators N THIS seeming topsy-turvy world those who break I most of the rules sometimes appear to be winners and those who stick to the copy-book maxims can hardly be distinguished from losers, This is not the first time that fixed incomes have suf- fered and actual commodities along with the common-stock equities which represent them have mounted to high planes of value. The Civil War had its somewhat similar aftermath of speculation. People on fixed incomes, whether these be teachers’ salaries or interest on bonds and mortgages, have no way of protecting themselves against the rising cost of living which always goes with inflation of credit and currency and an actual shortage of goods. They are caught, forced to pay the cost of the war and of its destruction. Those who own the goods which are in such demand are affected in a directly opposite manner. The prices at which they sell and their consequent dividends seem to have no limits. For “‘it takes a long time to deflate the world’s inflated currencies and inflate its deflated supply ~——

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<x a os ” of goods.” Such fortunate persons are made profiteers despite themselves. For the time being the conservative investor sees himself in the economic reflecting glass as a poor speculator, and the speculator of a few years ago finds himself at least temporarily enriched. But somehow prices never stay up permanently. Easy money does not last. Profiteers drop out of sight, diamonds become less popular, bread lines take the place of the mobs which but a little while before besieged the luxury stores, and those who are fortunate enough to have first- mortgage bonds are less vexed than they were. The saying that those who laugh last laugh best has an application here. If commodity prices should turn about and fall, if the credit system of the country proves unequal if there of contraction and depression rather than the to the emergency, should be even the first pre- monitior present gorgeous banquet of expansion and inflation—then the bondholder could once more lord it over the common shareholder. Many owners of good bonds are bearing a grievous loss to-day, but they are carrying a sure-enough insurance policy against lower prices, deflated inventories and burst bubble 1 general, If commodity at their present level permanently, or, worse, if prices are never again to fall, if they are to reman they are to keep on rising—then the outlook for bonds is black indeed. It might be relieved somewhat by a change or reduction in the income tax, which now discriminates against bonds in favor of stocks. But who believes that commodity prices will remain at their present level with Any degree of permanency? There is one principle which the saver of money needs to ponder, not new by any means, but newly reénforced. { sure-thing investment has always been and always will be most difficult to discover. Human intelligence is un- equal to the task. The old merchant sent his argosies to many ports. Some did not return at all and others came back laden with even richer cargoes than he had dared hope for. The moral is clear enough. The Bankers’ Good Example OT the least admirable work performed by the N American Bankers’ Association has been the estab- lishment of a well-conceived and well-equipped organiza- tion for the special training of young men in the lower levels of the banking business. The American Institute of Banking, as this subsidiary of the parent association is called, offers two thorough correspondence courses that are open to employees of banking houses all over the country on the payment of a modest tuition fee. The first covers the elements of banking and the second teaches the under- lying principles of commercial law. In the larger cities students are organized into chapter and are divided into classes for personal teaching. Il structors not only lecture to them and hear them recite but take the greatest pains to guide them in their studie and to lay out special courses to meet individual needs. From time to time the chapters are addressed by banker of national reputation, and students have an opportunity to come into some personal contact with the great banker No effort is spared to mold these runners and junior clerks into com whose names they see in the papers every day. petent wide-awake young bankers, thoroughly grounded in the essentials of their business. The Institute has proved so useful and has become such a powerful factor in instilling the elements of banking into thousands of young men all over the continent that it is indorsed by bankers everywhere; and there are many bank- ing houses that will not engage an inexperienced clerk unless he will promise to avail himself of the educational ¥ a a is \ *

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 29 advantages of the local chapter. Law, medicine and the higher ranks of engineering are fed by well-established and highly specialized institutions; but the semiprofessional occupations draw for the most part on high schools, grammar schools and business colleges that cannot pre- tend to offer much special vocational training. One a boy has gone into such a business he is left pretty much to himself; and if he makes any rapid or material progress he owes it, in the main, to his own unusual initia- tive and ambition. If he works in a large city many op portunities may be open to him; but if his lot is cast in a country town his chances of advancement are corre spondingly fewer. Men highly placed in many of our industries of nation wide activity might very well ask themselves if it would not pay to follow the bankers’ example and establish a national training school, similar to theirs, for the technical education and development of the younger men in their own calling. Workers who have an assured future, who have their eyes fixed upon an alluring and an attainable goal, are not the sort who can be led away by the patter of the idle, the discontented and the di loy al A hundred industries are crying out for trained men. Within a very few years from now they should be able to find all they will require if they will lose no time in taking the matter systematically in hand and in beginning to groom the office boys, clerks and draftsmen of to-day to become the young managers of to-morrow. The Demagogue’s and the Partisan Newspaper's Conception of the American People

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SATURDAY EVENING POST March 6,1920 “Yeu See, Nelly, I've No Special Knowledge, Except General Office Work and Correspondénce Of Course I Know Some Law ILLIAM thi "_ Philosophers are BROWN maxim wa man is @s feels.” aid to retain the vigor of youth beyond the common age, but William Brown had no time to study He was obliged like other ordinary people to do as well as he could with a prov- Yet he managed very well, so well that in his heart himself the equal of any philosopher. Not Like many another who favorite young as he philosophy. erb, he believed that he published his wisdom. draws daily encouragement from some trite old saying he was ashamed to acknowledge the sources of his virtue. He was even inclined to be contemptuous with his old friend Elton, who met all the many misfortunes of his unlucky career with no better support than the phrase, “It will all be the same in a hundred years.”’ This in fact was all Elton had for religion, as well as wisdom; and it served him to all appearances as well as either, But in spite of Elton’s courage and patience Brown could not respect him because Elton was often heard to repeat his credo, and it is difficult to respect a man who makes such jejune re marks as that all will be the same in a hundred years Brown had never been heard in all his life to say that a man is as young as he feels. Besides, as Brown had once attempted to prove to Elton, his cherished consolation was venseless—-absurd. Nothing will be the same in a hundred What will happen in a hundred years depends on or where is history—where is prog years, what happens now what is religion? But Elton was not shaken cannibal. He laughed, went away laughing, and faced his bankruptcy—he went bankrupt that very week— with the courage of his faith. It Brown much to think of such a fellow, without logic, without philosophy, without beating off despair with such a miserable old saw As for Elton, he Brown's sudden attach ress any more than a bishop by a annoyed very religion, successfully wondered for a moment at upon his beliefs, but William or ly for a ILLUSTRATED By THOMAS JOYCE DEXTER Br WILSON c. moment. He gave very little consideration to any vagaries—the vagaries of the stock market were quite enough to exhaust his slender powers of wonder and if he had he would scarcely have guessed at Brown's reasons. For the truth was that William Brown was think- ing of his grandchildren. William knew very well that it was a sentimental and unmanly thing to do to think of one’s grandchildren, but as it was only a matter of thinking and no one could catch him at that, he did not mind in the least. He was quite shameless in the privacy of his own mind or his dressing room or in bed or wherever he was safe from observation. These grandchildren were extraordinarily good and charming little boys and girls, varying in number accord- ing to William's taste and spirits—that is to say, according to the day and the weather—who often kept William com- pany when he was shaving and watched him with grave interest while he arranged his hair to cover the more exposed parts of his skull. And William, delighting in their company, would think of Nelly Power, and say to his glass as if in answer to its reflection, ‘A man is as young as he feels." It was a serious thought to William at times that if Nelly did not agree with him his grandchildren would never be born nor even his children. But most people, he was sure, could not fail to agree with him. Indeed he felt no more than thirty-five, at most. And seen from behind, and wearing his hat, he looked no more than thirty-five, especially when he was going to call on Nelly. At such times there was a gayety in hisair, a juvenile spring in his step, a set about his shoulders—which would have almost deceived a recruiting sergeant. No wonder, for apart from that little anxiety mentioned above, Brown He was an old friend of the human was a very happy man Powers had been Colonel Power’s executor—still advised Mrs. Power in her business matters—and so could see almost as much of Nelly as he liked without causing those suspicions, those shy hints and meaning glances which annoy all lovers and mors especially the older ones. He lived in Arcadia without any intrusion of worldly spectators. He enjoyed the perfect felicity of romance without an audience. He had so muc! in fact that it is not surprising he feared to lose it. He hesitated to propose. And meanwhile, as he often reflected, he was almost as good as engaged. He called on the Powers at least four times a week. He took Nelly to a matinée whenever he liked, and thus they were both enchanted, for Nelly laughed or trembled at the play, and Brown smiled or sighed at Nelly. They strolled in town together, where Nelly enjoyed the air of spring and the color of the new fashions, and William the air of Nelly and the color of Nelly’s cheek, Again, tea in Kensington Gardens among the trees wit}! a pretty girl—a fascinating, grave, mysterious, unexpected pretty girl—is this not idyllic? William was sure that it was. So poetical and classical were his feelings that he could not help expressing them one afternoon in May wher he remarked: ‘“‘How wonderful it is to have a place like this right in the middle of town! It’s even better than the country. In the country one can never be quite sure what one is sitting on. It reminds me of Watteau. It’s just like one of those old pictures of shepherds and shepherdesses only I ought to be playing a flute.” Nelly laughed and asked if he was fond of the country. “I'm devoted to it,” replied the Londoner of so many years in a most earnest tone. ‘I was born in the country, you know, and I hope I shall ——”’ He was going to say “die there,”’ but thought better of it, and substituted “live there again.” Continued on Page 32

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32 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Continued from Page 30 “Would you like to live ir fter a pause, William’ oking for more information than was implied in the ques the country?” William asked tone was peculiar; in fact he was And the moment the words were out of his mouth he gre tted then , In case J lly hould give him rhore infor mation than he ked for, But Nell: replied cheerful that he would like very much te live in the country, “though you never get uch vod butter.”’ Now this, to W ensitive mind, was very nearly | roposal and acceptan¢ For a you ng lady LO Say that she ould like to live in the Lime pl: ce witha young ma! it least an indication of regard. So it seemed to Brow: ind he looked so fondly that Nelly Dep to din ple Ther he smiled, enjoying her pleasure, er ng the afternoor enjoying hin elf perhap most of all Nelly laughed and William laughed. William felt no older than twenty-five when he sat with Nelly at tea ir Both having laughed at nothing these cir Kensir gton Gardens. very thoughtful, a yeocame is not unusual i mstances, “Don’t you agree with me,” said Nelly with character tie unexpectedne ‘that when people are ire i! are fond of each other, they oughtn’t to think of anyth ng else?” Nelly wa ften a trifle vague, as well as unex pected “Anything else?"’ Brown inquired I mean, don’t you think that their being in—} fond of each other is quite enoug ‘Quite enough, of course.” William was very positive on this point. He waited ther with some excitement for further lumination and ever ventured to prompt Nelly when she did not continue the ibject Nothing else matters—I’m sure of that,” said the romantic William, with a solemn and deep intonation. But Nelly seldom gave more than a glimpse of her pri Vate thought She sighed murmured Ve | uppose o's brushed a crumb off her lap and remarked that the waiter was re ally too bad, he had not even attempted to yet them any hot water. tance of thought to occupy William days afterward William What did Nelly Why and why did she wish sufficient to itself The answer did not seem then wa ib or a week, and for quite seve wi concerned witl mean? would she like to live in the to suppose regard for other circum ry difficult. Another man might have proposed on the But William was learned in the ways He one of them composed exclusively country, without that love Wil tance pot of women, belonged to three club of bachelors or men who had been bachelors long enough to know a great deal about womer Moreover, of young girls ¢ pec ally he id often been told o often that he believed he had discovered for himself and was som t— that they were apt to often Thus the question times annoyed to be reminded of ay yes when they mean no; and, more and more dis iwstrously, no when they mean ye 1 at the bottom of William’s deepest and Did Nell act of adding two and ilways remaine most exhaustive inquiry: know her own mind? The mathematical and financial which William he sadly reflected, of much value to a man in love. two, by had made a fortune, was not, a I'm sorry I ca be in but yo i'll find Nelly at home,” aid Mrs. Power, meeting William in Queen’s Gate. Mr Power touched his hand with a cordial smile and imme diately rustled away upon one of her innumer ible call he had forgotten him in four pace “Going to call on the Powers? Remember me to Nelly,” said Elton, who was coming out where he inhabited roon of the house of a traveling co nm, a few yards farthe on, with anew hat to bal ance his old boot hat than boot and a flower in his buttor hole to brighten an aged He smiled roguishly coat, is if he could say more if ne chose nodded and rolled away with his heavy listless tread, William was startled that Elton should know so much about his affair Elton’s had been very significant —but his mood was not to be affected even by impert nence when he was within sight of Nelly’s door. He walked on with his usual spirited step, not in a hurry to arrive, because that would be expression to shorten anticipation; neither dawdling Sy the way, be- cause to dawdle upon such an errand is impossible for youth— youth in springtime. William was not of a demon- strative nature, but he permitted himself to wear his hat lightly over one ear and gave an occasional flourish to his stick—with a kind of hop at the same moment, which said as plainly as words, if more discreetly: ‘‘ How glorious it is to live to be young!” “T feel like a two-year-old,” was William’s own joyful reflection as he skipped up the stairs toward Nelly’s flat. The parlormaid received him with a smile and did not trouble to announce so frequent a guest. William glanced at the hall mirror to be sure that his hair was in order that it covered the bald patch—touched his necktie and walked into the drawing-room through the open door. Nelly was standing with her back to him, looking at a photograph. She did not hear William’s approach over the thick carpet till he was almost at her shoulder—till he was able to see that the photograph was one of himself, Nelly started, put down the frame upon the silver table among a dozen others of the Powers’ friends and relations, and turned to shake hands. She was blushing. William gave her a nervous clasp. It was an act of William had not before made such crude yet there was no doubt that Nelly returned the to love excitement advances pressure, There was a moment's embarrassment. But William, though at least a youth, was in experience a man of the world. Indeed he prided himself somewhat upon this valuable and unusual combination of youth and savoir- faire. He recovered himself at once, smiled and remarked that Nelly had done her hair in a new fashion. ‘Do you like it?” Nelly raised her hand and gave her- elf an anxious pat on the head. ‘Very much, It suits you. It makes you look -" Brown stopped with the artful intention of making a point. ‘What does it make me look?” Nelly rang the bell for tea. Even wiser than before,’ said Brown grayely. Nelly took him very seriously. She sat down in a sedate manner, Oh, but I’m not.”” She shook her head. ‘‘In fact, I can't even make up my own mind. I don’t think I should ever make it up at all if it wasn’t for you. *‘Me?” You know I always ask your advice about everything.” ‘Do you? The only time I can remember was the other day in the gardens, when you asked me ' “But that was very important,” interrupted Nelly with a look of great earnestness. William had an ine xplicable desire to burst out laugl ng, to dance, to sC1Ze Nelly and ki her, to behave in fact like the young and excitable boy he was—or felt—but he controlled him elf and was pleased March 6,1920 to know that he betrayed not the smallest sign of these indecorous impulses, William had reason to be pleased with himself, His coolness in the great scene of the photograph; his easy manner of gliding, as it were, without the smallest shock, over an awkward moment; hi spite of a rapid pulse and tren his light and bantering tone in become at any minute the crucial one of his life were very flattering to his self-respect. There is no doubt that for these minutes William had a great deal of self respect. It was natural. He could not help being aware of his own excellent qualities, And p watched the serious and important little lady in front of him—Nelly was pondering deeply upon something or other, with an expression of abstraction unusual to her, and certainly not at all unbecoming—he thought for a moment, for one short unguarded moment: ‘‘She is worthy of me.’ William expelled the fancy with indignation as he was aware of its presence, yet one cannot help thinking that it was not a dishonorable one. It was decidedly a proof of his affection; of a reasonable and mature affection. “Don’t you think,” asked Nelly, issuing suddenly from her reverie, “‘it is very wrong to send white men to cli mates which were intended for blac ” William was accustomed to } sation. ‘I didn’t know you were a Whig, Nelly. But I inclined to agree with you. Whom were you thinking of?” “TI don’t Nelly frowned and hesitated. ‘It’s just what I But at this moment tea came in, and with tea a young another young man. Yet as William perceived at a glance, not without satisfaction, he certainly had the advantage of youth. The other young man might possi- bly have been more recently born, but in all essentials he was much older than William. William was sorry for his premature decay. He was dried, yellowish, and had frail appearance, the shaky man of sixty. Nelly introduced them, “Mr. Brown— Mr. Anderson. William shook hands with extraordinary good nature # touch even of compassion. “Mr. Anderson is just back from the Nelly explained. “On leave?” “Sick leave sion in endous exultation of spirit; a conversation which might these present self-posse rhaps as he sat and not ’ oon as ‘ people? lelly’s unexpected conver- im know.” man uncertain movements of a Gold Coast,” ” Mr. ‘ ollapse, had a touch of yellow fever Ander- 30n dropped on the sofa with an air of (Continued on Page 189) She Did Not Hear William's Approach Till He Was Almost at Her Shoulder—Till He Was Able to See That the Photograph Was One of Himsetf

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Cigar Economy HESE days we’re all looking for good values. The smoker is no exception to the rule. He de- mands good value in every cigar he buys. There’s just as much economy in the selection of a cigar as there is in food or clothes or any other commodity. The White Owl gives you more than good value. You get a good, fragrant, even smoke with each White Owl. In size and appearance—long, with ta- pering ends—it compares favorably with the more expensive Cigars. But White Owl’s greatest value to you is in its cur- ing. A vast stock of high-grade tobacco is constantly . being cured by experts for White Owl cigars. White Owl is hand-made. In addition, White Owl is backed by the General Cigar Co., Inc., with its tremendous resources and long experience. This fact alone is a guarantee of good value. DEPENDABLE CIGARS 119 West 40th Street, New York City $ S| f s ‘ « OS 6 a pepsin, » “a3

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‘4 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST EVERY BO Fuel building up a Saving Millions on IECE by that will of all hope piece L am show conclusively the based on the idea that there will cast futilit United happy day From time State come a peedy returt to the of low prices which prevailed before the war ervers call attention to small hold forth as indications that the reached its crest and that soot to lower level It is a fact most line till show a y to upward adjustment to time certain ob happening which the tide of rising costs ha there will be an ebb flow wwever, that decided tender has been no general acceptance of the uth that deliv tation li olely in at vidual production A small part of our primary expenses it funda erance easant eco- from an un ational policy of increased working pop mn is laboring from ten to fifteen hours each day in a everal million their : effort to make up for the lost time of ther employees who are endeavoring to maintain es on a higher plane but with a reduced working sched trial liberation fact when the a universal habit rather will become a of diligence again become small minori who are old-fa affect a lew minutes a quality possessed by a harged with clinging to ideas that are hioned t of transportation i us country every or indirectly ne devote eh. direct road exper In 1912 the fi bill of t American rail road wa $994 516.000 1918 fuel mat these same railroads $555, O85 000, ar i amount 147 per the for esti cost of is $665 000,000, which hows an in ise amount 197 This Diagram Shows Very Clearly Where the Fuel Burned in the Locomotive Coes Y’S March 6,1920 Engines Standing on Terminal Tracks By FLOYD W. PARSONS or about pro- approximately 138,666,000 tons, per cent of all the duced in the United States that year. This tonnage of fuel fill 2,773,320 standard which if coupled in a single train would have a length of 26,260 If moving at a constant speed of twenty miles an last year was twenty-seven bituminous coal would coal cars, i ile ‘. hour this train would require fifty-five days to pass a given point. Such a volume of coal would be sufficient to pave a roadway from New York City to San Francisco one foot in thickness and one-half mile wide. In July, 1919, the latest figures available, the cost of railroad coal at the furnace door of the locomotive was four dollars a ton, or two and a half times the cost of fuel ten years ago. If there should be no early stabilization of the coal industry and if, on the other hand, the costs of increased through higher wages and heavier supplies, it is likely that the fuel bill of the railroads of this country will quickly reach the one-billion- dollar mark. This means that the railroad managements arily save every pound of coal that can possibly That magnificent results can be obtained along this line was proved during the urgent days when at war. The matter of saving coal is not a mining are charges for must nece be conserved the nation wa complex pr but is an accomplish- ment that depends largely on the mental attitude of the railroad employees. During the year 1917 the fuel consum] tion of the United States railroads, when compared with the 1916 per formance, showed an increase approximating five per cent. By the middle of the year 1918 this increase in consump- tion had grown to a point approximating eight per cent over the 1916 performance. About this time the Railroad Administration established a Fuel Conservation Section, which was authorized to make a careful study of the whole fuel situation so far as it was related to the country’s trar portation systems. McAuliffe, a coal expert of wide experience, was placed in command and the busines of saving railroad fuel commenced in dead earnest. As a result of the efforts of this new conservation section large savings in fuel costs were effected and I estimate that the total saving in 1919, when compared with the previous year, will amount to no less than $40,000,000. The fuel saving on the railroads last year would make a train than 2000 miles long. The value of this fuel that saved would buy 706 mode freight cars. Measured in area of coal land exhausted, the fuel that was conserved represents an area of more than 2000 acres in extent. evident that the railroad employees who took part in thi 1 a half billion shovelful of fuel during the year, which in the aggregate represents Wiem, Fuge ne more was rn locomotives or 15,000 modert If reduced to another basis, it conservation effort saved one large saving in muscular effort as well as dol- lars. In bringing about this portant conser- vation of coal and oil the fuel section worked im- along certain definite lines. It was found on investigation that each un- necessary stop made heavy freight or passenger train represented a fuel loss of from 500 to 1750 pounds of with a ‘ coal, depending Continued on Page 37

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST DISTINCTION Grace and solidity are here—a rare combination. Nothing to suggest instability when in rapid revolution. Instead, the long, low roll of the Roman chariot is sug- gested—swift and sure. Aristocracy of color and form— stateliness—all the qualities that make for Distinction are also here. And like ali true aristocrats, one quality is hidden from the uninitiated, because one must not trumpet everything to the crowd. ThatqualityisLightness; Light- ness that makes for comfort, and ease in handling ; Lightness that does not detract from strength or solidity. No matter what your next car may be, specify Michelin Disc Wheels. Illustrated Descriptive Book Free on Request Manufactured and sold in the United States, exclusively by the BUDD WHEEL CORPORA Philadelphia

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 6, 1920

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 37 (Continued from Page 34) on the weight of the train, the length of the stop and the grade conditions. As a consequence dispatchers, signal- tower and telegraph operators were encouraged to reduce slow-downs and especially eliminate all the stops possible. It was also discovered that brake-line air leaks are heavy consumers of fuel. One test on a train of fifty freight cars demonstrated that such a loss may amount to as much as 2540 pounds in a ten-hour period. Other recommendations covered the proper heating of passenger cars, the consumption of coal in station build- ings and the losses of fuel incident to the wasteful use of water at shops and roundhouses where the water is sup- plied by steam-pumps. Large losses were found to result from using a poor grade of sand, making it impossible to keep the locomotives from slipping on bad rails. It was also discovered that over-sized shovels encouraged the extravagant use of coal, which resulted from the fireman unconsciously throwing in an excessive amount of fuel. This whole railroad-fuel problem is a matter of more far-reaching importance than the mere dollars involved. The solution must commence at the very beginning, which is the careful purchase of fuel. As an evidence of the importance of requiring the removal of all noncombustible matter from railroad coal, I may mention that each one per cent of excess ash in coal represents a direct fuel loss of one and a half per cent when it enters the fire box. Dirty coal is also the chief cause of other losses, which include delays to trains, reductions in train tonnage, pay- ment of overtime and the frequent necessity for fire-box repa‘rs. It is also true that large savings will result from giving careful attention to the percentage of water con- tained in the fuel oil that is purchased for locomotive use. Competent inspectors are the answer to this problem of careful buying. For each one per cent of fuel saved the railroads of the United States effect a direct gain of six million dollars, while the indirect saving amounts to a sum that is equally as great. Of all the coal that is used in the fire box of a locomotive only six per cent of the total value of the fuel is applied to the work of moving the freight or passenger cars. A pound of coal measures two and three-quarters inches on each side, If burned in a modern superheating steam locomotive under conditions of constant speed it will be sufficient to develop one horse power for from twenty to twenty-five minutes. If burned in a freight locomotive at ordinary freight-train speed the pound of coal will carry one ton fifteen miles. Assuming an ordinary passenger locomotive burning a ton of coal to each twenty miles, the engine would consume a pound of fuel for every fifty-two feet it travels. Among the great fuel-saving devices applied to the American locomotive in recent years is the brick arch, which if properly operated and maintained will save approximately fifteen per cent of locomotive fuel. It has also been found that the locomotive superheater will save from twenty to twenty-five per cent of the engine’s fuel. At the end of last year the Railroad Administration con- trolled lines operating 63,666 locomotives, of which 36,000, or fifty-six per cent, were equipped with brick arches and 29,000, or forty-six per cent, were supplied with locomotive superheaters. One of our railroads has ninety-six per cent of its locomotives equipped with arches and another sys- tem has eighty-two per cent of its engines equipped with superheaters. On the other hand, one of the largest Western roads has just made its initial application of the brick arch, which indicates plainly that modern practice, so far as the business of transportation in the United States is concerned, is not universal. Not all the coal that is wasted by the railroads is lost in the firing of locomotives. Twelve per cent of all the railroad fuel is consumed in stationary plants. This means that large quantities of coal can be saved through the installation of many improvements in and about our rail- road properties. One investigator has pointed out that in a long steam line each square foot of exposed surface piping carrying steam at 100 pounds gauge pressure results in a loss of 700 pounds of coal annually, estimating the temperature of the outside air at seventy degrees Fahren- heit. The losses sustained in zero weather in such a case exceed those stated above several times. As an indication of just how important the fuel bill is in the operation of our railroads it is interesting to itemize the cost of moving 1000 gross tons of freight and freight cars one mile. This division of the expense is as follows: Loco- motive repairs, 32.7 cents; locomotive fuel, 31.3 cents; other locomotive supplies, 2.6 cents; wages of enginemen and trainmen, 34.1 cents; train supplies and expenses, five cents. In the matter of the distribution of each dollar earned by American railroads, however, the division is quite different. During the year 1918 labor received 54.06 per cent of each dollar earned by the railroads. The fuel expenditures amounted to about eleven per cent of the railroads’ income. Since every pound of coal wasted in the operation of our railroads is an important factor in the cost of all essential staples, it is gratifying to know that a number of progres- sive railroad officials are attacking the problem in a most compelling manner. In one roundhouse a local superin- tendent has emphasized the losses sustained by waste at the safety valve in a convincing fashion. This official constructed a box with ‘glass sides and after placing seventy-five pounds of soft coal in the receptacle attached a legend which read as follows: This box of seventy-five pounds of coal is lost every time a modern locomotive pops off for five minutes. On several railroads the operating officials have put vitality into the conservation movement by encouraging competitions between certain divisions. On a Western road a thirty-day contest between the men of two divi- sions resulted in a fuel saving of from 6.28 to 8.52 per cent in freight operations and from 16 to 22 per cent in pas- senger service. A live superintendent of motive power recently pre- pared a catchy bulletin which read: The job of firing a locomotive is one of toil; obviously the more you save the less you toil. It is worth ninety-five cents a minute when a locomotive is in actual service; let's make it operate at its full economic value. Over six mil- lion tons of coal are lost each year in this country through leakage of air in brake lines and connections under freight ears. If one shovelful of coal is saved per ton used this saving is equivalent to three-quarters of one per cent of all the coal handled. The ultimate in fuel economy on our railroads is a long way off. In the meantime the territory all round us is filled with opportunities for distinguished service. One excess begets another. The reverse of this is also true. A further coal saving of a million dollars a week would not be a bad example of efficient management for the rail roads to hold up to the gaze of other industries as an in- centive to imitation. A dollar gained through wise saving is economically a better value than a dollar gained by boosting the selling price of a product. The possibilities of scientific achieve- ment are by no means exhausted. Salesmanship in a New Field EOPLE throughout the United States are possessed of many divergent ideas as to just what is ethical in the conduct of different kinds of business. It is likewise true that a large percentage of the beliefs that are held are inherited rather than created from the sum total of to-day’s experience. We have not passed from the age when a son votes with the same political party that was supported by his father and when a daughter holds to the same religious denomination that was the faith of her mother. Just as the medical fraternity frowns on the physician who seeks to build a practice through advertising, so have the public- utility companies viewed the matter of merchandising their products, whether the thing they have to sell is street- car transportation or electric current for household use. A new generation of managers appears to be accepting the idea that it is not only proper but beneficial to popularize the service they have to offer, In addition there is the further thought that too little attention has been given by such corporations to the cul- tivation of good will. During the days of war the large central-station com- panies furnishing electric current to our big cities were compelled to defer the further extension of their lines and as a consequence were obliged to find some new way to enlarge the capacity of their busine One of the biggest electrical companies in the country doing business in Chi- cago decided to increase its business by increasing the sale of electrical appliances, which apparatus would not only afford the company some profit in the merchandising trans- action but would add to the total of current consumed. In this particular case the new plan afforded the company an additional rated capacity of 20,000 kilowatts without incurring any additional capital expenditure for new equipment. The company referred to decided that corporation dig- nity was more ornamental than profitable. The manage- ment started with the primary idea that the basic princi- ples of retail salesmanship could be applied successfully in the field to which they were supposed to cater. Company employees were instructed that real service cofisists in giv- ing the customer what he wants, not what the company wants to give him. A system of merchandising was inaugurated careful study of the psychology of the general run of cus- tomers. Experience had taught that the average person who is not technical is not at all interested in the fine point involved in the fact that a coffee percol: energy from a lighting circuit, while a flas’ energy from adry cell. Both of these based on a tor derives its ‘ } . light de rives il irticles are associated — Two of the Big Central Power Stations From Which Chicago Gets ts Electric Current

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST da customer is annoyed if he enters verything electrical and then fails that are sold. It was that caused the Chicago ng electrical ar wp which advertises ¢ find a flas} kind of practical psychology of a nonelectrical old in their electrical shops. selling ight among the articl ile to add many ar toch After careful planning the ed on three methods of ticle nature to of merchandise adopted a timulatir concern r merchandise ‘ andi third, one manager stated lum plan, econd, coupon ments, As ce the idea of offering premium would have been regarded by Wi 1 tem of deferred pa pren i few years sit merchandise ral-station as nothing short of a crim We know that the premium idea is almost a the human race, but it appeals to a universal weak it the desire The plan to sell thousands of washing machines and old otherwise. companie to get something for nothing ls eT able d us vacuum cleaners that we could not have Our customers like the scheme and that’s the only practical answer worth while The rate of one coupon for each five cents of merchandise purchased and are redeemable in the electrical stores for all kinds of mer- chandise at the rate of 1000 coupons for each dollar of retail the company put out 73,753,750 cou- coupons are given to customers at the price, In six months pons in the city of Chicago, In talking with Henry E. French, who was largely respon- sible for the establishment of this electrical-merchandising plun in Chicago, I gathered the follow g idea Many meerns are able to iltivate the ll of large good omers by vem a discount fo cash payment however, the five und-ten-cent cus Llomert just as valu and with him the small uble an asset t is not A cou ! pon for a fractional cash discoun practi able howe ver, secure the ame results and the little fel imilar umount, doe gives low a sense of satisfaction in his dealings with the merchant I find that one of the chief benefit tl er camp igo ha been to ergetk “aign in material the day load of central sts through = the distribution of current ile a tior wider consum which otherwise could not } Deen ing devices, have brought cept through carrying on a strenuous mi detir ite about ¢ ionary fact been greatly movement It is also a the educational the and that increased by company has through this mer good will of the publicity obtained chandising scheme Concerning the third plan, that of deferred payments, the results that thi in the electrical shops were thirty-five were deferred payment; forty per cent were charge purchases; In 1919 it is esti per deferred and thirty-four per tion it is interesting to know that ty-five per cent of all how conclusively service is also In 1915 the sale made on the following term appreciated per cent and twenty-five per cent were for cash that the sales payment neteen per cent cent cash In thi in the city of Chicago in 1918 sever the in talking machines ninety per cent were sold in this same mated were forty-seven cent charge; connec pianos sol i were on the deferred payment plan, while way. In getting business the Chicago people equipped a num uch bulky apparatus, ber of electric trucks for use in disposing of articles as The harness by washing machines and other heavy ompany engineers invented an ingenious able to take into the prospective hi about Che company has sales offer Electric room carrying which two men are a sample machine from the truck customer's home for an actual demonstration Vigorous scheme of selling ha washing machines and resulted in bringing record sales of uction tuct weepers that in opportunity wr " Toss also taken into a seasonul business far ir shes rin wn mitt hile Sick comforts are shoved to the fore in February and March. There is a special exploitation of certain electrical appli- ances that are suitable for gifts during the June wedding season and the Christmas holidays. It is not likely that everyone will agree that the big central-station companies are following a proper course when they enter actively into the sale of electrical appli- However, it is difficult to deny that the greater the e of electricity in any community the cheaper will be the price of current. The use of electricity also increases com- fort and reduces labor. So let us look rather at the benefits derived and wish that all public utilities would try to solve their problems by increasing their gross sales rather than by seeking a way out through a boost in prices. The Nation’s Sweet Tooth T IS a doubtful question as to just what effect national prohibition will exercise on the industries of the United States. One authority, who appears to have made a careful survey of the situation, classifies the beneficiaries of prohibition as follows: Savings banks, soft drinks, motion- picture shows and other places of amusement; candy, tobacco and miscellaneous merchants. In this list one of the most interesting things is candy, because it is a product that is manufactured largely from a staple that is just now very muc h in the public eye. During the war the United States with one-eighteenth of the world’s population consumed about one-fourth of the ance March 6,1920 unsatisfactory due to its strong malt taste. The manu- facturers of maltose, however, continued the work of per- fecting their process and in recent months have been turning out a sugar sirup that is averaging from sixty to eighty per cent sweet and is proving to be a most desirable substitute for sugar in confectionery manufacture. The prohibition law has made available both the raw material and the machinery needed for the production of maltose. This sirup is made from the same cereals as beer and up to a certain point the process for manufacturing maltose is the same as the method employed in making beer. Evaporating pans are about the only important new equipment the breweries require in changing over to malt- ose production. Those breweries that have gone over to the manufacture of sirup have been unable to supply even a large part of the present urgent demand for their product. In general appearance maltose looks like maple sirup and has a flavor somewhat resembling honey. It can be used on the table and is splendidly adapted for cooking and baking. One variety of this malt-sugar product made by a special process is white in color and is coming into large use in candy making and ice cream manufacture. Not only do these malt sirups for certain uses possess an ad- vantage over sugar, in that they do not so readily crystal- lize, but they conform closely to our pure-food laws, because of the fact that unlike certain other sirups they are made without chemicals. As a part explanation of the present high prices of candies it is pertinent to remark that the confectionery industry bought sugar in 1914 for Cutting the Fillers for Chocolate Candies world’s output of sugar. In other words, America uses about eighty pounds per person, while the per capita con- sumption of the rest of the world is something like thirteen pounds annually. Since it is a fact that there is a world shortage in sugar and that this shortage will likely continue, it is interesting to note to just what extent the manufacture of candy has helped along the deficit. The truth of the matter is that though sugar is the chief basic raw material used to make candy, many other ingredients, such as chocolate, mo- , nuts, fruits, corn sirup and starch, are also used in large quantities. Some kinds of candy average only fifty per cent sugar and many kinds contain even a less amount than this. Information collected and given out during the last months of the war divided up our sugar consumption as follow Seventy per was consumed in the households; twenty-two per cent was used in manufacturing canned fruits and vegetables, bakery products, condensed milk, ice cream and soft drinks; eight per cent went into the manufacture of « andy. Undoubtedly the most interesting phase of candy mak- now is concerned with the use of substitutes for Corn sirup has been extensively used in confec- tionery. But this product, containing only about forty per sucrose, appears to have a rival in a new product known as maltose, or malt sirup, made from corn, barley, or any plant containing a large percentage of This new malt sirup was first produced three or ago, but the candy makers found the product lasse cent ing just sugar. cent potatoe arch four year fourand a half cents a pound. At the same time a pound of glucose cost the candy people two and a half cents. Last year the con- fectionery manu- facturers paid from nine and a half to ten cents for sugar and from six toeight cents for glucose. The outlook for 1920 is that sugar on an average will cost the candy pro- ducers not less than fourteen cents. It is for this reason that the new malt sirups from the former breweries are in such urgent demand, for the new product is now sell- ing at a much lower price than sugar. As in many other industries, the capacity of the candy factories of the country is in ex- cess of the Nation’s demand for sweets, However, the present reduced output of confections due to the sugar shortage and other causes has created a very real candy deficit. In 1914 the output of candy in the United States was in the neigh- borhood of a billion pounds and the best estimates I can obtain to-day indicate that the present rate of annual production is not far in excess of that quantity. This makes it appear that a recent estimate, which was widely circulated, stating that the Nation’s yearly candy bill is nearly one and a quarter billion dollars is exaggerated. The manufacturing end of the confectionery business employs about 80,000 people, of whom more than sixty per cent are women and girls. The average wage in the candy-producing establishments is low compared with most other industries. The Department of Labor tells us that in one large Eastern city last year the median rate was not quite $450 a year. The candy industry, though more of a domestic affair than heretofore, is not a business wherein we can boast of American independence. In the case of sugar we produce in this country only one-fourth of what we consume. Upward of another fourth in recent years has come from Porto Hawaii and the Philippines, while the remaining one-half of our supply has been imported princi- pally from Cuba. Practically all of the cane sugar pro- duced in the United States is grown in Louisiana. This variety last year totaled less than one-sixth of the quantity of beet sugar produced in this country, But the manufacture of candy, as before stated, calls for other ingredients than sugar. The American candy makers Concluded on Page 163) such tico,

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“~ THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

Selected ! Endunny rag fibres and thorough seasoning in dry- ing lofts make it resistant to wear and tear. And yet it isa bond of moderate prick To the President's desk go the selected few from among the visitors in the morning mail. The letters that speak well of the sender —and for him ; indi vidual letters —which mark our complete removal ake Systems Bond your standard paper for cot irom the cla y tal let da is whe n “letters” were re spondenc e Ol oth e forms. Its quality never nothing more than messages varies. Your printer will tell you about it, and [he business man of today can choose a letterhead Will give it his endorsement paper which will convey his personality—his Systems Bond 1s the standard bearer of a compr It creates that first impression which, hensive group of papers ry Bond and Ledger need—all produced under the in turn, leaves a lasting consciousness of his impor tance. It has “its say” before the letter is read. <4. advantageous conditions—and including thi Systems Bond is the paper with the crisp “feel” ( oD well known Pilgrim, Transcript, Atlantic and and crackle and the texture that spells quality. <3 Manifest marks orgamization 's a grade for evi EASTERN MANUFACTURING COMPANY 501 Fifth Avenue New York Mills at Bangor and Lincoln, Maine SYSTEMS “The Rag-content Loft-dried Paper at the Reasonable Price : 7 a

CM) SN

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In order that we may judge our- = others see us, we should our sugar consumption of the of Eu following table { figures for the prewar ind that of 1917-18 ‘ es a compare that rope rhe ents the consumption with nations ind 1918 19, in pounds per person x 17 Mandinavia, tol land, Switzerland 60 v1) WO) Cerman 40 40 ty United State Sl 73 &5 Following our entrance into the war the remnant of the sugar sup- ply of that the crop of 1916— was administered with the view of conservation of the inter eats of the household consumer. It soon became clear to the United States Food Administrator that control of the sugar supply justi fied and demanded a special or- ganization. In October, 1917, an International Sugar Committee was organized, consisting of rep- resentatives of the Allied and As- ociated Powers, and by uniform agreements made with the sugar refiners all pure hases of imported raw sugar were assigned toit. The small remnant of our beet and year THE SATURDAY EVENING POST WHY IS SUGAR SCARCE AND HIGH? Continued from Page 11 March 6,1920 cane crop was handled through the Food Administration directly. In December, 1917, an under- standing was reached between the Inter- national Sugar Committee, the Royal Com- mission on Sugar Supply of the United Kingdom, a commission representing Cu- ban growers, and the prominent refiners of the United States, in accordance with which the entire raw sugar of Cuba of the campaign 1917-18 was sold to the Inter- national Committee and allocated to the United States and to the Royal Commis- ion for division between the United King dom, France and Italy. The price of Cuban raw sugar was established; duty, insurance and freight were fixed items; the margin of the refiner was regulated and the wholesale Similar agreements were reached concerning our cane and beet sugar and the sugar of Porto Rico and the Hawaiian Philippine Island A margin was established for wholesalers, jobbers and retailers. Thus a fair and even price was established for sugar throughout the United States. This scheme worked out price set and also — Field of Sugar Beets advantageously for all concerned, and the interests of manufacturer and householder alike were equitably considered. Production Costs Examined When it came to handling the crop of the 1918-19 campaign a different plan was de- termined upon, because the cost of raising sugar had increased more in the United States than in Cuba, and with falling pro- duction in Europe it was felt imperative to stimulate domestic production by increase n price. The question of cost of produc- tion of sugar was investigated by the Food Administration and the Tariff Commission. As a result, ten dollars a ton was fixed as a fair price for beets, and the refineries con- tracted for the crop on that basis. The cane producers of the Gulf entered into an agree- ment with the Food Administration, fixing the wholesale price of refined sugar at nine cents, and the same price was set for beet sugar. It was necessary to purchase the Cuban crop outright and to negotiate with the producers of insular sugar. To this end the United States Sugar Equalization Board was incorporated in July, 1918, with a cap- ital stock of $5,000,000 subscribed for in the name of the United States by the Presi- dent and paid for out of his appropriation. The members of the board were Herbert Hoover, Edgar Rickard, E. E. Shattuck, F. W. Taussig, Theodore Whitmarsh, Clarence Woolley and George Zabriskie, chairman, with later W. A. Glasgow replac- ing Herbert Hoover. The President was the sole stockholder of the company. The Equalization Board purchased the Cuban crop at 5.5 cents a pound and the Food Ad- ministration fixed the basic wholesale price for granulated sugar at seaboard refining points at nine cents a pound. Since the en- tire Cuban crop passed into the possession of the United States the requirements of our Allies devolved upon us, and one-third of the crop was sold to the Royal Com- mission for account of the United Kingdom, France and Italy It will be advantageous to note the several functions connected with sugar, exercised directly or indirectly, by the Food Adminis- tration: To buy and handle foreign raw sugar. To ship, insure and pay duty upon foreign raw sugar. To fix cost and margin of profit of refining. To allocate imported sugar to refineries. To make zonal allocation of water-borne and domestic sugars, in order to conserve transport and insure equity in consumption in different parts of the country. To control wholesaler and job- ber of sugar and fix margin of profit. To allocate sugar between man- ufacturers and retailers for house- hold consumption. To allot sugar between the dif- ferent manufacturing uses. To control the retailer, fix mar- gin of profit and determine con- ditions of sale. To control the exportation of sugar. The Sugar Equalization Board completed its function when im- ported sugar was delivered to the refiners. The other functions were exercised by the Food Administration in Washington, through agreements under a system of certificates. Exportation was controlled by the War Trade Board. The Plan of the Board The plan of work of the Sugar Equali- zation Board was to operate from the in- side with the normal implements of the sugar industry, rather than from the out- side through arbitrary methods of war con- trol, in conformity with the general policy of the Food Administration. Agreements were reached with the producers of Porto Rico and the Hawaiian and Philippine Islands by which their sugar reached our seaports at such prices as enabled them to conform to the fixed wholesale price of nine cents. All agreements within the United States were of a voluntary character and represented the patriotic codperation (Continued on Page 42) @ Sugar-Cane Crop in Louisiana

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HE everlasting faith- fulness of the Hup- mobile makes a strong appeal to the average American family. ‘They admire steadfast- ness in a motor car only a little less than they do in a friend. ‘The Hupmobile séays right ina way that makes a man say:— Well, there’s one investment I’ve made, that’s paid out.”

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST HINGES opened the way to PROGRESS FRAIL. exact date when hinges were first used 1 Linge outdate i tory ! mes to make doors possible, they not known. down through the ag serving man in every sun th time of that first hinge changed. New countrs have iY have been many mventions, Th conditions n ail covered played the IPpart mop nin rthe way to progre hing ind butts assumed a new identity. name MeKinney they set a new standard kor half a century Me Kinney Hing erved. They do queaking, Whether Mehkinney The y fill mall box lid, the re 1s a beauty and design to fit. In Vou! plans butlding Ol repan consid r the little rm ‘ \ caretul | | urs of untathing usefulne selection at first will later be sek that th Mi Kinne \ tammy | on th hinge . ran or lutt you buy. Ph nam mn i important ! RING COMPANY I MCKINNEY Hinges and Butts (Continued from Page 40) of the manufacturing industries and dis- tributive agencies with the Food Adminis- tration. The Cuban crop received a different price treatment from that accorded other ocean- borne and home-grown sugar. The crop was purchased for 5.5 cents, the duty was one cent, the freight and insurance .40 cent; the refiner’s margin was 1.54 cents, and the sugar was sold at the basic price of nine cents, with two per cent off for cash, representing 8.82 cents. Between this fig- ure and the sum of the several items is a difference of .38 cents per pound. This represented a margin reserved for the Equal- ization Board (it is included in the price of 7.29 cents charged the refiner), employed as a contingent fund to insure stabilization in price and distribution and to constitute finally a small profit that would return to the Government. In the handling of the domestic sugars and of the sugar from Porto Rico and the Hawaiian and Philip- pine Islands no such differential was main- tained for the Equalization Board. It was necessary in the case of Cuban sugar be- cause the price of Cuban sugar was lower than the fair price established for domestic sugar. Had the Sugar Equalization Board not withheld the sum of .38 cents a pound the Cuban sugar would have undersold the other sugar on the market or the Cuban grower would have secured a price above the contract price of sale. The Sugar Board's Price The following table presents the figures for the two calendar years, illustrating the combined operations of the Sugar Equali- zation Board and the Food Administration, in averaged prices and margins in cents a pound: 1918 Domestic cane, raw 6.42 Domestic beet, refined 8.13 Porto Rico, raw 6.42 Hawaiian and Philippine, raw 6.42 Cuban cane, raw 4.5 Refiner’s margir Wholesaler’s and jobber’s margin Retailer’s margin Consumer price 97 The retail price during the last two months of 1919 was not everywhere maintained be- cause a certain amount of new domestic March 6,1920 sugar reached the market and was not under the control of the Equalization Board. These may be contrasted with European prices. During 1918 two countries in Europe had wholesale prices for sugar as low as ours, Germany and Denmark, both sugar-producing countries, the price in Denmark being eight and a half cents and in Germany nine cents, prices and amounts of purchase being controlled by state. Dur- ing the past two years the average whole- sale prices in the several countries in Europe were, in rounded figures, in terms of par ex- change with tax subtracted, as follows: United Kingdom, twelve and a half cents; France, sixteen cents; Italy, eighteen cents; Spain, fifteen cents; Norway, sixteen cents; Sweden, sixteen cents; Switzerland, thirteen cents; Germany, eleven cents; Holland, ten and a half cents. The price for the new crop in Germany has been fixed at 300 marks a quintal, corresponding to about thirty-three cents a pound at par of exchange. In all countries the prices were controlled by the state. The price in Can- ada was the same as ours. German Sugar Control It is interesting to group Europe into allied, enemy and neutral states. Thus grouped the average prices were: CENTS United State 8.8 Allied States 16.2 Enemy States 15.3 Neutral States ; a ( 13.1 On the basis of trade index numbers the wholesale price of uncontrolled sugar would have been in the neighborhood of twelve cents. Under control the spread between wholesale and retail prices was much nar- rower than would have been the case with- out control. Four cents a pound represents a fair estimate of the saving through con- trol of sugar by the Food Administration, representing more than $300,000,000 a year. It is illuminating to contrast the be- ginning of our sugar control with that of Germany. When the war broke out Ger- many stood before the harvest of a crop of sugar beets that was worth more than 2,500,000 metric tons of sugar. The gov- ernment, to the amazement of scientists, at the behest of the trade permitted the (Continued on Page 45) >, NEW YORE CITY Sugar-Beet Storage Binz and Mili

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 43 Again a wonderful CParamount Aricraft CPiclure F you would understand the reason for Paramount's supremacy that you have heard so much about, see one magnificent example of it in “His House in Order”. Elsie Ferguson, star of stars, popular wherever distinguished acting and peerless dressing are appreciated, is the lovable heroine. The picture is made from Sir Arthur Pinero’s famous play of the second wife whose happiness was ruined at every point by her husband's memories of his first wife. How the dead unjustly ruled the living is the burden of the plot, and it is worked out by a hand as cunning as Fate's. “His House in Order” is your sort of enter- tainment—the best—Paramount Artcraft. ADOLPH ZUKOR Presents \ ? Elsie gf erouson. 1 His House in Order” By SIRARTHUR PINERO DIRECTION and SCENARIO by HUGH FORD ~Ee roma

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 6,1920 PUBLIG The preference which makes the Republic the largest selling motor truck in the world, was won by harder work, better done. The evidence of one owner, that his Republic Trucks stand harder use, for a longer time, at lower costs, would not be conclusive. But no good business man can fail to respond to this same evidence when it comes from more than 60,000 owners. Republic Motor Truck Co. Inc., Alma, Michigan

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(Continued from Page 42) exportation of 500,000 tons, part of which went directly and indirectly to the United Kingdom. Later in the winter 475,000 tons of raw sugar was allocated for feed for horses and pigs. Thus nearly a million tons of sugar, a staple, nonperishable con- centrated food, was deflected from the food supply of the German people, practi- cally thirty pounds per eapita. During the last three years sugar has been scarce in Germany, due to low production. Blun- ders have been made in the administration of food supplies in every country during the war, but nothing to compare with this act of improvidence on the part of the Ger- man Government. Following the granting of the armistice the American people immediately gave ex- pression to the desire to return to the paths of peace. No matter how military authori- ties defined armistice the people knew that armistice meant peace—at least no more war. The majority of our restrictions upon trade and industry had been imposed with the cooperation of those concerned and were, therefore, of a voluntary nature. Though control had demonstrated its bene- fits it was foreign to the characteristics of our economic life. The press recognized that with return to freedom of trade and industry we should be taking chances of speculation, high prices and disturbances in the flow of commodities. But the people wanted to take the chances and there was certainly no military reason for any continuance of wartime control after December, 1918, except so far as such might prove necessary to enable us to fulfill our obligations to Allies, to neu- trals under agreements of the War Trade Board, and to enemy under the terms of the armistice. No Shortage Feared 3etween December, 1918, and April, 1919, practically all the regulations and restrictions governing trade and industry by the Food Administration, the War Trade Board, the War Industries Board, the Fuel Administration and the Shipping Board were abolished by nonenforcement. Technically they remained upon the books pending the armistice and prior to the ratification of the treaty of peace. Some departments expired by legal limitation on June thirtieth. Restrictions on sugar were released in January; the stabilized prices on rice, cotton-seed oil and hogs were abandoned in March and April. Trade in sugar became as free as trade in copper, cotton, tin and rubber, all of which had been controlled for the fulfillment of war requirements, and released after the armi- stice. When the Food Administration passed out of legal existence on June thirtieth, it was survived by the United States Grain Corporation, operating under a special enactment to market the wheat crop of 1919; and the Sugar Equalization Board, a corporation whose sole remaining function was to close out its contracts and agree- ments for delivering crude raw sugar to the refineries up to December 31, 1919. The Food Administration was in no posi- tion in January, 1919, to resist relinquish- ment of control and regulation had it so desired, because the statistical position furnished no basis for resistance and indi- cated no necessity for continuation of con- trol. The position of stocks in January indicated more than 600,000 tons, and the estimated new supplies to October first brought the figure up to 3,800,000 tons. Now this was 300,000 tons more than the consumption in 1918, and was as much as our largest consumption in 1915. Accord- ing to the best estimates this figure did not completely exhaust the supplies of Cuban and Island sugar. The beet crop of 1919 would enter the market in October. From every statistical angle the position looked safe; and though warning voices suggested a possible postwar splurge in consumption in the United States, that could not serve as the basis for resistance to the universal desire of the Americans to discard wartime control. We have since learned that we cannot enjoy the benefits of control and of freedom at the same time; and if some of our economic freedom has cost us something few Americans will be disposed to begrudge themselves the ex- perience. Consumption of sugar in the first quar- ter of 1919 was about 920,000 tons, only 50,000 tons more than the average quar- terly consumption in 1918. This tended to THE SATURDAY EVENING POST discredit predictions of increased consump- tion, and instead roused fear of a carry- over into the crop of 1919. In March the statistical position indicated certainly the possibility, if not the probability, of a sub- stantial carry-over, several hundred thou- sand tons, the disposition of which would have constituted a problem for the Govern- ment and provoked a serious disturbance in the marketing of the free crop of 1919- 20. It was partly in consideration of this position that the Sugar Board permitted the exportation from Cuba to France of 180,000 tons of Cuban sugar belonging to us, in order to cover urgent requirements | in France. In April the spring fever of the American | public took on the form of hunger for sugar. | Retailers everywhere reported increased | sales and they enlarged their takings. The | innumerable manufactured articles con- | taining sugar displayed every week pro- gressive strides in production. It soon became clear that there would be no pos- sibility of a carry-over. When the Food Administration closed, on the thirtieth of June, the fears of an impending scarcity were already well founded. First Signs of Scarcity Depletion of refiners’ stocks appeared early in July. This was greatly aggravated by a marine strike, beginning in August and lasting six weeks, that held back sup- plies from the refiners. Our normal refin- ing capacity is about 85,000 tons a week, and a month’s stagnation meant an almost irreparable gap. There was some com- mercial export of sugar going on, and in July the Sugar Equalization Board re- quested resumption of export embargo by the War Trade Board; but this was re- fused, because Congress and the people were in no temper to return to control. When the signs of scarcity became gen- | erally apparent everybody rushed to the market, especially manufacturers, attempt- ing to cover present requirements and secure supplies for the future program. There was also some buying of actual sugar for speculation, with hoarding for higher prices; but the volume was small. The consumption during the second quarter had risen to 1,250,000 tons, and would have been the same or more during the third quarter had the sugar been available, but was, in fact, 1,110,000 tons. The per | capita consumption during the first three quarters of 1919 was almost as much as during the four quarters of 1918. The supply of the fourth quarter was | uneven both in time and space, for the obvious reason that with scarcity there was no control, because the power of the Sugar | Equalization Board ended with delivery of raw sugar to the refinery. The consump- tion in the successive quarters of the last two years was as follows in pounds per | capita: 1918—18, 24, 15, 16; 1919—20, 26, 24,15. During the fourth quarter, 740,000 | tons of sugar were distributed, which, of course, represented greater or less scarcity in most portions of the country. This was aggravated by two additional deficiencies: 15,000 tons of Porto Rican sugar had gone abroad directly, and the harvest of Cuba had failed of the expected figure by 75,000 tons. As previously stated, 180,000 tons had gone from our stocks in Cuba to fill an urgent need in France. The sum of these three amounts, 270,000 tons, would have brought the deliveries of the fourth quarter up to 1,000,000 tons. But it is more than doubtful whether any of this 270,000 tons would have reached the household con- sumer, because the manufacturing trades were outbidding the retailer and there was | no way of controlling them. A small amount of beet and cane sugar | of the new ctop was contained in the figure of 740,000 tons. The contracts for domestic sugar expired on September thirtieth, and it is possible that some of the old sugar was hoarded and released as new after the date of expiration of the contracts. In October a refiners’ committee tried to ration the manufacturers and to resume zonal distri- bution. But it had no power, except such as might be given to it by the Attorney- General under certain clauses of the un- expired Lever Act; it did not possess the machinery once available to the Food Ad- ministration, and the rationing was a failure. It is interesting to recall that the British released control of sugar for a short time in the spring of 1919, but resumed control shortly thereafter and has it still, because the same sequence of events began there that has occurred here. a pais WALLACE Ser , HUDSON rrave "JQ ‘ WALLACE ax SECTIONAL SILVER PLATE ea Spoons 3.25 the Halt Doz Guaranteed tu Yhout tune tonit RWALLACE & SONS MFG.CO WALLINGFORD, CONNECTICVT ~ 1835 R* WALLACE - HEAVIEST SUVER PLATE oo" RR WALLACE wom SECTIONAL SILVER PLATE

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Na Bifocal with the disfiguring THE SATURDAY EVENING POST The Story of KRYPTOK Glasses “Tf you wore KRYPTOKS as I do, you could look up from your menu card and see across the room clearly without scowling over your glasses.”’ NEVER sce anyone scowling over, or removing, reading glasses in order to see at a distance, without thinking of my own experience. Until I found KRYPTOKS (pro- nounced Crip-tocks) I actually suffered with the annoy- ance of inefficient glasses. Then came KRYPTOKS. They ended my troubles. KRYPTOKS never give me the least bit of trouble. I can see near and far with equal clearness, without ever having to remove, or peer over, reading glasses or ever having to fuss with changing from one pair to another. I have been through the whole eyeglass experience. I have known all the bother and inconvenience of constantly taking reading glasses off. I have known all the double bother and inconvenience of constantly taking reading glasses off and of putting distance glasses on. I know how the conspicuous line or seam across the lenses of ordinary , because bifocals makes you look older than you really are I have worn them, too. And Lalso know that KRYPTOKS end these troubles. They give you perfect near and far vision in one pair of glasses You cannot detect even the slightest trace of a line, hump, orseamin KRYPTOK Glasses. They are the only invisible bifocals. They cannot be distinguished from single vision glasses, * + * Ask your optical specialist about KRYPTOK Glasses. They are, of course, sold only upon the advice or prescription of the oculist, optometrist or optician. Write for descriptive booklet. Please give the name of your optical specialist. KRYPTOK Company, Inc., 1017 Old South Building, Boston, Mass. RYPTO GLASSES THE INVISIBLE BIFOCALS The The Chapter 3 KRY PTOK Bifocal with clear, smooth, or hump even surfaces One point deserves emphasis: It is fre- quently stated in the press that scarcity of sugar in this country was due to excessive export from this country to Europe. This is without foundation. England cannot refine more than 750,000 tons of sugar per annum. Since in her share of the Cuban crop she was importing much more than this she was compelled to consume brown sugar or transship through this country and have the sugar refined here. The Royal Sugar Commission placed contracts in this country for the refining of 500,000 tons of their share of the Cuban crop. Exporta- tions in material amounts outside of this have not occurred. The Equalization Board and the refiners maintained the wholesale price of nine cents through the fourth quarter of last year for | such sugar as came in under the old con- tracts and agreements. But new sugar from domestic cane and beet appeared on the market, the price of which was not covered by such contracts. This sugar naturally went to a much higher price; and thus one witnessed the unusual spectacle of limited amounts of sugar on sale in different shops for from eleven to as high as twenty-three cents a pound. Doubtless some of the old sugar was sold as new-crop domestic sugar; but on the whole, to the extent that the old sugar was available, American trades- men did little profiteering in the sugar sold by the refiner for the fixed price of nine cents. The sequence of events following the first positive signs of scarcity in July led to efforts looking toward the control of the 1919 crop. There were two frankly diver- gent points of view. One ran to the effect that the best course was to return to free- dom of trade, whether sugar went high or low, and at whatever risk of speculation and profiteering; that the struggle to return to the law of supply and demand might just as well occur now as later, even with the certainty that the retail price of sugar would be for a time greatly elevated, at the very time when the President and Congress were trying to reduce the high cost of liv- ing. The opposing view ran to the effect that it would be wise to continue the com- plete machinery of sugar control for another year, buy the Cuban crop, allocate one- third of it to Europe, make agreements with Porto Rico, the Hawaiian and Philippine Islands and with the American cane and beet growers, and control refining and dis- tribution as before. With the forecast crops it was believed that this could be accomplished with no greater increase than one cent a pound in the retail price of sugar, Up to Mr. Wilson These two views were expressed in com- munications from the Sugar Equalization Board to the President in July, 1919. On July nineteenth the board had received an unofficial but authorized offer of the Cuban crop, at a price that was known to be six and a half cents, in any event not to exceed seven cents. Thereupon the board wrote to the President, on August fourteenth, outlined the situation, and offered the sug- gestion that if the President so desired it was practicable to purchase the Cuban crop, control the Porto Rican, Hawaiian and Philippine sugars and the domestic produc- tion, and regulate refining, distribution and prices just as during the previous year, for which, however, additional legislation would be required, prolonging for another year the functions of the Food Administration and the Equalization Board and power of import and export embargo, A minority re- port was presented by Professor Taussig, whose opinion favored a return to the law of supply and demand. The President did not act; and non- action had the effect of accepting the mi- nority report. : The board on September twentieth again addressed a communication to the President, advising him that with- drawal of the Cuban offer of sale wes immi- nent if prompt action was not taken. On September twenty-second the Cuban offer was withdrawn, and on the following day the President was so advised by the board, with the further statement that the situa- tion was out of hand and that refiners had been advised to secure raw sugar from the new crop according to prewar practice. The growers of domestic beet and cane, the island producers, the refiners and the dis- tributive trades were desirous of a continu- ation of control for one year, since they preferred a stabilized market to speculation, In October, action was taken in Congress looking toward additional legislation for March 6,1920 the control of the sugar of the new crop. The Attorney-General and the Department of Justice undertook respectively to admin- ister certain clauses of the unexpired Lever Act applicable to the uncontrolled market and to uncover and repress profiteering. Investigation by officials of the Depart- ment of Justice resulted in the statement that no profiteering in sugar by the legiti- mate trade had been discovered. There had been some speculation and purchases for future delivery by outsiders and occa- sional acts of hoarding, though in no con- siderable quantities. Such hoarding as had occurred was clearly the result of shortage, not the cause of it. A resumption of the licensing provision by the Attorney Gen- eral proved impractical. Crop failure had occurred in the Gulf region and the yield was reduced to one- half. The administration agreed that the Gulf growers were entitled to a doubled price, though no such provision had been determined for the wheat growers whose crop failed in the Northwest. The result of this agreement was an understanding in November that no prosecution for profit- eering would be undertaken against sale of Gulf clarified sugar for seventeen cents or refined sugar for eighteen cents a pound. This sugar appeared on the market at this figure in November. The beet growers contended that the lowest for which they could sell sugar was ten cents refined; and though no contract or agreement was entered into, beet sugar also appeared on the market in November based upon that price. Back to Supply and Demand A little later some beet sugar sold as high as twelve cents f. o. b. factory; and it is possible that some of it was sold as Gulf cane sugar for seventeen cents. It is also possible that Porto Rican sugar entered the back door and appeared at the front door as Louisiana cane, since the estimate of the Gulf cane yield was natu- rally only an approximation. It was the intention of the Equalization Board, had control been undertaken for another year, to purchase the Gulf crop at seven- teen cents, absorb it into the total supply and sell it for approximately twelve cents, paying the difference out of the accu- mulated contingency fund of the previous year. Congress that in October was adverse to any legislation, two months later passed a bill empowering the President to continue, after a fashion, the operation of the Sugar Equalization Board and the Lever Act as applicable to sugar. The bill, however, limited control by license to the thirtieth of June, which limitation rendered the bill worthless for practical purposes, because the rush demand for sugar for the manu- facturing trades occurs largely after the first of June. Though the bill became a law by signature of the President he has wisely decided not to avail himself of the legislation. The entire Cuban crop could have been purchased at six and a half to seven cents, the beet at nine to ten cents, and the insular sugar at a figure comparable to that of Cuban. The total supply could then have been retailed at practically twelve to twelve and a half cents a pound. With the decision of the Administration not to use the new legislative powers conferred by Congress and the legal expiration of the Equalization Board on December thirty- first the sugar industry of the country was returned to the operations of the law of supply and demand. For the present calendar year, what are the prospects for supply and price? The Royal Sugar Commission purchased 500,- 000 tons of raw sugar in Cuba in July for six and a half cents a pound. Since that time prices for advance purchase have been gradually rising because the Cubans saw that the market was in their power. The January price for Cuban raw Is about ten cents; the price quoted for February, nine and a half; for March, about nine. The flood of Cuban sugar may be expected in April, by which time the price will fall to eight or possibly seven and a half cents. The spread of the refiner has been widened to two cents. The spreads of the whole- saler, jobber and retailer have also been widened, in some instances to twice the extent fixed under the Food Administra- tion. The margins on sugar under the Food Administration were narrow, so narrow, indeed, as to have represented little profit. (Continued on Page 49)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 47 [F YOU SHOULD ASK YOUR BUTCHER to explain how the Toledo Scale works, you would readily understand why he takes pride in it and advertises that it protects his cus- tomers. First, and most important, it contains no springs and, therefore, is not affected, as spring scales are, by changes in temperature. It is a pendulum scale, measuring gravity with gravity itself, unerring in its operation. It is attractive in appearance, sanitary and sensitive to the weight of a feather—the achieve- ment of twenty years’ experience in building springless automatic scales exclusively. It is automatic, weighing and computing without hand operations or mental calculations; ard self-illuminating, the whole face of the scale flooded with electric light, making the Po TOLEDO Ler | weight and value indications distinct and easily readable. You would be impressed with the ingenious shock-absorbing device which also regulates the vibration of the indicator; with the sur- prising simplicity of the mechanism of the scale, and with its strength, accuracy and durability. He might then direct your attention to the customer’s side of the scale, with its brilliantly illuminated weight indication, and its sign, ‘*Toledo—No Springs—Honest Weight,’’ and tell you that the scale is the only fixture in his shop in which his customers are financially interested, and because of their interest and for their protection he had not considered price, but had purchased the best scale that money could buy. There are more than one hundred styles and sizes of Toledo Scales to weigh every thing from an ounce of spice to thirty tons of steel—scales for stores, offices, shipping rooms, warehouses, mills and factories. Toledo Scale Company Toledo, Ohio, U. S. A. Canadian Factory, Windsor, Ontario Largest Automatic Scale Manufacturers in the World Branch Offices and Service Stations in sixty-nine cities in the United States and Canada. Others in thirty-four foreign countries. — bad touougudl

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48 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 6,1920 MART Boyish Style with Erect Manly Bearing distinguishes “RIGHT-POSTURE” Clothes from all others. The novel construction reminds a boy (should he forget) to square his shoulders and stand up straight. “RIGHT-POSTURE” Clothes are the best Boys’ Clothes money can buy, with an exclusive feature no money can buy in any other clothes. BOYS, WRITE FOR OUR BOOK, ‘THE CLOTHES A BOY SHOULD WEAR,”’ SENT FREE. (Ste SNELLENBURG (CLOTHING GOMPANY Philadelphia an New ‘Yor A ee

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(Continued from Page 46) In the present speculative market each dealer feels compelled to increase his mar gin in order to cover his risks and to compel sugar to carry its fair share of the overload. The retail price of sugar may be reasonably expected to fall to fifteen or fourteen cents, or even lower, when the high flood of Cuban sugar that will probably appear earlier than usual in response to the pres- ent price—-enters the market. European purchases in Cuba do not exceed 1,000,000 tons and may be no greater than 800,000. The total production of sugar in the world is below normal, the increase in cane having been more than offset by decrease in beet production. With the normal rate of increase the sugar production of the world would this year be about 19,000,000 tons. The accepted forecasts in trade ‘and governmental circles promise only a scant 16,000,000 tons, as against 16,340,000 last year and 17,300,000 the year before. The domestic acreage of sugar beet for this year will depend upon availability of seed and the growers’ reaction to price at the time of planting. For this year the trade must not merely plan to supply the demand; normal stocks must be reaccu- mulated. Under control, with price and allocation fixed, neither wholesaler nor re- tailer had any motive for carrying stocks; but under normal conditions business can- not be done without a safe margin of re- served stock. The forecast of our sugar supply for the calendar year 1919-20 may be stated as follows in approximate terms: LONG TONS Continental cane 110,000 Continental beet 740,000 Porto Rico 400,000 Hawaiian Island 500,000 Philippines 150,000 Our share of Cuban crop 2,600,000 Total 1,500,000 These figures are believed to be conserv- ative. If we were to consume again this year 4,100,000 tons—representing a per capita consumption of 85 pounds—and establish a reserve stock of 400,000 tons, this would fall within the figure stated. The figure for our share of the Cuban crop assumes that Europe will obtain 1,600,000 of the forecast crop of 4,200,000 tons. Since the amount thus allocated to Europe is practically twice her present purchases this is believed to be conservative, in view of the continued fall of exchange and inability of the European nations to pur- chase on credit in Cuba. Included in the European allocation, however, is 400,000 tons for Canada. European Requirements According to the best available informa- tion the situation in sugar supplies in Eu- rope, on the basis of the harvests of last year, will require the following importations: LONG TONS The neutral nations—Seandinavia, Holland, Switzerland, Spain 200,000 United Kingdom 1,200,000 France ; ines 400,000 Belgium .... i55. eeetarar are 60,000 _ ee Trees ree. Germany, self-sufficient Russia, Poland, Austria, Hungary, Balkan States—no reliable information as to im- ports or ex} rts To this must be added Canada 400,000 Total - 2,360,000 Subtract Czechoslovakian exportable 200,000 urplu Requirement Where is this sugar to be obtained? The answer depends partly upon the require- ments of competing countries elsewhere on the globe. There are evidences that the sugar ¢ onsumption in South America, Aus- tralia and South Africa tends to rise. Dur- ing the war, when Javanese sugar was cheap, the Chinese became accustomed to ugar to a greater extent than ever before; and China, Japan and India may be ex- pected to draw heavily upon Java, the crop representing ane xportable surplus of nearly 1,500,000 tons. It is, however, believed that the following supplies will be available for Europe: 2,160,000 LONG TONS Cuba ; 1,600,000 British West Inc 210,000 French West Indie 40,000 1 Domingo 100,000 Mauritius and Re 200,000 Potal 2,150,000 THE SATURDAY On paper, therefore, sugar is apparently available in sutticient amounts to cover the minimum requirements of the nations of Europe if they can finance the purchases. With the pound sterling at $3.60, the france at eight cents, the lire at seven cents, Cuban raw sugar costing now twelve cents and scaled to fall to eight cents becomes a much more expensive commodity. Cuban raw sugar at nine cents costs with current ster- ling exchange 220 per cent of 5.5-cent sugar at par exchange last year. The importing nations of Europe cannot purchase Cuban sugar at the present rates of exchange, except at a greatly increased sale price at home over the fixed price of the past year. We may take it for granted that the nations of Europe will not enter upon a sugar subsidy. Not only is the buying power of the importing nations greatly weakened, but the purchasing desire of the individual consumer will be restrained by the sharp rise in price neces- sitated by increase in the cost in Cuba and depreciation of exchange since the last sugar crop. The buying power of the United States is so immeasurably greater than that of Europe that we can secure 3,000,000 tons of the Cuban sugar if we wish it. It is merely a question of price. Finally, the return commodities needed in Cuba are largely of American design and manufac- ture. The only item of exportable sugar given above was 200,000 tons from Czechoslo- vakia. It is presumed that this will go to the United Kingdom, directly or indirectly. It is, however, possible that Germany may throw a small block of sugar to the United States. A ton of German refined sugar sold in New York at twelve cents minus freight charges would yield $230. chase and deliver back pounds of cotton. The sugar is worth in Germany 3000 marks under the new gov- ernmental price; would cost in New York about 16,000 marks. Under such circumstances it is pos- sible that 100,000 or 200,000 tons of sugar from Germany might come to this country in exchange for cotton. Why is Consumption Increased? If one might venture a forecast, the fol- lowing sequence of events is like ly to hap- pen during this year: The ret tail price of sugar will gradually fall to about fourteen cents at the end of May. Then will begin the sharp increase in consumption natural at this season. The total consumption dur- ing the first three quarters might easily exceed that of last year, with the result of repetition of stringency, areas of sugar vacuum in different parts of the country, and for the remnant of the crop a sharp rise This will pur- | Germany 600 | 600 pounds of cotton | to eighteen or twenty cents, until relieved | by early refining of the new crop of domestic cane and beet sugar. This is the worst that can happen; and in the present mood of the American public it may easily happen. Is the cause of increase of consumption of sugar physiological, psychological or sociological? The writer is unable to be- lieve that it is physiological. Sugar is a most valuable food in times of heavy physi- cal exertion. It is so rapidly assimilated that to the mountain climber it acts almost as a diffusible stimulant. But the exertions of the American people are not greater than during the war. Quite the contrary; they are definitely less. In nearly every indus- try and occupation there is underwork, measured in terms of hours and output. There is nothing in the life of the American people during the past year to suggest any physiological justification for increased con- sumption of sugar. A psychological explanation lies at hand. The rebound from control to freedom is usually attended by an increased consump- tion. This was observed in England during the short period of relaxation of regulations; and fear of this rebound has retained the sugarregulationsinevery country in Europe. A sociological explanation also lies at hand. The high consumption of sugar is a part of the splurge of postwar prosperity, an expression of easy accumulation and | large earnings, of the carelessness in expend- iture that is characteristic of a period of | high earnings. This naturally results in display of the universal fondness for can- dies and sweet beverages, the shops for the dispensing of which multiply overnight along our streets. The manufacture of ice cream and pastry and cakes of all kinds has also greatly increased. There is noevidence that the use of sugar on the private table or in the home kitchen has increased to EVENING POST ok Rae For the Price Of 3 Chops— Or 7 Eggs You Get a 35-Dish Package of Quaker Oats The large package of Quaker Oats serves some thirty-five average dishes. That means delicious breakfasts for one person for a month Phe pac kage That's about the cost of three lamb chops or of seven eggs at this writing. “Si Phink of that. Three little chops will buy 4 you thirty-five servings of the greatest food es " : , that grows, ~ alas . — Coste 9 Times It Buys You 6221 Calories Quaker 1000 ¢ That large package of Quaker Oats yields td \ > 6221 calories—the energy measure of food Costs 2 Times costs 35 cents value. It takes seven pounds of round steak to yield that many calories And here is what those calories cost at this writing in some necessary foods: Cost of 6221 Calories Qua WO Calorie In Quaker Oats - - - - - 35¢ In Average Meats - - - - - $2.80 In Average Fish . - - - - $3.10 In Hens’ Eggs - - - - - - $4.35 In Potatoes - - - - - - 70c Many common breakfasts cost ten times (Quaker Oats for the same calory value Yet the oat is the food of foods. It is almost a complete food. It yields 1810 calories of energy per pound Quaker Oats forms the ideal breakfast And what it savés will help you pay for ; Costs 10 Times costlier foods at dinner Quaker O er 1000 ¢ Many who omit this dish are being underfed. erve ( Quaker Oats The Extra-Flavory Flakes Make this great dish delicious. Quaker Oats We ge flaked from queen grains only just the get the creain of rich, plump, flavory oat in extra pr 15c and 35c per Package Except in the Far West and South Packed in Sealed Round Packages with Removable Cover 49

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST A Pail that is a Pail Many pails are short lived and unsatisfactory. They scale, rust and dent easily. ‘Their seams and cracks hold dirt. Others absorb water, grease, etc.,—become ill smelling and unsanitary, or dry up and fall apart. Buy made in one They *Fibrotta’’ pails, piece, without cracks or seams, have a hard, glasslike surface, imper- vious to water or ‘They will not rust, warp, swell, leak or dent out of shape. ‘They combine great durabil- ity, sanitary ethciency, good looks and economy. ‘They last twice—yes, ‘Aree times as long as other pails. grease. Saves Money Besides the “Star” for house cleaning, office ‘hibrotta” tions, railroads and factories pail of “ Fibrotta,” and general use, we make other equipment for hotels, offices, institu Handsome mahog any in color, it is exceptionally durable and sam tary. Reduces equipment expense to a minimum. Waste Baskets, Spittoons, Tubs, Jars, etc. waste basket and litter the umbrella jars fit in Spittoons are not only the far the most No papers can sift through a “ Fibrotta” floor, Handsome mahogany colored “ Fibrotta”’ with the finest surroundings. “Fibrotta”’ most durable but they are the easiest to clean and by sanitary, “kibrotta” fire pails outlast all others. Keelers or dishpans, handy dishes, and tubs of ‘Fibrotta” are fine for hotel and household use. ‘kibrotta” baby baths are not cold to the tender skin of an infant, like metal baths. Ask your dealer for “ kibrotta’’ goods. We also make the “XXth Century” Water Cooler, very sanitary and a great ice saver. It soon pays for itself in ice savings alone. Basket AYES~-— 2’ BAOQUARTERS ORDLEY6& © Oto 35 kz 7-9 Leonard Street Dept. C New York City Established 1889 | a marked extent. |} ute amount | mark, | of aleohol. The best analyses of the figures of distribution indicate that the increase of consumption has not been as table sugar or kitchen sugar. In theory, high consumption should occur with low price; but if this had held we ought to have observed increase in household use of sugar. Is increased consumption of sugar the result of prohibition? The less one knows about the action of alcohol the more con- fidently one talks about sugar as a substi- tute. It cannot be seriously argued that the man addicted to alcoholic beverages has to drink something for the mere act of swallowing, and for that reason consumes soft drinks. Alcohol is a narcotic. Sugar and starch are substances that in the course of digestion become converted into the glucose of the blood that serves as the principal fuel of the body. Alcohol is also burned and acts as a fuel. But the idea that sugar is a substitute for alcohol be- cause the drinker lacking alcohol has to seek another fuel is too crude even to appeal to the lay mind. f sugar is a substitute for alcohol, starch must also be, because the products of the digestion of starch are the same as the prod- ucts of the digestion of sugar; but there has been no increase in the consumption of starchy foods. Let anyone spend a week | in one of our large cities visiting candy | shops and soft-drink establishments and classify the patrons; he will surely decide that the patrons are not the same individ- uals who used to stand before{the bars of the saloon. No Carrie Nation can point | to the jeunesse dorée that throngs the soda shops and say: ‘‘ These have I saved from rum.” Chocolates are not served in place of cocktails; and soft drinks are not taken to ward off cold. Scarcity and high price of sugar attended with the increase in con- sumption of candy and soft drinks furnishes the opponent of prohibition with the cheap | retort that these are the result of the with- drawal of alcohol. Sugar asa Food The proponents of this view are also in | the habit of pointing to the consumption of sugar in Europe. Physiological argu- ments cannot be conducted on these ob servations. The peoples of France and Italy consumed much wine and little sugar; the people of Germany consumed a moder- of sugar and a very large amount of alcohol; the peoples of Den Holland and the United Kingdom consumed large amounts of sugar and of | aleohol; and we consumed the heaviest sugar and a moderate amount In an indirect sense the aboli- tion of the saloon has resulted in increased consumption of sugar. When father drinks amount of | less there is more money for clothing, books | and candy for the children. Are there advantages in a high sugar consumption? Does injury proceed from it? This is a fertile fieid for speculation, lay and medical. With increase in the consumption of sugar we have decreased the consumption of flour and also of meat to some extent. Sugar and starch have different reactions in the digestive tract, since sugar is easily and quickly assimi- lated while the starches require a prolonged period of digestion. But once digested, the products that reach the blood are the same. For the normal digestion they may be regarded as equivalent, and for normal work they are equivalent; but for forced exertions sugar is superior because more quickly assimilated. Practically speaking any disadvantage that sugar might possess compared with March 6,1920 starch would lie in possible disturbances of the digestive tract. Evidence of wide- spread injury to digestion through con- sumption of large amounts of sugar is very difficult to secure; and it is greatly ex- aggerated by faddists who for one reason or another preach curtailment in the use of sugar. During the season of harvest the cane cutters consume enormous quantities without apparent injury. Sugar is one of the causes given for decay of the teeth. But as one new cause is discovered each year this has ceased to be a tangible ob- jection. Certainly if high consumption of sugar produces decay of teeth and derangement of digestion the American public is head- ing for an age of toothless indigestion. Cutting the Sugar Cake On the other hand, there is no physio- logical reason to indicate that anything is gained by increasing the consumption of sugar and reducing that of the stare ‘hy foods. It is merely a question of taste and the American cuisine is developing each year more and more round sugar. Sugar saves work in the kitchen since a great many foods are rendered palatable by su- gar that would otherwise have to receive a more or less elaborate culinary preparation. The consumption of fruits in increased amounts is a positive gain, though not be- cause of the sugar they contain; but the sugar is one of the a ements of their at- tractiveness. All in all, it is largely a ques- tion of taste whether one consumes fifty pounds of sugar a year and 400 pounds of starch or 100 pounds of sugar and 350 pounds of starch. The price difference is amazingly small, because sugar in the pre- war period was almost as cheap as flour. But further replacement of starch by sugar will result in exaggerated substitution of factory-made for kitchen-made foods. With modern methods in preparation of foods the factory-made foods are probably as healthful as homemade foods, so that the matter becomes one of sociology and not of physiology. There are sociological considerations against the replacement of home work by factory work beyond a cer- tain point. The situation is up to the American people, just as it was last year. We can restrain the use of sugar throughout the year; or we can gorge in one period and have seareity in another. Last year we stumbled with our eyes shut; if we stumble this year it will be with our eyes open. All that is required to meet the situation is to plan a reasonably generous use of sugar, with slight restraint in the use of manu- factured sugar. Not that there is any objection to confections; the sugar in them comes to the good of the body just as does table sugar. But the householder cannot compete in the market with the manufac- turer. Therefore, restraint should be prac- ticed in the use of sugar in manufactured states, in order that scarcity in the house- hold shall not be provoked. It is surely not to be contemplated in a normal household that candy shall be available, but no table sugar. If we act this year as we acted last year we run grave danger of inducing sugar shortage in the autumn. We can cut and consume the cake of the year’s sugar supply in twelve parts—making allowance for the requirements of canners; or we can eat ten parts in eight months and then divide two parts into four months. The con- sumers have never had a commodity so directly under their control as is the case with sugar this year.

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The difference between “‘horse sense”’ and common sense is that “‘ horse sense”’ is not common. wr What was probably the first theatre party to “‘ship by truck”’ was made up recently at Easton, Pa., for attending a matinee performance in New York. Twenty-eight women composed the party. The truck had been converted into an enclosed “‘carry-all” capable of seating thirty persons. The trip each way, a distance of seventy-eight miles, was made in a little more than four hours. It was so successful that another trip from Easton has been planned, and several nearby towns are planning com- munity “‘ship-by-truck”’ theatre parties for the near future. ) Now that we have nation-wide prohibi- tion, the sane and economical way to carry loads is on a Traffic Truck. { The greatest motor-truck show is what you see in profits from its use on the right side of your ledger. { Do your hauling with a Traffic Truck and save 50 per cent of the cost of haul- ing with teams. ) W. C. Redfield, Secretary of Commerce, recently stated that ‘You might build up the railroads until they are ten tracks wide, and fill the rivers with steamers, and still the farmer would not beserved.” ) Traffic Truck Specifications: Red Seal Continental 3°4 x 5 motor; Covert transmission; multiple disc clutch; Bosch magneto; Carter car- buretor; 4-piece cast shell, cellular type radiator; drop forged front axle with Timken roller bearings; Russell rear axle, internal gear, roller bearings; semi-elliptic front and rear springs; 6-inch U-channel frame; Standard Fisk tires, 34x32 front, 34x 5 rear; 133-inch wheelbase; 122-inch length of frame behind driver’s seat; oil cup lubricating system; chassis painted, striped and varnished; driver’s lazy- back seat and cushion regular equip- ment. Pneumatic cord tire equipment at extra cost. Chassis $1395 Factory Traffic Truck chassis equipped with cab, hoist, steel dump body (painted and varnished), no extras required, $1890 complete, at factory. The lowest priced 4,000-lb. capacity truck in the world. Built of standard- ized units. It is Traffic policy to make direct con- nections in every city, town and village in the United States and Canada. The demand for Traffics has made it necessary to quadruple the production this year. Many dealers are getting in line now for future Traffic franchises. You have no time to lose. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 51 . (chaseis) # fier d Je dl hupfh , 6 he / tt pfhewt ag fi “y ’ fb Traffic Motor Truck Corporation St. Louis, U.S. A. Largest exclusive builders of 4,000-Ib. capacity trucks in the world

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 6,1920 THE TOM SAWYER BROADFALL gives boys a distinctly well-dressed look, mainly because it is made to stand wash- wear and real boy-play. The dyed-in-the-thread process that makes the colors of Tom Sawyers enduring, also makes them rich. The many refinements of fit not only allow free movement, with the least pos- sible strain on the thoroughly stitched seams, but they make the boy look his best. And the sturdy waistbands, the wide hems, the stoutly made poc kets and but- tonholes, all help to make lasting the distinctly tailored look of Tom Sawyers. Yet they cost you no more than you usu- ally pay, for your dealer can buy them direct from the maker. ROMPERS SHIRTS— 12 to 14 neck RUSSIAN SUITS 3 te BLOUSES — 6 to 16 years R. NORFOLK SUITS. 3 to 9. MIDDY SUITS — 4 to 10 ROMPERS— 3 to 8 ALL-IN-ONE SUITS---3 to 8 For dealers there's a miniature sample trunk. From it you can make stock orders unhampered. With it comes a mighty interesting sales story. Better request it right away Elder Manufacturing Co., St. Louis, Mo. New York Chicago Kansas City Dallas Los Angeles ow ae

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rice of Empire THE SATURDAY EVENING POST By HENRY M. HYDE NE winter evening a year ago I dined Q at the Reform Club in London with a great dignitary of the Established Church. Over the metropolis still lay the almost crushing weight of the war. The relief and reaction of peace, so long delayed, had hardly begun to be felt. The multitudinous streets swarmed with what seemed like mil- lions of men, practically all in khaki, and with almost as many women, also in mili- tary uniform, their faces drawn and strained. The dirty brown fog hung low and a fine drizzle of rain fell on the mottled gray-and- black fronts of the great clubs along Pall Mall. Only a faint yellow glow came through the huge windows, for even the current for electric lighting was still strictly rationed. My host, who had just returned from a journey which took him across the United States, began with an apology: ‘‘I’m sorry we shan’t be able to give you much of a dinner,”’ he said. It was true. At the time it was impossible to buy in London what we should call a decent meal. Practically the only available meat was what the Eng- lish themselves called ‘‘ offal.” ‘The most desirable thing in the world,” said the lord bishop over the dinner table, ‘is, in my opinion, an alliance or at least a solid working agreement between the United States and Great Britain. I can see no other reasonable hope for civilization.” The bishop is more than a dignitary of the church. He takes an active interest in politics, sits in the House of Lords, and en- joys to a remarkable extent the confidence of labor leaders and the progressive liberals of the country. He speaks for a consider- able and important section of British opinion. A week later I called in Paris on two Englishmen who belong to that important but little-known class who do much of the real work of managing the British Em- pire—the permanent officials of the Foreign Office, the War Office and the Admiralty. One of them is also close in the confidence of Premier Lloyd George, though there was nothing official about our conversation. I mentioned the possibility of an Anglo- American alliance, which had been several times suggested by influential men in Lon- don. For an instant there was hesitation and what seemed like an air of embarrass- ment. Then the elder of the two spoke. “It depends,”’ he said, ‘‘on whether the United States is ready to give up its tradi- tional policy of aloofness and to take an active part in world politics. To be blunt, I should think we British would be glad of such an alliance if the United States is ready to take over its share of the white man’s burden. “*We have watched your administration of the Philippines and your dealings with Cuba and we conclude that you are the only people in the world—except our- | selves—who have the necessary qualities to govern and develop colonies and de- pendencies with the lasting good of the governed always in mind. But will the United States be willing to extend its in- fluence and send its men and money all over the world?” There was something of a challenge in his voice, as of a proud man who is making a suggestion he fears may not be welcome. He is fairly familiar with the United States. He has traveled pretty well over the coun- try and lived for months at a time in Wash- ington without getting his name in the | newspapers. Our conversation took place } before the peace conference in Paris began its sessions, sO one may imagine my some- | what gasping astonishment as he went on: “TI wonder, for instance, if the United States would be willing to accept a man- date for the protection and development of Armenia and perhaps part of Turkey? Coming nearer home, what about a man- date for Mexico? Yes, if the United States would be willing to pull her fair share of the load I think we British should be glad of an alliance between the two countries.” This was, so far as I know, the first defi- nite mention of the part the United States might be expected to play in the applica- | tion of the mandate system. The speaker went on to outliné somewhat roughly and | STERN NEWSPAPER UNION, NEW YORH CITY > — ———ad The Victory Parade From the Roof of Buckingham Palace. This Picture Was Made Just as the U.S. Troops Were Approaching the Victoria Monument A z automatic burner fits any type of Jurnace; installed in half a day and burns ot! which 1s always plentiful Heat without work, worry or dirt. The NO iL. Ht \TING for years successful in the industrial field—is now adapted to the home, made so by the Nokol burner. Your furnace can be made workless, dirt less and dependable in operation by install ing Nokol; merely remove the furnace grate and put this compact burner in. Nokol uses oil for fuel; thus it ends your worry over coal shortages. Nokol leaves no ashes, dirt or grime, thereby freeing you from basement jobs. Moreover—it tends itself. Just fill the tank, set the living room ther- mostat and your one job is done. Then Nokol’s begins; it automatically delivers any temperatures you want at any time, day 1, day out. On the National Board of Underwriters’ list of approved appliances, Nokol is the one ideal device to insure you even, de ‘pend- able heat without labor or dirt. The price of Nokol, complete, without storage tank, 1s $325 f.o.b. Chicago. Write today for complete information about Nokol. THE STEAM CORPORAT ION 1 Machinery rperat TREET . CHICAGO t

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THE SATURDAY Purposely Made for All Marine Uses NPAINTED, the mightiest [ battleship will soon crumble away. sant gnawings of sea-water and of To resist the inces- the armor weather on every surface, armor of steel needs the of paint. Many vast ocean-going vessels have thus been Lucas-armored. And not these only. Thousands of yachts, launches and sail-boats have also received the durable protection of Lucas products—the result of seventy-one years of good paint-making. For whatever you have that needs protection or beauty by the use of paints, varnishes, stains or enamels, there is a Lucas product purposely made for that purpose. PHILADELPHIA NEW YORK PITTSHURGH CHICAGO BOSTON OAKLAND, Cat ASHEVILLE, N. ¢ BUFFALO, N.Y, «DENVER, COLO. HOUSTON, TEXAS JACKSONVILLE, FLA RICHMOND, VA MEMPHIS, TENN, SAVANNAH, GA | ous and conspicuous. | tenes | reproac | world suffers to-day is propaganda EVENING POST incompletely a considerable part of the pro- gram which the peace conference finally adopted. I heard Lord Robert Cecil, Viscount Grey—the present special ambassador of Great Britain to the United States—and perhaps twenty other Englishmen of the so-called governing class discuss an Anglo- American understanding as mutually and internationally desirable. Some of them seemed to feel that it is a necessity if the world is to be preserved from anarchy and chaos. Winston Churchill, Secretary for War, has declared that a working agreement with the United States must be the keynote of the foreign policy of Britain. When Lloyd George came home from Paris and announced to the House of Com- mons the results of the peace conference I sat in the strangers’ gallery. When he men- tioned the League of Nations a_half- suppressed burst of derisive laughter swept round the crowded house. “I bee of you to take the League of Na- tions seriously,” cried the premier. I do not believe that the majority of the Commons have ever taken the League with as much seriousness as it deserves. I do think they are quite seriously in favor of something like an alliance with the United States. I talked with a good many people—on the tops of busses in London, in railway carriages, in little shops and inns all over England—and found that where they had given the subject any thought they were generally in favor of such an alliance. One of my English friends has been for forty- three years head waiter in one of the oldest and most English of London eating houses. When I was sailing for home after a year’s residence in London he and one of his assistants sent me a steamer letter. ‘‘ May | our two countries always stand together to protect the peace of the world” was the concluding sentence. During the first six months of last year London was the scene of a succession of great victory parades. Almost continuously the streets of the city were gorgeous with the flags of the Allies. It was pleasant to see the Stars and Stripes flying almost everywhere. It seemed to me that next to the Union Jack our flag was most numer- Certainly it was gen- erously represented. In a single day on Regent Street, Piccadilly, Whitehall and the Strand I have seen displayed more flags of the United States than of all the foreign flags put together I have ever seen flying at home. In the United States I find no general feeling corresponding to that which exists in England. Among large and important classes Of our people there is, on the con- trary, a growing irritation against Grekt Britain. Almost every important English- man I talked with admitted that there was no hope for a good understanding with the | United States until the Irish question is | settled; and in this country Great Britain had been almost as unhappy in her friends as in her enemies. ‘“‘Anglophile” has al- ways been a term of reproach; because the quality often carried with it a certain amount of snobbishness and half-concealed for republican institutions the has been too often justified. A Thriving Black Art Generally speaking I do not think the peo- | ple of the United States have ever given the | subject of an alliance or a working agree- | ment with Great Britain anything like | serious consideration. This is not to sug- t that such an agreement is desirable. t may not even be worth consideration. But it might be interesting to clear away some of the tangled underbrush which pre- | vents one from looking the idea in the face. One of the great curses from ng tr 4 t is the business of the propagandist to exag- erate, distort, conceal or misinterpret acts; to deceive or mislead as many people as possible; to prevent any wakteisased view of the truth from becoming known. During the war the black art of — was developed to an sabeend-el eonent. 3 ranked with the tank and machine gun a deadly weapon.’ This is not the place to tell how in Paris or London—or Washing- ton—it was almost impossible for news- paper men to get the real truth about anything. Since the war the propagandists have, if anything, increased their activity. Every nation, actual or aspiring, every cause, good or bad—one is tempted to say almost March 6,1920 every personage—has agents at work poisoning the wells of information; which explains the frequent and ridiculous con- tradictions in the newspapers. In London I had an illuminating talk with the man who was the real head of British propaganda during the war. He had just gone back to private life. It was pleasant to hear him enthusiastically agree that, between friends and Allies, propa- ganda in the accepted sense is worse than useless; it is dangerous. “We must tell the truth about each other, as we see it,”” he said. ‘“‘We must be even critical in a sympathetic and good- natured way. By no other process can friendship and mutual respect be built up.”’ Now it is a favorite joke in London that the violet is not the national flower of the United States, which is a delicate way of saying that we are boastful if not blatant. A considerable part of that reputation is due to the back fire of our own propaganda. Agents of our Committee on Public Infor- mation arrived _in England announcing that they were “going to put the Presi- dent over,” as if the head of the Govern- ment had been a new vaudeville performer. Stunts like the fabulous Fourth of July story of the achievements of our destroyers in sinking submarines also had their reflex action on the other side. We printed early in our participation in the war certain books with unfortunate titles. And it cannot be denied that individual Americans have, without being urged, frankly confessed that we won the war. Accepted Conventions We are a young people, with the faults of youth. We are doubtless too ready to give expression to our youthful self- confidence. But it is not a unique distine- tion; older nations are quite as quick to make what are properly rebuked in the young as boastful statements. There is a widespread convention that the British are the most modest of men. Reading the newspapers of London, listen- ing to the speeches of English leaders, it is refreshing to find that this is only a conven- tion. Pick up, for instance, the book on India, written by Earl Curzon, present head of the British Foreign Office. It is dedicated—I quote from memory—‘‘to the British Empire, under Providence the greatest force for good the world has known.” Listen to Sir Douglas Haig, commander in chief of the British armies, speaking at Newcastle, when he received the freedom of the city some time ago. “It is right,” said Sir Douglas, ‘‘to speak of our Allies, but it was the British Army that won the war.” Americans have been many times told that the greatest personage at the Paris conference was President Wilson, that his was the potent voice, his the controlling will. Mr. Garvin’s Sunday Observer, the great liberal weekly of London, does not agree. “The most dynamic personal force was Mr. Lloyd George,” it says. “‘In the world parliament at Paris his has been the most potent voice, his has been the freshest, the most original and the most diplomatic mind applied to the problems of the council chamber. The Peace Treaty bears the im- press of his genius And that doesn’t half tell the story. “The heavy work of making peace, like the heavy work of making war, fell to the British,” says Lord Beaverbrook’s paper, the Daily Express. “It was the British delegates and the British officials who practically drafted the treaty. It was the British who chased the illusive issues and after many exciting pursuits stripped them of their rhetoric and their prejudices and their phantasies and set them down in bald understandable language.” Another convention of the same kind is that the Englishman is so phlegmatic, sc immutable, so altogether unintelligible that he is not able to understand himself. “We are a great people,” said the Times, the ancient Thunderer, in a leader pub- lished last July; “we are a great people and the envy and exasperating despair of mankind. . . To our Allies, as to the Germans, we are a strange, unintelligible ople; and no wonder, since we are un- intelligible to ourselves. What is the cause of our immutability? Why do we go on doing the same things, whatever happens? Why cannot custom stale our infinite monotony? And why, being what we are, have we this enormous reserve of strength?” (Cenctuded on Page 57)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST a ¢ HOSE who are seeking distinctive- ness and smartness in footwear will find their ultimate choice in these better shoes. “Faithful to the Last’’ Graceful lines, glove-like fitting qualities and ultra-. durability are combined to a degree seldom found in shoes. You will find these shoes at the better boot shops. Nunn,Bush ©& Weldon Shoe Co. Milwaukee, Wis. Nunn-Bush Style Book on Request

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56 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Twin City 60-90 Twin City 40-65 Twin City 25-45 The great TWIN CITY Line of Tractors now pro vides power for all farm work on any size farm "4 Twin City 16-30 March 6,1920 iy)? 1 | ly In the hard spots on your farm the TWIN CITY 12-20 will meet the demand for surplus power Itssixteen valve- in-the-head engine “ is built for just such # emergencies. It is a proven, perfect kero- sene-burning engine. Its double valve capacity insures quick clearing—hence, perfect combus- tion. Valve-in-the-head construc- tion gives greater economy and more power. Counterbalanced crankshaft practically -eliminates vibration. Crankshaft drilled for force feed oiling means perfect lubrication. Re- movable cylinder head gives quick and easy access to valves and com- bustion chambers. Removable cylin- der sleeves—no reboring ever neces- sary. The spur gear transmission drives direct on both forward speeds. The machine-cut, heat-treated steel gears are completely enclosed and run in oil on Hyatt roller bearings. Every feature that makes for surplus power, economy and endurance has been included in the TWIN CITY 12-20. Send for full information on this superpowered tractor and the complete TWIN CITY line. TWIN CITY COMPANY Selling Products of MINNEAPOLIS STEEL & MACHINERY COMPANY Minneapolis, Minn. Fargo, N. D. Denver, Col Great Falls, Mont Des Moines, la. Salt Lake City, @tah Spokane, Wash. Indianapolis, Ind Wichita, Kan. Peona, fit Distributors Kansas City, Mo Lincoln, Neb St. Louis, Mo Frank O. Renstrom Co. — San Francisco, Los Angeles, Stockton, Oakland and Sacramento, Calif Baskerville & Dahil Co. — Watertown, S. D. Southern Machinery Co. — Atlanta, Ga. . B. George Machinery Co. — Dallas, Houston, Amarillo, San Antonio, Texas; and Crowley, La Eastern and Export Offices: Minneapolis Steel & Machinery Co. —1!54 Nassau Street, New York City Canodian Distribators Minneapolis Steel & Machinery Co. of Canada, Ltd. —Winnipeg, Manitoba; Regina, Sask.; Calgary, Alberta

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Concluded from Page 54) “i is ‘British phlegm,’”” answers the Daily Express, “the quality of hard re- serve, which has made us great, kept us ao and finds us greater now than, ever before.” The London papers are fond of referring to their compatriots as a wondrous, marvel- ous or amazing people. If sometimes this custom leads them into curious and amusing little complications and contradictions the foreigner who reads them will recognize only a very natural and human failing. On the morning after the great Victory I rg last July, for instance, the Express said: ‘This is a wondrous people. As the crowd melted away from the Mall streams of humanity crossed Birdcagewalk to St. James’s Park underground railway station. In any other country there would have been a frantic congestion of humanity, with all the elements of a seething scrimmage and a nasty rush for the gates. Not at all. This British crowd just sorted itself into an orderly queue two deep. No attempts were made to push in from the outside.” On the same morning, describing the same general situation, the Observer said: ‘Extraordinary scenes were witnessed yes- terday morning on the underground rail- way. At Earl’s Court the trains for the city came in packed and hundreds of people who crowded the platform fought desper- ately to gain a footing at every compart- ment.’ But if one concludes that nationally the Englishman is not more reticent or modest than his neighbors—that indeed in these respects he is “‘ most remarkably like you”’ he is a fool who is not quick to admit that ng nation has more real and solemn right to its pride. One could not live in London last winter without getting at least some faint idea of what its tremendous war effort and the final victory had cost the British Empire. It was a cost beyond the compre- hension of stay-at-home Americans. Nearly nine hundred thousand Britons were killed—the flower of the race. No less than eight hundred great explosive bombs were dropped by German aéroplanes on London, and the people of England lived for four years with their belts pulled tighter than we have ever realized If ever a note of bitterness against America creeps into English comment it is, | think, because they know we do not understand and cannot appreciate how much greater was the strain which the war threw on them. Increased Responsibilities I sat in the House of Commons and heard Lloyd George declare that the Paris Treaty had increased by eight hundred thousand square miles of territory the responsibilities of the British Empire. If one adds to that other countries and terri- tories which in one way or another have come under British control during and since the war and sums up the total the result is amazing: SQUARE MILES 191,000 322,000 384,000 British TERRITORIAL GAINS Kamerun . German Southwest Africa German East Africa Pacific Islands 95,000 Ligypt 400,000 Sudan . p , ; . . . 985,000 Arabia : Lec cree hl Palestine . 10,000 Syria , ‘ 30,000 Mesopotamia 140,000 Persia 600,000 Tibet. : eee es CUM as 454 3 0.6 6 6 4 8-0 % 6 3,000 Spitzbergen 15,000 Total 3,805,000 These figures are not entirely accurate. To some extent they are misleading, stand- ing without explanation. Egypt and Cyprus, for instance, before in English occupancy. Persia is controlled only through a treaty which gives Great Britain exclusive rights to direct the finances and commer- cial and military affairs of the shah’s kingdom. In the final adjustment some of the ter- ritory listed may be allotted to others among the Allies. But an effort has been made to allow for such possible changes and it is believed the table is sufficiently near the truth to illustrate the point that the war has added to British possessions were THE SATURDAY EVENING POST and spheres of influence more territory than is contained in the whole United States, including Alaska. The astounding fact is that to-day the Union Jack flies over more than one- quarter of the land area of the globe. One has heard in addition the claim that “Britannia rules the waves!” I spent a week last September in Devon, in the southwest of England, making head- quarters at a village inn high up on the wild and desolate country of Dartmoor. Walking one day down a long sunken road we came finally to a tiny and ancient village called Meachey. There was a little public house in which the oak table and benches were black and battered with centuries of use, and a village church the stonework of which would indi- cate it might date back almost to Norman times. Under a huge yew tree in the old church- | yard stood a new tombstone in the form of a truncated pyramid. On one side of it was cut: “‘Thomas Atkinson, late Sergeant Major Royal Artillery’; who died in November, 1918, aged seventy-eight. On the three other sides were recorded the deaths of the old man’s four sons. One had been killed in China some years ago. The three others had fallen in France. The dates of their deaths marked the progress of the war. They were all men past the first flush of youth. One had fallen in 1916; one the next year; and the last, a man in his late forties, had been killed in action in October, less than a month before the Armistice. It was no strain on the imagination to picture the paternal veteran of earlier wars standing shock after shock until, when his last son was killed in Flanders, he, too, gave | vy the fight. There in that remote and village churchyard was written in little for the casual stranger the whole story of the price of empire. is based on a solid and ness—if he wishes somber foundation of fact. The High Country GENTLEMAN in Pioneerville, Idaho, ought to be able to write good pioneer stuff and Mr. Ezra Howard does. He writes about a hunt he once made east of Yellow- stone Park: “That is sure some country, upside down and turned over. I saw one place where the formation was rolled over like a scroll. I | was in what they call the Natural Corral a strip of country just dropped down one | hundred and fifty feet below the rest of the land, There is only one place where stock can get in and a fence a few rods long incloses miles of good grazing land. In one of the caves in the wall here I found some Indian writing done in charcoal. ‘‘West of the park a Boise man got lost some years ago and froze to death within a half mile of the railroad. A few weeks ago a wealthy man from Pittsburgh went hunt- ing between here and the park and strayed off from his party alone. No one knows what became of him. “Some think: he was murdered and others that he wandered until exhausted, and so died. October has been unusually cold and stormy and for days it snowed almost continuously. **My father had an old map of the West, published in 1845, which I will try to get for examination. It is fairly accurate. The Boise River is called Reed's River on the map. I think it locates old Fort Henry. **Pioneerville is one of the oldest towns | in this part of Idaho and once there were thousands of gold hunters here, for the placers were very rich. Many fortunes were made and even now we find some good ground a few miles from the old town, which is now only a few old shacks with a half dozen people living in them. Idaho City, once capital of Idaho, with ten thousand | voters, now probably has less than one hundred people. Centerville and Placer- ville and Quartzburg are mostly has-beens, though they are working some good mines | I rather look for a min- | near Quartzburg. ing boom of small dimensions, for there are some good ledges of silver, gold and lead. There has never been much quartz devel- opment done, for placering was the only thing the early miners cared for. increasing. forgotten Reading it one realized | that what one may call British boastful- | with walls straight up and down. | There is some game about here and deer seem to be | or all walks of life HETHER on duty or pleasure bent, you are assured real comfort in walking if you wear AIR-PEDS. They apply the rubber-heel prin- ciple to the entire shoe. In wet, slushy weather AIR-PEDS safeguard the health by keeping the feet ‘thigh and dry’’— off the damp ground. They give a ground-gripping tread like the cushioned paw of a dog, and make a man surefooted. AIR-PEDS do more, they Save the Shoes and preserve their shape prolong the lite of sole, welt and uppers, and are a boon pri 28. The y in the St AIR PEDS are made are uttached where the and won't draw the foot. military tests. days of soaring shoe in three light in weight, and yvreatest wear comes. They can’t crack They have stood up under the severest plc ces, are AIR-PEDS to-day Get shod with Air~Pe TRADE MARK Apply the rubber-heel principle to the entire shoe PIONEER PRODUCTS, Inc., 35 W. 39th st. NEW YORK If your shoe store or cobbler cannot ity rubber (black supply you, send ortan). They cost us $2.00, outline $2.00 the set, and B- j of your shoe, its are easily and ‘ color, and your quickly attached. dealer's name. AIR-PEDS are made of new, qual-

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You, Too— Can Have This Wonderful Night-time Daylight! ’ HERE THEY the al invented Here i any ARE lights the Vu k-Lite here, ight—the light ever offered you for ie re is the Our k-Lite Lam the vou salest alter you the clear tine It brin ml ¢ vet soft natural “not-harmful-to-the Beca whenever ol the Quick-Lite, eye train Vv claim It's " wre (,.0 to the tore and you won't be (oleman Quick-Lite Lam ps an Make and 1 thei om co mon motor gas im own gas, { yline. 1) light than Can't be Can't spill, « Burn drs candle power 0 oil lamps filled while lighted in't explode Ins iwainst without harm ected, nteed or workmans my hip. Style CO 329 Price $9.50 Canada $12.50 should be Lantern, ver let fall on the page of your paper or book radiance you rf a tact isk the itished until you THE SATURDAY | | | Style LQ 327 rice $8. 50 Canada $9.50 ‘Sa ae - 4 5 = solutely finest lights ever using, right now. se job, any- handiest tor steadiest, ready any , Strongest, dark work. pb. Use it in the home brightest, all over yet soltest, most easy est, of the Coleman Quick-Lite is eyesight - It is positively beneficial id or sew under the mellow bril inishes along with darkness. and prove He'll user of You can see them to demonstrate night merchant are an every d Lanterns Light them torch needed. No wick to trim ing and filling. with matches—no no daily clean- Cost only about a third of a cent per hour to operate. mica globe; stands rough handling; will last for years in ordinary Bug-proof; wind and rain can’t put it out 15,000 DI ALERS ell Coleman Quick-Lit Lampe, Lan Lighting Pla Let you demonstrate the Quick-Lit t See it in actual use if r ce - re pply » write nearest factory branc! Lantern has use The Coleman Lamp Co. Largest Manufacturers of & ne amps im the | St. Paul Toledo Atlanta Dallas Chicago Wichita Los Angeles ¥ EY ae: Pais slender gy? an TTTLELIYITTiTtTt EVENING POST March 6,1920 Sense and Nonsense The Efficient Letter Writer Neo. 1. To Accompany a Manuscript Submitted for Publication ZAR EDITOR, I really think It’s up to you to take This piece, because my Great-aunt Jane Once knew your Uncle Jake; Your boo For twenty years I’ve took ; In Maine I ate some lobster stew Beside a famous authoress ; I neither smoke nor chew. Your sympathy I’m sure that I Can count upon if you Are married, single, wealthy, poor ; A Democrat, a Jew; Wear ties And socks to match your eyes ; Like all Green vegetables but beans; Are Bolshevistic, mystic, bald; Can't live within your means. So won't you please to pay me cash Ani print these verses P. D. Q.? For I've a wife and seven kids And all the grocers’ bills are due; won The war against the Hun; A paint- Ing in the Louvre I've had; 1 do a mile in fifty flat; My life has been quite sad. There, editor, you ought to find One reason in that bunch To touch your adamantine heart « And land me with a punch. If not I’ve saved my surest shot. Confrere, All hail! At Syracuse Or Harvard, if you like, or Y ale I] RAN THE COLLEGE NEWS! Margaret Matlack. A Precarious Job HE recent merger of the New York Herald and Sun, which resulted in the closing of the old Herald office, caused no little disturbance and mental anxiety among the newspaper men affected, several of whom had spent half a lifetime at the desks they then held. An old copyreader on the Herald, who had been on the desk for a little more than forty years, threw down his blue pencil in disgust at the announcement that the old shop would go out of business. “IT knew darn well when they got me to take this job,” he said petulantly, ‘‘that it would not be permanent.” Sims’ Way a SIMS aimed to have all the men who were at sea under his direc- tion, during the war, act on their own ini- tiative. One day the admiral got a wireless from a captain, saying in substance: ‘Am lost in the fog. Shall I try to proceed to destina- tion or return to port?’ And Sims wirelessed back: “Yes.” The captain didn’t get it, and repeated "a his original message. So Sims then wirelessed back: The New Tribunal EW YORK’S big spree on New Year’s Eve came at the time when the city was emerging from its excitement over the many wood-alcohol victims. The police courts were prepared for a busy morning after. Oddly enough there was a surprising falling off in the usual number of drunk cases. Magistrates who had seen what went on the night before were puzzled. “‘How do you account for the lack of drunk cases to-day?"’ one of them asked of a veteran policeman as he ran through the docket. “‘Well, you see, Your Honor, there’s been a change. All the drunk cases nowadays are sent direct to the morgue.’ Why He Rejoiced ILLIAM FLEISCHMANN, just re- turned from France, tells of an Irish soldier of the A. E. F. who was badly wounded, almost losing his sight. The wounded Irishman was cared for in a hos- pital near Verdun overlooking a wrecked village in that devastated area. He re- sponded to treatment and finally the band- age was removed from his eyes. “Where am I?” he asked as he gazed out the open window at the shell-wrecked village and the torn-up wheat field. r Why,’ ’ said the nurse to soothe his feel- ings, “‘you are back in Ireland.” ‘Well, the saints be praised,” he cried, again taking in the view, “we’ve got home rule at last!’ Paging Mr. Doe PHILADELPHIA clubman dreamed that he died and went to heaven. While sitting in a beautiful palace a cherub came through paging him. “Call for Mr. Doe! Call for Mr. Doe!” “Here you are, my boy,” the clubman said, beckoning to the page. ‘“‘I’m Mr. Doe. What is it?” “Your wife wants you board, sir.” on the ouija

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST EALTH for yo | from the lap x NATURE Says an eminent nutrition expert: ‘In using dried fi (such as Sunsweet Prunes) we obtain not only he nutritive value of the sugar but whatever other hy- gientc or medicinal value they have by virtue of the salts and or- ganic acids found in them. Remember, too, that prunes are high in iron.”’ ERE is a fruit-food beyond compare—a health-food essential to your daily fare! Thanks to California’s wonderful sun- shine, SuNswerr Prunes are natural “sweet- meats.’’ They contain more digestib/e natural fruit sugar than any other fruit. They are rich in tonic iron. And not only are they tasteful and nutri- tious in themselves, but they help to keep the emtire dict on an even keel. Ask your grocer for these top-quality prunes and serve them, early and often, 1n numberless ways. Also—send for our collection of SuNsweE1 Recipes, printed on gummed slips (5 x 3) so you can paste them in your cook book or on recipe filing cards. Your Recipe Packet is waiting for you—and it’s free. Simply address— x = = 3 3 & CaLiroRNiA Prune & Apricot Growers Inc. 103 Market Street, San ” »se, California A co operative a ociatic SUNSWEET CALIEORNIAS DRUNES 1 AEOD DE EAEOOLPREWEL DED EN EOE: LieNSUAREOET/t1(UNNRELUSEEFERUOOROO OE LASER) PADEECERET! 1 ETE TLUDEEDE ATO RIVOLTTO PUEEN FRONTS | SONOBUDD OCD LENDER ED O00 1152

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‘Is that so, Mac?” he asked. “Sure it is! Now I know where a big four-pointeris bedding regularly only three- quarters of a mile up yonder”—lI pointed toward the shoulder of old Bear Den. Hle’s been there ever since the snow line iwled past the brushy points in the pring.” Hiram looked up the steep mountainside ind seratched his head. ‘I see,” he said. ght to go and get him? ‘It'll be a cine hi” Tsaid. “We'll get up yout three o’clock in the morning and e'll get him and be back before it’s too k to travel. Or if it comes dark on us, we can lay out and build a fire. And if we don’t get him we can keep on going for three or four miles across the Devil’s Washboard and camp out all night. I know of three or four nice ones that have been hanging round in the Washboard rougns ” Old Hiram cast an eye about the fortable camp and looked up the slopes of old Bear Den again. Then an idea seemed to strike him “Suppose you go and get him, suggested. “Do you mind?” Why, sure not! But - ‘All right,” said Hiram with a deep sigh. tle put his hand in his pocket and brought out a ten-dollar gold piece. ‘‘There,” he said, and sighed again, “I leave it all to you, Mac.” “But, Hi,” lars for?”’ ‘For getting my deer,” said Hiram. And by the way, Mac, | wish you'd take my new rifle out with you and try it.” Hi eyes went back to the market page and I saw that he had forgotten me Well, I took the new rifle and went up and brought down the buck. But I didn’t enjoy it much, for I was worried to death trying to figure old Hiram out—and he wouldn't add up right no matter how I figured him. Why should he bring this ex- pensive gun three or four hundred miles into the wilderness to kill a buck—and then pay me ten dollars to take the gun and kill the buck for him? All behind the velvet! ‘And you think I com- steep Mace,” he I said, “‘what's the ten dol- ui ( LD Hiram had been with me nearly two weeks and I was getting to like hima shole lot He was just like a big good natured boy out for a vacation— that is, most of the time. But sometimes when he sus reading his telegrams he didn’t look that way, They were business telegrams, I think, and when he read them a hard steel veil seemed to drop down over his eyes and you couldn't see behind it. That worried Just when I'd think I understood that veil would drop down and out ’ Hiram said to me one day, “‘my coming up next Thursday. Wife daughter and two friends Chinese days. Of course they were luded in our original bargain, so we e another Llow much me too him fine it me *Mac fumily 1 ind cook Stay ter tf ine will have to mak deal. extra “Well, Hi,” think it over.” Now I remembered how kind Hiram had been to me and about the twenty-five-cent cigars I'd been smoking and something inside of me said I wouldn't charge him mything. Then I thought of the three- hundred-dollar gun and the expensive rods and the ten dollars he had handed out so freely and I thought: “Oh, well, he won’t miss it. Besides, | expect he'll be tickled to pay it. But I'll make it low; just enough so he won't think I'm making it too easy for him. It might embarrass him if I did that.” Oh, well, say a dollar and a half a day extra, Hi,” I said, and blushed when I said it it was so low. ‘Too high!" I didn't recognize hi p, with no human us 1 could see, “I think a dollar is ample.” 1 felt a cold rage steal over me and [ trembled with it. I was hurt and mad and bewildered. Was this the same man whose twenty-five-cent cigars | had been smoking for two weeks? Was it the same man who had paid me ten dollars for taking a little stroll and shooting a buck with the most beautiful rifle [ ever cuddled to my shoulder? I said, “I don't know. I'll voice. It was hard, quality in it, so far THE SATURDAY EVENING POST BEHIND THE VELVET Continued from Page 13 we argued it back and forth for nearly an hour. I got a lot of Scotch in me and the Scotch blood doesn’t like to be skinned in a business deal. But the trouble was the longer we argued the more I felt myself slipping. I got hotter and hotter, while old Hiram got cooler and cooler. The hard level quality never left his voice and the steel veil of his eyes never wavered. When we finally compromised at a dollar and a quarter it was because [ was so mad I couldn’t talk any more. Those extra people would be with us ten days. Old Hiram had argued me out of two and a half dollars! And him with all the money there was in the world! “The camp equipage will arrive day after to-morrow, Mac,” said Hiram cheerfully. “That will give you plenty of time to set up the new camp before the party gets here.”” Again a cold feeling crept over me, but this time it was dismay. If Hiram brought a pack-train load with him, what would four other people—two of them women— bring? I had a presentiment that I was going to be stung some more. And I was right. When I went down to Watts there was that hard-hearted Tom Milton looking hopefully at another moun- tain of camp stuff marked “ Meeker.”” I won't go into details, but there were six or seven tents and a cookstove, a collapsible canoe and a ton or two of grub and several boxes of ammunition and holdalls and blan- ket rolls and mattresses. Well, it took Tom Milton and me two days to get it all into camp and set up. Tom charged me another ten dollars, the miserable thief! I hadn't cooled off yet when Thursday came round. I saddled up the jackasses, grouchy and sour as a green persimmon. When I was ready to start I stalked over to where old Hiram was sitting dangling his fly in the water and reading his paper ‘These folks walk?” I asked. Hiram came to the surface and re- garded me absently. **Oh, no,” he said. horses 7 “What horses?” “Why, | bought some horses in the San Gabriel Valley and ordered them sent to Eureka. My Eureka agent has seen to it that they arrived at Watts Station this morning.” ‘But how do you know they’re there? Maybe there's been some mishap or other to delay them.” ** Don't you they're there.” Hiram went back to his paper. That knocked me speechless. Why, it must have cost old Hiram a thou- sand dollars— yes, two thousand, or maybe three! For at that time there wasn’t any railroad into Eureka, The horses would have been shipped by rail to San Francisco, loaded on a boat and.sent up to Eureka and then brought over the mounts tins a hun- dred miles—just for ten days’ use! And Hiram had not even batted an eye! And this was the same man who had wasted a whole hour jewing me down two dollars and a half for ten days of hard work! Fora minute I saw red and eve ry muscle in my body itched to take the miserly old devil by the neck and heave him into the river, costly cigars and all. But I got hold of myself after a while and punched the old jackasses down to Watts. The first fellow i saw when I got there was Jeff Arnett. I knew Jeff; he worked in a livery stable in Eureka. “Hello, Jeff!”’ I said. over on this side?’ ‘IT just got in with some horses for the Hirarn Meeker outfit,”’ said Jeff. ‘‘Ever hear of him? They say he’s got so much money he itches all over.” ‘The old son of a gun’s camping with me,” I said. “You look worn out and sleepy, Jeff. What's the matter?” Jeff's haggard face twitched. “TL been riding all night, Mac,” “They didn’t send us word until minutes before the time I ought to’ve started. What d’ye think of that? These here rich people think their money can work miracles.’ ‘They're pretty near right, at that,” I said. “You ain't far off, Mac,” Jeff agreed. “But I got a hundred dollars out of it,”” he grinned. “TI should worry!” Well, “They’l | ride the worry, Mae, “What you doing he said. fifteen “You're better off than I am,” I said sadly. “‘If I break even I'll be tickled stiff.” “‘What’s the matter—old Hiram skin you?” “* Jeff,” I says, “‘I got a feeling that when old Hiram goes home I'll be owing him three or four hundred dollars.’ “I've heard he was a regular shark in a business deal,”’ says Jeff. “Shark!” I said. “You take it from me, Jeff, old Hiram Meeker is a whole flock of sharks!” “Yonder they come,” says Jeff. The big automobile skimmed round the bend again, the same stiff-necked young man driving it. This time he had four peo- ple with him—an oldish woman and a young girl, with two young men riding on the folding seats. The young men seemed to have considerable trouble helping the ladies out of the machine. I couldn't see why, for both women looked healthy and strong. But the boys helped ’em out as though they were made of glass. Then one of the young fellows came up to me and held out his hand. He was a nice-looking boy with red hair and blue eyes and a grin that went straight to your heart. I liked him. “‘My name's Richard Coleman,” he told me. Then he introduced me to the two ladies. The oldish one was Mrs. Meeker and the girl was Miss Doris Meeker. I liked the girl too. She was little and quick and her smile was like old Hiram when he was just a simple good-natured boy off on a vacation. “And this is Mr. Anthony St. Julian,” says young Coleman, introducing me to the other young man. Julian barely nodded, glancing my way indifferently, just as one would glance at a kitchen table or some other use- ful but uninter- esting object. He was bored—any- body could tell that,though he was very polite to the rest of the party. He was a thin : ~ * “Deus ex Machina? Suret Read Liter- Len “it Means Driceer of Outdoor Machines" ally," Says Wisely, youth with a sallow face that hadn't any expression in it. I saw into his eyes once and they were still and expressionless, with pupils like pinheads. Otherwise he was very good: looking. I didn’t like kim. In fact, I hated him. Queer, isn’t it, how you can hate a person instinctively the first time you meet him? Jeff Arnett brought up the horses and the party mounted, Again the two young men had quite a competition helping the ladies up—especially in helping Miss Doris. Young Coleman won out, and as St. Julian turned away and allowed the lucky one to help the girl I saw his left shoulder twitch nervously up and his right hand pass across his lips as though brushing away an imaginary fly. I learned afterward that it was a nervous habit he had, especially when he was ex- cited, Just as I was about to give the word to start St. Julian spoke. March 6,1920 “Our traps have not yet arrived,” hesaid. “Perhaps Mr. MacPherson can show us theway,” suggested young Coleman. “‘Then he can attend to the traps and follow later.” St. Julian’s shoulder twitched upward and he passed his hand across his lips. “Miss Doris has her camera among our traps,”’ he said politely. “‘I think we shall wait.” He smiled, but it was not the smile of real people. I don’t know what it was, but whatever it was it was behind the velvet and I couldn’t figure it out. I glanced at young Coleman. He, too, was smiling po- litely. but his lips were white. We didn’t have to wait more than fifteen minutes before the truck came along. A Chinaman sat beside the driver. I had for- gotten the Chinaman. And when the truck drew up at the station and I saw the load it earried I felt like throwing down my hat and jumping on it. “What's all that stuff?” I asked in a queer choked voice. It was St. Julian who answered. ‘Personal belongings,’ he said. ‘‘We shall need them directly we have reached camp. Kindly have them brought after us immediately.” There were holdalls and suitcases and umbrellas and cameras and dust coats and raincoats and rifles and rods and painting outfits and butterfly nets. If I should go through the whole list it would sound like an inventory of everything that old man Noah carried into the ark. And I know that Noah was a tenderfoot too. I can put my finger on a million things that he’d better have left out in the rain—rattlesnakes and fleas and yellow jackets and blowflies—and several people I could think of if I sat down and concentrated for a few minutes. I looked about me, half dazed. Tom Milton was regarding me as pleased and happy as a coyote dog with a young rabbit in its teeth. Tom Milton hasn’t any soul only a dried fungus such as you find in the hearts of dead trees. “Want me to bring it up, asked. I nodded. That would be another ten dollars. But I didn’t say anything more. I was licked. I stumbled back to my party feeling like a galley slave. Young St. Julian looked down impatiently. ““Youmay proceed, MacPherson,” hesaid. And those kind words made me very very happy! Mac?” he iv WAS another of the Hiram Meeker mysteries that you couldn’t help liking the man—when he wasn't doing business with you. After I got the camp fixed up, with a tent for every individual of the party, including the China- man, with a cook tent and a dining tent besides, I sulked for a while. I don't get over things quickly. But old Hiram was exactly as though we hadn't had any trouble. Maybe he didn’t think we had had any trouble. Possibly it was an every- day thing with him—I don’t know. Anyway, a couple of days later Hiram and | sat out on the river bank as usual, smoking our wealthy cigars and keeping still. It was a lovely day; the air soft and quiet as a sleeping kitten. Mrs. Meeker sat in a camp chair under the awning of her tent reading a book. Over in the cook tent Hop Sing worked and seng to himself. At least he probably called it singing, though it sounded like a riot. Presently Miss Doris came out of her tent and started down toward the river. She was dressed in some sort of fluffy white stuff and she carried a pink parasol. A pink parasol on the Chanowah! But she sure looked fine. I happened to glance round and I saw both young men coming toward her. Both tried to stroll along in a matter-of-fact way, but they had a hard time keeping up the bluff. Looked to me as though they’d reach her, together, but Mrs. Meeker suddenly put her book in her lap. Mr. Coleman!” she called. Young Richard aaa and went to her side, smil- ing and polite, but again I noticed that whiteness about his lips. “I’m reading Muir’s Mountains of Cali- fornia,” said Mrs. Meeker, smiling that polite smile that seemed to come from some- where behind the velvet. ‘“ Muir speaks so (Continued on Page 63)

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SATURDAY EVENING POST ¥ There is only one grade of Congoleum and that is GOLD-SEAL Congoleum— HEN vou go to select your Congoleum £°' Art-Rugsare made Congoleum $2) Floor-Coverings @ S oe > fan as bAMY CLOTH Wha Remove WT PMEED TO Coons ATRIA Mb Gold Congoleum i! Art-Rug be — in the most charming patterns— — Go/d-Sea/ Congoleum is also made in roll sure to get the genuine bearing the creations of leading rug de- — IH Oy Bape a of beautiful patterns 1. ’ ’ ; . . suitable for use where you desire to covet our Gold-Seal Guarantee on the © signers; they wear longer by far ma aac tiegy - h i ane, t fet pas ‘ . e ¢ . f le en ( oor, rt as i e kitchen, face. ‘The market is full of in- and cost Jess than other printed jantry.bathroom,hallset Waterproof, . ‘ } ferior imitations that are often floor-coverings; they are water- initary, needs no fastening. Satisfaction misrepresented as being ‘‘just the proof and sanitary; they are — guaranteed. Price $1.00 per square yard same as Congoleum.”’ cleaned with a damp mop; and — ‘F both two yard and three yard widths To be certain, always look for the they lie flat without fastening. oa Gold-Seal which carrics OUF POSI- Your dealer has Congoleum Sei) Art- * ; tive and definite assurance of Rugs in patterns and sizes suitable for Congoleum ( OM pany “‘Sausfaction guaranteed or your any room in your home. Be sure to see SE. Tear aS Te money will be refunded” them. Remember they’re guaranteed. = san FRANCISCO MONTREAL DALLAS Popular Sizes— Popular Prices fy ps 3 414 feet $ 1.60 : feet is as ‘ feet l : : GOLD SEAL i! > PR Sas} Vz : Prat + ; My ¢ i) ; ; } Color-Charts Free se feet 14.25 feet 16.60 | Sy AreRues. If your dealer cannot upply VOU wh Gold-Seal Art-Rugs and Floor write us and we wi Ol

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Unchallenged Leadership Original alike of its type and of its title, this Reo Speedwagon easily maintains its leadership. @ When, five years ago, this first pneumatic-tired commercial car was announced it was greeted with skepticism in trade circles. € They all said pneumatic tires would never do for trucking service. 4 Most buyers too were doubtful. @ Today there are more Reo Speedwagons in service than of any other make of motor truck of similar size and capacity. @ More than thirty thousand Speedwagons. @ And as a result of the proven economy of this pneumatic-tired Reo, the Speed- wagon is now the model for designers as it has long been the standard by which buyers judge trucking efficiency. @ Despite the fact that Speedwagon output has been greatly increased, the demand is still hopelessly in excess of factory capacity. @ So, only way is to place your order at once if you would secure a Reo for early delivery. € Today won’t be a minute too soon. Reo Motor Car Company, Lansing, Michigan _SPEEDWAGON ~ Eos a TAs ae = RAS ie ; March 6,1920

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(Continued from Page 60) fondly of the water ouzel and I have been wondering if there are any of them in this country.” _ Meanwhile St. Julian had reached the girl’s side and was walking on down toward the river with her. I thought I saw a flicker of disappointment i in her eyes, but if it was there it was gone in a moment and she was smiling and chatting with her companion. Behind them young Coleman hesitated a moment, then went back to his tent. I couldn’t help taking sides, for it looked to me like Mrs. Meeker had deliberately stopped Coleman in order to give St. Julian a moment in which to reach Doris before him. I wondered why, for to my mind Richard Coleman was worth a hundred St. Julians. But then I was prejudiced, for I hadn’t forgiven St. Julian for that “You may proceed, MacPherson!” I took an armful of wood over to the cook tent after a while and the Chinaman looked down toward the river where Doris and St. Julian sat together upon a rock. “*He, he, he!” he giggled, ‘‘ Missee Dol- lis, she likee Missee Coleman! Ole lady, she likee Missee St. Julium! He, he, he!” I didn’t stop to talk with Hop Sing, for I never like to gossip about my party. But as I went away Hop made another remark: “*Missee St. Julium—he got ’em one-two million dolla’! Missee Coleman—he no got!’ So that’s the way it went! One day St. Julian would beat; maybe next day Richard Coleman would get ahead. It got to look- ing like a game and.I couldn’t help being interested in it. Whenever Coleman lost his lips went white and stayed that way for hours. If St. Julian failed he watched out of the corners of his eyes with a still intent- ness like a waiting rattlesnake, his shoulder twitching upward at intervals and his right hand brushing an imaginary fly from his lips. PBut no matter who won, all parties con- cerned smiled and bowed politely. It sort of seared me to think of all the things that were being kept bottled up behind the vel- vet. If it had been two young mountain men there would have been a fight. It wouldn’t have been a pleasant affair, or a polite one, and there wouldn’t have been a single smile let loose anywhere in that vicinity. But after it was over there’d have been no doubt about the winner. And more than likely the loser wouldn’t have been able to take part in the game for maybe a month, even if he had been willing. The next day after this episode I was sit- ting with old Hiram as usual. Hiram had stopped reading his newspaper and was looking about the camp. It was a pretty camp, I had to admit it. It had made me sore, though, having to put up all those red- and-white-striped tents and awnings just for ten days’ use. Seemed like wasted ef- fort. But it certainly was good to look at— the stream of water rushing through the middle of things and the great firs ringing round and coming down the high ridges to the river. “It’s a mighty fine camp you've made for us, Mac,” said old Hiram. I felt a pleasant glow, for it was seldom that Hiram ever gave a compliment. ‘“*T always liked the place,” I said. I was busy oiling Hiram’s rifle. I had oiled it half a dozen times before, but I simply couldn’t miss an excuse for getting it in my hands. It was the prettiest thing I ever saw. The front sight was not the regulation stock affair of buckhorn, but a clean little dot that fitted exactly in the tiny notch filed in the rear bar. The whole gun was so perfectly balanced that when you threw down on the bead you didn’t feel any weight beyond the fore end. It must have cost three or four hundred dollars. No bet- ter than a forty-collar gun, maybe, so far as shooting qualities went—for after you get beyond forty dollars you generally pay for beauty. But boy, boy! That gun sim- ply snuggled in my heart like a long-lost friend. As I sat there caressing that marvelous gun I saw Miss Doris going down to the water again. Almost the same as the first affair, it was. She carried her pink parasol and I thought I saw her flash an anxious glance toward young Coleman’s tent. But as before both young men saw her at the same time and began to do that unconcerned-stroll stuff all over. It looked like another even break, with the chances that the old lady would hop in and throw another monkey wrench into the machin- ery like she did before. I did some quick thinking. THE SATURDAY “Now, Mac,” I says to myself, ‘‘this ain’t your party. You stay out of it.” “But this ain’t a fair game,’ myself shoots back at me. ‘“‘ Young Coleman is fighting all by himself—and the old lady is against him, and Anthony St. Julian and Anthony St. Julian’s millions! It ain’t fair!” “‘T know it,” I says to myself. ‘But you stay out, Mac! You'll get in bad if you don’t. It ain’t your affair.” “All right,” says myself, sneeringlike, “you may proceed, MacPherson!” And as I remembered that, why, young St. Julian was passing not ten feet away. “Oh, Mr. St. Julian!” I called—for my- self had made me mad. For a moment it seemed that he was go- ing to pass me up. He knew if he stopped he would lose out, but his funny code of politeness made him pause—a moment. And in that moment Richard Coleman had reached the girl’s side and the two went on to the canoe together. “What is it, MacPherson?” asked St. Julian. One shoulder twitched upward and he brushed at the fly. I looked into his eyes. They were hard, expressionless and cold, with the pupils no bigger than pin- heads. They reminded me somehow of a rattlesnake’s eyes. I was asleep one day up on the slope of old Pigeon Top and I woke up to see a rattlesnake lying coiled not two feet from my face. He was looking at me with that lifeless, steady, evil stare. That's how I know how a snake’s eyes look. .‘T just wanted to show you the rear sight on Mr. Meeker’s rifle,” I told him. ‘‘See? The nick is filed square at the bottom. To prevent blur, you know. I thought you'd like to know. ‘Next gun you buy you ought to have’ em fix it that way. “Thank you, MacPherson,” said St. Julian politely. It was the kind of polite- ness he would have used in thanking a policeman who had told him the name of a street in a strange town. Then he turned and went back to his tent. I went on polishing the splendid rifle, my face solemn as an owl's, but myself chuckling away down deep. I could get behind the velvet a little myself, I found. Presently I glanced up and saw old Hiram watching me. He was looking more than ever like a happy good-natured boy and I wondered why. ‘Like it, Mac?” he asked, and grinned a hea friendly. “This gun?” I said. “T never dreamed they made ‘em, Hi!’ ‘It’s yours!” It was as though somebody had hit me a stunning rap on the head. ‘I—I don’t think I understand you, Hi,”’ I blundered. He interrupted me. “It’s your gun, Mac, and I hope you kill more deer with it than I have.” I'm ashamed to say it, but I sat there with tears in my eyes while I let the won- derful truth seep in. This unbelievable gun was mine! Hiram had given it to me. It was not possible, but it was! I opened my mouth to say something, but thought better of it. Hiram was watch- ing the pair down in the canoe. There was no steel veil over his eyes now. No, the eyes that looked down upon the boy and girl were old and tired—but contented eyes. That is, they looked that way to me. But how was I to be sure? How was I to trust my own eyes any more? For was it possible that this man had once jewed me out of two dollars and a half and then given me a three-hundred-dollar gun? Was crazy or dreaming or simply gone old and childish before my time? What was the answer anyway? Behind the velvet! v FEW more days went by and I began to be uneasy about Coleman and St. Julian. It had grown so serious that every now and then I could almost see the hate bursting out from behind the velvet. I say almost, for it never got quite through. But I could sense it. And I was sure that a game as fast as this one, and as serious, couldn’t go on long without an explosion, what with all the feeling that was bottled up behind the velvet. On the surface every- thing was peaceful and serene as a June morning—everybody happy and friendly and smiling—but just thesame I wasscared. So I tried to get the two young men to go hunting. Wanted to take their minds off the game, you know. I tried St. Julian first. He hesitated and I could feel him hunting for an excuse. Finally he said he thought he wasn’t acclimated yet. Wasn't used to the altitude. Later perhaps EVENING POST But he thanked me—just as he would have thanked a leper that had offered him a kindness. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him flick a glance at young Coleman. Then I tried the other one. Coleman was embarrassed; I could see that. For no normal young man likes to refuse an invita- tion togo hunting. It was plain, too, that he longed to go, but he stammered out an excuse—I forget what it was—and blushed. “‘Later on, Mac,” he said, and I felt sorry for him, so I changed the subject. I understood all about it. Each was afraid to go and leave the other with a clear field. A lot of people joke about jealousy, but jealousy is no joke. It’s a kind of in- sanity. More than that, after he passes a certain point the jealous man is dangerous. But I didn’t give up. I was bound to get ‘em out on the ridges and pull their minds away from the game—for at least one day. I thought it over, and later in the day when I was sitting out on the river bank with old Hiram an idea came to me. “Say, Hi,” I said, “‘why don’t you give Miss Doris a vacation from those two young fellows—take her riding or something and send the boys up on the hill after a deer?” Hiram looked at me and his eyes were blank. I don’t know even now whether he got my meaning fully or not. But he fell right in with the plan. “That isn’t a bad idea, Mac,” he said ‘not a bad idea at all. We'll do it. We'll send the boys up together to-morrow morn- ing. They don’t need a guide—two husky chaps like them—so you stay in camp and rest. I'll take the ladies and ride up the river and pull off a picnic.” I don’t know how he managed it, but when I got up early next morning both young men had gone. Along toward ten o'clock old Hiram and the ladies went away up the river on the horses and I was left alone with the Chinese cook. After I had cut some wood for Hop Sing and straightened up the camp I began to get bored, so I went over the river to see how the jackasses were getting along. I had turned them out to graze on an open bench just opposite camp. As I crossed the foot log at the narrow ford I noticed the foot- prints of Coleman and St. Julian in the sand. Evidently the young fellows had gone up the slope of old Bear Den. LI looked all over the bench, but the jackasses were gone. I circled the place Aw and found their tracks going up the mountain. I hadn't followed them more than a hundred yards till I came to the tracks of Coleman and St. Julian. You see, the jacks had taken a sudden freakish notion to foilow the boys up the mountain. I went back to camp and got my war bag and put some lunch in it, then recrossed the river and took up the trail of the hunters and the runaway donkeys. I followed the double trail clear up into the elk-grass country and then I abandoned it, because it is hard trailing in the elk grass. Besides, I thought I knew what the donks would do. They'd probably go over and fool round in the low brush of the Deerpatch. I often came up to the big brushy open slope known as the Deerpatch to hunt, and I'd tie up one donkey and let the other graze round in the edge of the brush while I hunted. A donkey remembers these things. The Deerpatch was a sloping space of about ten acres of low buckbrush and flow- ering birch and all round the lower edge and up both sides the forest bordered it tall firs and pines, with a heavy growth of underbrush and thickets of young fir. When I reached the top of the Deerpatch I climbed up on top of a big rock and sat down. From this viewpoint I could look down over the entire Deerpatch. I often sat here watching for browsing bucks. If the donks were any place about there I would see them sure. Almost the first look I swept over the brush patch caught the figure of a man sit- ting on a rock below and on the oye side close to the encircling forest. He was sit- ting perfectly still, watching the Dee rpatch same as I was doing. I tried to identify him. He looked like young Coleman, but I couldn’t be sure. He wore a gray som brero pinched in at the top. I could see the hat plainly, but the rest of the man blended with a young madrofia tree that grew be- hind him and close beside the rock he was sitting on. It was very quiet up there on the high slope of the mountain. Once in a while a jay would squall and now and then a wild bee or a yellow jacket would zoom past. Once or twice a woodpecker drummed away out in the forest. But mostly it was quiet, 63 with that peculiar quiet of mountain tops. Down in the low places, you know, there is continual noise, though your ears don't al- ways tell you about it. But up on the mountain tops of a windless day it’s as though all Nature were holding its breath. Suddenly from the opposite side of the Deerpatch sounded the wicked crack of a high-power rifle. I was still watching the man on the rock, and at the sound of the gun the high sombrero spun into the air and the man rolled over the rock into the brush. At the same moment the young madrofia tree shook as though from a heavy blow. I jumped up and looked down at the other side of the brush patch from which the shot had come. I caught just a glimpse of a man standing in the undergrowth at the edge of the forest, stooped forward and peering across toward the rock. He was half hidden by the shadow and the en- circling brush, but I seemed to catch that familiar upward twitch of the shoulder and the sweep of the hand brushing away a fly. Again I say, I seemed to see it; I could not be sure. Next instant the man was gone. I scrambled from my rock and ran round the top of the Deerpatch and down the side, making my way toward the rock on which the man had been sitting when the shot tumbled him off. I was sure of what I'd find there and I dreaded finding it. But when I reached the rock there was nothing to see. I thought maybe I had the wrong rock, but after looking about a bit 1 found the sombrero. There was a ragged bullet hole through the crown, but nd blood. I drew a fine big sigh of relief Then I remembered that I had seen the madrofia shake when the shot was fired. I examined the trunk and found where the bullet had entered after passing through the man’s hat. I looked at the opposite side expecting to find where it came out, but there was no mark. Maybe it hit a twig on its way across, or maybe the hat deflected it just enough so that it entered the wood flat. It was in there yet. Well, I took out my hunting knife and went to work on the four-inch trunk of that madrofia. It took me an hour of sweating and hacking, for my knife wasn’t made for woodchopping. But finally I got a ten-inch section of the madrofia trunk with the bul- let hole in the middle of it. I split this section open carefully—and sure enough, there lay the bullet, halfway through the wood! As I had guessed, it had lost its twist before striking and it lay slightly side- wise. Only a few splinters held the two halves of wood together when I split them. I closed them again like a book and put the section in my war bag along with the ruined hat. Then I went over to the place where I had glimpsed the indistinct figure of a man peering across to note the result of his shot. I wanted to see if the empty shell was there. Generally an excited man will pump the empty shell out mechanically after a shot and forget about it. It was there. I found it without any trouble at all. It was for an automatic rifle. I put it in my war bag. I stood for several minutes trying to be- lieve this horrible thing. St. Julian carried an automatic rile I wouldn’t Lelieve it, so I started out again hunting for those fool jackasses. It was dark when I dropped down on the little ber ne h across the river from camp. The jackasses were there. They hee-hawed at me. Sometimes I think a jackass has a coarse sense of humor The Meeker party sat about the table, having just finished supper. They invited me to sit down and eat and I sat down. But I didn’t want to eat just then. I told them that I'd go out*later and have Hop Sing ire up something for me. And then I took pe the section of split madrofia and laid it on the table before me. “IT saw a funny thing to-day,” I said. “I was sitting op a big rock at the top of the Deerpatch and I saw a man sitting on an- other rock lower down ‘He was wearing this’’—and I took out the hat with the ragged hole in the crown. A new hat, it was. **While I watched him,” I went on, “I heard a shot and the man on the rock rolled into the brush. I got a glimpse of the man that shot at him, but it was only a glimpse I ran down to the rock and found this hat but the man was gone.” It was a treméndously well-bred polite circle that regarded the hat. But nobody Continued on Page 65)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 6, 1920 Signs of Friendship | China ee a ~ goes a long way to make “friends N China, the natives have a custom of shaking — customers for good measure—most of whom as hands with themselves whenever they make — experienced motorists. friends—just as motor car owners in the United ‘The extent to which The General Tire is making States are doing who have learned what a long way new friends is equaled only by the way it keeps its The Gener! Tire will go to make friends with them. — old ones. Most any tire can be sold once on Although there were only 25 per cent more tire — promises—but a tire to sell twice must have made a users in 1919 than in 1918— The General Tire sales _ record the first time—and that’s the only thing in increased 97 per cent during that time. This great — the world that could have built the six big additions tire not only get its share of the new 1919 tire to The General Tire plant in the last four years. users but added three times that many more The General Tire and Rubber Company, Akron, O. “GENERALS |

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— —- (Continued from Page 63) made any breaks. There were several ox- pressions of horror, but these stopped al- most as soon as they started. I looked round the table, but I might as well have looked at a circle of masks—polite masks. “And right behind where the man had been sitting,” I said, “‘was a little madrofia tree. I cut it in two and brought down— this”—I opened the split section and showed the bullet lying there. “It went through the man’s hat and struck the trunk of the madrofia—flat, for the hat had taken the twist out of it.” “Horrible!” said Mrs. Meeker, “Is it possible that such things can happen in such a peaceful spot?” But I was not through. “After I got my cross section cut off,” I said, ‘I went over to the place where the man stood when he fired at the man on the rock. I looked round a little while and found this’’—I put the empty shell on the table beside the other exhibits. ‘“‘It’s for an automatic,” I said. If] expected a sensation I was badly dis- appointed. There were several more polite expressions of amazement and horror, but still the circle was repressed, unreadable, frozen behind the smiling mystery of the velvet. I quit. Hop Sing gave me my supper and I went out to the river bank and lay down to rest a while and smoke a pipe before going to bed. I had sat here so much with old Hiram that I sort of had the habit. I think I had dozed off a while, for presently I heard someone going down the river bank. The moon was just coming up and it made a moon path on the water. Two figures stood by the river and I could easily see that they were Doris Meeker and young Coleman. I saw the young man take the girl in his arms. I saw the girl clinging to him and I thought I heard her sobbing. One little hand went caressingly to his head. It was as though she was terrified at the near whiz of that bullet. But it couldn’t be! I recalled how polite and unemotional they had been during my recital—it couldn’t be possible that I saw what I thought I saw. And then I hap- pened to turn my head and saw St. Julian ayainst the light of the distant camp fire. The young man stood slightly bent for- ward, his eyes fixed on the silhouette be- low—the silhouette of the two young figures against the moon path. To them they stood in the deep darkness. They had not the faintest suspicion of the way we saw them, thrown sharply against the moon path on the water. St. Julian’s body tensed and there came something into his attitude that started my hand creeping instinctively toward my belt. I made a slight noise in doing this. St. Julian started, drew a long breath and strolled casually back to the camp fire. When I reached him he was smoking a cig- arette and talking easily with old Hiram. “Well,” he said, ‘I think I shall turn in. Ard by the way,” he said, speaking casu- ally again, “‘I think I shall go home to-morrow. seem to find difficulty in becoming acclimated here.” “You certainly should take no chances,” concurred old Hiram. His voice was polite, but there were no regrets. I wondered. But I could make nothing of it. ‘‘One’s health of course,” went on old Hiram, “must take precedence over everything else.” “‘Didn’t you see anything to shoot at to- day, Mr. St. Julian?” I asked. His strange expressionless eyes met mine in a long stare and I stared back. I wouldn’t lower my eyes for his. “Nothing, Mac *Pherson,”’ he said. “Tough luck,” I told him. Everybody turned out to tell St. Julian good-by when he left directly after break- fast. I took him down to Watts with all my donkeys loaded with his personal be- longings. Old Hiram had been holding his automobile at the station for a week in case someone should want to go home sudden!y They packed a hamper of grub for St. Julian and old Hiram gave him a box of cigars. They were good cigars too. I hap- pened to know, for I had been smoking them right along. There was much bowing and smiling and lifting of hats, but I no- ticed that nobody shook hands. Then we rode away, St. Julian and I. St. Julian went first. I saw to that. Someway or another it made my flesh creep to have him riding behind me. I tell you the hills seemed sweeter and purer after his auto- mobile slid round the bend and disappeared toward Red Bluff. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Next day I learned that the rest of the party had suddenly decided to go home too. I was sent down to Watts with a telegram | to Jeff Arnett and everybody began pac k- | ing. It was easy to figure on getting the people down to the station, but I couldn’t - the life of me figure out a way to get all their belongings down. “Say, Hi,” I said to old Hiram when we | were ready to start, next day, ‘‘how am I to get your stuff down in time? And where shall I ship it?” | “What stuff?” asks old Hiram. I waved my hand at the tents, grub and | everything—enough grub to last a man three years. Nearly two hundred dollars’ worth of tents and things. “Oh, that?” says old Hiram. ‘‘That’s all yours, Mac.” Again I was thunderstruc k. ‘But, Hi,’’ I stammered, “why?” It was all I could think of to say. “Because I like you, Mac,” grins old Hiram. ‘You're the only man I ever met who could visit with me all day and not say a word!” “But there’s a lot of things, Hi,’ I ar- | gued, speaking feebly. | ‘Six or eight boxes of cigars, pipe tobacco | and canned goods -~enough grub to last a} man three years.” “All yours, Mac,” says old Hiram. And I didn’t say anything more. I couldn't. While the party was busy getting into the automobile down at Watts young Cole- | man slipped over to my side and gave mea hundred dollars. “‘T wish it was more, Mac,” he said. And I knew he meant it. I didn't knew | what to say, and while I was trying to find something that would seem to fit, the young man went on. “And Mac,” ” he said, ‘‘I—that hat and | madrofia stick—you know, the one with | the bullet in it—if you've no use for those things I wish you'd send ’em down to me. And the empty shell — souvenirs, you know.” ““Sure!”’ hard grip. “And say, Mac,” come and see me, when “T understand,” I told him, and again we shook —a good hard grip. I liked young Coleman. Then everybody shook hands with me and the automobile slid round the bend again. Jeff Arnett came up for the horses. “You're a lucky old fish,”’ he says sort of enviously. “IT certainly am,” I says, thinking about the grub and the hundred dollars and the rifle and things. “Yes, sir,” says Jeff, ‘lucky fish is right. That’s the finest horse I ever saw.” ‘Which horse?” I asked him. “The one Miss Doris rode. She’s given him to you.” All my life I had been wanting a horse to ride—any old horse, for I’m getting old and don’t hike like I used to hike. But a horse like that “How do you know?” I asked huskily. ‘‘What did she do it for, Jeff?’ “*She told me she wanted you to have it | because you were an old dear and because you were a de—de—deus ex—hanged if ] remember what it was she called you. Any- way, there's your horse—and you're a lucky old fish.” | I turned away, for I didn’t want Jeff to see the tears that had come into my old eyes. Isaid. We shook hands—a good he said, “‘I want you to Later on when— I don’t understand it even to this day. Why should Hiram have jewed me down | two dollars and a half on money I had hon- | estly earned, then give me several hundred dollars’ worth of things I hadn’t earned? And the beautiful rifle? And the horse? Now I'll never know whether I saw young St. Julian shoot at Richard Coleman or not. Sometimes I think I did; and then I remember all the smiles and politeness and I don’t know. It’s behind the velvet and I can’t hope to reason it out—and it worries me. But sometimes I have strong suspicions. I was in San Francisco a couple of years after—Richard Coleman had sent me the money for the trip. And while I was visit- ing him at his home Doris took me through the house. Nice big house too. When we came to the nursery I didn’t want to go in, but Doris insisted. I tiptoed round as quiet as I could, for I was scared. On the wall in the most prominent place—right over the cradle— was a picture of me standing by the road down at Watts Station. She must | “Here’s the best razor for you— So you won’t use mine” wr N a man shaves himself with a Genco Razor a regular razor of the type all barbers use he gets to prizing it. If he catches his son using his precious razor, he buys his son another. His own Genco Razor is not for other hands. It might not be handled with proper respect. It might be dropped and nicked. He values it more highly every vear. Though one Genco Razor is built as perfectly as another, he just can’t believe that he can get another as good. Perhaps it’s the beautiful steel in each; perhaps it’s the keen, businesslike edge each takes; perhaps it's the ease with which a man regains that edge by stropping. Anybody Can Strop a GENCO Razor stropping it unusually easy: It has a broad is ground with that to it angle. A of money Three features make back; its blade w ground; its blade special bevel just behind the edge. These three that Genco Razors go against the strop at the few light strokes—the Genco edge! Think of the pile saved by using the same blade every day. is holl features see corre Barbers use Genco Razors, because every one is made of special Genco steel that retakes quickly a perfect shaving edge Ask your cle _ to show you the three GiENCO features mentione l. 'ry our razor ithout risk—“‘Geneo Razors must make good or we will Get a razor that you will prize as all Genco owners do theirs. If your dealer i ut of our razor and we will send you one , wrile to u Geneva Cutlery Corporation, 230 Gates Ave., Geneva, N. Y Largest Manufacturers of High-Grade Razor encg in the World TO DEALERS Inquirice ind order GENCO Razors arr

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66 have snapped it the morning she left. On one side of the picture hung a high som- brero pinched in at the top and with a jagged hole through the crown. On the other side of my picture hung a split sec- tion of madrojia with a bullet lying close to the heart And unde rmy picture was written * ex machina, ‘Deus CCORDING to a friend of mine who divides his time between telling anec- dotes and acting in the movies, there occurred on a certain dining car of a trans- continental train a little incident which may or may not point a moral, but which at least suggests a tale. There is a certain hour before luncheon in the morning when the steward of a dining car puts all his waiter boys to work scouring up the silver- ware. It is the etiquette among the car crew that each shall do his share in these unrewarded services, and rather close watch is kept on every member in order to see that he is on the job. One day one of the largest and most portentous waiters of the crew turned up missing from the morning cere monial until the moment when the work was nearly completed. The car had been lying overnight at a division point, a city which did not lack attractions; but the majority of the car crew had remained on the job. When therefore this absentee appeared decked out in his Sunday clothes and loftily put aside his hat and stick, apparently not noticing what was going on about him, he became the center of all eyes then and there present. ** Boy,” said one little chap, looking up at him, ‘"pears like you is all dolled up whiles all us common niggers gotta work. Where you-all been now, Bill?” Bill stood looking at his interlocutor in haughty silence for some time. At length he uttered one word in reply. “Else wheah!"’ said he After Elk Near Henry Lake There is a certain element of indefinite- ness and uncertainty attaching to a little mountain expedition with which I was identified last fall that leads me to remem- ber the single and satisfying word of the absent waiter. I don't care to say where we went hunting, for the very good reason that I don’t know where we were, and neither does anyone else of the party. But I certainly can say that we were elsewhere. Indeed in our camp the little story and its catchword got to be our staple joke. When we went home and when people asked us where we had been we all grinned and shook our heads, and answered only: *Elsewhere.”” We did not know then and don't know now where we were. Which proves that even in these days of limited wilderness country even old-timers can get lost. L presume the four of us who started out at the opening of the Idaho elk season to get some winter's meat might all have been called old-timers. Our cook had lived in that country for some years, the young rancher who got up the party has been a hunter all his life, and our other young ranchman, now living in the same district near Henry Lake, has in his time had a wide experience in the cow country and game country of Idaho, Wyoming, Montana and other Western states. We were all out-of door men of long experience. Our hunt was rather a business proposition on the part of the ranchmen, who regularly count upon elk meat as part of the fal) provender. I went along because I happened to be in the country at the time and because I had not been in camp in the mountains for quite a while and wanted to see bow the smoke would smell once more. I can’t say that I cared much to kill an elk, but I took my pet bear gun along and am very much afraid that had I run across any sort of quadruped bigger than a muskrat I might have felt tempted to try out the aforesaid bear gun. For the average elk hunt, under the lov- ing care of a professional guide who charges twenty-five or thirty dollars a day and who leads you round with a big pack train, I eare nothing at all; and the shooting of an elk out of a band of animals driven down THE SATURDAY Now I don’t know what deus ex machina means. I haven’t an jidea; but I don’t think it is anything bad, for Doris and Richard think a heap of me. When I'm vis- iting them they mighty near come out from behind the velvet. I asked Len Williams what deus ex ma- china meant. He thought it over a long time. Len doesn’t like to pass anything up -OF EVENING POST without making a bluff that he knows all about it. “* Deus ex machina?” Len says. “‘Why— er—machina means machine and ex means out ——” He studied some more and I thought he was stuck. Then his face brightened. “Deus,” he said—‘‘why, that means driver, I bet you! Sure! Read literally,” DO ELSEWHERE from the mountains by the snow in their annual close-packed migration seems to me as near zero in sport if not in sports- manship as anything I can think of. In- deed there has not been any very keen sportsmanship in getting an elk in the case of ninety-nine per cent of the elk which have been killed in and round the Yellow- stone Park, which is their sanctuary in the summertime. I have known people to turn up their noses in scorn at anyone who would go and shoot a poor old elk, because it is so easy. Quite true in some conditions. Ours did not happen to be that sort of hunt. We had a small outfit and no guide at all. There was no snow on the ground. The elk had not begun their migration. We were to hunt in the mountains twelve to twenty-five miles west of the Yellowstone Park, probably fifty miles or more from any of the park bands of elk. Our elk would be plumb wild enes, living on their own, in a rough countr where they could take care of themselves--a hardy sort of country to hunt in, where a man had to know some- thing about big game to have any hope of success. In short the stalking of the High- land stag in Scotland is rather a soft and easy kind of game compared to sstill- hunting elk in the country which lies be- tween Moose Creek and the Buffalo Fork west of Yellowstone Park in Idaho. As we found it it was a strictly sporting propo- sition and I enjoyed every minute of it. Besides that, we got lost. We sent a wagon with our camp outfit to our base camp on Moose Creek, rather a long day’s drive. Later on Jim and I rode down horseback one day, perhaps thirty miles, joined later by Jack, our other cow- man, fresh from shipping a few hundred beef cattle at the nearest railway station. The fall storms had not yet set in, though snow might be expected any time. The weather continued rather bright, the nights very cold, as we hunted above six thousand feet altitude. Jim had often hunted in this country be- fore for his fall meat, and he never had been unsuccessful. We did not think it would be anything but a pleasure jaunt to go in there and fill our licenses. That was the least of our troubles, and since it is the least of mine also herein, I may say that the half wagonload of meat which a big cow elk represents seemed to me a plenty, though to these hunters, used to bringing home a wagon entirely full, it looked like a bitter disappointment. We had a big wall tent, a little sheet- iron stove, good beds and plenty of grub. We took in baled hay for our animals, a half dozen head including our saddle mounts. It looked easy and we did not hurry or worry in the least. Just the day previous a ranchman had come out with two elk, one bull with a magnificent head. We supposed we could stroll in there and pick up an elk apiece without any trouble. Indeed, so we could have done had it not been that said ranchman was on the dot at the opening of the season, and we were several days late. We do not begrudge him his luck, which he deserved, but his trip killed ours. His hunting put the elk all out of the Moose Creek bottoms clear over east and south into country entirely unknown to any of us. We found sign one day, two days and three days old in any quantity. The valley of our beautiful little river was tramped up with elk, and I presume we found twenty big wallows in a couple of miles. It seemed that at any minute we surely must jump the game. But as a matter of fact the sign did not freshen, and after several days we realized that we were up against a country with no elk in it. Where had the elk gone, and how could we get to them? On our first hunt Jim and I climbed straight up the steep shoulder of a moun- tain in order to reach certain open mead- ows upstairs, where usually he had found elk without any difficulty. This high coun- try overlooked the valley and it was our theory that the elk were going down to the stream in the evening or early morning for water, and that in the forenoon they would go up to these high meadows to lie down. There was some feed in the upper range, in- cluding a great many mushrooms. Perhaps not everyone knows that elk are very fond of mushrooms. We found countless places where they had dug up mushrooms, and saw many bitten mushrooms. We had been so fortunate as to get a light snow during the night, just enough to wet our feet but not enough to make track- ing easy. I soon found that I was out with a real big-game hunter and a courteous sportsman—entirely too courteous when meat is needed in camp. We made a good, long, steady hunt in the choppy broken country which lay along the crowning ridge on the upper side of our river valley, but though we saw fresh sign we could not locate any game until about midday. Then I saw Jim stop and squat, motioning to me with his hand. I should say that we were hunting in very thick lodge- pole pine country a great deal of the time, in which an animal could be seen but a very short distance. Jim, who was a few yards in advance, had seen an elk, whether a cow or bull he could not tell, get up from its bed and stop after trotting a few steps. He tried to show me the animal, but I could not see it at first. At length I did see it— just a glimpse of its quarters as it swung out of sight in the thicket. Jim could have killed it, but wanted to give me the shot. It was the only chance either of us had for many a long mile after that. I have never seen a country in which it would be a simpler matter to get confused than these choppy broken hills covered with heavy pine and lodgepole growth, having no general trend or contour and showing no water courses running down to the main stream. We were just up in the mountains, and beyond knowing our general direction to camp and to the river there was no keeping track of one’s locality except by the sun or the compass. We concluded to work farther up toward the head of the Moose Creek Valley, and to make a long walk short we finally did drop down into that valley five or six miles above our camp. Sometimes we would be sepa- rated in our hunting, and due to this fact we lost the second shot of the day. Know- ing that game often lies in quaking-asp thickets we started down through one of these when we dropped into the valley there*is a series of these highly colored quaking-asp pools which extends for some miles along the upper side of Moose Creek, making it the best landmark there is in all that country. As I sat down for a moment in one of these thickets I saw the bushes move, and there came out into the path near the stream an indistinct gray form. I held my fire, thinking that it might be Jim. An instant later I knew that it was a good black-tail doe. Just a little bounce and it was behind a rock and gone. Which ex- plains why we did not hang up any meat that night. We found the trail of our black-tail and also that apparently of every elk in the world, when we got down into the valley of Moose Creek, It was a regular path, worn into such a runway as an Eastern hunter never sees. We did not find any sign fresher March 6,1920 says Len wisely, “it means driver of out- door machines.” “Outdoor machines?” I says. Len nods triumphantly. “Sure!” he says. Latin joke, see?”’ And I wake up nights sometimes and just lie there and worry over it and wonder if Len’s right. “*Jackasses, you know! than two or three days old, but as we were absolutely certain that the country was full of game and as this was only the first day of exploration we agreed that all we had to do was to wander out there some morning and kill as much meat as we liked. The entire valley was full of elk beds. Their wallows and stamping grounds could be seen in almost every damp place along the river. It was a beautiful hunting country and the hunting exaltation was a thing impossible to resist. It did not seem so awfully far down to our camp, at the head of wagon transportation, though I presume it was more than six miles. Perhaps half- way down we found the camp of the hunting party which had been there the previous week. We were alone in the valley at this time so far as we knew. Everything looked prosperous and propitious, But we hunted day after day and found no game. Jack and Kelly made a tremen- dous tramp up in the high country south of the river and reported fresh sign, but of elk heading deeper and deeper up into the mountains. Jim and I had only the same story. The elk had been there but were not there now. The boys thought we were lucky to get one partnership cow elk, in- stead of one apiece. We held a general council of war after several days of unsuc- cessful work. Split Creek Country “They have moved in south to Split Creek, or whatever you call it,”’ said Jack after a while. “All the sign we saw was heading over south. It’s awfully dry in the hills now and they’ve just gone over there to the nearest water. If we go over there we'll hit them sure.” Jim smoked for some time in his own quiet way. “I reckon that’s so,” said he. “Have you ever been on that creek?” “No,” said Jack, “ but, of course, we know where it is—it heads in east of here and breaks through west and south to the Snake Valley, so all we’ve got to do is work south till we hit it. It can’t be more than six or eight miles from the trapper’s cabin up on Moose Creek.” “T don’t know just where it is,” said ae “but it’s a cinch we can’t miss it. I wish we had a map—not that most maps are any good. I never had any trouble getting an elk in here before, but I always wanted to see the Split Creek country anyhow. What do you say to dropping over in there to- morrow?” We all thought that was the most sen- sible thing we could do, and all enjoyed the thought of a little independent exploration. None of us had any real idea where that creek was, and there was neither map nor trail to give any help. It was a case of running by the compass through a very puzzling mountain country. So that was how we got elsewhere. We left our cook at the wagon camp, took a saddle horse each and put our bed rolls and a little grub on one of the wagon horses, a big brown animal which had never been packed before. Few green Idaho horses love to carry a pack, but two or three old-timers can do much by way of persuading a pack horse. Jack took on the hard task of leading this pack horse by rope, as it had never been trained to keep the trail. Moreover, there was no trail. We started out jauntily early in the morning on our journey. By noon we were perfectly well convinced that we had not the slightest idea on earth where Split Creek was or how far it was. We had got up into very high country, from which we could see Sawtelle Peak and much of the Snake Valley lying toward the west and north; but toward the south, east, north- east and northwest there stretched an end- less succession of low broken hills covered Continued on Page 69) Sen

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SATURDAY EVENING POST r RED-TOP TIRES: 74% \ ud [’ is literally true that there is no tire just like © the Fisk Red-Top. The Fisk Red-Top makes \, its own class. Individual in appearance, it is a \ big, extra heavy tread, extra thick side wall, extra mileage tire. It is a tire built for the man not using “cords” and who yet wants a tire out of the ordinary. The Fisk Ideal is: “To be the best concern in the world to work for—and the squarest concern in existence to do business with.” ‘Next time—BUY FISK | from your dealer Time to Ro-tire? (Bey Fick)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 6,1920 PAINT- VARNISH ROOFING & RELATED - BUILDING - “PRODUCTS A New Method of Pricing Paint For many years it has been the custom to make the white paint used on outside surfaces the basis for de- termining the prices of other colors. The Certain-teed policy has always disregarded this custom. Instead of charging one price for most colors, Certain- teed prices are based entirely on the cost of manufacture of each kind and color. Many Certain-teed colors therefore sell for less than you have been accustomed to pay. Even on small jobs, this often represents a worth-while saving; on the larger ones the saving may be con- siderable. Coupled with Certain-teed quality, this policy makes Certain-teed paints unusually economical. For the Certain-teed materials are so carefully selected and so thoroughly mixed that they cover an unusual area of surface per gallon. Certain-teed Products Corporation G al Offices Saint Louis Offices anc aa “WwW are hous es in Principal Cities Certaitteed CERTAINTY OF QUALITY AND GUARANTEED SATISFACTION - CERTAIN-TEED

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(Continued from Page 66) with dark timber. We had no real idea where we were then, though, of course, we knew we could get back to Moose Creek. It is all very well to talk of running by the compass, but in country such as this you simply have to do the best you can. The pitches were too steep to ride straight up or down, so that we had to rail-fence. Continually we met dense thickets of jack pine through which the unhappy pack horse had to drag its way the best it could. Our horses were tired and heated, and we were a trifle puzzled. Still we all agreed that we certainly would get down to our creek after a while. We should have headed sharp southwest. Instead of that we took easier going toward the southeast and at length toward the east. Late in the afternoon we crossed what we felt sure must be the divide which we had been ascending. Naturally we sup- posed all we had to do was to follow the ravines down to the first water, and then follow it to the creek. But there was no water. We were, as it transpired, now on the western edge of the great Pitchstone Plateau, a high semi- voleanic table land which covers a good portion of the southwestern corner of Yellowstone Park. No streams head up on that plateau. There may be a few remote water holes in average time, but the past season had been one of extraordinary drought. We found gullies full of washed rocks where apparently considerablestreams had flowed at one time, but they were dry as a powder horn now. These no doubt meant surface water only. Moose Creek and many others of these streams which run into the Snake waters burst out in big springs at the bottom of this high plateau in such tremendous springs as the great outflow known as Big Springs, where a full- fledged river comes out from under the foot of the mountain, some fifteen or twenty miles west of Yellowstone Park. We were now entirely above the level of all these waters, in a high dry country which none of us had ever seen before and never wanted to see again. “Well, we’re going downhill anyhow,” said Jim. ‘We'll either go into our creek or the head of Moose Creek, that’s sure.” So we pushed on. Perhaps a couple of hours or so before dark we found the first water we had seen—a couple of good springs or seepage holes surrounded with green grass, but not running any water. These springs were both still muddy and the place entirely tramped up. We had run into one of the secret meeting places of wild game, and had we suspected water we certainly should have approached it with greater care. The Mysterious Trail We rested and watered our horses. We did not know where we were or where our creek was or where anything else was. We had wandered round many hours in a country from which we could not see out or see ahead. We concluded to keep on going downhill as long as we could, still believing that we were on the most plausible road to the coveted country. I don’t think that any of us felt any too sanguine when we started down this little draw below the springs. Neither did we feel in the least certain, though somewhat more cheerful, when we found crossing our coulee at right angles a plainly marked blazed trail which we were pretty sure was government work, though we did not know the blaze—a long blaze with a short chip cut out above it. We started south along this trail, not knowing what it was or who had made it, though it seemed that the ax work was not more than a week old. We soon found it was a very old trail and was in course of being reblazed by somebody. The original blazes, a very long cut and a short chip out above it, could be seen, almost overgrown, apparently twenty or thirty years old at least. ' “This looks to me like it must be a trail made by those old buffalo hunters that used to work on the Buffalo Fork and in the Jackson’s Hole country—Dick Rock and all those fellows,” said Jim. ‘‘My old dad used to go over there and he told me there was a sort of trail made. He and two fellows started out from Jackson’s Hole, and they were lost more than two weeks down in here somewhere, trying to get through. Now I figure this must be an old hunting trail made a long while ago.” THE SATURDAY “Well, who’s freshening it up now, I'd like to know?” demanded Jack. “It looks like they intend to hold a church sociable or something in here. And look at the glass jars and tin cans. Must have been about a hundred of them in here working.” “One thing sure,” I said to them, “‘the axwork is getting fresher. We'll run them down after a while, no matter who they are. They must have a base camp somewhere below here, and they must be working out from that.” The other fellows all agreed to this and we all agreed also that the said base camp must be on our creek. As a matter of fact I presume it may have been on the Buffalo Fork, and was probably about forty miles away from where we then were, but just then we did not know that. Our blazed trail was running north and south, evidently a thoroughfare trail of some sort, brushed out pretty well in the thick places—it looked like heaven to our pack horse after what he had been through. At length Jim pulled up. “Say, fellows,” said he, “‘this can't be any hunting trail.” “T’ll bet it’s the west line of the park, that’s what it is,” said Jack. Night in a Dry Camp We studied on that along time. Jim said he had seen the park line, and that it was cleared out wide and unmistakably, and ran due north and south. Jack retorted by telling him that that was on the northwest corner of the park and not down here. Then we all put our heads together and began to figure whether we could have got as far east as that from our camp in one day’s travel. As a matter of fact none of us ever knew just how far west of the park line our camp was—it was probably somewhere round twenty-five miles at least. Our trail did not run straight, but wan- dered somewhat with the contour of the country. ‘Sure it'll lead to water pretty soon,” said Jack. “This old pack horse begins to need it. I wouldn’t mind a drink myself.” We had not a canteen or a water bottle along, and it never occurred to us that in that country we should get out of touch with running water. We lost our trail two or three times where it jumped a ridge, and followed out some lesser trails made by no one knows whom, old trails such as a trapper would lay out. But at last we found our main course again. Ahead of us lay a deep valley. “Lucky we got here,” said Jim. ‘ Dark pretty soon now. Of course that’s water down there.” But it was nothing of the sort. The valley was dry as a bone. A creek bed fifty yards wide had not a drop of water in it. Old Badger, the cow horse which I was riding, an animal of a great deal of sagacity and of many years of range and mountain experience, at just about this time wanted to take matters into his own hands. He knew it was time to go into camp, and he knew that he wanted a drink. He swung off strongly downstream and wanted to leave the trail. “That horse smells water,” said Jim. “He’s a wise bird and he knows a lot of things. I’m almost of a notion to go down that way.” We concluded, however, that we ought not to leave our blazed trail, which gave us our only assurance of ever getting out of that country; and we were confident that it soon would lead us to water, whereas no one could tell what sort of going Badger might take us into. Here is where we made a very possible mistake. The instinct of an old hunting horse is quite often better than all the knowledge of a man, I am pretty sure that Badger either thought that water was that way or that he smelled elk or other horses—he was a great horse to point elk, Jim always said, “Well, here’s horse tracks,”’ exclaimed Jack. “We're all right now.” Sure enough, in our little creek bed were the tracks of three horses, all shod and all going south on the trail. The ground was very dry and sandy, but we did not think the trail was more than two or three days old. Of course we were sure that these horses would take us to water. No doubt the trail would have taken us to water sometime, and it was a matter of great regret to us that we did not have time to follow it out, for we would have been glad to know just where water was; but we never found it on that trail. EVENING POST Dark came down. We found ourselves at the edge of a wide flat swale covered with sand, dotted with the trunks of a few half- rotted trees, remnants of an earlier forest fire. We just could discern on the opposite side of this open place the beacon rays of our trail, still going strong and heading a little east of south. We pulled up and held a brief consulta- tion. We could not go a half hour longer and could not get back to water over the trail we had been traveling inside of twelve or fifteen miles. There was nothing to it we had to make camp, and make a dry camp at that. “If you ask me,” said Jim, leaning over with his leg in the saddle, ‘‘I’ll say we're elsewhere.” “I wonder,” said Jack meditatingly, “what old Kelly is doing back there in camp. I'll bet he is burying his face in a viece of elk meat right this minute. And 1e’s got coffee—he’s got coffee, I'll tell you.” ‘“‘That’s more’n we're going to have this night,” said Jim. ‘I'd give a dollar ——” “Shut up!” said Jack. “You mustn't talk about it in a dry camp, and mustn't think about it.” We proceeded to make our dry camp. And that indeed is the reason I am telling this story—not because it is much of a story of adventure, but because it is some- thing of an adventure for these thickly settled times and places, and because it may be of some possible use to some other chap who may get caught in a dry camp just when he is not looking for it. We had had water at three o'clock that afternoon and though the afternoon was warm it now was cold, so that we did not suffer much from thirst. The main trouble was about the horses. We could not risk them even on, picket lines, even had there been any grass worth mentioning, for we knew they would break back home if they got away. In short they did stampede twice, old Badger being the leader of the mutiny and lining out on a trot which would have robbed us of our caballada had not Jack’s long legs brought him along- side at last. We had to tie all of the horses short and tight with strong halter ropes, and they passed, no doubt, a very wretched night, hungry and thirsty both. Jim was for going to the woods to camp, where the shelter would be better against the wind, but Jack vetoed this. “T’'ve been with old desert rats and old Indians lots of times,” said he, ‘‘and any of them will tell you that it is colder in the woods than it is out here on the sand in the open, You try it now.” Cowboy’s Delight We slept in the open, making our beds down close to some half-rotted logs. We were able to find a few pine boughs close enough at hand to make a sort of bed, thick enough to keep us out of the cold sand. We did not need to trouble about water, and our firewood was at hand in the resinous limbs of the fallen trees, A keen wind came up and the sky was overcast. All in all, I would not call it the cheerfulest camp I ever saw, but I don’t think any of us felt uneasy or unhappy. We had some sugar and some useless coffee, some tea which we did not need, a little flour which we could not use, a few scraps of bread, a little bacon, and quite a lot of elk meat which we had brought along. We had one jar of jam, one can of tomatoes and a few spuds, as the term goes. Jack elected himself cook. And so, up there somewhere at the west edge of the Pitch- stone Plateau, in the dark and with the cold wind blowing, we sat down by our pitch-pine fire and did not do so badly after all. I can say that I did not suffer any thirst until about two or three o'clock in the morning. Had the weather been very much warmer I think we should have suffered much more. I have never been out with two better men than these two young ranch friends, They seemed to be wanting to give me the best of it all the time. We had but the one ean of the cowboy’s delight—canned to- matoes, a beverage which has saved muny a life in the dry country—and I found that the idea of these other fellows was that I should have about two-thirds of that. We ended by dividing even, and left about a cupful for breakfast. We sat up for a time in the cold wind, swapping hunting experiences, and at last turned into our beds, with the understand- ing that we would make an early start on the back trail in the morning. The nearest water was at the elk wallow which we had discovered that afternoon, some ten or twelve miles back. We knew we could find that, but did not know how soon we could find the head waters of Moose Creek, and we had no intention of trying to retrace our wandering journey of the day, which by no means could have been done. We slept warm enough in our cowpuncher beds under the tarpaulins on the sand flat A very heavy frost fell in the night, so that in the morning the saddles and bridles were covered deep in white. Our rifles, of course, were in bed with us. It was a strange feel ing to lie there and see the dawn come, at first gray and then a little pink at the head of our flat, a line of black ragged snags standing out against the lightening back ground ofthesky. I hated to call my young friends, but it was understood that the first man to waken should be the first one to shout. We found that our horses were still with us, thanks to the halter ropes. We still had a little grub left for breakfast. The remain- der of the can of tomatoes tasted mighty good. I think any one of us would have given fifty dollars for a cup of coffee. Asa matter of fact, however, I don't think the actual physical discomfort of the first dry night is very much to be dreaded. We were able to joke about it a little bit, at any rate, as we threw the bed rolls together and re- packed our big brown horse, When All Rules Fail “He's a finished pack horse now,” said Jack, casting loose his lead rope. ‘‘ He'll go home with the others now, and all we'll have to do is to pry him loose when he gets anchored.” On this basis we started off, not so very long after daylight. “I just would like to know who made this trail,” said Jim. ‘And I'd like to know where we are and how far it is to any place on earth. Elsewhere? I'll say it’s elsewhere, all right!” At the edge of the flat, where the trail left the wood, we put up a pole across the way, so that anyone riding would notice the note which was pinned to the near-by blaze. In that note we left our names and the date, and asked that the note be for- warded to the superintendent of the Yellow- stone Park. We added the request that the finder would please tell us where in the dickens we had been; stated that we were not uneasy, but that our horses were tired; said that we knew where water was a dozen miles distant, and told where we had camped on Moose Creek. This was more in conformity with etiquette than for any other reason, because we were pretty sure that we could do twenty-five miles that day on a forced march, which ought to bring us into the Moose Creek country. I have said that we suffered no discom- fort from thirst, but as I am somewhat addicted to coffee the less of it may have given me the intense headache which I experienced—a malady which left alto- gether when finally we arrived at our elk wallow and stopped for luncheon, and the only real discomfort of the trip. Our horses certainly enjoyed the water even more than we did. To our regret, however, we found that our elk had not been back. The question still rose, Where were we? We did not really know, except that we were south and east of our camp and south of the head of Moose Creek, though none of us knew how far east of us Moose Creek ran. Jack and Kelly had come to one fork where the creek was reduced to one big spring—about a mile or so above our usual hunting range in that valley. We thought, however, that there must be an- other arm of the creek which ran almost over to the line of the park. We figured that the best thing we could do would be to follow our blazed trail on north, in the hope of cross-cutting Moose Creek water some where and so getting down into that valley But it is all very well to read the rule about getting through a strange country when you get into the country itself, that is something different. The rules don't seem to be of any use at all. For instance, there is a rule which says you should sit down and build a fire if you are lost. If we had done that we should have been there yet. There is another rule which should follow the general trend of the water courses. Very fine—but here there were no water courses, Just a series of steep choppy hills covered with pine and covered also with a continuous carpet of down timber. says you

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An ordinary window shade a coarse muilin th coated with chalk and clay to give it weight and smoothne Thi brittle Alling quickly loosens and fa wt cracks and pink appear th hude wrinkles and There’s a wrong and a right

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

4 Brenlin window shade » heavy, so tightly woven no chalk or clay is needed to give it weight and smoothness. That is why Brenlin outwears two or three ordinary window shades. It wears and wears way to buy window shades, too Ask for “window shades” and you'll get the ordinary kind made of a coarse and loosely-woven cloth that’s coated with a “filling” of chalk and clay to give it weight and smoothness. And you'll be disappointed. kor that filling, soon becoming hard and brittle, is bound to crack and fall out under the strain and stress of every-day usage. Unsightly pinhole streaks will appeat your shades will wrinkle and sag.

Ordinary mater But ask for the crackswhenfolded fight Brenlin Window Shade and you'll get an entirely different kind of shade a shace made of cloth so fine, so heavy, so tightly-woven and perfect that it needs no chalk, no clay, no fill ing of any kind! A shade that ts soft and supple, hanging smooth and straight always. <A_ shade that will outwear two or even three of the ordinary kind! At every house-cleaning time for years you'll re JOCce no shades

to hang — Brenlin will say like new. Go to the Brenlin dealer in your town. See the many rich, mellow colorings he has in this long-wearing material—and Brenlin Duplex, one color on one side, another color on the other. To make sure you're getting gen uine Brenlin, try the famous Brenlin folding test, and look for the name “Brenlin”’ perforated on the edge when you buy and when your shades are hung. If you don’t know where to find Brenlin, write Brenlin unbroken ws: we will see that no rack no pinhole you are supplied.

For windows of little importance, Camargo or I mpire shades give you best value in shades made the ordinary way. Write today for a valuable booklet on how to shade your windows beau tifully; it’s free. With it we will send y ust tual samples ot Brenlin in several different colors, Chas. W. Breneman & Co., 2002 Read ing Road, Cincinnati, Ohio—“ The oldest window shade house in America.” Fac tories: Cincinnati, Ohio and Brooklyn, N. Y. Branches: New York City and Oakland, Calif. Owner of the good will and trade-marks of the Jay C. Wemple Co. renlin the long-wearing window shade material Women Benefit Association Office Kusiding of the M accabee shaded with Brenlin by J. A. Davidson & Company Port Huron, Mich

Our horses were beginning to show great weariness, for we had crowded them hard, and down timber in steep mountain country is hard on the best of horses. Of course I had my compass, but believe me, a compass does not take you to camp or show you how to get down off a mountainside or tell you how far a jack-pine thicket is going to run. We were really in about as bad mountain going as could be found, and all of this had happened to us within a day’s ride of a valley tracked with automobile roads! We

had to laugh, it all seemed so simple and so |silly. But here we were. It was a lot of fun to figure it out. ; “If this is the park line,” said Jim, “which I now don’t see how it can be, we ” | ought to hit the head of Moose C reek i ina couple of hours anyhow. If it isn’t the park line we might just as well follow it for a while anyway, a and then break off to the left when we think we can get down.” | We followed the trail on over some rather desperate country. At last we struck a high |} and = ridge, from which we could see out. Yonder toward the west and north stood Sawtelle, welcome landmark for all that country. And below us, still north of us, ran a long sinuous band of yellow and brown and red and green! “That’s Moose Creek!” I exclaimed. I had very often taken my bearings while hunting in that country and could always tell Moose Creek valley by its quaking-asp mark. The next question was how to get down. The country on the left was terribly rough. Somewhere in there, across ‘no one knew how many miles of down timber and rock faces, lay the head of Moose Creek valley. Either we had to find a way down or we had to go on beyond the head of that valley and make a second dry camp in the high meadows where Jim and I had made our first hunt. We knew the horses could not make camp that night even if the light should last long enough. Had I been alone or had the party been in my charge I should have followed the trail on north and chanced the dry camp, because I knew the easy descent beyond that band of quaking asp; whereas none of us knew what we might meet if we tried the plunge down straight to the head of Moose Creek. In Moose Creek Valley

Jim thought we could get through, how- ever, so down we dropped, after we had |ridden a mile or two beyond our lookout | point. Going a mile or so more by mere sense of direction downhill we ran into | another old blazed trail. That left us per- | fectly comfortable, because we knew it must head into Moose Creek valley. Such indeed proved to be the case. When we saw the narrow gorge, like a deep wedge ahead of us, we forgot all about the trail and confined all our attentions to trying to get our horses down. We had landed square in the sharp gulch which the | boys on the earlier hunt had called Grizzly Gulch, and Jim had been through part of this gulch before. It was full of rocks and brush and down timber, bad going all the time, sometimes so bad that we had to lead. In this work we had the nearest call to an accident of any—Jim was leading his | horse when a dead pole caught straight through the stirrup. All these cow horses are more or less wild, and this one went entirely wild when it felt this pole striking his side. Jim, happily, got out of his way | when he began to plunge. The animal | bucked and ran down the face of the gulch until at length he came up fairly ane shored by the pole. We could see it still sticking through the stirrup and apparently buried | in the body of the horse, which stood trem- bling. It looked like a horse that would have to be shot right there, but by some miracle of chance the tough dried pine pole | had broken off before the point entirely penetrated into the body. So we saved the | horse after all, and it suffered no great | inconvenience. It was coming sundown when we broke out of the mouth of Grizzly Gulch and hit some sort of going in the flatter country of Moose Creek. Then we found that Jack had earlier discovered the ultimate source

March 6,1920 of that stream, and that it did not run several miles to the eastward as we had supposed. It was six miles to camp, one mile to a trapper’s cabin which we knew. We con- cluded to camp there that night and hunt the next morning, as we were sure that all the dry country we had crossed must have a few elk which by this time would have to come back to Moose Creek for water. We made our camp and made our hunt the next day. I think indeed that in two or three days more we should have got elk in this valley, for we saw sign not more than one day old, possibly from elk which we had driven in from our elk wallow up in the mountains. Jim and Jack lay at the big spring watching the runway that day and I hunted alone, following out one game trail after another but seeing nothing. Toward noon I heard a single gun in the direction of camp, and knew that meant “Come in.’ So we packed up, made camp in good season that night, and sat up late telling Kelly all about us and wondering where on earth we had been. One thing sure, we had not found our lost creek. Another thing sure, we had found a wider expanse of high and dry country than any of us had known existed in that region. The soil is so light that there is no grass for stock. It is a broken-down lava formation, apparently, thrown down without any general trend and making just a series of little broken hills and ridges. It is hard hunting ground, but fine country to get lost in. I would not have missed that dry camp and the puzzling ride through those mountains for half a dozen elk. The cold nights had kept our elk meat in perfect condition. We thought we would now go on back home. Jim and Jack said they would come back in there when the first snow fell. The Mystery Solved What was the mysterious blazed trail with the long mark and the short one above it? We asked the forest ranger at Big Springs Station on our way out, and he told us that it was an old fire trail of the forest service which was being reblazed. He could not tell us how far we would have been obliged to go before we would have found a ranger’s cabin, to the south, but thought that it must have been a great many miles below where we stopped. He did not know of any trail to our creek, nor did we see or hear of one. We still felt rather sure that if we could have found our way to any sort of water at the head of that creek we should have found the elk which had been driven out of our hunting coun- try. In that case I presume we should have tried to follow that creek down until we came out in the valley of the Snake, and would then have made a long detour north- ward until we hit our own valley again, and so worked into our camp. We could never have packed our meat out across the coun- try we found, since we had but one pack horse and that was needed for our outfit. We fished a little while on Big Springs on our way out, tarrying entirely too late in the day, so that darkness and a piercing storm of sleet caught us twenty miles from home. Jim said that in all his experience in army life he saw nothing so rough as that. It was black dark and only the horses took us home. From the wagon seat we could not see the team. We reached the ranch house on Henry Lake so chilled that we could hardly stand, just about mid- night; thus closing what seemed to us a ja respectable little trip for times like these. Not much of a story to tell, but just a little lesson perhaps to some other man who likes to go wandering round in country he has never seen before. My only regret was that I could not go back with these splendid young Americans to finish the hunt on the first snow, not to shoot, but to see the game. I presume that some of the park elk do come out through that country, though it did not seem like a regular line of migration. In the conditions which we found we discovered that there may be quite a little work attached to hunting scattered elk in the high dry country. As it was, I for one got everything I went after. <a

ee ee rt oe 5 —

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST a Wt MY Ne “Vy . bh Lee Dx) Wc - ro mw ‘ ae Ra j BLISS DESIGN CO =e oe 6 \fr ys ROCHMORD, ILLINOIS. og. oars - age suet Sie : ~ 74 ~e Sethe itacigs*~ Aan) , “That Lend the Harm The all-shingled home is decidedly the vogue be- cause of its permanence and quaint charm. The usefulness of Rite-Grade Inspected Shingles is not confined to the “Roof of Ages.” Their architect- ural beauty for exterior walls is becoming increas- ingly popular. Stained or unstained, they harmonize with the foliage, the flowers and the lawn. To be sure of getting exactly what will serve you best specify Rite-Grade Inspected Red Cedar Shingles. There are three grades of Rite-Grades and they are all up-to-grade. Ask your architect, contractor or dealer what grade you need. Would you like our building booklet ? We know you will appreciate its building sugges- tions. Send 2c stamp to defray mailing. RITE-GRADE fesssgpINSPECTED For Roof and Walls Shingle Branch, West Coast Lumbermen’s Associa- tion, 425 Henry Building, Seattle, Washington, and The Shingle Agency of British Columbia, 1026 Standard Bank Building, Vancouver, British Columbia Nature's Imperishable Covering 71

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IL Little Folks Need The Buster Bike Children the world over hanker for toys that mean action. The Buster Bike gives growing youngstersnecessaryexercise. Italso keeps them happy and contented. Iwo can ride the Buster Bike it can't tip backwards. Wheels are set well to rear. The saddle-carved seat plenty of leg room. Two wheels at front insure steadiness. Pedal- equipped and “geared low.”” Gayly painted in red and green with golden oak trimming®. children gives Accommodates cal ' 2 to 6 years rig. ¢ Develop This Talent The desire to draw is inherent in many cultivated will be a big asset to your chil- dren when grown up. Give them the Buster Drawing Outfit. Just like the articles any draftsman It includes (on a slightly board, I-square, compass, irregular curve, triangle and thumb tacks. Also, plans and drawings for young students to follow. Dealers :-- There is a big demand for Buster Toys. Cash in on it! Write us for name of nearest dis- tributor. Distributors: tion and wv eed are winne rs! I his desire uses! smaller scale) drawing Write for proposi- Buster Toys FEDERAL-BUSTER CORPORATION PITTSBURGH THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Al SUBSTITUTE FOR STRIKES The problem is too broad to be solved by either organized labor as it now exists or by the semianarchic position in which organ- ized capital has intrenched itself. Few can urge with seriousness the adequacy of the American Federation of Labor to fulfill its great purpose, which, altruistic as it often is, neglects the unskilled and casual labor and gives many evidences of an un- real appreciation of the basic nature of the industrial struggle. The time has come for the state to shoulder its responsibility. During a week or more of hearings granted by the legislative bodies to the representatives of both capital and labor it was revealed that these two organized minorities both opposed the bill. Capital talked about the sanctity of its ownership, and ignored as usual the paramount rights of the public. Labor talked of its rights to the only weapon it had, the strike; and ignored the rights of society to its protec- tion against the barbarous features that follow the cutting off of production in those essential industries upon which the public must depend for food, fuel, clothing and transportation. Both sides, however, ad- mitted that the strike, the lockout and the efforts at arbitration had failed, but held fast to the belief that there was nothing better. Doubtless there was a day when robber barons thought there was no better way of establishing property rights than through the strength of might. There was a later day when men felt the same way about the denial of the right to carry con- cealed weapons. We have been able to prove during the hearings that so far as the coal industry is concerned nothing has been so costly and ineffectual as the strike. In the Kansas field during the thirty-three months which ended with January 1, 1919, there had been 364 strikes, an average of eleven strikes a month. The total gain in dollars and cents to the miners from these 364 strikes was $778.84. The loss in wages to the miners was $1,006,000. In 1919 the record was even blacker. The loss in wages to the miners for the past year alone in the Kansas fields will be nearly $2,000,000 as the result of the strikes. The cost to the miners (Continued from Page 7) not collected through voluntary payment. The officials send statements of the amounts to the companies which employ the men. The companies are ordered to pay these sums to the officials and charge the amounts to wages of the individual miners. The miners’ officials assess fines in like order and direct the companies to take the fines out of the miners’ wages. There is no effec- tive appeal. I know of an instance in which a miner was fined twenty-five dollars for digging more coal than the officials thought he should dig. I know of instances where for similar offenses the union cards have been taken away from miners. Tyranny of the Union Talk of robbing labor of its rights! Should the Government seek to visit one per cent of the tyrannical judgment upon laborers that is visited by their own organization, revolu- tion would rightfully ensue against govern- ment. When a union miner loses his card he becomes an outcast. He cannot get work in any organized district. Yet I know of a considerable number of instances in which this great wrong has been perpe- trated upon individuals who have dis- pleased their leaders. The industrial court will provide: That the operation of the great industries affecting food, clothing, fuel and transpor- tation be impressed with a public interest and subject to reasonable regulation by the state. That it shall have the dignity and power to hear and determine all controversies which may rise and which threaten the continuity of such industries. That it shall be the duty of all persons or corporations engaged in such industries to operate them with reasonable continuity, in order that the people of this state may be apne at all times with the necessaries of ile, That in case of controversy between em- ployers and employees or between different crafts of workers which threaten the con- tinuity of such industries or endanger their March 6,1920 peaceful operation this tribunal, on its own initiative or on complaint, shall investigate and determine the controversy and make an order prescribing rules and regulations, hours of labor, working conditions and a reasonable minimum wage, which shall thereafter be observed in the conduct of said industry until such time as the parties may agree. That labor unions shall be incorporated; that collective bargaining shall be recog- nized, and that full faith and credit shall be given to all contracts made in pursuance of said right. That a speedy determination of the validity of any such order be made possible by immediate appeal to the supreme court of the state without the usual delay. That it shall be unlawful for any firm, person or association of persons to delay or suspend production or transportation of the necessaries of life, except upon application to and upon order of said tribunal. That it shall be unlawful to discharge or discriminate against any employee because of his participation in any proceedings be- fore this tribunal. That it shall be unlawful for any person or corporation engaged in said industries to cease operations for the purpose of limiting production, affecting prices or avoiding the provisions of this act, but also that provi- sion shall be made by which proper rules and regulations may be formulated provid- ing for the operation of such industries as may be affected by changes in season, market conditions or other reasons or causes inherent in the nature of the business. That it shall be unlawful for any person or corporation to violate any of the pro- visions of the law creating this court or to conspire with others for that purpose or to intimidate any person or corporation en- gaged in such industries with intent to hinder, delay or suspend the operation of such industries and thus suspend produc- tion or transportation of the necessities of life. That penalties by fine or imprisonment or both shall be inflicted upon persons or corporations violating this act. That any in- crease of wages for the mainte- nance of their or- ganization—that is, the money paid out of their wages to their own mine officials for the past twelve months amounts to $157,- 600, It is only just to the miners to say that probably half of them are per- fectlysatisfied with the industrial court and have secretly hoped for its estab- lishment. These are the conservative miners, but unfor- tunately they are not so assertive as the radicals, and they voluntarily accept a servitude much more drastic andcostlythan any involuntary servi- tude of which their radical leaders prattle. No man may work in the mines unless he holds a union card. When he accepts mem- bership in his union Re surren- ders himself abso- lutely to his union officials. ‘I'm for the union first and the government next,” I heard rad- icals exclaim at Pittsburgh in the coal fields. By a regulation of this organization their officials fix granted by the court may take ef- fect as of the date of the beginning of the investigation. That no costs or expense of litiga- tion shall be borne by anyone who makes complaint before this court and that no at- torney need be employed for the purpose of plead- ing before it. By such legisla- tion I believe we shall be able: To make strikes, lockouts, boycotts and blacklists un- necessary, by giv- ing labor as well as capital an able and just tribunal in which to litigate all controversies. To insure to the people of this state at all times an ade- quate supply of those products which are abso- lutely necessary for their existence. I believe that by stabilizing produc- tion of these neces- saries we shall also stabilize the price to the producer as well as to the con- sumer. That we shall in- sure to labor stead- ier employment, at a fairer wage, un- der better working conditions. dues and assess them. They are A Miner and His Children (Concluded on Page 75)

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—— LT THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 73 (gqeeeceniesvvvcotet@veve tenet onoueongnonecut arreactenuregencearorvUUaUtdetuouvopi itovoyTirq.peeeototbverdieeivvecsetTevvsoon vod tvviTiceny von poepungdavOee toa ng UTOA oavonegenctuaxs too tagiLeenEUULLTQU0O Hem AAp TT annTauuso aes] Ww ~ », s\ | From Pocket. Sundial to | E (Sruen Verithin theGuiLD |, WATCHMAKING Art Has Progressed OCKET sundials must have pride in the ostentatious display of their been in quite general use dur’ — dials. ing Shakespeare's time, for Jaques, in “As You Like It,” remarks, “And then he drew a dial from his poke.” VOVUUUNULGADDUTD pnncnapusdutay LinLINDOLDMLIODESOOD In the mountainous cantons of Switzer land the art of the watchmaking guilds attained its fullest development. There, it seems probable, the early pocket dials It seems quite certain that the early were made, later to be superseded by the clockmakers’ guilds evolved the pocket pocket watch. There the masters of the sundial as the first portable timepiece. guilds dedicated their lives to their work, Although valueless on cloudy days, the and passed down their art, a priceless courtiers of this early period took great heritage, to their sons and grandsons Today the Gruen Verithin Is Made Where Once the Sundial Measured Time T remained for Gruen to bring into the Thus, in Gruen Guild Watches, are com- Gruen Watchmakers Guild the descend bined the old ideals that made the Swiss ants of these old guild masters, that the — guildsmen the watchmaking masters of the ancient ideals might be preserved. world, and the new American principles of standardization that make for uniformity In the Gruen workshops at Madre-Biel, © and sustained quality of output. Switzerland, the Gruen Verithin is made. Here, with the aid of the most modern American machinery, master craftsmen fash- ion the Gruen movements —and here these loc ality, to whom the sale is confined. Look a = a artisans, with the same skill and devotion as for the Gruen Guild f mblem displayed in 7 PEDIPP PP TPIT, COMTI TT TT eer = was possessed by the masters of old, do the store windows of all Gruen agents | COTYTAETO LLY TN TELE PINT On Reproduced from an old wovd- cut in the library of the Gruen W atchmakers Guild You may see the Gruen Verithin at one of the 1,200 jeweler agencies, the best in each what no machine can do—finish by hand Remember, however —not every Swiss watch and adjust each movement to the exacting 'S 4 UTuen. standards of Gruen Precision accuracy. Write for the Gruen Guild Exhibit pT A book of Etchings and Photographic Plates showing Gruen Guild Watches for men and women will be sent if you are sincerely On Time Hill, Cincinnati, is the American workshop of the Gruen Guild where the hand-wrought cases are made, and the movements inserted and given final adjust- ment. Here, also, is maintained a real Dietrich Gruen Models, $315 to $825; Ultrathin Models, interested. 2, y y v1 Modeis, $60 to R250 service workshop, where standardized dupli- * to $000; Very-Verithin Models, 3 | ewten Ps iy ose Verithin Models, $60 to $250; Thin Models, $27 to $60 cate repair parts are always on hand for = 4g,.+, Sipap Models, $27 to $250. Ladies’ Wrist Model prompt delivery to any jeweler in America. — $27 to $275; with full cut AAI diamonds, up to $4,000 sodas geseese tag vopens eed gesenibecesetdacders sievabaiiecicceeseqi ceed) (GRUEN WatTcHMAKERS GuiLp, Time Hill, Cincinnati, O. Makers of the famous Gruen Watches since 1874, Canadian branch, Toronto, Can, Two popular Gruen Verithin Models. Left plain back and bezel. Right, Louis NIV Styl Exact reproduction of Gruen Watchmaker Cuild rete Workshop, Time Hill, Cincin nali, where duplicate standardised parts are n hand How the Gruen Pat. Wheel Construction made an accurate watch thin MUNIN ONO The shortness of staff makes watch more durable | | in buying any thin AN, area's DNDN li watch, open the back f - ~ ] " and see that the in- mo} / r \| ] j \) fe protection ca} Tr if 4 my \ / Ay \ h is there. This capi > 4 {7 . absolutely essential. Pam Ot) Al * | In all round-cased . | a J (iruens the cap i = ‘eve =) S Fibs TRE TL TO CORRE (Ace MUL MN TUT eo | | mn OMIM ir Z | J WUTUOEUOTUTeeUTagaTUTUagTovs raving eV vOCvOO CT VIED QOUL OQUUIO00D MoMuMeeM oro a oS ——— = SS aa

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 6,1920 Area Why Cord Tires Demand space to te ies te sans ear Oe 4.00 Special Inner Tubes HE area to be filled in a 5-inch Cord tire by the stretching of the inner tube is 175 per cent greater than in a fabric tire; other sizes in proportion. (See photographs.) When ordinary inner tubes are used in Cord tires they are necessarily overstretched to fill this increased air space. This naturally draws out or stretches the walls of the inner tube so that they are thinner and thus weaker, when they should be thicker and stronger. Cord tires are harder on inner tubes than fabric tires—harder because of the lower air pressure they carry. This lower air pressure means more flexing-~ flexing means friction—friction means wear. Be- cause of this greater wear, ordinary inner tubes, overstretched to fill Cord tires, soon wear through. The Area H Sh _err;. b Cross-section of Cord tire, same size, showing orse oe Ke-Cor u e space to be filled by over-stretching same tube. Sq. Inches was developed a year ago to meet this condition. It is not overstretched in Cord tires, because its walls are 50 per cent heavier than those of ordinary tubes (nine-ply instead of six). It survives the added friction because it is made of extraordinary rubber—rubber so free from adulteration that it floats on water—rubber so toughened by special treatments that you cannot tear or break a strip the thickness of a wedding ring. We have named this the Horse-Shoe Re-Cord (for cords) Tube to emphasize the fact that it was designed especially to stand the harder duty—the extra stretch- ing and the friction in Cord tires. If you have long been a user of Cord tires, you will appreciate the necessity for such a tube as the Re-Cord. The small extra cost is negligible when compared with the extra service assured by this big brown tube. RACINE AUTO TIRE COMPANY RACINE, WISCONSIN EXPORT DEPT., 144 WEST 65th ST... NEW YORK

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(Concluded from Page 72) That we shall prevent the colossal eco- nomic waste which always attends indus- trial disturbances. That we shall make the law respected and discourage and ultimately abolish in- timidation and violence as means for the settlement of industrial disputes. One of the advanced features of the pro- posed court will be the power it has to for- bid the shutting down of an industry for the purpose of affecting the price of the product or the question of wage. This offers a new day to the mining industry by reason of the fact that coal mining is car- ried on in the bituminous fields very indif- ferently in the summer. The operators make no effort to store coal. The market demand is light and the result is that the average number of days on which miners are employed during the year is 211. The miners look forward to the continuous operation provided by the new law, and the public looks forward to the prospect of beginning the winter with a coal reserve rather than a coal shortage. Kansas has also just written a new anti- sedition law which I believe is devoid of that radicalism which has endowed the period with extreme reaction upon the sub- ject. I believe that states should be warned against any attempt to create laws regulat- ing these disorders which do not maintain inviolate the right of free speech, free press and free right of assemblage. If we seek to pass antisedition laws which deprive civili- zation of the benefit which comes from discussion and criticism we lead to evils far more dangerous in their pent-up power than those which usually follow the free- dom of radical expression. I believe, how- ever, that state or national laws should be passed establishing proper standards for naturalization of foreigners, providing for the prosecution of all who preach violent overthrow of government, and the deporta- tion of aliens unfit for citizenship, with a strict guaranty in all cases of a fair hearing before a judicial body. No prohibition in such a law, however, should apply to the rights of man to discuss changes in govern- ment to be brought about by orderly pro- cesses. In conformity with the general recogni- tion of this hour that our institutions must typify our national ideals in all their essen- tial strength this bill should provide for compulsory education of that foreign ele- ment which seeks citizenship in this country. In our strike in the Kansas coal fields noth- ing was more apparent than the need of compelling the foreign elements to become acquainted with the purpose and the mean- ing of American institutions. Any effort to cure permanently the radicalism in this country which does not provide founda- tions in education will not reach the full measure of success. Civilization must de- pend for its straight and righteous thinking upon education. The Menace of the Renters Kansas is also working upon a program to relieve us from the growing menace of absentee landlordism in the agricultural sections. It is an alarming fact that in Kansas to-day land tenantry has grown to a point where more than forty-five per cent of all the soil of the state is tilled by renters. I am conscious of the fact that in compari- son with other states this is actually a lower per cent of absentee ownership than exists generally in the great agricultural states. In some of the best farm districts of IIli- nois, lowa, Ohio and Indiana the percent- age runs as high as sixty-five per cent. In the great state of Oklahoma in less than thirty-five years absentee landlordism has grown to nearly fifty per cent. There is no danger more real than that which comes to a land whose tillable soil is owned by specu- lators and cultivated by renters. The founders of the old Roman common- wealth recognized the truth of this state- ment when they established the law that every soldier must be a landowner, and for a man to be eligible to the army he must have property. To this end a redistribution of land was made in order that the farms might be owned by the soldiers. The strength which enabled France to meet the repeated assaults of her enemies in the beginning months of her four and a half years of life-and-death struggle was in the landowning class. France, a great agricul- tural republic, possessed more than five million farmers who owned farms of their own. During 1916 and 1917 red socialism, THE SATURDAY driven by the cleverest of German propa- ganda, rose and broke upon the land titles because more than eighty per cent of the Frenchmen who tilled the land owned all or a portion of the land they tilled. More than sixty per cent of the French soldiers owned land. It gave to them always the realizing sense that they were fighting for their own possessions. When you endow a man’s love of country with the added sense of his home ownership you plant something in his heart that gives renewed strength and reality to his patriotism. It is a trite expression of the truth that has often been used that a man will fight for his home when he will not put up much of a struggle for his boarding house. The Deterioration of Rented Land The percentage of tenantry is growing with the most alarming rapidity in the central agricultural states. An average of more than 440,000 tenant farmers is added to the agricultural roll at every Federal census taking. From 1890 to 1900, 730,051 were added; from 1900 to 1910, 329,712. Doubtless the disclosures of the census now being taken will go above the average for the past ten years. More than 30,000,000 acres of land will have been added to the great area owned by land speculators and farmed by tenants. This means that two-thirds of the increase in our operated farms during the past decade has gone into the hands of those who will rob the soil and put nothing back into it. There is rapidly growing up in the United States an unclassified peasantry known as renters, and they bring deterioration to agriculture because they live a hand-to- mouth existence, add nothing to the scien- tific value of their effort and reduce the general agricultural strength. Census y wth show that the average investment in farm buildings and farm machinery on tenant-operated farms is $785. Theaverage value of these items on farms operated by owners is $2168. According to the 1915 Iowa State Census farm machinery was valued at $60,000,000, and five years prior to that the United States census valued it at $95,000,000. In five years with the rapid increase of farm tenantry the value of Iowa farm implements and machinery had decreased $35,000,000; and this in the face of the increased prices of farm ma- chinery. Some modern nations have made much progress with the tenantry problem. New Zealand, through a system of land redis- tribution under government aid, has pur- chased, from 1894 to 1914, 1,490,000 acres of land and resold it. This land represented originally 264 holdings. Ownership under state sales divided it into 5529 holdings. Denmark, which once was owned by seventy-five men, through a process of state aid redistributed her land until to-day more than ninety per cent of the farmers of Denmark own their farms and dairies in part or altogether. It is the only country in the world where the agricultural popula- tion is increasing. Canada has just under- taken a valuable extension of her land program by giving to the soldiers who have returned from the war 160 acres of free land and loaning them $2,500 with which to start farming operations. The United States has made absolutely no progress upon a program. The Federal Land Bank helps the man who has a farm to buy an additional piece of land. It does nothing for the man who has no start. In Kansas we are seeking to solve the problem by giving state aid for the purchase of small farms by worthy men. The state will pro- vide an irreducible fund with which to buy land to be resold on easy terms with a low rate of interest. Amendments are being sought to the tax laws which will give the legislature the freedom to classify property for taxation, enabling it in its judgment to relieve from taxation a part of the cost of improvements on land so that the improved farms may not pay an excessive tax while the unimproved land sought by the land hogs who hold it for speculative purposes may bear relatively a larger proportion of

the just burden. The amendment also . —~ ye -—— }@& 7 = lea la

EVENING POST seeks to relieve mortgages from taxation, which will have the effect greatly to reduce interest. To my mind there is no problem in the United States to-day more deserving con- structive attention than the rapidly grow- ing problem of land tenantry. It should have a national remedy. We may preach about the wholesomeness of country life and the independent joys of the farm, but it does not reach the problem. We may carry on our schools of propaganda for back to the farm, but no man is going back to a rented farm. He will only go back to a farm in which he has some pride and opportunity in ownership. f we are going to hold our own as a great agricultural people then we must hold it as a people who own the farms they till. There is nothing in the nation more fundamental than this to give us back the peculiar strength which was once a tradition of American agriculture, Kansas believes that if she can create a program which will increase the ownership of farm homes, then together with the new good-roads program, in which she is ac- tively engaged, and her larger program for bringing public schools in the country up to the standard of efficiency they possess in the cities, she will solve the back-to-the- farm problem. Give us a return in America of the days when the embattled farmer was the best guarantor of our liberties, and we should need to have no fear of anything the Bol- shevists or other class-minded organiza- tions could do in this land. Every old nation has had to meet at some time the problem of redistribution of its land. They have not all been able to meet it in an orderly fashion. It is in my judgment the most critical problem that has to do with the funda- mental principles upon which the endurance of American civilization rests. If it be the destiny of America that she shall have world leadership, then this lead- ership is not going to depend upon any international society the United States may join. It will depend upon the success which we make of the experiment of de- mocracy in the United States. No nation has ever succeeded that allowed its land to drift into the hands of speculators; the United States can no more live through the weakening effect of landlordism and tenan- try than could the other nations that have tried it. George Eliot has said: ‘A human life should be well rooted in some spot of native soil where it may get the tender love of kinship for the face of earth, for the sounds and accents that haunt it, some spot where the definiteness of early training may be inwrought with affection and spread, not by sentimental effort and reflection, but as a sweet habit of the blest.” This is the love of home which, properly embedded in the heart of the citizen, is the saving principle of government itself. Against it armies and navies would beat in vain. Without it armies and navies will be without avail. Reactions From the War I am conscious of the fact that no publie discussion of current questions is complete that does not deal with the temporary re- actions which came to us out of the war. At the conclusion of the war it was thought that the most important issue that had ever been presented to the American people was that of the League of Nations. All our emotions were for it, and yet after half a year of discussion it has settled into the background of thought and receives only the most languid attention. It was an effort, so far as America was concerned, t« do an idealistic thing, but it is doubtful if you can get idealistic results out of the aftermath of war. It is doubtful if victo- rious nations, making the conditions for the conquered to sign, are in a mood to lay down those fundamental principles of “peace on earth, good will towards men” which must be embodied in an enduring League of Nations. The first reaction which came, not only to the United State ~<—) wr

Allies after the war, wa t spiritual one. So far as Europe was con cerned it embodied all the national sciousness that must necessarily come to those who have won a great victory at a great cost. So, when the emotions which attended the peace celebration had worn themselves out, the relapse was into that inevitable hardness of spirit which has always ac companied great victories. In the United States we soon became more interested in the restoration of normal conditions in America than in joining an international institution. Great business men wanted the railroads returned to private owner- ship. Financiers, outside those who were operating in international channels, wanted the normal mechanism of business in every line reéstablished. In an incredibly short time all over the country the discussion of business and of profits took the place of the world topics. Probably to-day, outside of the industrial subject, there is no public question so heatedly and continuously dis- cussed as that of prices and profits. Un- doubtedly there are underproduction and a tremendous currency inflation. We all damn the profiteer as though he were a vis- ible and baleful agent. As a matter of fact he is a highly infectious disorder. The period of inflation was bound to produce somesuch by-product as this, and it may be that there is no remedy until the disorder has run its natural course. The singular accom- paniment of it is that there is little real poverty. Money is plentiful. Demand for labor seems abundant. Business is full of hectic excitement, but undoubtedly the period is unwholesome and dangerous. The only remedy which has been seriously dis- cussed has been an extension of the effort we endured during the war at price regula- tion. A great many believe this remedy is worse than the disease, but undoubtedly, unless the recent prophecy of some of the eminent economists that prices are about to go down begins materialize, the Government should find some way to create stability. but to her con soon to The Homeless Element Unquestionably it is the duty of the Government to give intelligent considera- tion to the studies of our marketing con- ditions and our wasteful methods of dis- tribution, which have already been made under its own direction, and the possibili- ties of codperative organization have re- ceived only scant attention. Our progress toward an intelligent and scientific solution of the high cost of living will be measured by the seriousness with which we take these suggestions and the energy with which we work out a new set of business relations which may eventually become necessary to take the place of the stabiliza- tion we once enjoyed through the natural laws of competition. The Government could also aid in the economic organization of our industrial and commercial life by the reéstablishment, on a broader scale, of the Federal employment system, which has now gone out of existence for lack of an appropriation. ‘The problem is merely that of directing the *‘jobles man to the manless job.””. The high level of wages proves that we are not facing a redundancy of labor supply. The ery of the farmer at harvest time, the com- plaint of the housewife over the servant problem and of employers in almost every big industry is met by the clamor of labor that it is able to work only part time, that employment is intermittent. The truth is that we have outgrown our doubtful sys- tems of charitable relief and the public is beginning to feel that we have ial enough of discussion. One state cannot solve the problem. The seasonal occupations of the North and South dovetail into those of the Middle West. The problem is one for national consid eration. We need information that. will give us accurate knowledge of the needs of in- dustry for workmen of certain qualifications, and we need institutions that will provide workmen for the changing needs of progre sive industry. The problems of anemnezeyan nt in the city and of tenantry in the country are fundamentally the same. From the day when Pericles settled his peo; le on con

quered territory to rid the city of an unruly nm the ‘ mob, to the present time, it has bee men who are without habits of indu and without homes of their own who have rocked the foundations of ever) t has failed to heed the warning nation t!

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— ~—- -— eo es pee meee saa ES ST elec ed method: “A man who is not born with the novel-writing gift has a troublesome time of it when he tries to build a novel. I know this from experience. He has no clear idea of his story; in fact, he has no story. He merely has some people in his mind, and an incident or two, also a local- ity. He knows these people, he knows the selected locality, and he trusts that he can plunge those people into those incidents with interesting results. So he goes to work. To write a novel? No—that is a thought which comes later; in the begin- ning he is only proposing to tell a little tale; a very little tale; a six-page tale. But as it is a tale he is not acquainted with, and can only find out what it is by listening as it goes along telling itself, it is more than apt to go on‘and on and on till it spreads itself into a book. I know about this, because it has happened to me so many times.” When he first told me, I ventured to re- mind him that this composition at irregu- lar intervals had been the method of Le Sage, whose Gil Blas, the most popular of picaresque romances, was a prototype of Huckleberry Finn, so far as it presents an unheroic hero who is not the chief actor in the chief episodes he sets forth and who is often little more than a recording spectator, before whose tolerant eyes the panorama of human vicissitude is unrolled. And I was not at all surprised when Mark promptly assured me that he had never read Gil Blas, for I knew that he was not a bookish man. He was intensely interested in all the manifestation of life, but he had no special fondness for fiction—an attitude not uncommon among men of letters. He was a constant reader of history and au- tobiography, not caring overmuch for nov- els and getting far more enjoyment out of Suetonius or Carlyle than he did out of Scott or Thackeray. Of course he did not need to be familiar with Gil Blas itself to borrow the pattern which Le Sage had taken over from the Spaniards, as this was ready for his use in the writings of Smollett and Dickens and Marryat. I took occasion to tell Mark that at my only meeting with Stevenson a large part of our two hours’ talk had been given to Huckleberry Finn; and that I had been delighted to discover that Stevenson held as high an opinion of this masterpiece of veracity as I did. I recalled his assertion that Huckleberry Finn was a far better piece of work than Tom Sawyer, not only because it was richer in matter more artistically pre- sented but also and especially because it had more of the morality which must ever be the support of the noblest fiction. A Maxim for Writers And I also told Mark how H. C. Bunner had confessed to me that he had never fully understood the Southern attitude toward slavery as a peculiar institution not to be apologized for but rather to be ven- erated as virtuously righteous, until he read the record of Huck’s long struggle with himself to refrain from sending Jim back into the servitude from which he was escaping. If the peculiar institution could so cramp the kindly conscience of Huck Finn, vagabond and son of the town drunk- ard, then it was an institution indeed, and it was peculiar. When I thought over Mark’s statement that everything in Tom Sawyer and Huck- leberry Finn was taken straight from life I recalled a remark made to me a score of years earlier by the man who had sold Mark his share in the Buffalo Express—to the effect that ‘“‘Mark Twain had a very good memory; and that’s where he gets most of his best stories.” When I had heard this I wanted to resent it as a sneer against Mark’s originality. But now I know better. It may have been meant as a mean insinuation; but, nevertheless, it was not far from the truth. Mark was always at his best when he had a solid fact to deal with, an actual episode of his own boyhood or the experience of a friend of his youth. As he himself put it in one of his maxims: ‘First get your facts—then you can distort them.” He took the solid fact which may have come to him from another; he made it his own; and he interpreted it with his vivi- fying imagination. In the ample and admirable biography by Albert Bigelow Paine we are told the THE SATURDAY MEMORIES OF MARK TWAIN (Continued from Page 15) names of the friends who gave him the raw material out of which Mark made The Jumping Frog and the tale of The Blue Jay in A Tramp Abroad. When Prof. Wil- liam Lyon Phelps wrote to inform Mark that the explanation of Elijah’s miracle in calling down fire from heaven to ignite the water-soaked logs on the altar, put in the mouth of Capt. Hurricane Jones in the Rambling Notes of an Idle Excursion, had been anticipated by Sir Thomas Browne in his Religio Medici, Mark promptly replied that he had got the story from an actual sea captain, Ned Wakeman. And in Life on the Mississippi we can read the bare account of a Southwestern feud which was to suggest the wonderful Shepherdson- Grangerford affair in Huckleberry Finn. Here is the explanation of the curious in- equality we observe in Mark’s work, and of the disconcerting unreality we find in Tom Sawyer Abroad and in Tom Sawyer, De- tective. Where he lacked the support of | solid fact and had to rely on his own fan- tastic invention his whimsicality was likely to betray him disastrously. It was said long ago that great poets seldom invent their myths; and Mark, who was a poet in his way, was able to achieve the most sat- isfactory result only when he followed in the footsteps of the great poets. Mr. Paine has told us how Mark took down A True Story from the lips of its heroine; and he declares that this provided the imaginative realist with ‘‘a chance to exercise two of his chief gifts—transcription and portrayal; he was always greater at these things than at invention.” He needed to have the sus- | taining solidity of the actual fact, which he | could deal with at will, bringing out its humor, its latent beauty and its human significance. A Loan to Mr. Carnegie I have already mentioned the startling effectiveness of Mark’s own delivery of the story of The Golden Arm. As he was a con- summate craftsman in his use of words when he wrote, so he was surpassingly dex- terous in his management of his voice when he told an anecdote or when he made a speech. The voice itself was a noble organ, strong and flexible, deep and rich; and he had the power of modulating it so as to suggest the most delicate shades of mean- ing. There was art—and a most carefully studied art—in his seemingly spontaneous utterances. He drawled along and ap- peared to hesitate for the word he needed and then to find it with unconcealed satis- faction; and thus he made his hearers feel that he was merely talking to them in a totally unpremeditated way; and all the while what he had to say had been thought out and put into words, and perhaps even rehearsed to himself that he might be sure of his rhythm, his emphasis and his pauses. His method was his own and he was its | master. It was indisputably individual, but I have heard more than one profes- sional elocutionist express delight and ad- miration for it, devoid as it was of all their paraded devices. It was because he was an artist, with all an artist’s desire for perfection, that he prepared himself when he knew he was going to be called upon. But he did not really require this preparation; and if he was taken unawares he could speak on the spur of the moment, making his swift profit out of the remarks of others. When Sir Sidney Lee came to New York Andrew Carnegie gave him a dinner to which a score of American men of letters were invited, and half a dozen of us were summoned to stand and deliver. When Mark's turn came he soared aloft in whimsical exaggera- tion, casually dropping a reference to the time when he had lent Carnegie a million dollars. Our smiling host promptly interjected: “That had slipped my memory!"’ And Mark looked down on him solemnly and retorted: a receipt.” At a luncheon to Theodore Roosevelt not “Then, the next time, I'll take long after the Spanish War the Colonel of | the Rough Riders turned to Mark in the course of a military reminiscence and said: “As a veteran of the Confederate Army, Mr. Clemens, you will perhaps recall the condition of nervous excitement a man is likely to be in when he first goes under fire?”’ And Mark instantly responded: “I know, governor; I do indeed! And I have EVENING POST - r © 4 Industry Unites in Endorsing the Clipper ‘Tl HAS taken more than human brawn and thundering machines to attain the staggering production of recent years. Pro- duction giants have had to “Amé to solve the question of keeping power belts doing contin- uous duty. They did so by installing ‘‘Clipper’’ Belt Lacing. The Clipper Bell Lacer Laces a Belt in Three Minutes Before the advent of the “‘¢ lipper”’ it took from 15 minutes to half an hour to repair a belt—an unthink able waste! More than speed has commended the “Clipper.” It makes a joint that can be depended upon; that is smooth, flush on both sides; that is flexible, hugs the pulley and is safe. That is why Industry has endorsed the “Clipper.” The “Clipper” goes to manufacturers for free trial and is perpetually guaranteed. Clipper ‘Belt CLacer Company GRAND RAPIDS, MICHIGAN, U.S.A “The Connecting Link Between Power and Production” FEN RR EM ENP RRM REAN EE PRP —_ 77 — Ww - pee Tree rerrerieerrreecetrertrrrre PPrrerrreertrrerrrt Perrrr! \t tent

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Fitali Adjustable Toilet Kit Slip a FITALL in your Grip and whether your trip be long or short, you'll find wonderful comfort in its use. For the FITALL is an Ad- justable Traveling Kit in which you can carry your complete toilet outfit— Brushes, Favorite Toilet Preparations, Razors and all—as if made to order for your individual requirements. NCE fitted, the adjustable loops and self locking straps require no further change and this compact, handy FITALL 1 all your toilet will save you that bothersome rolding articles, carrying of bag or grip into congested Pullman Wash Rooms FITALLS are for as Men and come in Women as well a variety of at tractive waterproof fabrics and flexible leathers to mect all tastes and require ments. Priced Be sure to look for the FITALL Label if you wish to secure the genu- $2.00 and up. ine with all of its exclusive, patented and satisfaction giving features. Your Dealer can supply you with this wonderful traveling convenience. If not, write for free descriptive book- let and we will see that you obtain the style you desire, EISEMAN, KAYE CO., Mfrs. CHICAGO NEW YORK Fitall Patente ii S. and Forcign (Counts Mfrs. EKCO Make Leather Goods THE SATURDAY the personal peculiarity that I can con- serve that condition all through the en- gagement!”’ His humor could be swift and direct. He was not one of those wits who have to be cautious in taking aim; he could fire at the word and the bullet sped straight to the bull’s-eye. Yet he scored a miss now and then; perhaps because he failed to see the target in consequence of some sudden ob- scuring of his vision. He was acutely con- scious of the lamentable fiasco he made in Boston when he brought in the names of Emerson, Longfellow and Holmes, all three of whom were benignantly listening to him. I have earlier implied that his little speech before the curtain on the hundredth night of The Gilded Age was more or less of a disappointment to all who heard it. And at another theatrical gathering, at a supper given by Augustin Daly and A. M. Palmer to Henry Irving, Mark failed to improve the occasion; he did not say a word about the distinguished guests; he actually took for his topic the long clam of New Eng- land—and what was worse, this inappro- priate offering was read from manuscript! I cannot say now how humorous this essay may have been in itself; I can only recall | that it did not seem at all funny to any | of those who had joyfully and hopefully | app lauded when Mark first rose to his feet. In all three of these cases his discomfiture was due to his failure to hit the temper of his audience. He did not make con- tact with those whose attention he wanted to rouse and whose interest he was striving to retain. This is a condition to which every speaker is subject; and it was a con- | dition out of which Mark was generally able to make his profit. I have heard him deliver a score of after-dinner speeches; and only once or twice was his intuition at fault. Nothing could have been better that is to say, more characteristic—in its matter or in its method than what he said at the dinner given to him on his seventieth birthday. It had his customary exaggera- tion, of course, and not a little of his hu- morous distortion of fact. It was all about himself, which was entirely satisfactory to is, for he could not but be the topic of every speech. It was genial and friendly; and at the end it attained a graceful dig- nity which sat well upon him as he stood there facing us, with his “good gray head that all men knew.” He closed by telling us there was one satisfaction in attaining the scriptural limit of years; there is no longer any necessity for pleading a previ- ous engagement when we prefer to stay at home. We need only reply: “ Your invita- tion honors me and pleases me because you still keep me in your remembrance, but I am seventy; seventy, and would nestle in the chimney corner, and smoke my pipe, and read my book, and take my rest, wish- ing you well in all affection, and that when you in your turn shall arrive at Pier Num- ber 70, you may step aboard your waiting ship with a reconciled spirit, and lay your course toward the setting sun with a con- tented heart.”’ The Speech on Portrait Making Equally felicitous—though in a totally different vein—was a speech which he once made, in 1889 or 1890, at the Fellowcraft Club, an organization of magazine writers and illustrators. On this occasion the club had invited the best-known after-dinner speakers of New York —Joseph H. Choate, and Chauncey M. Depew, Horace Porter and Henry Howland. Unfortunately for them the president of the Fellowcraft, Richard Watson Gilder, called up Mark first of all; and Mark’s speech made it very difficult for those who had to speak after him to employ their customary formulas. So far as | know, Mark never wrote it out; and it was not reported. I tried a few years ago to recapture it from my memory; and I will make another attempt now, but without hope of being able to do more than to indicate its outline, well aware of my in- ability to recover his exact words: 1 did not know I was going to be called upon this evening and you find me wholly unprepared. No—that’s the truth. But it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter at all, for I've been going to dinners and listening; and I think I’ve mastered the theory of the after-dinner speech. So now I'm ready at any time to make a speech on any subject. I don’t care what it is. Pick out one that will suit you and it will su:t me.” “Do you really mean that, Mr. Clem- ens?” asked Gilder. ‘Are you willing to let me choose a topic for you?” EVENING POST “That's just what I do mean,” Mark answered. Gilder had John La Farge on his right and Augustus Saint-Gaudens on his left. He whispered to them and then he raised his voice and said: “* Very well then, Mr. Clemens, we'd like to hear you discuss the art of portrait painting.” And when the laughter had died down Mark began with solemn seriousness. “Portrait painting? That’s a good sub- ject for a speech, a very good subject in- deed. Portrait painting is an ancient and honorable art, and there are many inter- esting things to say about it. Yes, it’s an ancient and honorable art, though I don’t really know how ancient it is. I never heard that Adam ever sat for his portrait, but maybe he did. Maybe he did, I don’t know. And that reminds me that when I was a boy I knew a man named Adam— Adam Brown was his name.’ And then he told a humorous story about this Adam Brown —an anecdote wholly un- connected with the art of portrait painting. Al Name Redeemed He told it as only he could tell a story; and then he went on in his meditating drawl: “*‘ Maybe there never was a portrait of Adam. Even if painting is an ancient and honorable art it may not be as ancient as that. And I don’t think I ever saw a portrait of any of those old Hebrews; or of the Greeks either. But the Romans did have portraits, carved mostly, not painted. I've never seen a painted portrait of Julius Cesar, but I recall more than one statue. And speaking of Cesar reminds me of a man I knew on the Mississippi who had a dog called Cesar.” Whereupon he told another story, equally unrelated to the art of portrait painting. “But when we come down a little later we do find portraits in Rome, portraits of the old popes,” he went on; “and in Ger- many we find portraits of their opponents, Calvin and Luther. ‘There's a portrait of Luther in one of the galleries that lingers in my mind as one of the most masterly revelations of char- acter that I ever saw. And speaking of Luther, there was a man in Hartford who had a cat called Luther.” And he proceeded to tell a third story, quite innocent of any association with his assigned theme. ‘And that’s all I know about portrait painting,” he concluded. “At least, it’s all I have time to tell you this evening. It is an ancient and honorable art; and I’m very glad indeed that you have given me this opportunity of talking to you about it.”’ And when Mark sat down the guests of the club felt sorry for thesucceeding speaker, for they knew that the last state of that man was worse than the first. I do not know whether my indurated mod- esty ought to permit me to record here another speech of Mark’s, which I had per- sonal reasons for including among his best. But it is one of the most vivid of my mem- ories of him; and perhaps I have no right to leave it out of these recollections, In the fall of 1893 two score »f my friends paid me the compliment of inviting me to a dinner in testimony of their friendship. Charles Dudley Warner presided, and I had the uncomfortable delight of listening to kindly words from him and Howells, from Gilder and Stedman, from Nicholas Murray But- ler and H. C, Bunner, who read a poem written for the occasion. Mark was almost the last of the speakers, and he began by saying that “You have praised this man for a great many things—but you haven't praised him for the most remarkable thing that he has done.” That evoked the expected laughter, since it had occurred to me at any rate that all the possibilities of praise had already been exhausted. *“No,” said Mark, “‘you haven't praised him for the most remarkable thing he has done. He has redeemed the awful and ap- palling name of B-r-a-n-d-e-r’’—and he drawled forth my name in the lowest notes of his wonderful voice. “‘B-r-a-n-d-e-r— it sounds like the mut- terings of imprisoned fiends in hell! B-r-a-n-d-e-r—why, it was months after I knew him before | dared to breathe that name on the Sabbath Day!” Again and once again and yet again he repeated the dread name, expounding its dreadfulness with all the multiple resources of his inexhaustible vocabulary, and with every repetition of the horrific syllables his tones became more cavernous. March 6,1920 “That’s what he has done. He has re- deemed the awful and appalling name of Brander, which was good only to curse with—and he has made it a name to con- jure with!” After he had followed the equator round the world, earning the money to get himself out of debt, Mark developed an abiding dislike for the dreariness of a lecture tour with its obligation to arrive at an appointed time at an appointed place and to entertain a thousand listeners whether he felt in vein or not. None the less did he keenly enjoy talking on his feet when he was not con- strained to it. We all like to do that which we know we can do well; and Mark could not help knowing that he was an accom- — speaker to whom audiences always istened with the expectation of pleasure. In the course of forty years he delivered many after-dinner speeches in America and in Europe; and he made addresses more or less informal at many meetings in behalf of good causes. When I urged him to gather the most durable of these into a book he wrote back: “T reckon it is a good idea to collect the speeches.” When time passed and the promised book did not appear I repeated the suggestion; and this time he answered: “There isn’t going to be any volume of speeches, because I am too lazy to collect them and revise them.’’ After his death a volume of speeches was added to his com- plete works, a volume which was not so cautiously edited as it might have been. The selection was uncertain; the arrange- ment was casual; and the reporting was often hopelessly unsatisfactory. Not a few of his least worthy efforts were included; and there were also not a few unfortunate repetitions. The volume does contain, how- ever, some of the most amusing and most brilliant of his speeches, printed either from the manuscript, which he sometimes wrote out in advance, or from accurate short- hand reports, Humorist as Poet It preserves for us the ill-received speech in Boston, that on his seventieth birthday, that on the horrors of the German lan- guage, and that on the weather of New England. But no matter how skillfully the selection might have been made, the reader could not get from the pale pages of a book the color and the glow that Mark bestowed upon his sentences by the skill of his own delivery and by the compelling power of his personality. Behind and beneath the words which have been preserved there was the presence of the man himself. Mr. How- ells has told us that Mark “held that the actor doubled the value of the author’s words.”” And those who had the pleasure and the privilege of listening to any one of these speeches will recognize that Mr. How- ells did not overstate the case when he de- clared that Mark “ was a great actor as well as a great author. He was a most con- summate actor, with this difference from other actors, that he was the first to know the thoughts and invent the fancies to which his voice and action gave the color of life. Representation is the art of other actors; his art was creative as well as representative.” if this volume of his speeches had happily been arranged in the order of time I am in- clined to think that it would have revealed a change in his tone as he grew older. Even in some of the earlier addresses, amid all the exuberance of his humorous exaggera- tion, there were to be noted, now and then, passages of exquisite word painting—like the truly poetic description of the ice storm in the speech on the weather of New Eng- land. Possibly these passages surprised most of those who heard them and who looked upon Mark as merely a fun maker, not suspecting the depth of his nature, his firmly controlled sentiment, his sustaining seriousness—and not recalling that the richest humor, that of Cervantes and Mo- —_ is rooted in the profoundest melan- cnoly. Possibly again it was Mark’s conscious- ness that this was the way he was regarded by the unthinking majority which led him to say more than once in the later years of his life that he had made a mistake in com- ing before the world at first as a humorist, as a man trying to make people laugh. In the beginning he may have been content with this reputation; but toward the end he was not. I remember going into The Players at the noon hour, half a dozen years before he died, and finding him at luncheon. (Concluded on Page 8!) ee

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a teem (Conctuded from Page 78) Howells thinks that Mark did not greatly care for clubs and this may be so, but I can testify that he was completely at re in the house in Gramercy Park, and he rel- ished its friendly informality. He looked up as I came in and said: “Brander, I was just thinking of you. I’m glad that you and Howells have been telling people that I am serious. Now when I make a speech I find that they are a little disappointed if I don’t say some things that are serious; and that just suits me, for I have so many serious things I want to say!” Many of those who have written about him have dealt with him solely as a hu- morist, overlooking the important fact that a large part of his work is not laughter pro- voking and not intended to be. There is the reverent Joan of Are for one book; and there is the pathetic Prince and the Pauper for another. There is not much fun in the account of the appalling Shepherdson- Grangerford feud in Huckleberry Finn; there are imagination and insight and vision, but only a little incidental humor, all the more effective for being only inci- dental. As Mark himself put it in one of the maxims of Pudd’nhead Wilson’s new calendar which served as chapter headings in Following the Equator—“ Everythiag human is pathetic. The secret source of humor itself is not joy but sorrow. There is no humor in heaven.” Many of those who had followed Mark faithfully were surprised and even grieved by the saturnine misanthropy, as it seemed to them, which they found in the two books published after his death—The Mysterious Stranger and What is Man? This could be the case only because they had forgotten or failed to understand that bitter parable, The Man Who Corrupted Hadleyburg, which has a biting satire not unlike Swift's or Voltaire’s. And they had also paid no heed to another maxim in Following the Equator: “Pity is for the living, envy is for the dead.” This last of his books of travel was published in 1897; yet this maxim is only a reiteration of three others set at the heads of chapters in Pudd’nhead Wilson, issued four years earlier: ““Whoever has lived long enough to find out what life is knows how deep a debt of gratitude we owe to Adam, the first great benefactor of our race. He brought death into the world.” ““Why is it that we rejoice at a birth and grieve at a funeral? It is because we are not the person involved.” “All say, ‘How hard it is that we have to die’—a strange complaint to come from the mouths of people who have had to live.” The Lowering of the Mask When I consider these maxims I some- times wonder whether we have not here caught Mark Twain in the act of lowering his comic mask for a moment to let us have a glimpse of the actual Samuel L. Clemens, when he had come to be a little weary of wearing it as a disguise. Mark Twain was a humorist beyond all question and one of the mightiest of humorists; but Samuel L. Clemens was immitigably serious and inex- orably disenchanted. After he had lost a daughter and then his adored wife and finally another daughter, his outlook on life darkened to barren blackness; and as he had surrendered all hope of seeing them again in another world the scheme of the universe seemed to him undeniably and inexplicably futile. Howells has recorded his own impression derived from the unbroken intimacy of two score years, that Mark was a man possess- ing many and varied personalities. How many these personalities were I do not know; but two of them were present to my eyes after I came to know him well. One of them, of course, was the Mark Twain, plain before the gaze of all the world; and the other was S. L. Clemens, with hidden recesses of character unsuspected even by himself. Among his intimates he was simple, unaffected and friendly. With cas- ual strangers he seemed sometimes to feel an obligation to play the part of the pro- fessional humorist and, so to speak, to act up to the character—not descending to un- toward jocularity, of course, yet none the less yielding a ‘little to the pressure of expectancy. He used to sign his letters “Mark” ; and he let his friends call him “Mark”; I doubt if any of those who were admitted to comradeship with him in his later years would ever have dreamed of addressing him as “Clemens” and still less as ““Sam.”’ His THE SATURDAY dignity was indisputable, despite all his frolicsome friendliness. He was kind enough to tell me that he liked the biographical introduction he had asked me to prepare for the uniform edition of his works issued in 1899; and I suppose that he approved of it largely because I tried to divert attention from his drollery, delightful as that could be, to his veracity as a story-teller, and to his ethical integrity—in other words, to the more serious and solid aspects of his work. However sad he might be because of the bludgeoning of Fate, he did not wear his heart upon his sleeve. He knew his life had to be lived out, whatever its inner empti- ness; and he took what comfort he could in its more agreeable accidents—especially in the world-wide recognition of his position as an authentic American, a chief of our literature, as peculiar a product of our Western civilization as Franklin or Lincoln. He was too shrewd to overvalue contempo- rary admiration, but he relished it for what it was worth. I find among my notes from him one thanking me for sending something I had written about him and saying, ‘“‘Com- pliments are sometimes pretty hard to bear, but these are not of that sort; they are conspic ‘uously and most pleasantly the other way. Mark at Oxford Though this note came to me in an en- velope it was written on a Viennese corre- spondence card, decorated with his portrait drawn by a local artist. The card itself was an outward and visible sign of the impres- sion he had made in the Austrian capital. His fame had traveled beyond the confines of our language, from the United States to Great Britain, and then across the English Channel to the Continent, spreading more rapidly among the Germans than among the French, naturally enough. At the end of the nineteenth century he was one of the half dozen men of letters who had inter- national standing. It was while he was interned at an un- known Austrian health resort that a little group of us at The Players were talking about him and wondering where he was and where we could send him an expression of our hope that he would soon return to us. I ventured the assertion that he was then so well known that a letter would find him if addressed simply to ‘“‘ Mark Twain. God knows where.” Francis Wilson at once put that direction on an envelope and asked me to send Mark our greetings. I don’t now recall just what I wrote, but in less than three weeks I received the reply “Well, He did!” The post office here had delivered the letter to his New York pub- lishers, who had transmitted it to his London publishers, and they had sent it to his Vienna bankers, so that it came into his hands almost as swiftly as if we had been supplied with the name of the hotel where he had hidden himself. A humorist is often without honor in his own country—or at least his own country- men are too completely in the habit of laughing at his writings to spare time to spy out its less obvious and deeper merits. In England, Stevenson and Henley, Rudyard Kipling and Andrew Lang were not laggard in their discriminating praise. It was an Englishman, met in a train somewhere in Europe, who recognized him and who startled him by saying abruptly: ‘Mr. Clemens, I would give ten pounds not to have read your Huckleberry Finn!” And when Mark looked up at him, awaiting an explanation of this extraordinary remark, the Englishman smiled and added: ‘So that I could again have the great pleasure of reading it now for the first time.” As an illustration of the interstices in the British acquaintance with names which are household words with us, Joseph H. Choate 3 a ‘Set ? Pah . y Se es % Ts Sy ae. a Tee ah EVENING POST used to tell of an experience of his when he was our Ambassador to Great Britain. He was dining with the dons of an Oxford col- lege and he happened to speak of Daniel Webster. He had no sooner uttered the name than he perceived that it meant noth- ing to these English scholars. Suddenly one of the younger men, at the far end of the table, spoke up eagerly: “Oh, I know him, Mr. Choate! Wasn't Daniel Webster the name of The Jumping Frog in Mark Twain's story?” That was an anecdote which Mark him- self enjoyed, as he enjoyed the dinner given him by the staff of Punch in the famous dining room, when he crossed over to be the recipient of an honorary degreefrom Oxford. “Foreign nations,” said a clever young American many years ago, ‘‘are a kind of contemporaneous posterity”; and when the oldest of English universities stamped Mark with its august approval he may well have received this as a prediction of the verdict of ensuing generations. Other men of distinction, among them Rudyard Kip- ling, received degrees on the same day; but Mark was the outstanding figure in the ceremony. He was the one whom the undergradu- ates most rapturously hailed. And I have no doubt that these manifestations warmed Mark’s heart and that he reveled in being thus conspicuously set apart from the others. I doubt this the less because it was ex- actly what he had done a few years earlier when he received an honorary degree at the Yale Bicentenary. On that occasion eight American authors had conferred upon them the right to put Litt.D. after their names. We had to walk in procession, two by two, to the theater where the degrees were to be bestowed. Mark and Howells led off by right of seniority; next came Thomas Bailey Aldrich and George W. Cable; Gilder and I followed them; and Woodrow Wilson and Thomas Nelson Page, as the youngest pair, marched behind us. We were four couples, but to the crowds that lined the streets seven of us vanished and became invisible as soon as the spectators caught sight of Mark. They applauded, they laughed, they shouted his name, they cheered; ane Mark took it all to himself, very much as if he were a king entering his capital for the first time and bowing gra- ciously, now to the right and then to the left. Howells and Cable, Gilder and I, all old friends of his, enjoyed his enjoyment and accepted our own obscuration as the most natural thing in the world. And I have wondered whether the others, not so fond of Mark as we were, were as readily recon- ciled to their elimination from the con- sciousness of the throngs that lined the streets of New Haven. Boyhood Recaptured One reason why Tom Sawyer and Huckle- berry Finn are to be ranked among the best of boys’ books is because Mark had the rare gift of recovering the spirit of boyhood, with its eagerness and its assurance, its exuberant energy and its incessant desire to assert individuality—in other words, to show off. Until his dying day Mark re- tained the essentials ‘of boyishness. It might almost be said that he never grew up. He had the effervescent irresponsibility of a boy, the impulsive recklessness, which accounted for his risking his money in a rash succession of inventions. It is not to be wondered at that the name given him by the one who knew him best, his wife, was “Youth.” Perhaps Tom Sawyer is only a little more autobiographic than David Copperfield and Pendennis. As Mark himself told me, more things happened to the hero than ever hap- pened to the author. But there is passage TS Se ap thie HiT pests én 4: SOE eae SI after passage in the juvenile narrative where we can feel assured that Mark was drawing on his own store of memories; and there is one in particular, which discloses a characteristic of Tom's that was also a characteristic of Mark’s—as it possibly is a characteristic of the normal boy. This is the analysis of Tom's emotions when he went to church the day after he had let the contract for whitewashing the fence. In accord with his usual custom Tom counted the pages of the sermon as the minister turned them, one by one. Then his atten- tion was arrested for a little while by what the minister was saying: ‘The minister made a grand and moving picture of the assembling together of the world’s hosts at the millennium when the lion and the lamb should lie down together and a little child should lead them. But the pathos, the lesson, the moral of the great spectacle—were lost upon the boy; he thought only of the conspicuousness of the principal character before the onlook- ing nations; his face lit with the thought, and he said to himself that he wished he could be that child, if it was a tame lion.” Mark's Wishes Carried Out When Mark penned that last sentence he had looked into his own heart. He appre- ciated the honor Oxford had done him in making him a doctor of letters, but he got a more pervasive satisfaction out of the flaming scarlet gown which was the badge of this distinction. He wore it as often as he could and he said he would like to wear it always. No doubt he delighted in the richness of its glowing color, but he de- lighted even more in the showiness of it. For a similar reason he invented the white suit which he donned late in life and which accentuated the conspicuousness of his shock of white hair, bristling untamed above his penetrating eyes. When he robed himself thus in burning red or in snowy white he was a boy again, he was Tom Sawyer, projecting himself into the very center of the millennium. And when Mark was thus clothed he did not care whether it was a tame lion or not, for he was well aware that he was a lion himself and that all men knew it. Mark had been one of the seven men, leaders of the several arts, who had been chosen by a ballot of the National Institute of Arts and Letters to be the founders of the American Academy of Arts and Let ters; and after his death the two societies held a memorial meeting, over which How ells presided and at which commemorative addresses were made by Choate, Twitchell, Cable and three or four other men drawn from all quarters of the United States. In his opening remarks as president of the academy Howells ventured to suggest what Mark himself would probably have said if his opinion could have been asked as to the nature of the exercises that evening. And so delicate was Howells’ understanding of his friend’s mind and mood that we could almost hear Mark himself uttering the words with which he was credited: “Why, of course you mustn't make a solemnity of it; you mustn't have it that sort of obsequy. I should want you to be serious about me—that is, sincere; but not too serious, for fear that you should not be sincere enough. We don't object here to any man’s affection; we like to be honored, but not honored too much. If any of you can remember some crec ve th le thing about me I shouldn't mind his telling it, provided always he didn’t blink the palliating cir- cumstances, the mitigating motives, the selfish considerations that accompany every noble action. I shouldn't like to be made out a miracle of humor, either, and left a tumblingblock for anyone who was in- tending to be moderately amusing and instructive hereafter. Ai the same time | don't suppose that a commemoration is exactly the occasion for dwelling on a man’s rtcomings in his life or his literature; or for realizing that he has entered on an immortality of oblivion.” 1 sh As I listened to Howells and to the half dozen others who spoke after hi n, and as [| felt the warmth of friendly feeling and of comradely appreciation, I wished that Mark might have had the privilege he gave Tom Sawyer and that he could have returned to life to be present at his own funeral exercises. What was said by the successive speakers was serious enough and yet not too serious for sincerity; and I perfectly understood what Howells meant when he wrote me a day or two later that he felt sure “‘ Mark would have enjoyed it!”

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THE SATURDAY BLABON:2rtLinoleums: EVENING POST March 6,1920 THE POSSIBILIST (Continued from Page 27) toward the situation as it developed. The man was growing restless, like all the opera- tors, all the big employers of the country; he showed it more and more plainly, and by the middle of the summer he brought their whole relation up in a protracted con- ference. They met and talked in the operator’s office, a bare room ornamented by photo- graphs of Brown’s father, the greater and earlier Brown, with his board of directors; of a mule standing before an exceptionally thick vein of coal; of the roofs of an indus- trial village named—after the romantic | habit of mind of the mariner with his ship and the steel man with his furnaces—for one of the Brown family’s womenfolk. Brown was more excited when Spinner saw him than ever before—redder, more ruthless in the chewing of his fine cigar. | Spinner understood the moment he set eyes on him. He was even more obvious than the labor leader! : “Where are you getting me to in this thing?” he wanted to know of Spinner. | ‘What have you done so far—for me? | That’s what I want to know!” porch and drewsing-room sing the successful use of Blabon nland tile design No. $52 and carpet part No, $401 printed, on the floors iH E artistic uses to which Blabon Art Linoleums have been adapted are a revelation to many about to furnish a home. ‘There was a time when linoleum played merely its ‘‘plain Jane’’ part on the floor of the kitchen; and because it did its duty so faithfully there it claimed the attention of artists who sought to clothe its utility with enduring beauty. Thus it is that Blabon Art Floors of linoleum are today adapted for every room in the house, with artistic patterns and wondrous color combinations to harmonize with any decorative scheme of the home. Among the many other virtues possessed by Blabon Hoors perhaps none appeals more strongly tothe burdened housewife than their smooth, crackless, sanitary surface, which may be kept bright and clean by a light regular going over with a damp cloth or mop. Blabon floors are quiet and springy to the tread. In the inlaid patterns and plain linoleums the colors go clear through to the burlap back. ‘They may be waxed and polished, if desired; give years of service, and are truly economical. Write us for illustrated booklet, or ask your dealer for Blabon Art Linoleum. The George W. Blabon Company, Philadelphia tablished 69 years Important Notice: Floor-coverings (including rugs) made upon a felt paper base are not linoleum, and to describe, advertise or sell them as , Look for this label on the face of al) Blabon Art Linoleums linoleum is a violation of the law. Felt paper floor-coverings have a black interior which is easily detected upon examining the edge “Naturally,” said Spinner with a faint touch of sarcasm, “you would.” The man had the vigor and directness of personal desire of a headstrong virile stock, of the heir of wealth and power who had seen little successful opposition to his will from first boyhood. “I let you and your people organize my mines for me,” he stated. ‘“‘In return you promised me the votes of the miners of this | state when I wanted them.” “Yes,” consented Spinner, watching him. How red faced he was for so young a | man. He came.from'a race of strongly | physical men suddenly projected from | physical work into desk chairs—still eating | and drinking for their principal amuse- | ment, with inexhaustible means for indul- gence. ‘Playing the greatest of bourgeois indoor games,’ Spinner used to say of them— “the dinner table sky high, without a limit!’ They were a class as typically overfed, he | thought, watching this man, as the old English squire “I’ve done my part,”” the man asserted. | ‘Now can you do yours? “T think so,” stated Spinner unemo- | tionally. But as he said it he thought with deep inner amusement of Frenac and his gibes about the capitalists, the labor fakers and their irresistibly ridiculous attempts at | contracts with radicals, with anarchists. ““You’ve come in here,” the other pro- | ceeded along his own mental way, “and torn | the miners’ union itself from top to bottom like an old sheet—the conservatives and | the radicals.” “‘Not so much so as it looks,” said Spin- | ner cynically. ‘“‘There aren't any conserva- | tives now. They are all radicals.” “That's just it,” said the other, gesticu- lating with his cigar. ‘‘That’s just exactly it! What can you do with them, you fel- | lows, now you've got them radical? Can you or anybody else deliver a vote or any other agreement with a radical—or a bunch of radicals? Is there any such a thing as a contract possible with a labor union nowa- days?” Frenac again was in Spinner’s mind, of course; and his ridicule of men who were such fools as to make contracts with a class of men who by their own general principles were bound to break them. “I ask you this,” said Spinner’s man, focusing his small eyes upon Spinner, eyes as sharp and bright as the eyes of a young pig. ‘“‘I mean it. Where does this thing leave me—in other ways?” He shifted heavily in his seat—evidently there were matters now of sharper conse- quence to him than political ambitions. He had come now, of course, to the real matter of his concern. “What's going to happen to me if these miners pull off this general strike they’re all talking about?” he demanded. “ Me, with this new agreement with the union on my hands; and all the rest of the operators— seventy-five per cent in the state—non- union? All running right along! That question is getting of some consequence to | me. I'll tell you that!” His face grew progressively redder. “‘Are they crazy,’ he inquired; ‘“‘the unions? We've been starving to death now for eight months—all of us together! Now we are starting opening up all over the country. Even that government board which wouldn’t give us ships to send our coal abroad when Europe was hollering its head off for it, at any price; even that forest of stoneheads which has sprung up on the map where Washington used to be couldn’t keep us from getting coal orders finally. And now, when we have got the orders and have got a chance, all hands, for our white alley—to get down and work your crowd shows up with a gun at our head! A gun?” he said still more loudly. “A cannon! With our heads stuck down into it. And a lot of dancing madmen at the other end. A six-hour day and a five- day week now—when we can all make a dollar—you and us by getting out the coal while the market’s there! Then they want sixty or seventy per cent more money on top of that. But that won’t do—that ain’t crazy enough! At the same time the Gov- ernment will have to take it over—nation- alize the mines. On the theory,” he said, “IT suppose, that they can get anything out of the Government. “There might be something in that last idea,” he said, mildly humorous, the stress of his anger slightly lessened by a minor vent for it, “‘after the last year or two! But what I wanted you to tell me to-day,” he informed Spinner, quickly turning serious again, “is just what they do want—this headquarters of yours. I want you to sort this out for me. What do they want—and what don’t they want in these general de- mands they’re framing? What is pure political bunk and what’s real? They want a raise of wages, of course,”’ he said, start- ing to particularize. “* As big as they can get,” said Spinner. “Well, they can’t get as much as they are asking, that’s sure!” said Brown defi- nitely. ‘‘Now, then, about the hours and days they’re talking about? I understand that’s from England—where it’s smashing the whole place into a scrap heap?” “It’s from England partly—yes,” said Spinner briefly. “They brought that over to satisfy your wild boys, Isuppose. I suppose you’d want it,”” he said, recalling suddenly apparently, somewhat late, Spinner’s shade of opinion. Spinner gave him the usual radical argu- ment about the necessity of every workman doing less work so that all could be em- ployed, at shorter hours—talking perfunc- torily, of course, merely leading him along. “Yes, I know all that—and what it amounts to. And you do too!” said the operator, eying Spinner with a look of understanding. ‘‘But what do you believe they’re really after— there at headquarters? Which points in their program? That’s what I want you to tell me!” “I don’t know. I don’t know that they do,” stated Spinner. “They know they can’t get them all, naturally,”” persisted Brown. ‘What are the points they want—and what are the ones they are bringing out to trade with finally? What's the idea at headquarters? They don’t want nationalization—that’s sure. They can’t expect to get that!” “They might,” said Spinner briefly; ‘‘I don’t know.” “You don’t know?” said the other. “What do you mean?” ““T mean I don’t know—and I don’t be- lieve they do—exactly what they do ex- pect.” “Don’t know what they expect them- selves?” “No.” “Who does then?” inquired the other angrily. “You know what they want as well as I do,” said Spinner coldly. “*They want votes in their organization,” said the operator. “Exactly,” said Spinner simply. He was in a new position—-as he had been with the labor leader. He need waste few words in this conversation. It was the other man who did the talking. “And what’s a contract to a labor poli- tician compared to a vote, huh?” his man was demanding harshly. ‘‘That’s the trou- ble—and always was—with a union,” he proceeded. ‘‘That’s what I always said when I had sense enough not to have deal- ings with them. You make a contract with a company—or a man with property be- hind him—and you have some redress for a (Continued on Page 85) i —_ == = - LSS

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 83 = ee = ———— ——— = — = —— = | 1 | | 7 _ se | | | || | | 1} al mn i} | 11 in] Wl i | | | | i | i i} i 1) i} | | | } | { | } | ant | | | | | t | | "| 11 | | | | } | | | | | | ; | | Mm | | | | | | i ‘ | | : = d | he beautiful modern homes of America | | were carefully studied in designing Ht nig ’ this exquisitely voiced instrument | | | ) — att | — | i | | mt Est. 1804 | | | 1) | | | | mn | [ | | | LYON & HEALY cApartment Grand ‘Piano LYON & HEALY, CHICAGO BOOKLET ON REQUEST | ee ™ Ee —— . : os : ‘ 2 =) | = = —— SSS La | as = = ——SS== —S== SSS aes | , j ; fi

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dae haan coment , THE SATURDAY EVENING POST a ee (Continued from Page 82) broken agreement. You can go to law over it—if you have to.” “If you’ve got the price for a lawsuit,” interjected Spinne r- “‘which the poor man usually hasn’t got. “But when you've got a contract with a union—what have you got?” the other went on with his grievance. “It’s like sticking your hand into the jelly dish,” he stated. ‘You’ ve got a handful of jelly. Labor politicians’ promises, that’s all! And nowadays they’re thinning their jelly out until it’s about like cold soup—cold con- sommé. These last two years, and all these crazy outlaw strikes, have given unionism in this country a blac *k eye it can’t get over in twenty-five years.’ Spinner, in spite of his long i impassive- ness before the grotesque mental reactions of his enemies, could scarcely resist the sudden impulse to laugh aloud as this man went on. The face of Frenac kept coming back to him—and his dissertations on the incredible folly of the men who allowed themselves to be duped into understand- ings and contracts with anarchists and pos- sibilists. It struck him as infinitely amusing all at once, this man’s sudden discovery of what was hz uppe ning. “But there’s one thing—when it comes to a showdown,” said the operator, now going on. ‘‘There’s one contract they won't break. There’s just one security I feel in this situation. When they come right down to it they won’t dare break their agreements with the United States— no matter what they say to their own people. They won’t buck the Government. They won’t strike until the end of the war.”’ “‘When is the end of the war?” asked Spinner, speaking finally again. ‘‘Isn’t the war over now practically?” “Not by the rulings of the United States. And you can’t go back on that. And I don’t believe myself they’d dare to—that headquarters’ bunch. Breakthat contract!” ‘“Why not?” asked Spinner laconically. “‘Who’ll make them keep it?”’ The other man looked at him. “The United States Government naturally.’ “How?” inquired Spinner. “They can’t make them work by law—can they? They can’t force them! That would be human slavery.” “All right,” said Brown, recognizing and passing by that perennial issue of property and personal rights involved in the labor question. ‘Say they can’t, their leaders wouldn’t dare take the chance just the same. They wouldn't dare start anything against the Government in the first place!”’ “How could they help themselves to- day,” asked Spinner, ‘“‘even if they wanted to prevent a strike?” *“*Do you mean to say —— Brown. ““You know as well as I do,” said Spinner impatiently, ‘‘what would happen—what has happened already, all over the country. The men when they’re ready to strike go and strike—leaders or no leaders! They can't hold them. That’s their great cry now, and it’s true. They say they can’t, and they can’t.” Brown stared ahead, redder than ever. “You know what that would mean to me?” he said; and then did not specify exactly, stopping to contemplate. ‘‘That would be a sweet thing,” he went on, “for me to get out of this business—with the rest of the district nonunion, all at work!” Spinner was silent. “What is this? What’s coming in this thing?” the other man inquired in angry wonder. “Is the whole country going to pieces under our hands?” Spinner said nothing. “Do you know what it would be if this thing happened—for the country at large?” exclaimed the young operator suddenly. “‘Do you know what you’ve got when you come to a place where there are no con- tracts that you can rely on? When you see the whole bottom dropping out of any re- liance upon labor? On any labor contract whatever?” Spinner waited for him. ‘You've got anarchy!” exclaimed Brown ominously. His face was almost lavender. His small eyes gleamed out from between his full cheeks. It was almost too much—this man and his discoveries! Spinner laughed aloud, going away, recalling the thing: The man’s face, his color, his voice—the whole expres- sion of surprise and anger as he gave them out; as he saw one by one the elements in the situation, and paraphrased in his bour- geois language Frenac’s familiar arguments inquired and philosophies concerning the breakdown of society without binding economic con- tracts. Spinner laughed aloud, a markedly un- | usual thing for him to do. But it was a wonderful thing to see—to realize. A year ago it would have been incredible! They were afraid of him and his kind, and his movements. They were waking up at last, one after another. And they were afraid! This man, as well as the labor official; the capitalists and the labor fakers everywhere were terrified at what they saw—at this strange new sudden power which had risen like a ghost out of the gutter and threat- ened their whole future—the future of their whole country. xIx T WAS perhaps a month after this that Spinner had his final letter from Sonia in Chicago, She had been restless, dissatis- fied, more and more insistent that she come and enjoy with him the fruits of her plan | and his in the work in the coal field. Spin- | ner, amused rather than irritated—now that he was out of daily personal contact | with her—at her ambitions to display her ability more publicly, had held her back from week to week. But now apparently the time had really come when there was no further excuse for doing so. Her chief angel, Mrs. Brown-Tucker, had grown less and less protecting toward her as the weeks went on and the developments in the coal-mine situation became more apparent. Mrs. Brown-Tucker’s excursion into the patronage and manipulation of economic and political forces more usually in man’s exclusive field had failed too sharply to be lightly borne; and her cha- grin, with less immediate necessity for con- cealment than her brother, showed itself with less and less reserve until finally in an open burst of disappointed anger she sey- ered relations with Sonia definitely. ““A nice thing you two have done to my brother! A nice sense of gratitude you have shown to me!” she said, for the mo- ment almost losing her poise in her swell- ing disappointment. “‘ Hereafte rf our paths would perhaps better be apart,”’ she added, quickly regaining it. Now, Sonia urged in her letter, she must certainly come and be with Spinner in his work. And now Spinner was inclined to have her. The loneliness of the homeless man was again upon him; satisfaction to have a woman with him once | | more. And now, perhaps, having the chance | | she wanted to work beside him in the active field—as he could arrange for her to do she would be more satisfied and less clamor- ous. He thought with amusement of her enthusiasm. Would she bring her gallery of labor martyrs with her? Her Charlotte Corday; her Joe Hill; her Rosa Luxem- burg—who, now having achieved full mar- tyrdom, was more than ever the main object of the girl’s open worship. She came finally—and her gallery with her. The two established themselves in rented rooms above a little retail store in a block in the center of the village—where they could do light housekeeping and take their meals outside, leaving both of them free for their labor activities. There was no de 4 4 about the girl’s find- ing her work. She had planned and indi- cated what it would be long before. And Spinner in his present position of influence could now give he ra sort of quasi recogni- | tion by the miners’ union. She started at once to get in touch with the foreigners and their families whose language she could speak. This was not especially productive of any immediate results, but Spinner ap- proved of it. It got them both in personal touch with a large part of the mine workers in the district, and it gave Spinner at the same time the chance to study at close range a vastly important factor in the mechanism of the radical movement which was going forward now so rapidly within | the United States and the Federation of | Labor. The more he came to know of these new peoples—especially the Eastern and South- | eastern Europeans—the more he wondered at the almost perfect instrument they fur- nished for the mass manipulation of a radi- cal propagandist of any skill whatever. They were in the first place suspicious, with the centuries-old suspicion of an exploited class, the serf class of feudalism; and very little had happened to them since their arrival in this country to mollify the sharp- ness of that most predominant of all their impulses to action. Suspicion was deep down in their blood, tingeing every action and state of mind. it would be a | |

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Keeping a muffler clean is next to impossible unless you close it when blowing out the motor With the G-Piel you can tell whether your muffler is clogged without leaving the driver's seat How a Caking, Class sing Mev THE SATURDAY EVENING POST saps your:motor’s "5 power An unsuspected cause of motor trouble and gas- oline waste—How to detect it quickly and easily ECENTLY a $5,500 car ““went bad’”’ so myste- riously that the engine was shipped to the factory for overhauling, after having first been overhauled unsuccess- fully in New York. Factory engineers investigated. They suggested a complete tearing down of the muffler. A full gallon measure of carbon deposit was taken out, and to the surprise of all, the car again ran like new. The two overhaulings had been an unnecessary waste of money as the cause of the trouble was not in the motor it was a clogged muffler To know just which is at fault and to detect the trouble before it becomes serious—is the 1920 use that thousands of motorists are mak ing of the G-Piel Muffler Cut-Out. The G-Piel Cut-Out will tell you instantly whether your car’s lack of pep is due to motor or muffler, as you can cut the muffler out at will. It will permit you to adjust absolt ately 7 tive im action i never tiek ihe Makes operating fo muffler (0% any cut-out easy haust shoots directly es passage ® Of the ex into your carburetor to the powerful quick-burning 13 to 1 mixture so that hills will not bother you. The G-Piel also makes the use of kerosene, wood alcohol or patented carbon-removers a success, as it prevents the loosened deposit being blown into the muffler. For this one purpose alone, a G-Piel Cut- Out is worth many times its cost. The satisfaction of hearing your motor Every enthusiastic motorist en- joys hearing the sharp, clear bark of a powerful, sweet-running motcr. A hot spark in every cylinder, valves opening wide and seating tight, just the right mixture from carburetor,exhaust gases scavenging freely through the G-Piel Cut-Out. Select the right size Cut-Out for your car from the G-Piel chart at your dealer’s. Jt will save its cost many times in a single season. Sales Department EDWARD A. CASSIDY CO. 280 Madison Ave. G-PIEL COMPANY New York 6 Wiles AL BY bp: . (5-Piel Muffler Cut-Out Tells the motor’s secrets Unfathered rumors spread with lightning rapidity among them. The bank was going to fail! The Government was going to take their earnings! The mines were going to close forever! The foreigners were to be all let go in favor of returning American sol- diers! They must all go home—leave the country! No one knew what fresh alarm was ever in their minds. A word, an unexplained gesture by their employer—and they were stampeded mentally like a herd of wild cattle down a strange valley. They were the easiest human mass to manipulate by the gospel of class hate in the world; a lifting of the eyebrow and they were off suspecting crimes and dangers more intol- erable than the most fertile mind of the agitator could imagine. And as there was nothing on earth they could not be made to suspect, so on the other hand there was nothing they would not believe if fed to them from the right sources—by those they trusted. They would follow a trusted leader anywhere with the blind loyalty of the middle African or an American Indian on a trail. They were sentimental, too, in a strange way. They were domineering and callous and often brutal to their women and children according to American standards; but sickness and death in the family. moved them to an abandon of fear and sorrow which to the native American would be incredible. They were a different being from the American as a matter of fact—a different social creature. They were the heads of a primitive family —the stuff that tribes are made of, not industrial civiliza- tion; with all the merits and defects of an older simpler social time. A hang-over from feudalism, a thing as extinct as the dinosaur in modern life—thrown in now as another factor in this helter-skelter indus- trial development of ours. Spinner smiled when he thought of them. It was on this foundation—these immi- grants from another century who furnish at the present time the great bulk of the manual labor of the country—that the new radical strategists still-hunting the control of the Federation of Labor were basing their movement. The old idea of the Fede- ration of Labor had been to organize from the top down—the skilled workmen, the craftsmen, into what Foster, the steel organ- ization leader, had ‘called in his book by the radical term, “‘a job trust.”” The radi- cals, the new organizers, organized from the bottom up in their ambitious and far- reaching campaign. The American labor movement, half con- sciously, half for practical convenience, had followed out the general line of organiza- tion of the Federal Republic of the United States—that most loosely woven organiza- tion of democracy, so far never put into successful operation by any other people. In the United Mine Workers, for instance, the local union corresponded to, let us say, the Middle Western county; the district union to the state; the International to the Federal Government. In the Federation of Labor proper the analogy was still more obvious. The federation by its choice of name indicated that it held the place of the United States; the Internationals were the states. Into this type of labor organization the radicals hoped to project the great new —_ of manual laborers organized during and after the war, and, joining them with the other unskilled labor already in the federation, to control this through its In- ternationals by means of this new vote—by this solid body of foreign peasants, each with one vote to cast—literally the first vote he had ever handled; a great share of them not only without knowledge of Eng- lish, not only unqualified legally to vote in the country but less acquainted with the genius and practice of free government than the English peasant of the fifteenth century. The thinking of these men must be done by someone. It would be done, of course, as it was now, by their leaders. What an instrument, thought Spinner, watching the thing—what an opportunity had been left lying about loose to be taken up in a radical campaign by those incredibly blind and self-centered enemies of his—the American capitalist and bourgeois in their haphazard civilization. Grasping this, once breaking through the barrier of skilled manipulation of the political machinery, by which the present administration con- trolled the American Federation of Labor and what a field the radical found for occupation. He would hold the federation by the vote of the unskilled workers; the March 6,1920 federation would hold the control of basic industries by the direct action of the general strike—a universal veto, a power of complete control of the United States, perhaps of the world. A progressive pyra- miding of minority rule—all based upon this one foundation, the unskilled manual laborer; these little Italys and little Hun- garys and Hunkvilles which were planted everywhere through manufacturing Amer- ica—in America but not of it, by three long centuries. And when the reds once obtained control of the Federation of Labor and held them- selves the power of manipulation of that loosely guarded election machinery of union- ism in their own hands, who would ever pry it away from them? It was a wonderful prospect, an opportunity which would bring the gleam of ambition into the eyes of any man with any spark of imagination. What an organization of the new economic time might easily come of this! A council of the workers, a king of anarchy, a Napo- leon of direct action! Nothing seemed impossible, he thought sometimes, to a man sufficiently bold and skillful to manip- ulate this incredible new power which had been thrown out in the way of the radical to stumble over and pick up. But in the meanwhile Spinner had less and less time for speculation. There was the everyday work of preparation and propaganda to be carried on in the practical development of the local and general situa- tion in relation to the rapidly approaching coal strike. They fed the miners—especially the for- eign miners, at this stage of affairs—with soviet stuff, the idea that the United States Government would be strongly sympathetic with their position as against that of the operators; that the President and Con- gress had shown this repeatedly through and since the war; and that nationaliza- tion of mines and government establish- ment of the five-day week and six-hour day and the larger pay were now close upon the verge of the horizon for all workmen, in the breaking of a new social day. The millennium was arriving, of course, or about to arrive, for these people’s rela- tives in Eastern and Southern Europe—a general movement of society to appropriate private property and turn it over to the manual worker. There was nothing inher- ently impossible to the foreign workman in this idea; it was in fact about the only act of a democratic government which had ever really arrested his attention. Hence there was small reason for his doubting its arrival here—especially after the universal protestation of love and gratitude of the American politicians toward the manual laborer during the war. Spinner himself could not believe, of course, that there would be a nationaliza- tion of coal mines. But what difference? It was obviously the next thing to do to tell these people it would come. It was one of the excellences of the possibilists’ position. For the present it kept their following in line; in the future it would only add to the suspicion and anger of the manual laborers when the bourgeois government made its final and inevitable refusal of a great share of their demands—and their present lead- ers had shown their inability to secure them. Spinner’s position in the matter could not be bettered. Any way the situa- tion turned the possibilists had everything to gain and nothing to lose. Meanwhile the routine of his own work did not always develop so fortunately. Sonia after the first flush of interest would have liked more activity. There was no limit, he knew well, to her desire to lead a cause— publicly, in the sight of all men like her beloved Rosa Luxemburg; to be conspicuously a leader in the new time when woman, like the workman, was to break her old bonds and stand beside man, his equal and counterpart—in all particu- lars and specifications another man. Her ambition might be amusing theoreti- cally, but in practice it made Spinner, for some especial reasons, at times somewhat apprehensive. She still made a specialty of the foreigners’ families; of Hunkville, of Gooseville, as an especially ugly foreign- residence section was known locally. She felt herself the patron saint of all those dis- tricts where lean and anxious fowls pick out a scanty living from the grassless soil, where the children play barefooted among the bottles and tin cans; and the women go down the sordid streets with men’s old shoes on their feet and men’s old coats on their backs and gay-colored kerchiefs on (Continued on Page 88) 2 — = — oe Ses — ee ss =

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ty t pf THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 87 How a Retail Merchant can stop the passing crowds and get them into his store—Advertising that costs nothing and pays a handsome profit NOUGH people pass your store every day to 4 make you prosperous. They have a lot of money to spend and there are a great many of them; 4ut they pass by! If you could only pull them into your store! Phat is your problem—to get the passing crowds into our store. Window displays and special sales help do this: but your neighbors are doing those very same ‘ou must do something different and better. =“ = know about something that will solve tl Is rroblem for you? and will also add a new money-maker to your business with a steady, hard pront: Would you? The picture on this page gives you the solution at a Then here is the answer: glance. The store in the middle is Kresge’s 5-and-10- cent store in Newark, N. J. The crowd is attracted to the middle window. People are going inside to buy what they see in the window. Will they buy other That's up to Kresge. Kresge’s other windows—nobody there Look at the windows of the store next door— nopod there What is it that pulls the crowd to Kr ge" middle Window and { huis store It isa Candy Kiss Wrapping Machine wraps 140 kisses a minute, almost too a machine fast for the eye to count. It stops the passing crowds every time—everybody likes to see a machine in mo- on; they are fascinated by this wonderful invention that sene the ki flying out into the air like butte: Yes, it stops your crowds. Tempts them with the lean wrapped kisses rhey come in and they buy. You've solved your problem. You've got the crowds to your store. Next day it will be another crowd; lay after, still another; until your store is well- nown all over town, You'll sell people kisses at a good profit, and you'll ell them other things as well. They will come back for more—kisses and other things—over and over iin. Your whole business will be bigger, better and more profitable. This is not something new—these statements are based on experience. For eight years we have been making these kiss machines for individuals and com- During that time we have panies all over the country. seen people, already in the retail business, put the kiss machine in their windows, pull in the crowds, speed up their lagging business, and change it from a money loser to a money-maker. We have also seen people start new in the business, make money 4 every one of them—and grow, and order more machines, over and over again, while others, seeing their success, have come to us for machines from all parts of the country and even remote parts of the world. For instance: A rather large concern in an Eastern city had been losing money for three consecutive years They put a kiss machine in the window; made a hand some profit on the kiss business; and sold so much of their other goods that their previous business, which had been a failure, developed into a real success. Again: In a town of 100,000 a druggist put a kiss machine in his window, and immediately turned a slow business into a live one. Th to be. prohts are seve ral time what they use¢ In another city a man, who had never been in busine for himself before, started in the kiss busi ness and made $3,000 the first year, and over $10,000 the second. In still another city a man, who had never beet business for himself, started with kisses alone and made 1,000 sales on his third day. Think what it would mean to your business if you had 1,000 more people a aay come nto your store This is being done all over the country —wherevet there are passing crowds. In Chicago, Neil Mackenzi« tarted with one machine and now has two store | New York, Nedick started with one machine and now In Kansas (¢ ity, D. M one machine and now has three. In Atlantic City, has three Tree started witl companies each have anywhere from one to eight machines. And so it goes. Not only in the United States, but in Canada, England, Australia, Japan—a Norway concern had no sooner put its first machine into operation than it cabled for two more. Building wrapping machinery, as we do, for most of the important national concerns such as American Tobacco Company, Liggett & Myers, Armour, Procter & Gamble, Peters’ Chocolate, American Chicle Company, Beechnut, Quaker Oats, Gillette Razors, Walter Baker Company—for almost all the great tobacco, chewing gum,_ chocolat oap and cereal companies — we naturally come into close contact with the most active and worth-while business meth ods of the aay And yet we know of no other business which, with the investment of small capital, so completely satisfies the analysis of a successful busine offers such great possibilities of growth and profit —as the Kiss Busine with the Machine in the Window. We know of no other business which has always, i rt time, done » well for those engaged in it \nd we know of no other business which is so successful itself and, at o much of an advertiser of another is this Ki busine with ne in the Window. the same time | | JUS IV t the Machi ( val to your tore ind, at the ime tink ck erp t-make ir | Lhe 4 ‘| i r Or are 1 thint ‘ t 4 hoy if ] elf—a good bu ral capit } i a inn wo i WI t I ‘ 1 ‘ \ 0 ( | 13 wi l | ) ‘) d how to tal full ac A bill out t , da Address KK IFRICE Hit FIC? mW 4 18 ( por Cut t. fill out and | , peneeee-( COUPON it o fill t (wa aenaee i i : Package Machinery Company - 1 Model K Dept Springfield Massachusetts ' ' ' 1 1] your book on the Can Wi Busine ' 7 a ' i ' ' ' : ‘ ! l present busine 1 ' ' ' ' ' ' ‘ ' Vame 1 Are ' ' ' 1 ' ' ' i ' ‘ 4 aad ener

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Continued from Page 86 their round heads. Yet there was nowhere she would not go, and nothing that she would not say when it occurred to her And now more and more often the gun man Hecker was going with her—as an escort, and with the hope, Spinner thought, of finding some new stimulus to his now taded interes A bored and idle gunman is a dangerous thing —as dangerous now as when this man’s predecessors were periodi cally driven out of the German woods to- ward Rome upon their raids, half by the power of sheer ennui and the necessity for new physical activity and sensation Hecker was a distinguished local figure now since his episode with Big Joe He knew it, enjoyed it, and had made several somewhat threatening and high-handed gestures since ther tle was now a man of whom the local authorities were in much fear —especiaily at the rare times when from sheer boredom he started drinking and Spinner was always hastily called upon to come and manage him But now he was following Sonia round i her self-appointed daily tasks —a curiosity over a creature more or | trange to him driving him apparently, coupled perhap with an interest in the girl herself as a not unattractive woman They interacted upon each other’s minds, Spinner sometimes thought, in a rather dangerous way If there was nowhere Sonia would not go and nothing she would not say when unaccompanied, this tendency of hers was certainly not lessened when she knew she had the protection of the gunmar behind her And the gunman was not without the male’s usual tendency toward display of courage in the presence of the woman. Spinner wondered even then just where this tendency might lead them when the mpending coal strike once arrived. xx NVENTS drew on with great swiftness 4 now in the campaign of radicalism in the United States. In the steel industry there had been no intention on the part of the radicals to start their fight as yet —not until they were further along with their organization. The steel magnates forced heir hand. Active furtherers of the union were dropped with more than suggestive promptness from the pay roll. The mill ywners knew them all; their spies and de tectives were, of course, all through their works Driven by this continual menace to the individual member, by the headstrong de sire, familiar to all labor men, of the newly formed union to try its new power and strike, the radical organizers of the steel industry had no alternative. They had been outmaneuvered in fact by the capital ists, and forced to strike when they were not yet prepared to. And so the general strikes ‘in basic industries in the United States were on-—sooner than Spinner had anticipated In the much more basic industry, coal mining, there had been little doubt in Spinner’s mind of what would come, espe cially since the Cleveland convention of the miners in September. In this there was no question of management by radicals; all the labor politicians drove forward to gether, vying with one another in the THE SATURDAY development of radical demands— which they all knew there was no possibility of securing Spinner himself, in October, was several times called in, questioned and given warn- ing by the operator Brown—a warning which, of course, had been given toSpinner’s superiors in the International. He would wait, Brown said, and see what happened on November first—the day set for the great strike. He was—by his own act, of course, through his own political ambition, which he had now apparently almost for- gotten—in a most unpleasant situation. Out with his former associates, the opera- tors of the nonunion mines; threatened with suspension of his operations when they would almost certainly be working their mines to their great profit, he saw Spinner now with little enthusiasm, natu- rally. Yet he held to his agreement with the union— whether by a certain pig-headed devotedness to his principles or by neces- ity, Spinner was not sure. Probably to some extent because of both. “But when you once go out,” he told Spinner, ‘“‘and you break that general con- tract, it’s all over between me and the union. I'll have nothing to lose then. That morning of November first my mines go nonunion again—for good!” He ended up usually with his arraign- ment of the lack of good faith of labor unions and their contracts—calling them every possible name as he progressed, from quitters far out and beyond the epithet of yellow dogs. On November first he kept his word, with the rest of the operators. “Strike and be damned,” he said to Spinner. “I’m through—with all unions!” His full-blooded face was permanently lavender now, with anger—an anger made doubly strong by the humiliation and cha- grin over the personal mistake which had landed him where he was. He would be, as Spinner saw when leaving him, a particu- larly ugly and obstinate enemy. He had made some sort of peace with his former allies, the nonunion mine operators, now that he was going back to nonunion operation. And he secured promptly, look- ing for the customary disturbances of a strike in this district, a force of mine guards—private detectives to protect his property and the workmen who appeared to operate them. Some few old employees came back to him, a very few new men appeared, perhaps through some tacit understanding with the other operators. The not unfamiliar situation of a strike had risen again in this valley—with its old background of hate and possible violence It was not long before the projection of Sonia into the situation which Spinner had anticipated began. Women are not unfa- miliar as agitators in the miners’ union They are, of course, Spinner always claimed, the first agitators, the natural trouble mak ers; employed by Nature for that exact purpose, he believed, for the advancement of the race. ‘Nature's firebrands—always the first to spread the fire of revolution.” They were creatures, he held, touched to quick action by their sensitiveness to emo- tion, and once in action irresponsible of all consequences, driven by an age-long bio- logical function to the part they so gene- rally take in throwing strikes into a stage of violence, EVENING POST Sonia was certainly not behind his expec- tations or theories. To the natural excita- bleness of sex and race were added an innate desire for publicity; an ambition now to make a name for herself as an agitator; to find a permanent place per- haps in the ranks of this great union in which women agitators have been espe- cially conspicuous. And always now Sonia could rely upon the protection of the gunman Hecker, which she availed herself of freely as Spinner was willing that she should. The other side—the guards of the mine operator Brown—was not without bad men of its own, of somewhat less experience than Hecker. They were the not unfamiliar type of employees of detective agencies for strike duty—-adventurous youth or men who would rather fight than work. They were languidly amused at first by Sonia’s enthusiasm and activity —at worst doing no more than call low asides to her in a pinched throaty voice as she passed along the streets. Her remarks to them were in quite different tone. Courthouse bums, scab suckers, labor lice and other terms less marked by reti- cence than forcefulness were among those applied by Sonia to her enemies as they antagonized her in different ways. For her background and surroundings when she had been young had not been marked, of course, by any peculiar nicety of manners no matter what she had acquired since; and in this surrounding and this work Spinner saw they not unnaturally returned to her. They made him wince at times, and at times he cautioned her—but to little avail. Her emotionalism plus her desire to shine publicly drew her inevitably to loudness and recrimination when she was once upon the street—either haranguing her foreign friends among the strikers or confronted by her enemies. And both her manner and her personality grew to be somewhat wear- ing, Spinner could see, upon the nerves of the mine guards and constables as from day to day she encountered them upon the streets in company with Hecker; Hecker, always smiling, taking everything—life and death impartially—as a kind of grotesque and ferocious joke, a matter of indifferent concern which found its best answer and philosophy in a grin. The safety in the situation, of course, was exactly typified in this man’s sophisticated grin—lying in the experience and the in- structions given both Hecker and the paid mine guards. It was their job to avoid physical violence; they were hired to keep their temper. And most of them would probably do so. And so far as Sonia went the approaching final catastrophe—what- ever has been intimated about it—was certainly not chargeable to Spinner. He would have avoided it for her at least, that is certain. However, the movements of mass psy- chology cannot, of course, be foreseen in detail by any man. It is the business of the agitator in the last analysis to provoke a catastrophe of some kind; society moves forward according to his philosophy by a series of explosions; and just what will occur to the individual actor—even to him- self—in these he can only conjecture when he plans to light his fuse. The explosion in this particular field was now, Spinner began to think, not far off. March 6,1920 The solidly nonunion mining fields were not very distant; there was already vague but angry talk among the idle union miners in the Brown field, among the Italian anar- chists in the blind valley toward the east, among the radical Slav miners—that a march should be started against the non- union miners; that the whole great body of idle union men should go and drag the workmen out of all the nonunion mines, making an example first of the Brown prop- erties, where a few workmen still made a rather weak pretense of producing coal. The women, who at times take part in these strange processions of miners, were quite clamorous that the marching should begin, being instigated, at least to some extent, by Sonia, whose vehemence also affected the foreign men to a considerable degree. Spinner looked daily for some mass demonstration of this kind. This marching of the miners was a tradition of the district, an institution, a call in the blood. Sooner or later it would probably come; and with it no doubt—trouble! The occasion arrived quite naturally—at the time of the injunction of the Federal courts against the coal strike. Immedi- ately following this Spinner had a message from the operator Brown to visit him at his office. “I’ve told the rest, the regular officials,” he said. ‘I want to tell you now—what I've got to say! Because I know you've got the real say-so in the district now.” Spinner smiled and shook his head in formal denial. “They aren’t coming back into the mines, are they,”” asked Brown, disregard- ing this, “‘anywhere, just because the United States Government wants them to?” “Not here,” said Spinner, ‘anyhow. With your stand!” “Or anywhere else,”’ insisted the other, his bright black eyes upon him. “*T shouldn’t say so.” “No, nor anybody else,” said the opera- tor ill-naturedly. ‘‘They might get the reputation of keeping a contract!” Spinner waited for the man to go on. He did finally. “‘Not that that makes any difference to me,”’ he said, ‘“‘except to make me more determined never to deal with a union again! I'll take the mules out of every mine I own first,” he said, using the old col- loquialism for the abandonment of a mine. His beady eyes glittered with determina- tion and hatred. ‘‘But that isn’t what I called you here for,”” he said. ‘“‘I sent for you because I wanted to serve notice on you—as I have on the rest. These strikers are most of them —the foreigners anyway living in my company’s houses. The time has come when they'll either fish or cut bait. You tell them so. Either they work for us or they'll leave our houses. We built them for workmen—not anarchists. We're going to use them for ourselves—and our workmen. And I'll give these men of yours just two weeks’ notice to do one thing or the other—work for us or get out. Two weeks from to-day. That’s all!’ he said, now rising. “You'll set them marching,” said Spin- ner, warning him in his turn. “Let them march,” said the operator. “We're ready for them!” (TO BE CONTINUED) aw to ee «“ ~ oe = sabes ~—

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NN THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 89 Remember—when you were a kid—how good mother’s apple butter tasted? Remember, after a hard hour’s play ' when you wer l ry that rl just couldn’t wait until meal tim how mother u ta gener | ( | land cover it thi k with appl butt Of course you remember. At ou’s r ta tha ite so good, have you? Call back n tl ireless, careft childhood da » Libby \ pl B Vf last it Nee and \ I] le li t | t ist hay the very recipe your mother t ' la \ pictur our 1 n ples th ntt t iking. Y« linger | over the tf Or wn S] ts tang of sparl t tl we Keep Libby’s Apple Butter in the pa : het a . vere a kid, vou’ll often long to s p out ther \ { f | aped high with this irresistible spread. You’l nt have tt, and etime ‘ll wonder whether tl | é ins re than you. Order Libby's Apple Butter from your I t for you. Libby, M‘Neill & Libby, 503 Welfare Bldg., Chicago Libby, M‘ Neill & Libby of Can., Ltd., 45 E. Front St., Toronto, Ont., Can

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ee whom the most unpopular was Peter Dournovo, the new Minister of the In- terior, a man of iron will and undaunted courage, whatever his political opinions may have been. Within a few months he succeeded in putting down with the strong arm revolutionary outbreaks and agrarian outrages all over the country, which had brought about a state of affairs bordering on anarchy. Tothesteadfast reso- lution and unflinching energy of this most unjustly maligned statesman the country unquestionably owed her salvation and escape from the threatened catastrophe that was to overtake her eight years later. Much has been made of grossly and pal- pably exaggerated cruelties said to have been committed in the repression by force of arms of revolutionary outbreaks and of excessive punishments inflicted by the courts or the administration on revolu- tionary suspects. These stories were in- dustriously spread far and wide for obvious propaganda purposes by our revolutionists and their sympathizers and well-meaning but credulous friends of Russian liberty in foreign countries at a time when the world had not yet become awake to the danger lurking in revolutionary socialism beneath a mask of generous engrossment with the insoluble problem of organizing the felicity of mankind. Outside critics of the late imperial government—whatever its sins, its gross defects and its disastrous short- comings, which I would certainly be the last to wish to palliate—are too apt to for- get that to defend itself against revolution is the prime duty of every government worthy of the name, as guardian of law and order, a duty not only to itself but no less to its country. The world has now had an opportunity to see into what an abyss of ruin and desolation the failure of a govern- ment to defend itself has plunged a once great and prosperous nation. By the beginning of March the situation had improved sufficiently to render it pos- sible to take the next step in the introduc- tion of the constitutional reform. On the fifth of that month a manifesto was pub- lished announcing that the two bodies composing the Parliament—the Council of the a A and the Duma— would be con- voked and prorogued annually by imperial ukase; that the Council of the Empire would consist of an equal number of elected members and of members nominated by the government; that both bodies would have equal legislative powers and that only measures passed by both bodies might be submitted for the emperor's decision. The manifesto further provided that during sus- pensions of the sittings of the Duma, should extraordinary circumstances arise calling for legislative action, the Council of Ministers might submit for the emperor’s decision measures called for in order to meet such extraordinary circumstances, such measures ceasing to be in force if within two months after the resumption of the sittings of the Duma no bill embodying the provisions therein contained were intro- duced, or if such bill were rejected by the Duma or by the Council of the Empire. By subsequent ukases issued prior to the meeting of the first Duma certain limi- tations of the competency of the legislative bodies were established and made part of the fundamental laws. They concerned mostly financial matters. The two houses could not deal with estimates founded on existing laws, ordinances or imperial com- mands, or with credits for war or the im- perial household. Ordinary military and naval expenditures were to be discussed if the ministries could not cover them frora resources in hand. If the houses did not pass the budget the government could sub- stitute the budget of the preceding year. Details of loans and currency were re- served to the Minister of Finance; army, navy and foreign affairs were declared prerogatives of the emperor. From the above it will be seen that these new fundamental laws, though falling short of the established principles and usages of the unwritten British constitution as grad- ually worked out by centuries of peaceful evolution, contained nevertheless the basic principles of representative government. In spite of the exemption from the compe- tency of the legislative bodies of questions concerning the estimates of certain branches of the government, mainly those in charge of national defense, what was really - lated was their fixation at a level below THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 23) which their cutting down by Parliament was excluded, leaving, however, any even- tual increase of such estimates dependent on the consent of the representatives of the people no less than the establishment of any new taxes—in a word, establishing the principle of no taxation without representa- tion. Likewise the legislative power granted to Parliament was complete, inasmuch as no new law could be made operative with- out the consent of both houses of the legis- lature, the question of amendments to the constitution or fundamental laws being alone excluded from their competency. To any unprejudiced mind it must be plain that these restrictions of the legisla- tive power of our new Parliament were fully justified, the political development of the nation rendering such safeguards not only desirable but necessary, for it could hardly be questioned that the Russian people of our days are as little ripe for a strictly parliamentary government such as that of Great Britain as the English ple would have been ripe for it, say, in the six- teenth or seventeenth century. Moreover, the necessity of these limitations and the wisdom of their introduction were amply demonstrated by the openly revolutionary attitude at once adopted by the first Duma and followed up by the second, which ne- cessitated their speedy dissolution As author of the October manifesto, or in other words as the actual originator of the constitutional reform, Count Witte was the object of attacks from all sides. In the eyes of the liberal party, besides being be- lated—which was not his fault—the reform did not go far enough; and by the con- servative party it was deemed premature in the scope it had assumed. To both the extreme parties the whole reform was an object of detestation and eg The socialistic revolutionary parties, whose real aim was not by any means the introduc- tion of constitutional or parliamentary gov- ernment, or even the conquest of Russian freedom, but the overthrow of the whole social structure in the interest of the reali- zation of their socialistic Utopia, could not but be openly hostile to a reform which by premtee to satisfy the ambitions of the vourgeois classes threatened to deprive them of the moral support of some of them, who in their eagerness for power and in their purblind political inexperience had not been loath to favor part of their revolu- tionary program, such as the expropriation of the lands of estate owners, their prin- cipal stock in trade for revolutionizing the deluded peasantry. The socialistic parties, as a matter of fact, boycotted the elections to the first Duma and replied to the Octo- ber manifesto by a recrudescence of terror- istic crimes. To the ultra-reactionary party, firm believers in the necessity for the good of the country of the strictest mainte- nance of the autocratic régime, the idea of a constitution was an abomination and the very word constitution a stench in their nostrils. They favored a political organiza- tion known as the Union of the Russian People, which by its excesses in its anti- revolutionary activity earned the surname of The Black Hundred and, rendering no real service to the cause of law and order, merely served to discredit its protectors. With the question of the insufficiency of the scope of the constitutional reform—the chief grievance of the liberal parties I have dealt already and hope to have made it clear that the constitution in the shape it was granted responded fully to the real needs of the country in the actual stage of her historical development. It would have—subject to gradual evolu- tion—assured the peaceful progress of the nation on the path of liberty and prosper- ity in the future but for the advent of the World War. For Russia’s having been in- volved in it, as well as for the subsequent revolution with its sequel of the downfall and ruin of the country, impartial history will assign to the liberal parties and their leaders their share of responsibility. As for the unquestionably most deplor- able belatedness of the constitutional re- form I can only repeat what I have said before: That it is eternally to be lamented that its inception was cut short by the cowardly assassination of The Czar Liber- ator Alexander II, one of the foulest and in its far-reaching consequences most fatal crimes in the history of the world, the infa- mous work of these same socialistic revolu- tionary parties whose natural offspring is EVENING POST FORTY YEARS OF A DIPLOMAT'S LIFE Bolshevism and whose representatives, after having done their share in bringing about the destruction of the state and the ruin of the nation, have now the incredible | hardihood to pose abroad as loyal Russians and would-be saviors of our unhappy country. That the conservative party, or at least some of its adherents, should have thought that the introduction of the constitutional | reform in the shape in which it was effected was somewhat premature was perhaps but | natural. They would probably have pre- | ferred to have the reform limited in the be- | ginning to the creation of a Duma with merely consultative functions. whether right or wrong, the attempt had been made, and had failed not only to allay the revolutionary agitation but also to satisfy the greater part of the educated classes. Another question might be namely, whether the moment of the pro- mulgation of the manifesto was wisely chosen. have heard the question an- swered in the negative by one of the foreign bankers who had come to St. Petersburg on Count Witte’s invitation to arrange for the conclusion of the projected great loan needed for covering the financial losses of the war. He thought that the publication of the manifesto before the general strike had been liquidated, all revolutionary out- breaks had been suppressed and law and order restored everywhere in the country had been a grave mistake, because it had not only utterly failed of its intended effect of pacification but had enabled the revolu- | tionists to claim that whatever promise of constitutional reform had been given in the manifesto had been extorted from the gov- | ernment under their compulsion and thereby had emboldened them to redouble their revolutionary activity. I must confess that at first, judging a priort and from a distance of many thou- sand miles from the other side of the globe, I felt inclined to share the view of the situa- tion taken by an evidently unbiased judge of events he had witnessed himself. His failure to have dealt mere promptly and more energetically with the revolutionary situation had indeed been one of the main But then, | raised, | points of the accusation brought against | Count Witte by his political adversaries | and to some extent believed in by the pub- lic. I have been told by a person who claimed to have been present that on one occasion, at the time when trouble was at | its height and civilized existence at St. Petersburg owing to the general strike had become almost impossible, Count Witte at a dinner party at one of the great houses, when attacked by the ladies present on the | subject of his failure to have put a stop to the intolerable state of affairs in the capital, had said that, of course, it would have been easy enough to have done so with the strong arm in the very beginning, but that then everybody would have been down on a government of reactionaries, police ty- rants, and so forth, and that perhaps it had not come amiss to have let society have a foretaste of what anarchy, even in its ini- tial stages, really meant. Witte’s words—if correctly reported would now have sounded like a warning ad- dressed to limousine radicals and parlor Bolsheviks of our days. As an illustration of the attitude of a certain part of the bour- geois society of that time I have heard it said that when the well-known Professor Martens, with most laudable public spirit and civic courage, had organized quite a nu- | merous crew of young society people to | take care of the sorting of letters at the post office and their delivery in town, sev- erai of these volunteer postmen had been meeting in some houses with flat refusals to accept delivery of letters from strike break- ers and minions of reactionary Czarism. I believe, however, that the real cause of Witte’s failure to act with greater vigor from the very beginning was that the gov- ernment did not really at the time command sufficient means to do so. Though the guards were faithful to their oath, this was not by any means the case in the navy, or even in parts of the army, whose return from Manchuria had only just begun, the immense expanse of the country being prac- tically denuded of troops, and that part of the ever-loyal Cossack ome which’was not in Manchuria was not numerous enough to supply the deficiency. (Continued on Page 93) 91 W.H. Guscott $90 extra a month Raymond Starr $100 a week What is Your Age? It doesn’t matter whether you are this side of twenty or beyond fifty, you can make money as a represent ative of this Company. If you want a spare-time opportunity, our proposition offers you a chance to make a dollar an hour. If you want a regular salaried job, we have one waiting with fifty or sixty dollars a week, besides commission, as the reward. The men on this page, and hundreds like them, are making good with us. Why not you too? 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| f (Continued from Page 91) In fulfillment of the promise given in the October manifesto the electoral law, which had been devised in view of the previously intended creation of a merely consultative Duma, was amended by vastly extending the ——— franchise in such a way as to insure the election to the new Duma of the largest possible number of peasant depu- ties. Curiously enough great reliance seems to have been placed on this device by even such an astute and experienced statesman as Count Witte, in the hope of securing in the peasant element in the Duma, with its time-honored loyalty and devotion to the Czar, a sufficiently important counterpoise to the expected and dreaded majority of the liberal opposition parties. These hopes, which were doomed to be very soon disappointed by the course of events, were based on a totally erroneous conception of the real mentality of the masses of the peasantry—a fresh illustra- tion of the baneful influence of that separa- tion by an apparently unbridgeable gulf of mutual none omprehension of the numeri- cally insignificant governing class from the bulk of the nation, which has been the curse of our country ever since the days of Peter the Great. It seems not to have been realized at all that the one thing the peasantry hoped for and expected to obtain from the Duma wa the expropriation of the lands of estate owners and the division of these lands be- tween them—that is to say, an act of spolia- tion the government was determined not to undertake and could not possibly give its consent to. Possibly also the government had underrated the importance and the serious effect of the propaganda the revolu- tionary parties had been carrying on for years among the peasantry along these lines, as well as of the fact that the principle of forcible expropriation of the lands of medium and large landholders had latterly been indorsed by the strongest and best organized of the liberal parties under the leadership of Professor Miliukoff, a man personally of very estimable character, gifted with a strong will and rare energy, but as a politician afflicted with a strangely shortsighted and incurable doctrinairism allied to an extraordinary obstinacy. Be that as it may, the consequences of the gov- ernment’s mistaken policy did not fail to become apparent in the attitude of the peasant deputies in the first Duma and necessitated the amendment of the electoral law in a restrictive sense, which was en- acted during the recess after the dissolution of the short-lived second Duma and was denounced by the opposition as a violation of the constitution. Shortly before the meeting of the Duma the resignation of Count Witte took place, followed by the resignations of Count Lams- dorff, Mr. Peter Dournovo and other mem- bers of his cabinet. Mr. Goremykin, an old and politically colorless bureaucrat and courtier, was appointed Prime Minister, and at the head of the most important of all ministries, that of the Interior, was placed Mr. Peter Stolypin, former governor of Saratoff, where he had greatly distinguished himself in the repression of a revolutionary outbreak by his energy and firmness, as well as undaunted courage and wise mod- eration. The final removal from the stage of ac- tive politics of Russia’s greatest statesman was one of the direst misfortunes that ild have befallen the dynasty no less than the nation. It meant the disappear- ance of the only force that would have been strong enough to have stayed the country on the down-grade course leading to per- dition, on which an insane domestic and a recklessly mismanaged foreign policy were to launch the country in the end. Ever since the Japanese War, whose outbreak he had been powerless to prevent and which had definitely opened his eyes to the inher- ent weakness of Russia, however great her potential and apparent power, he had be- come firm as a rock in the conviction that for its steady progressive development the country needed above all peace and that its maintenance should be the chief aim of our foreign policy, overshadowing all others. Not that his views in matters of foreign policy had been always very clear or very sound, which is not to be wondered at con- sidering that he had never had an occasion to go deep into the study of history and of the development of international relations, but his powerful intellect and unerring business acumen would always have pointed out to him the safe way out of any critical situation, and his strong and domineering THE SATURDAY will would have compelled its adoption if he had been in power at such a time. In one respect he was certainly in error, and that was in his belief in the possibility of a Franco-Russo-German entente or alli- ance—by the way, one of the favorite ideas of the Emperor William. He evidently did not understand that the only consideration that could have caused republican France to seek an alliance with autocratic Russia was the expectation of a coming war with Germany and the hope of the reconquest of her lost provinces, and that consequently any political combination including an en- tente or alliance with Germany would have been quite unacceptable to any French Government, whatever its color in domestic politics. He may have thought that finan- cial and business considerations might prove of sufficient importance to carry the day in favor of sucha policy. If so, he failed to realize that with the French people this was a question, not of business or policy, but of psychology, a psychology not under- stood or misjudge ad by him, as it evidently was by the Emperor ‘illiam as well. I feel bound to refer here at some length to an affair in connection with which the late Emperor Nicholas has been most un- justly made the object of much obloquy and even accusations of treachery from both sides. I mean the conclusion between the emperors of Russia and of Germany in the summer of 1905, during the Japanese War, of a treaty signed by them at Bjérké on board the Emperor Nicholas’ yacht, the text of which is said to have been found by the revolutionary government in the ar- chives of the Imperial Palace at Tsarskoe Selo and published by them in the autumn of 1917 along with the telegraphic corre- spondence exchanged between the two sov- ereigns before and after the event. The published text of the treaty trans- lated into English runs as follows: “Their Imperial Majesties, the Emperor of All the Russias on one side and the Em- peror of Germany on the other, in order to assure the peace of Europe, have agreed on the following points of a treaty concerning a defensive alliance: “ARTICLE I. If any European State at- tacks one of the two Empires the allied party binds itself to aid the other contract- ing party with all its land and sea forces. “ARTICLE II. The high contracting parties bind themselves not to conclude a separate peace with any enemy whom- soever,. “ARTICLE III. The present treaty enters into force at the moment of the conclusion of peace between Russia and Japan and must be denounced after a warning one year in advance. “ARTICLE IV. This treaty having en- tered into force, Russia will undertake the steps necessary to bring it to the knowledze of France and to propose to her to adhere to it as an ally. “* NICHOLAS. “WILLIAM,” I cannot, of course, accept any responsi- bility for the accuracy of the above text which I had to translate from the French text published in an article in the Revue des Deux Mondes, this French text being evidently a translation from the Russian text as published by the revolutionists, the latter in its turn being apparently a transla- tion from the French original said to have been found in the imperial archives. I also have to apologize for the unavoidably faulty English of my literal translation of the French text. The article | refer to here is due to the pen of Mr. Iswolsky, late ambassador in Paris and former Minister of Foreign Af- fairs, and was published in the Revue des Deux Mondes on the first of November, 1919, In his comments on the treaty Mr. Is- wolsky, most honorably and most loyally taking up the cudgels in defense of the memory of our late unfortunate sovereign, demonstrates from the very text of the treaty itself the utter groundlessness of any imputations of treachery to his ally, France, based on the fact of his having signed this treaty. He points out that though Article I of the treaty stipulates that if any Euro- pean state whatever—un Etat Européen quelconque—attacks one of the two em- pires, the allied party—la partie allive engages to aid his cocontractant with all his land and sea forces, and though this article if taken alone might on account of its de- fective wording seem to admit the possi- bility of Russia finding herself, in case of an attack by France on Germany, by the side of the latter Power --such a construction of —— ae ee = ne a ee EVENING POST Its a WDC The man who knows pipes is quick to appre- ciate the finer points of a WDC. He sees careful work- manship in every line. He appreciates the im- proved smoking qualities that Demuth seasoning gives. Genuine French Briar. Y our dealer carries and recommends the WDC Wms. DEMUTH & Co. NEW YORK World’s Largest Makers of Fine Pipes pee

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94 the meaning of this article is absolutely ex- cluded by the tenor of Article IV of the same treaty, by which Russia was bound to undertake the steps necessary to ac- quaint France with the treaty and to pro- pose to her to adhere to it as an ally. Mr. Iswolsky very pertinently adds: “It is uperfluous to demonstrate that it would be absurd to propose to France to adhere to a treaty directed against herself,” This incontrovertibly logical and closely reasoned explanation, coming from a states- man who a few months after the conclusion of the treaty became Minister of Foreign Affairs and whose authority could not be questioned for a moment, puts it beyond THE SATURDAY letter from Count Witte likewise addressed to the Emperor William, and lastly an un- official explanation given by the Russian ambassador in Berlin to the German Chan- cellor. The object of all this was to point out on one hand the defect of the Bjérké Treaty, which had not been countersigned by the Russian Minister of Foreign Affairs, and on the other hand the contradictions contained in the text of the treaty which would render necessary its revision. None of the steps taken produced a satisfactory effect. But the moment was approaching when the exchange of the ratifications of the Portsmouth Treaty was to take place, EVENING POST not reasonably have had any cause what- ever to feel ashamed of having consented to approach France with such a proposal on behalf of the Emperor William and of him- self. He had a perfect right —nay, it was his solemn duty, in the interest of his own country no less than of all Europe—to do all in his power to help remove, or to ex- press myself more correctly, to help to dry up the real source of the ever-threatening danger to the peace of the world—the latent antagonism between France and Ger- many born of the settlement of the Franco- Prussian War by the Treaty of Frankfort and now to be perpetuated by the settle- ment of the World War as consummated March 6,1920 reminiscences printed in the Revue des Deux Mondes of June first to give some side lights on the personalities of his future col- leagues in the cabinet. They are invariably entirely just and fair. His pen picture of the Minister of the Interior, Mr. Stolypin, soon to become Prime Minister, is, I think, a model of its kind, and I can do no better than to give here some extracts from it best fit to give a correct idea of the power- ful personality of the in many respects re- markable and most unjustly vilified man who for the next six years was to be the leading statesman of Russia and who was the author of the agrarian reform, which if his precious life had not been cut short by a doubt that the Emperor Nicholas could not which was also the moment when the at Versailles. vile assassin’s bullet he would assuredly | by any possibility have contemplated the Treaty of Bjérké was to enter into force. Russia's treaty of alliance with France have carried through to the end and would 4 conclusion of an alliance against France Therefore Count Lamsdorff decided to re- could evidently not stand inthe way of any thereby have definitely cut the ground i and that consequently there could not sort to steps of a more energetic character. such endeavor on the part of the Emperor from under the feet of the revolutionary hy have been any question of his treachery. He wrote to Mr. Nelidoff, our ambassador Nicholas. That treaty, though it has never agitation among the peasantry. )} Having made this point clear beyond _ in Paris, to inquire whether it would be pos- been published so far as I know, is gener- ““Stolypin,” says Mr. Iswolsky, “was i} cavil, Mr. Iswolsky continued: “It is evi- sible to sound the French Government as_ ally understood to have established be- gifted with a clear and vigorous intellect; if dent that the animus of the treaty is di- to an eventual adhesion of France to the tween the two Powers an alliance of a_ his power of work, his force of resistance, r | rected against England. At the moment of its signature England was still an almost openly declared enemy of Russia; an armed Anglo-Russian conflict had just barely been avoided, thanks to the friendly inter- vention of France; but the hostile influence Treaty of Bjérké. Mr. Nelidoff replied at once without even having consulted the French Government, that France, who had never resigned herself to the state of things created by the Treaty of Frankfort and who had but recently concluded an entente cor- merely defensive character; that is to say, to have bound each contracting party to come to the other’s assistance only in case of the other being attacked by Germany. Consequently a proposal, however unwel- come, aiming at the removal of the danger physical and moral, were prodigious. Ex- perienced in the exploitation of his own im- portant landed estates and having tried his hand as a provincial administrator, he was an entire stranger to bureaucratic routine, and he attacked every problem of England continued to make itself felt diale with England, would never consent to of such an attack could have been consid- that presented itself with simple directness Ki {, everywhere to the detriment of Russia. adhere to a similar alliance. ered by the French Government as partak- and unerring common sense. Perhaps his i : Was it not natural, even legitimate, on the Then a new letter was addressed by the _ ing of the nature of an unfriendly act solely only failing was a certain lack of culture in ie { part of the Emperor Nicholas to seek a Emperor Nicholas to William Il in order to in the case of that government having any the European sense of the word. Not that " | yuaranty against that Power in a Conti- explain to him once more the impossibility reason to hold that Russia by the treaty of _ he lacked instruction, but his ideas on the 1 ; nental coalition? There was, however, another circum- stance connected with the signing of this treaty which gave the Emperor Nicholas much concern, It will be necessary to refer to it at some length, because it serves as an apt illustration of the-—to say the least inconvenience of monarchs’ undertaking to manage their secret-treaty business them- selves, not to insist at this point on the un- qualified condemnation which must be passed on the system of secret treaties of whatsoever kind, as well as on the system of entangling alliances that has brought on of putting the Treaty of Bjérké in opera- tion under existing circumstances. At the same time Count Osten-Sacken, our am- bassador in Berlin, was instructed to de- clare in a formal manner that the adhesion of France being unobtainable at the mo- ment and the obligations incurred in the Treaty of Bjérké not being capable of being conciliated with those of the treaty of alliance between Russia and France, the former must remain inoperative until an entente on the subject would have been established between Russia, Germany and France. Count Osten-Sacken was to add alliance had bound herself not only to come to France’s assistance if attacked by Ger- many but also to give her unqualified support to the French Government's atti- tude of nonrecognition of the Treaty of Frankfort, or in other words, to France’s ultimate aim of the reconquest of her lost provinces, Whether Russia had by that treaty taken upon herself any such obligation and whether in return she had procured any en- gagement on the part of France to support our designs in the Near East I am, of course, unable to say, since having been sufficiently great political and social questions he was called upon to deal with had not been passed through the filter of modern scientific criticism. Moreover, his mental- ity had been formed under the influence of certain intellectuai currents predominating in Russia at the time of his youth which may best be summarized under the term Slavophilism. “The Slavophile doctrine, which has had so great an influence on the domestic and foreign policy of Russia, condemned alto- gether European civilization as rotten through atheism and individualism and — an es the catastrophe in which our civilization that much time would be required in order well known as a convinced opponent of any attributed to the Russian nation the provi- R may be doomed to perish in the end—amo-_ to induce France to join Russia and Ger- policies based on the ambitions of Pan- dential mission of creating a superior cul- } mentous subject I shall endeavor to treat many and that the Russian Government slavism—a kind of ism I have always held ture. In the domain of religion the Slavo- 2 | | exhaustively later on, would do its best in an endeavor to reach to be as dangerous to the true interests of philes proclaimed that only the Orthodox | J It appears that from the very beginning such a result. Russia as Pan-Germanism has proved fatal Russian Church has remained faithful tothe ; i of the negotiations between the two sov- None of the replies received from Berlin to those of Germany—or on the dreams of _ teachings of Christ; in the domain of poli- f H ereigns the Emperor William had been contained a formal acknowledgment of the the would-be conquerors of Constantinople tics they condemned the reforms of Peter {i | insisting on the projected treaty being com- fact that the treaty had been annulled, as or the Straits, or of both, I have never had the Great borrowed from the West and h ; municated to the French Government only Mr. Iswolsky avers in the article over his the questionable honor of being initiated by preached the necessity of a return to the i / after its having been signed,whereas the signature in the Revue des Deux Mondes the powers that were into the mysteries of national formulas of the Muscovite period. ' {| One of their theses consisted in holding fl Emperor Nicholas had felt some scruples about signing such a document without having it previously brought to the knowl- edge of his ally. It appears further that the Emperor William, presumably in the hope of being able to bring his cousin round to his point of view, had sought a personal interview with him, which took place as mentioned above in the summer of 1905, the two sovereigns meeting on board of their yachts in the Roads of Bjérké, a port on the coast of Finland. During this visit of the Emperor Wil- liam, which lasted a couple of days, the two sovereigns naturally had frequent occa- sions of exchanging their views and it seems that at last Emperor Nicholas let himself be persuaded to affix his signature to the treaty, which in the absence of the Minis- ters of Foreign Affairs of both sides was countersigned on behalf of Germany by M. de Tschirschky, a functionary of the Berlin Foreign Office who happened to be in the suite of the German Emperor, and on behalf of Russia by Admiral Birileff, Minister of Marine, who was asked by the emperor to give his signature without hav- ing read the treaty. Some time afterward the emperor, evidently feeling that he had fallen into a trap, consulted on the subject his Minister of Foreign Affairs, Count Lamsdorff, who expressed himself as horri- fied at what had been done and apprehen- sive of its consequences, and represented to His Majesty the necessity of imme- diately taking steps to annul the treaty, I'he emperor thereupon left him free to do everything needful in order to extricate him from his false position. In the meantime the Treaty of Ports- mouth had been concluded and Count Witte had arrived in St. Petersburg. Count Lamsdorff, who entertained the closest friendly relations with him, requested his cooperation in order to clear up the situa- tion embroiled by the emperor’s weakness, This is the way matters were attempted to be arranged: Three steps were taken simultaneously: \ personal intimate letter from the Em- peror Nicholas to the Emperor William, a of November 1, 1919, from which I have borrowed all the details here related in preference to relying on my own recollec- tions and information derived from other sources, which, however, in all points coin- cide with what has been given above. The consequences of the singularly bun- gling and disingenuous manner in which this affair had been handled by Count Lams- dorff were: That it exposed the emperor with the French to the suspicion of having had underhand and treacherous dealings with their hereditary enemy, and with the Emperor William to the accusation of breach of faith with him by repudiating the treaty concluded between them and bear- ing his signature, an accusation which he did not fail to proclaim when on the day of the declaration of war, addressing the crowd from the balcony of his palace, he called the Emperor Nicholas a traitor and demonstratively waved in the face of the multitude the scrap of paper as material evidence of his imperial cousin's treachery. There was obviously but one straight- forward way out of the difficulty created by the emperor's inconsiderate act. It was this: The French Government should have been at once made acquainted with the Treaty of Bjérké and at the same time invited to adhere to it as an ally as stipu- lated in Article 1V of the treaty; and on receipt of the French refusal, which was undoubtedly to be expected, the treaty should have been immediately denounced in zonformity with Article ILI, upon the ground that in the presence of the refusal of France the object of the treaty, which was to create a tripartite alliance, could not be attained. By such a proceeding the treaty would have been automatically annulled at the end of the year and everything would have been done in a way entirely frank and aboveboard. Besides, it must be observed not only that a proposal to become a member of a tripartite alliance with Germany and Rus- sia could not possibly be considered as an act of treachery on the part of the Emperor Nicholas but also that the emperor could their secret diplomacy. Be that as it may, there is, however, another circumstance connected with the Treaty of Bjérké, whose very wording de- notes plainly the smantouti hand of its author, which deserves attention. In Arti- cle Il of the treaty both sovereigns bind themselves “‘not to conclude a separate peace with any enemy whatever.”’ It must, I think, be conceded that no sovereign, or let us say simply no government, whether autocratic, constitutional or republican, has or can ever be held to have the moral right to pledge the lives and the honor of subjects or fellow citizens in a way so as to render their fate dependent on the deci- sions of another Power, however closely allied, because in any war at any time cir- cumstances may arise—as we have seen in the cases of Russia and Austria—which ata given moment may make to one of the allied countries a further enforced continua- tion of the war equivalent toself-destruction and which therefore may place the govern- ment of that allied country in a position where it will have to choose between be- trayal of its ally or betrayal of its own country and nation. It was evidently the instinctive repugnance to enter into any such binding engagement which prevented the adherence to the famous London Agree- ment of September, 1914, of the United States, at that time still reminiscent of the true meaning of the solemn warning against entangling alliances, priceless legacy left to the country whose father he has been called by George Washington, perhaps the great- est and wisest statesman that ever lived. But to return to my narrative after this lengthy digression— Mr. Iswolsky, who had been appointed to take Count Lamsdorff’s place as Minister of Foreign Affairs, ar- rived in the capital, coming from Copen- hagen, on the day of the opening of the first session of the first Duma, just in time to enable him to witness the opening ceremony held in the Winter Palace and to listen to the emperor's speech from the throne. Before recording his impressions of this momentous event he proceeds in the first chapter of his extremely interesting the village commune, or mir, to be a pro- foundly original creation of the Russian genius, and communal property to be the essential basis of the social and economic organization of Russia. Stolypin, without professing the extreme doctrines of the Slavophiles, had remained to some extent under their influence. However, in the agrarian question he did not hesitate to reject the fatal doctrine of the mir, cause of so much evil in Russia, and to adopt in spite of violent opposition the system of individual property in small landholdings. On the other hand, he unfortunately never knew how to rise above certain particularly dangerous conceptions of the Slavophiles, and that is how he turned to a narrow and sometimes violent nationalism.” I can only express my unreserved con- currence in Mr. Iswolsky’s views on the subject of the Slavophile doctrines, laid down in the above extract from his article, every word of which I fully indorse, “But,”” continues Mr. Iswolsky, ‘“‘the true and unquestioned superiority of Stolypin consisted in a rarely met with ensemble of moral qualities. On first meet- ing him one felt drawn toward him by the simple and irresistible charm of his per- sonality. On becoming better acquainted with him one discovered in him an eleva- tion of sentiment and nobility of soul that the exercise of power—at times dictatorial never affected in the slightest degree. His high and chivalrous conception of his duty made of him a servant of his sovereign and of his country devoted until martyrdom; but at the same time, proud of his name and jealous of his liberty, he always observed in regard to the court and to the world of the high bureaucracy, which considered him rather as an intruder, an attitude of dignified reserve and independence.” To this eloquent characterization of Stolypin I can only add that it expresses better than I could the impression of his powerful and attractive personality. Editor’s Note—This is the fifteenth of a series of articles by Baron Rosen. The next will appear in an early issue. _—— SS ae — ~ ee ee See ee een i ee ee oc

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 6,1920

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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— coming up to the Thapsacus. “Fifty acres; rolling land, but not hilly; gravelly soil just the thing for chickens; two big springs on the place—runnin’ water all the year round; ten acres of woods, ten acres of pasture, balance plow land; plenty of fruit, good house and barn and other buildings and the fences in first-class shape; ten miles to Manstown, two miles to Pickleburg, eight miles to Oakland.” “How much?” “Eight thousand dollars cash. And that includes all growing crops, feed in the barn and all the livestock—three horses, four cows, six hogs, ten sheep, forty chickens, five geese, one duck. I can give possession at once. Vachil Bellows is my name, sir.” “How far did you say it is back to Pickleburg?”’ ‘Two miles.” “T’ll take the place. My name is Deems Stanwood. I'll give you five hundred dol- lars for a ten-day option. Is that all right, Mr. Bellows?” “That will be all right, Mr. Stanwood. Want to take a look round— see the stock and the house and other things?”’ “No, that doesn’t matter—I'll build everything new.” “I'll have to get my wife to sign this here option along with me, won’t I?” asked Mr. Bellows as he read the brief agreement Deems had scribbled on a tiny piece of paper. “Oh, no, Mr. Bellows, that will be all right-just a little formality, you know. I'll pay you the option right now—I hap- pen to have the cash with me. Have the deed made out and I'll be here in a few days and pay you the balance and arrange to take possession. How am I to get out of this field?” “Run up there to the end of the patch and you'll see a gate that'll kt you out on the road.” “And the damage I’ve done here to your fence—how about that?” “Oh, ten dollars will be about right, I reckon.” Vachil Bellows, gazing after the little car as it labored over the mellow ground and slipping a ten-dollar bill into his trousers pocket, sighed sadly. “Tf I'd only knowed!” he groaned. ‘I coulda got ten thousand easy! Ten thou- sand in them bonds would abrought me six hunderd a year.” The Thapsacus climbed up into the high- way and rolled and bumped away toward Manstown, its driver apparently having forgotten completely that he was running over a particularly bad piece of road. “Well, I've made a start anyway,” he chuckled. “I'll have to touch the colonel pretty hard to-morrow. Eight thousand for the Da Vinci, eight thousand for the farm, and—I wonder what it takes to start a chicken ranch? I'll have to ask her. I'll draw ten thousand, I guess, to begin it with. That will make all told —let me see eight, sixteen, twenty-six—say twenty- five thousand. Wonder what the old boy will say?” That night at Manstown he attended the wedding of a soldier friend with whom he had fought Germans, scratched cooties and swapped cigarettes in France. The next morning he hired a man to take the Thap- sacus to Oakland—he could use it on his farm, he thought— while he traveled back by train, for he was in a hurry to see Philip Thawson. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE YANCONA YILLIES (Continued from Page 21) And he found Philip Thawson in his office up above the Farmers’ Bank when a little after nine o'clock he climbed the stairs, opened the door and looked in. “‘Good morning, colonel,’’ was his greet- ing from the doorway. “‘Hardly expected to find you here so early.” At the sound of the young man’s voice Thawson started and hastily gathered up some papers which were spread out on the desk before him and thrust them out of sight. There was a scared look in his eyes and something like a tremor in his voice as he wheeled about in his swivel chair and spoke: ““Oh—Deems? Why, I—I didn’t expect to see you back so soon. I thought you would stay in Manstown for a few days.” “Intended to when I started there, but changed my mind last night.””. He paused just a moment and looked hard at Thaw- son. ‘‘Heavens, how old he is looking!” was the thought that went through his head. “I'll have to have a little more money, colonel. That’s why I’m back so soon. Drawing on you pretty regularly, eh?” And he smiled. “More money?” repeated Thawson, and the word was spoken scarcely above a whisper. The face of the man had gone gray and a pencil he was holding in his hand cracked as his fingers, white and shiny about the knuckles, tightened upon it. “How much do you want, Deems?” he asked. “Oh, I'll need twenty-five thousand now. Did you say something, colonel? You see, I've got rid of my Cellini—I never liked it, couldn't handle it—and I'm going to buy a Da Vinci. That will stand me eight thousand. And yesterday I purchased a nice little farm out in Rich County— paid eight thousand. I'm going into the chicken business—going to make a chicken ranch out of it. I figure I ought to have about ten thousand for that—just as a starter, you know.” ‘A chicken farm!” exclaimed Thawson. “‘What for?” “Well, colonel, I've got to have some- thing to do to occupy my time—and my ready cash. I understand a chicken farm will give a fellow quite a run for his money. I am beginning to find it deucedly dull here—I’ll be running’ away and losing my inheritance if I'm not careful.” Thawson tapped his desk top with his long white fingers. “In a way, Deems, your request for money just at this time rather embar- rasses me,” he said slowly. ‘I was not ex- pecting it, as I paid you some thing over ten thousand only last week “Yes, I know, colonel, but the most of that I gave to the Salvation Army in their big drive. I came to know the Sallies over there, colonel, and I’m for them hence- forward.” “Yes, yes! You see, Deems, you have about exhausted the interest from the bonds which I have been accumulating since your uncle’s death and the ready money that came into my hands at the'time I took charge of affairs. Another interest payment does not fall due for some time yet. Of course I can sell some of the bonds and I will do that if you wish it, since by provision in the will of your une le I am to pay over to you any amount you may de- mand, provided you can show me that you intend to spend it in or about Oakland. It is a queer sort of a will, but your uncle was a queer sort of aman. Now I have on hand, in cash, twelve thousand dollars of your money. If you can make this do until i can effect a sale of some of the bonds “Oh, I can get along with that, colonel, I suppose,” interrupted Deems. ‘That will pay for the farm and leave me four thousand er so; and I may have a thousand or maybe more lying about. I'll put off buying the Da Vinci—I'll make that old Thapsacus do. And I’ll not start to build that bungalow on the farm that I had partly planned. The old house there, from a dis- tance, looks to be pretty decent —perhaps I can patch it up and make something out of it.” “Tt will be a question of a few weeks only,” said Thawson as he wrote a check for twelve thousand dollars. “I advise against your selling the bonds just now the market has sagged badly in the past week. I am going to New York to-night,” he went on in a colorless voice. ‘I may not be back for some—for a week or two.” **Hope you have a pleasant trip, colonel. How are you feeling?’ “‘Not so well, Deems.” “Well, here’s hoping for better health for you. Good-by.” When he found himself alone Thawson dropped his arms upon his desk and hid his face in them. For several minutes he re- mained in that position. Then he looked up and drew a yellow telegram from a drawer in the desk. He read it through, shuddered and crumpled up in his chair. That night he left Oakland for New York. When Deems reached the house on Cen- ter Street where he had a suite of rooms he found a telegram awaiting him calling him to Detroit. Another soldier friend with whom he had campaigned in France was to be married. He went to Detroit the fol- lowing day. A week passed and he was not back—he had found it not so easy to get away from Detroit as it had been from Manstown. On the morning of the ninth day of his ab- sence he returned to Oakland. He hurried to his rooms. A great pile of accumulated mail lay on his library table—letters, pa- pers, magazines. He ran his eye hastily over the unopened letters. “*No time to look at these now,” he mut- tered. ‘‘Must get out and close the deal for the farm—the option expires to-daj There’s one from the colonel. I'll read them to-night.” He threw them back upon the table, changed his clothes, went downtown to the bank, where he asked for and received a draft for seventy-five hundred dollars, and then hurried to the garage which he patron- ized. The Thapsacus looked more dilap- idated, more depraved than ever. He was astonished that any car could present so disreputable an appearance. He took the jackknife bend at the bounds of Pickleburg on low —he knew something about it now, and anyway he wished to go slow at that particular spot. But there w no one to be seen about the premises of Rebecca Stoneman, though just for a fleet ing instant he thought he caught a glimpse of a white skirt at one corner of the house. The barn—a glance at that told him Tom Trickle had been at work there. At the blacksmith shop he took Calvin Snanks into his car. Calvin Snanks was a notary publie and justice of the peace. “I'd like for you to go with me, Mr Snanks, just to see that everything is 99 regular when Mr. Bellows and I exchange final papers,”’ he told the notary. Vachil Bellows was sitting down to the supper table with his family as Deems and Calvin Snanks drove up. “Now, I swan!” exclaimed . farmer. “I'd plumb give you up! Well, Jane, this means we go on the tramp again, I guess,” he called to his wife, smiling as he spoke. She smiled back at him, as though to say: “What care I, Vachil? We've got eight thousand dollars.” “We've bee . on the move ever since we got married, Jane and me has,”’ went on Bellows. “I’ve had this here place only a few years. Now then I'm goin’ to put all my money in bonds—brewery bonds that pay six per cent—and hire out, and then when the rheumatism hits me I can pull my freight for Mud Springs right away and have nothin’ to worry about. Jane, put on two more plates. Set down, gents, and pitch in.” Bellows did most of the talking at the table, the greater part of it having to do with his losses and reverses while trying to get ahead in the world. Deems found the man’s talk not uninteresting and he lis- tened sympathetically to his stories of his ill luck. After the meal was over and the deed for the farm was in the purchaser's pocket and the draft for seventy-five hun- dred dollars was in the seller’s pocket the farmer proposed that Deems stay the night with him. “You might as well,” he said. ‘Then I'll show you over the place in the morning and introduce you to the livestock and we can talk things over. Jimmy here will drive Cal back to the burg. Jimmy, hitch up the mare to the top buggy and drive Cal back to Pickleburg. Mr. Stanwood i goin’ to stay all night with us.” Deems offered no objection. He wa very tired and the thought of the trip back to Oakland through the darkness, over rough roads, in the flighty Thapsacus dis turbed him. And now that the farm wa actually his he felt a curiosity growing within him to see something of the place he had purchased—he would look it over to- morrow, with Bellows to point out its strong features. “No two ways about it, Mr. Stanwood; you've bought a first-class site for a chicken ranch,” said Bellows after the boy and Calvin Snanks had departed and while he and Deems sat together in the twilight be- neath a huge elm tree, one of six that were grouped about the house. ‘‘No, sir-ree! | know, because I’ve been in the chicken busi ness myself. Since we've lived here I'll bet I've said to Jane a thousand times that I wished I had my old flock and pens here on this here place. I could have made money here with chickens. It’s an ideal place, I tell you. And there’s money in a good poul try farm, Mr. Stanwood, if it’s handled right.”’ Deems wasn’t greatly interested “That's the first time I ever knew that to be a fact —if it is a fact,”’ he laughed “Well, it’s a fact—you just set that down—if the business is run right! I made money with White Magabascars; if I'd had Yanconas I'd made a fortune if I could’ye kept my health Rheumatism knocked me out and I had to sell and quit and go to Mud Springs. Say, them mud baths certainly jerk the ginger out of you! Ever hear of Deckard, the Yancona king?” Deems said he had not. Willie Figg Waved a Greeting as He Swept By; the Girt Did Not Look Up ai Eo La 2 e i : iad Si ? Bh

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST TRACE MARE Made for Men, Women and Children—in Lisle, Mercerized, Silk NOIASEME HOSIERY parse are the hose made by that famous knitting process which gives you: 1. Snug, smooth fit; 2. Choice of seamed or unseamed models; 3. No uncomfortable foot-seams; 4. Heels and toes that are knit four ply; 5. Patent “‘ravel barriers”’ to prevent “runs”; and—6. Fast-dyed colors. Do you not see now why Notaseme means good looks with long wear? NOTASEME HOSIERY CO., Philadelphia, Pa. “Yanconas made Deckard wealthy independently rich. He’s one of the biggest | taxpayers in Rich County—made it all from chickens. Twenty years ago he | started with a hen and a rooster. Now look at him! You ought to see his Yancona farm up at Byron. What kind are you goin’ to raise?” ““Yanconas.” “That's the ticket! They'll cost you a | pretty stiff price, but you'll have somethin’ when you get ’em. Best layers of all and the littlest eaters ever knowed of among chickens—and there's the two items you've got to figger on when you're selectin’ a breed. Where’re you goin’ to get your | stock?” “I think I'll get a few from the young lady in Pickleburg.”’ “Jule Hadley? Well, she’s got good ones—got her start from Deckard. Jule’s makin’ a success at it. She’s got a bunch of yillies that Deckard offered her two thou- | sand dollars for, so I've heard. He wants ‘em for breeders, you know. Yillies are hard to get—well, I guess they are! Her flock of Yanconas ain't large—three hun- dred or so, I guess—but she’s makin’ money. Jule Hadley’s a hustler, and a finer | girl never lived. Her aunt, Becky Stone- man, ain’t a bad sort neither, but she’s a | queer one. Lucky for her she’s got Jule for a niece. That there house and lot in Pickle- burg is everything Becky’s got. Rich once, too, and lost it all through the deviltry of a feller she got mashed on. That was in her | young days, you know.” “That so?” yawned Deems. He was wearying of Bellows’ gossip. “Oh, my, yes! Becky Stoneman comes of a tony, well-to-do family—old Josh Stoneman over at Balsamville was her father. He must've left her close to fifty thousand—some say more. She got en- | gaged to Frank Warfield over at Mans- town. Frank has a bigger fortune left him than she did—inherited it from his grand- mother. He got his fingers on the pile soon after him and Becky was engaged and started right in to fly the high kite throwed money round like he was sowin’ grass seed. Then Manstown and Balsam- ville got too slow for him and he went to New York, where he got mixed up as a pard- ner with some shyster stock concern. They fixed his clock quick—got his pile, pulled off a lot of crooked work and made him the goat, you know. The law nabbed him. Becky went down there and spent just about all she had tryin’ to save him from state’s prison, but she didn’t succeed. They give him ten years. He didn’t serve any of it though—killed himself in his cell the night before he was to start to the pen. Oh, my, yes, Becky Stoneman might be in the poorhouse to-day if it wasn’t for Jule. Jule comes of a good family too, Her dad was Professor Hadley = “How far is it to Deckard's place?”’ in- terrupted Deems. “Only ten miles—right over here at Byron, you know. What do you say we take a run over there to-morrow?”’ pro- posed Bellows. “T was thinking of that,” returned Deems. They drove to Byron the next morning and from there went out to Thomas Deck- ard’s famous Yancona Farms. “Deems Stanwood?”’ repeated Deckard after Bellows had made the introduction. “I’ve heard of you, Mr. Stanwood. I fre- quently go to Oakland on business and I am acquainted with Philip Thawson. So you are planning to start a chicken farm? What kind of stock will you keep?” “Yanconas.” “You make no mistake there. How many do you expect to keep?” “Oh, I'll start off with about a thou- sand,” “And there you do make a mistake, Mr. Stanwood. You can’t jump into a full- grown chicken business and expect to see it go, to prosper; you've got to grow up with it, starting in modestly. Two or three hun- dred the first year will be quite as many as you should try to handle, if you'll allow an old hand at the business to make the sug- gestion.” Deems laughed. “Two or three hundred! I wouldn’t think of starting a farm with so few—it wouldn't be interesting. I'll not begin with less than five hundred. Could I get my stock from you, Mr. Deckard?” “Yes, I suppose you can. Five hun- dred it’s a rather large order, but I can fill it. They will cost you— you understand that Yanconas come high in price?’ March 6,1920 “Yes, I know, but that will be all right. I am buying a dozen hens and a dozen cocks from Miss Hadley at Pickleburg.”’ “You're doing what?”’ exclaimed Deck- ard. ‘“‘What in the name of poultry sense are you buying twelve roosters with twelve hens for?”’ “Why, isn’t that the correct proportion?” “Say, Stanwood, what do you know about chickens?” “Nothing, I guess, except that they are good to eat, and I think I’ve heard that they lay eggs.” Deckard laughed. “Stanwood, you’re a mark! But no more striking than I was once—I used to sell pianos before I turned to poultry. And you'll get the same treatment that I give to all my customers—a square deal. If you insist on starting with a flock of five hun- dred I'll give you the benefit of my knowl- edge and experience and make it a flock worth the price I shall charge you. It will be all right for you to buy some of your stock from Miss Hadley. It is good stock and you may rely on any of her statements. And I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t sell you a dozen cocks with a dozen hens either.” “She has a fine-looking lot of yillies that I thought I’d buy from her.” Again Deckard laughed. “T’ll wager you'll not buy those yillies, Stanwood,” he said. “I’ve tried for them several times—offered her every dollar they’re worth—and she won't sell. I wouldn’t sell either—a yilly is a yilly. She has had extraordinary success in devebop- ing yillies. Miss Hadley knows a whole lot about the chicken business. When do you think you would want the fowls?” “Oh, I don’t know. How long would it take us, Bellows, to get the stables fixed up for them?” “What stables?” “For the chickens.” Bellows’ lips twitched. “Oh, it would be in the early part of the fall, I suppose—about the time Deckard’s pullets are beginnin’ to lay. Say, why don’t you get Bill Benwall to put up your coops and runs? He’s done a lot of work for Deckard.” “To be sure—Benwall would do you good work,” said Deckard. ‘‘You could contract with him, as I did, and he could follow my plans if you like them. Come and look the place over.” Before he left Yancona Farms Deems had signed a contract with Deckard for twenty-five hundred dollars’ worth of Yan- cona chickens—hens, pullets and cocks to be delivered in September. And from Deckard's place he drove across country to see Bill Benwall, with whom he contracted for the erection of a number of modern up- to-date poultry houses with the necessary yards and runs. Back at Bellows’ he ate his dinner and then hired Bellows as his assistant, agreeing to pay him one hundred dollars a month, with house rent and produce from the farm free. “Getting on!” he chuckled as he drove the bouncing Thapsacus down the demac- adamized Manstown pike toward Pickle- burg. “‘Getting on fast! But five hundred chickens won’t do—that’s only two hun- dred more than she has. I'll go after an- other five hundred as soon as I have the first lot in. I'll drop in now and see her about the birds I ordered from her. Julia Hadley — Julia, I like that name.”’ He knocked at the door of Rebecca Stoneman’s house. A short, plump lady wearing steel-rimmed glasses opened the door. “Good afternoon. Is Miss Hadley at home?”’ he inquired, raising his hat. “She is, sir.”’ There was a primness about the woman before him, and a something about her speech of three words that disconcerted him for the moment. “T am Deems Stanwood. I called to see Miss Hadley about—er—well, about some chickens I wished to buy from her.” He smiled at the prim woman in an embarrassed way, then laughed, looking straight at her. The suggestion of a glare which he had noticed in the gray eyes behind the steel- rimmed glasses gave way to a softer look and the shadow of a smile played about the prim lips that responded to him. “Deems Stanwood!” And she put out a plump hand. “I knew you before you spoke. I see your father again as I look at you. I knew your father—oh, dear, how long ago that was!” (Continued on Page 102)

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—— an Se Rt TAT age or eagene he THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ae The —_ of our old bugaboos Some real facts about Time has dispelled many old illu- sions. Coal wes once condemned as “injurious” and burned openly in the market place asa “public nuisance. ’’ Strange things are done in the name of Health! For ten centuries the nations of the earth have enjoyed the benefits of coffee. Yet in this enlightened day coffee is sometimes declared “injurious”—another form of superstition. There are many kinds of food that do not “agree” under some conditions. These are matters of personal disability and require professional treatment and advice. Coffee is for well people and those who want to stay well. For those OFFEE who cannot be affrighted with foolish fears. For those who want to live — and do—and dare—and accomplish! Coffee plays its part in the homes of the millions, — three times a day every day. Coffee helped to win the War. It fed suffering Belgium. In Holland, coffee is always ready to serve—and its people are healthy. In Brazil, which produces three- fourths of the world’s coffee, they drink coffee all day long. And the Brazilians are one of the most robust and progressive nations in South America. In America one billion pounds of coffeeare consumed every year—This fact speaks for itself! SIGNIFICANT—In these days of high living costs, it is well to remember that coffee is the least expensive item on your menu, costing less than 2 cents per cup including cream and sugar. e of the l ited State Drink COFFEE and Remain Well!

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(Continued from Page 100) The smile went from his lips and he looked away “Poor dad!” he murmured, ‘You are Mi ins Stoneman?” “Yes. I wonder if you ever heard your father speak of Rebecca Stoneman?” “No, I can’t recall that I ever did.” “Oh, of course not—he forgot me, no doubt. He went East when he was younger than you ure now. What a dreamer Harry Stanwood was! Won't you come in?” “Why, thank you, Miss Stoneman, but you'll excuse me, will you not? I merely wish to say to Miss Hadley that I have made a start toward becoming a real chicken farmer and that I would like to make sure about the chickens we were speaking about the other day. I wish to buy from her as many as she will spare. I'll purchase the yillies too.” he yillies! You'll never be able to buy those yillies, Mr. Stanwood. Why, she thinks more of those yillies than she does of— well, of me, and I know she thinks a lot of me. Mr. Deckard tried to buy them. Oh, no, you won't be able to get them. Where are you going to buy your farm?” “I've bought a place down the road a couple of miles — Vachil Bellows’ fiftyacres.”” “What? You've bought Vachil Bellows’ farm! Oh, dear, what will Julia say! Why, she has dreamed of buying that place for the past two or three years she is crazy about it. She regards it as the ideal loca- tion for a poultry farm. And it is such a beautiful place too--the old white house set back from the road under the big elms — it is lovely there.” “I'm sorry, Miss Stoneman. If I had known—-— But I bought it blindfolded, you might say; I didn't even go over it. I will sell it if ——” “Oh, no, she couldn't buy it this year anyway, and perhaps not next year. I'll tell my niece what you've said about the chickens, I don’t think she can see you to-day —she is not feeling well.” “Then I will run on into Oakland. I'll stop again— to-morrow or next day.” In her trim little parlor Miss Stoneman sat down and stared at nothing on the floor in front of her for several minutes. “How much he resembles his father!’’ she murmured. ‘“‘There’s the same smile, the same mellow laughter, the same honest look in the same brown eyes, Dear me, if John V. Cooper had only given his money to someone else! It will ruin this boy! I know it will! I wish he didn’t have a cent! If Julia—-I know he is interested in her! Chickens indeed! It can’t be, though—it must not be! I will send her “ The door opened and Julia entered the room “What did he have to say, aunt?” “Well, he wants to buy as many chick- ens as you will sell, and he wants the yillies too.” “The yillies! He won't get them—with all his money!” “So I told him. And he’s bought Vachil Be ‘llows' pli ace,” “W hat? _ Aunt Rebecca! Has he bought my farm? ‘Yes, he said he took it without looking at it. Now I suppose we Pickleburgians will be entertained by some of his mad pranks out here. Why didn’t he stay at Oakland and indulge in his absurdities there? The idea of his trying to start a poultry farm!” “And I did want the Bellows place! I could have bought it next year too! Oh, pshaw! That makes me mad, aunt!” “Julia, it is nothing but a disappoint- ment in disguise-—you mark my word!” “What do you mean, aunt?” “Why, my dear, this is just a foolish fad for the moment of this young trifler, He'll spend a few thousand dollars out there and then be off on some other spending adven- cure “I'll give him a month at the most, You'll buy the farm then at your own figure, with all the improvements he has put in, you mark.” “Well, I don’t know about that, aunt,” said the gir! doubtfully. “You'll own the Bellows farm inside of a month! And now, Julia, don’t you think you ought to make that visit to your Cousin Jim in New York this spring? You've talked about it so long and Jim is so anxious to have you come.” “But the chickens, Aunt Becky!” “Pshaw! Don't you suppose I can take care of those chickens for a little while just as efficiently as you can? In his last letter Jim spoke about the motor trip he is going THE SATURDAY to make up into New England with his family—and you've always wanted to go there.”” “Oh, I don’t think I ——” “Bother! You are going! Write Jim to-night and tell him when you will start.” In his luxuriously furnished suite of rooms in the big house on Center Street Deems sat down to read his letters of the past week and more. There was one from the Doomores asking him to be their guest for a month in their summer home in the Adirondacks; there was one from Elsie Snaithe, the magazine artist, proposing a motor trip through Canada, with her aunt as chaperon; there was one from his old chum of earlier days, Will Dalcott, telling him of his appointment as general manager of a great shoe factory in Massachusetts and jokingly offering him a position; there was a score more which he read and tossed aside, None of them greatly interested him. a thought the colonel would be back before now,” he said as he picked up the envelope odivemed | in Philip Thawson’s al- most illegible scrawl. He broke the seal and took out a single sheet of paper folded once. In an instant his eyes had run over the four lines of writing it carried. There was a surge of blood to his head, then his heart seemed to cease its beating and his face went white and his pulses grew cold. He held the four black lines of writing before his eyes—they were lurid now—and stared at them, and the paper shook in his grasp: “Your fortune is gone—there is noth- ing left. I played the market with your money to make a million and—I lost. Workman & Wilmot, Wall Street, will give you details,” He tossed the sheet upon the table, filled his pipe and began to smoke, Again and again he stuffed the hot bowl and smoked it out. Four times the clock struck the hour while he sat there, smoking, staring at the note on the table before him, thinking. Three times he picked up and reread Will Dalcott’s letter and once he looked at the letter Elsie Snaithe had written him. Twice he busied himself with pencil and paper, figuring—adding and subtracting, multi- plying and dividing. It was long past mid- night when he tossed his pipe aside and straightened up in his chair with his de- cision made. “T'll stay!” he said aloud, getting up and starting to stride back and forth across the room. “I'll stick! Deckard has made a success of it; Bellows says there is money in it; she is making money and so are a lot of others. And I will too! What am I qualified to do? Who wants to hire me? Outside of Dalcott’s offices, where could I, with my nontechnical schooling, go to look for any kind of a job that would not be slavish? And I don't want to work in Dalcott's factory office! I'll raise chick- ens!" He picked up Thawson’s letter again. “IT didn’t think the colonel was that kind,” he muttered. ‘“ Always regarded him highly, considered him straight.’”” He glanced again at the last line of the note ‘Workman & Wilmot, Wall Street, will give you details.” ‘A waste of time, I suppose, but I'll go down and see them.” He caught a few hours’ sleep and early in the morning took a train for New York. Two hours in the offices of Workman & Wilmot sufficed to convince him that Thaw- son's wrecking of his fortune had been thorough and complete—there was nothing that could be salvaged. And evidently Thawson had profited nothing whatever he had carried nothing away with him. And he had left not a.trace behind him. Back in his rooms in Oakland, he set to work packing three large trunks, E xpen- sive clothing, jewelry, sets of books in de luxe editions, oil paintings, a rug or two, bric-a-brae of a hundred sorts—he packed it all in the three big trunks. And when they were filled and he had locked them he had them hauled to the railway station and shipped. That night he followed them to Cleveland. He returned in a couple of days, minus the trunks, but with an extra fifteen hundred dollars in his purse. It was a trifle more than enough to settle all his bills in Oakland. Again in his rooms, now stripped and bare, he sat down with pencil and paper. “Well, all my bills are paid,”’ he sighed contentedly. ‘“*That’s something. Now EVENING POST we'll see. I owe nothing and I own a fully equipped farm in Rich County—eight thousand dollars. That’s what I paid for it anyway. One vicious Thapsacus road- ster—two hundred and fifty dollars. I paid two-fifty for it! One gold watch—my father’s; and one diamond ring—my moth- er’s; no valuation to be put on these. I have in cash five thousand one hundred and nine dollars. Twenty-five hundred of this will go to Thomas Deckard in Sep- tember for chickens and two thousand to Bill Benwall for buildings, fencing and other construction work. I could jump these contracts, but I won’t. That leaves six hundred and nine dollars. It will pay Bellows his salary six months, with nine dollars left over. Where do I come in? Where do I eat? Nine dollars! It appears that I shall have to visit the money lend- ers. Bellows said something about Calvin Snanks’ loaning money. I think I'll have to call on Mr. Snanks—but not yet a while.” He spent a half hour looking over and burning old papers and letters. The note from Philip Thawson appeared again and he reread it. “You never can tell,”’ he told himself. “T thought the colonel was all right and I sup- pose Uncle John thought so too.”” He folded and refolded the small sheet of paper, then absently dropped it into the inside pocket of the coat he was wearing. “You certainly have given me a jolt, colonel,” he chuckled. “But if you won’t say anything about it, colonel, I won’t either. Mum’s the word with me! Why have a sympathetic world worrying over my misfortune?” He found a small trunk in a closet. He dragged it out and packed it with what things he had left, which he wished to take away with him. In the middle of the floor he accumulated a great pile of discarded materials of many kinds. Once as he stepped down from a chair after exploring a high shelf his coat caught on a protruding nail and a long rent was made in its side. He took it off, looked at it and threw it upon the pile of discarded things. Then he picked it up. Can't afford to do things like that now—it'll do to wear on the farm,” he laughed. And he thrust it into the trunk, taking out another that he had packed and putting it on. When he had finished his packing and the trunk was shut and locked he dragged it down the stairs, fastened it to the run- ning board of the Thapsacus and started for his farm. Ata clothing store he stopped and bought a suit of blue overalls. He found Bill Benwall and two men digging post holes and setting posts for the fences for the yards and runs in the field Bellows and he decided should be the location for the houses. Bellows was at work in the potato patch. He laughed a loud laugh when Deems asked him if he could put him up for a while and replied that there would be no trouble about that. Jane Bellows showed him a large, airy upstairs room in the big house. It was dismally bare and cold, but he liked it at once. He unpacked his little trunk, stowed his things away in an old bureau, changed his clothes, putting on the new suit of blue overalls, and went out and joined Bellows. Bellows laughed again when he saw him. “Excuse me laughin’ that way, Deems— it’ll be all right for me to call you Deems, won't it?— but sometimes I feel like laughin’ when there ain't no reason for a laugh at all.” “And so do I, Vachil,”’ said Deems. “There isn't a thing for me to laugh about right now, but I believe I'll take one anyway. He sat down on a bag of potatoes and began to laugh. Bellows joined in. The remainder of the afternoon he worked with his assistant, planting s‘otatoes. The following morning he worked with Benwall and his men, digging, shoveling, carrying—worked till his back ached and puffy b isters showed in the palms of his hands. It recalled those first days of army life in the new training camps, whither he had gone soft as putty to become hard as nails. In the afternoon he went to Pickle- burg and called at Rebecca Stoneman’s and asked for Miss Hadley. “She is not at home,” he was told. “She has gone to New York for a visit.’ “Oh! His face fell, and that his disappoint- ment—which was great within him—was not unnoticed by the woman before him was evidenced by the sudden appearance March 6,1920 in the gray eyes behind the ae rimmed glasses of that suggestion of a glare. “You called to see about the chickens?” she asked. “Why—yes, I did.” “My niece told me to tell you that I could sell you two dozen—no more.” “Could I look at them? I saw very little of them the day I ran through the side of the barn.” “Certainly. Come with me.” They went out to the poultry yards at the rear of the converted barn. They began to talk about the chickens. Before they were aware of it they had forgotten the errand they were on—they were talking about France, about places in France which she had visited thirty years before, the same towns and villages in which he had been living and fighting less than a year ago. Back in the house yard they sat down beneath an apple tree and almost an hour had gone before he rose to leave. “Then I shall take the hens just as soon as one of my houses is completed,” he said. “That will be satisfactory with us, Deems— Mr. Stanwood.” He drove away in his rattling Thapsacus. She gazed after him. “Oh, dear, if he only, didn’t have all the at money!” she sighed. “What a pity it is! He is so attractive, so pleasant! But I’m afraid of him, I’m afraid of him! Blue overalls! The idea! And that awful car too!” At the blacksmith shop he stopped to have a lost bolt replaced in his roadster. While he waited Willie Figg came booming up in the Cellini—the big gray Cellini that a few days before had belonged to him. “Well, how’s the old boat?” called Mr. Figg, grinning genially. “It’s the eighth suiee of the world,” laughed Deems. “How's the battleship?’ “Making new records every day.” “How many miles are you getting out of a gallon?” “Twelve or better.” “Yes, I expect so—not!” “Well, I just am, all right! You didn’t have the carburetor adjusted as it should be—not by a long shot.” “Twelve miles is pretty good for that car. Well, I'll see you again, Mr. Figg.”” He clatte red away. “Willie Figg,” he told himself, “appears to me to be just the kind of a fellow that could get twelve miles out of a gallon of gas where I could get only five. I don’t doubt his statement at all. Willie is quite a hustler.” He set himself to work in real earnest on the farm. Sometimes he was with Ben- wall, sometimes with Bellows, often alone, undertaking some job that had to be done. For the first few days Bellows laughed each time he saw him appear in his blue overalls. Then he stopped laughing. “Jane,”’ he said to his wife, “‘I believe he means business—he’s keepin’ at it.”’ “T know he means business—I can tell,” returned Jane. ““What’s the big idee, Jane—him with all that money?” “‘T have no idee, Vachil,” replied Jane. One morning he drove across to Deck- ard’s farm. He spent the entire day with the poultry man and when he returned he brought with him an armful of books. These he began reading, busying himself with them every night until a late hour. Once he was absent four days, traveling about the country with Deckard, visiting poultry farms, and one whole week he spent at Deckard’s farm, working as a hand with the other men. The buildings Bill Benwall had started to construct began to take form and soon one of them was finished. Deems painted it himself. “Getting along!’’ he chuckled as he stood back and surveyed his work with a critical eye. “Getting along fast! Got to make it go! And I will!” Not infrequently he stopped for a few moments’ talk with Rebecca Stoneman. That she was always glad to see him was manifest from the friendliness of her greet- ings; that she liked the young man there could be no doubt. But always after he had left her she would shake her head and sometimes as she talked to him there would come that hint of a glare in the gray eyes behind the steel-rimmed glasses. Two weeks, three weeks and four had passed since Julia Hadley’s departure for New York, and then one day Rebecca Stone- man casually remarked to him that she was expecting her niece to return in a few days. (Continued on Page 106) ee ce ree

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a — — Seem in — = | ! | | ng en a gy ce EE It Cleans Three Ways @ THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Suction or Bristle Brush or Rubber Brush ANY housewives prefer to do certain cleaning jobs by suction alone. Where this is desired you simply and quickly remove either of the two Premier brushes and you have a suction cleaner. Only in the New Premier can you get this and the two brush methods in one cleaner. Two Interchangeable Brushes For all ordinary cleaning you have the patented brush with the human-like rubber fingers. It picks up thread, lint and litter without destructive wear. It opens up the nap of your carpets and rugs so that the strong suction can remove the dust and dirt that collects deep in the fabric. The special tufted Premier bristle brush shakes out the deep seated dust and grit. It removes handfuls of dirt from rugs and carpets you thought were ‘clean. The two brushes are interchangeable. Both are motor- driven. It requires but a moment to change or remove them entirely. See a Demonstration With rubber-tired casters, light in clean the way you prefer. You have POCUOURTEE \eGeDGUHUUU ME LeRRARORRG' Doei ge ie This is Premier's patented brush with many rubber fingers—the sensation in cleaning methods, Premier Vacuum Cleaner Co., Limited Toronto, Canada a [EC ee eee | a ee ee) ee ee ee | ee 12 1) ee i ee ee ei weight and easy running, you daily clean every room in the house without the slightest effort. And the Premier attachments en- able you to clean upholstery, pillows, hangings and the hard-to-get-at places. Thus with the New Premier you Nee MODEL 19 THREE cleaners in ONE. Visit the nearest store where Premier Cleaners are sold. Arrange for a demonstration in your own home. Run the Premier yourself. Be con- vinced before you buy. Write us today for a copy of Mrs. Helen Ruggles’ book—‘‘ Household Efficiency.” ELECTRIC CLEANER Electric Vacuum Cleaner Co., Inc., Cleveland, Ohio (Formerly the Frantz-Premier Co.) Exclusive Canadian Distributors, Canadian General Electric Company, Limites loronto, Ontario Se ome 8 ee Oe ee ee ae ee 103 1 EE Se Cee ae | BS oe) ee — 2»~ be | 2 i a ee) ee ee) he This right bri It ge ay 1 and Branche i. ES Ri a a ES ee eee | ee 8 on aS

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104 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 6,1920 i WW TeTrT Try . | Copyright 1920, by The Goodyear Tire & Rubber Co.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 105 ‘Phink What Punishment They Stand Have you ever considered how much depends upon the tubes in the tires of a racing car? No matter how staunch a casing may be, it cannot with- stand the punishment inflicted by the track unless the tube, also, is flawless. During the American racing season of 1919, every important race of fifty miles or more, on speedway and road, was won on Goodyear Cord Tires. While that is splendid tribute to the Goodyear Cord Tire, it is also proof conclusive of the superior quality of Goodyear Tubes. As you know, Goodyear Heavy Tourist Tubes, just as the Goodyear Tubes so favored by racers, are made of pure gum strips, 4a//t up /ayer-upon-layer. Their cost is but little more (an average of sixty cents) than the cost of tubes of lesser merit. Do you consider it economy to risk a costly casing to save so small a sumP Goodyear Heavy Tourist Tubes come in a water-proof and otl-proof bag. Get them from your Goodyear Service Station Dealer. More of them are used than any other kind. SSASIMW. 135 /635 WM. | page a sth ‘ “bs iia a Gib Los e 7 gh a ¥ 3% Y € veg : +s Ea aT S&S

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Continued from Page 102) “You will be glad to see her back, no doubt,” he said. “I suppose you have found that caring for three hundred chick- ens is no small task. ‘By the way, I can take away my two dozen any time now— one of my coops 1s completed and ready.” Oh, now that Julia is coming back perhaps you should wait and let her make the selection. She knows more about the birds than I do.” Deckard paid him a visit about this time. “Stanwood, you're going to have a fine place here,” said the poultry man, looking about approvingly. “Your location is really better than mine and you have natural advantages that I have not. Your plan for utilizing those two big springs is a good one. Are you still determined to in- crease your capacity to a thousand birds?” “No, I have abandoned that thought— temporarily anyway,”’ replied Deems some- what uneasily, “That's the ng way to look at it—go slow, go slow. I’ve been in Oakland sev- eral times lately and Jt don’t see Philip Thawson, Is he aw: Ly. : “The colonel went to New York a little while before I came out here. I have heard from him but once,” replied Deems. Deckard coughed. “ Ah—Stanwood, I don’t want to intrude on your private affairs, but I’ve come to have a very friendly feeling toward you and I'd just like to whisper in your ear that you can’t trust Philip Thawson too fear. I’ve known him—and I've known of him for several years—and I have heard some queer tales about him. Take my advice and keep a watchful eye on your own in- terests. This is quite confidential, you know.” “Thank you, Mr. Deckard,” stammered Deems, reddening as he spoke. “Yes, I understand—I'll not repeat your words,” A shipment of fencing wire had arrived at Oakland and was needed at the farm. Bellows could not quit his work to go after it. Deems said he would go for it. Bellows hitched up the bony, knock-kneed team, which he had sold with the farm, to the ramshackle wagon he had thrown in with the team and Deems drove to Oakland and Coming back, as his sorry outfit crept slowly along, an auto horn sounded behind him. He pulled his team to the right of the road and a huge gray car rolled past. It was a Cellini, a gray Cellini, the Cellini he had lost to Willie Figg. Willie Figg was now driving it and Julia Hadley sat by his side. Willie Figg waved a greet- ing as he swept by; the girl did not look up. “Willie, in the matter of conveyances you've got me badly beaten,” Deems said aloud as he gazed after the big gray car. At the jackknife bend in the road before the Stoneman house he drove more slowly if that were possible—but he saw no one, The Cellini stood by the front gate with its engine purring. “Not getting along so rapidly in some directions,” he muttered. He looked at the huge Cellini, then he looked at his sorry team. “But I'll get those chickens to- morrow !”” The next morning, dressed in his blue overalls, which were now beginning to show signs of hard usage, he tied his bony ani- mals in front of the house, took a coop from the wagon box and carried it to the poultry yards back of the barn, The girl was there feeding her speckled flock. Good morning, Miss Hadley. I’ve come for the chickens, You see, I am keeping my word—TI told you I would buy some stock from you and that I would start a chicken farm.” She smiled. “T thought you were joking that day. And you are re vally ‘going to raise chickens?” “Indeed I am!” “What for?” “What for? Everybody question. I must have something to do, Miss Hadley—I can't loaf always. And now that I have made the start I am more interested in my work than I can say. Under no circumstance would I drop it.’ Just then Miss Rebecca, coming to the door of her kitchen, heard voices, She looked out. “Well, I must say!” she exclaimed. And she walked hastily out to the poultry yard. “Mr. Stanwood is here after the chick- ens, aunt,”’ said the girl, “Perhaps you should introduce us.” “That hardly seems necessary. Good morning, Mr. Stanwood. Shall I help you, Julia?”’ got the fencing. asks me that THE SATURDAY The twenty-four fowls were caught, ex- amined and put into the coops, and Deems wrote a check for the amount agreed upon. ‘Are you coming out to see my farm, Miss Hadley?” “Oh, I want to,” she replied. “rl run in for you to-morrow in the The ap. “But I wouldn’t have you leave your work. Willie Figg will take me out.” “Yes, and then I can go too—I want to see the farm,”’ interrupted Miss Rebecca, “That will be better, I suppose,” said Deems doubtfully. “Then I'll expect you to-morrow afternoon.” Julia Hadley clapped her hands when the following day she stood looking at the group of long, low, white buildings to which Bill Benwall and his men were giving the final touches. “Oh, what a place to raise chickens!” she cried. “‘ What an ideal place! You have followed exactly the plan I had in mind, Mr. Stanwood, when I thought I might some day buy this farm.” “If I had known you wanted it—if I had dreamed of such a thing—I certainly would not have bought it. It was the fault of that depraved Thapsacus of mine—it ran me in here just as it ran me into your barn.” “How is the old scow anyhow?” asked Willie Figg, who had driven the two women out in the Cellini and who now stood look- ing the place over with a cold dead eye. “Next to the farm and those Yanconas I bought from Miss Hadley, it is my choic- ” laughed Deems. ‘How is ” ” est posse: -gsion, the battle cruise r? “There she is,”” said proprietary hand. “Well, you're welcome to it, Mr. Figg. I wouldn't want anything here but a Thap in this kind of a place and in this kind of work. It gets me about.” “Look, aunt, there are my chickens the ones I sold! Aren't they beauties? And how much better they show off here than they did in our small crowded yards! When will you get your large flock? Mr. Deckard told me you were buying from him.” “About the middle of September. I ex- pect to have everything completed here by that time.” I must come to see them. What a sight it will be! Willie, you’ve got another trip to make out here. Willie isn’t interested in eccwmy farms,”” laughed the girl. “His 10bby is automobiles.” From among his newly painted buildings Deems watched the gray car dropping down the lane to the road. “This Willie Figg person somewhat dis- turbs my equanimity, I'll have to admit,’ he told himself. “But Willie or no AL illie, she’s the girl! I wasn’t mistaken! And Willie or no Willie, I say it is Fate that is sitting at the steering wheel of my des- tiny! Watch me!” “What do you think now my chances are to own the Bellows farm, aunt?” asked Julia as they rode back to Pickleburg. “They don’t seem to be particularly bright, Julia,” replied her aunt. “But tell me this, child—what is he doing it for?”’ The girl did not reply. She looked away over the fields beyond the road and a rosy flush spread over her cheeks. Suddenly she spoke: “Willie Figg, you’ve got to give this car back to Mr. Stanwood! You didn’t come by it—well, honestly. You know you didn’t! You ought to be ashamed to flaunt it before him as you do!” “You haven't refused to ride in it, Jule,” said Willie over his shoulder, “And the bet was bona fide—-we shook hands on it. Anyhow, what’s a car like this to him— with all his money‘ “T don't care, you’ ve got to give it back to him.” “I wish he had it back—honest, I do!’ growled Willie. “It’s breaking me up buy- ing gas for it and keeping it in repair. He can have it if he'll give me the Thap.” And he went to Deems and offered to ex- change cars. ““Not much!” declared Deems. “I made the bet with my eyes open—you won, I’d be a prize piker, wouldn't I, to take that ear back now? And I don’t want it any- way! The Thap suits me just now.” “Well, somebody is going to have that Cellini pretty soon,” grumbled Willie. Bill Benwall had completed his work; he had been paid in full and he had taken his men and his tools and gone. But Deems found that his expenses did not stop with the builder’s going. There was equipment Wiilie, waving a EVENING POST to purchase, a lot of equipment—feeders and nests and crates, drinking vessels, water heaters, troughs, markers—it called for a greater outlay of cash than he had expected. He had not lost the habit of spending with a free hand and too often he spent injudiciously, buying things he could have done without. He wanted to duplicate Deckard’s equipment. In a moment of en- thusiasm he had ordered an electric-lighting system installed that he might give the laying hens longer feeding hours in the short days of winter and so force them to produce more eggs. It had cost him close to a thousand dollars. September was approaching, when he would have to pay over to Deckard twenty- five hundred dollars. September had come, and he looked at his bank balance to find it dwindled to a dangerously low figure. He went to Calvin Snanks. “I’m too busy to go to the bank to draw my pay these days, Mr. Snanks,” he laughed. ‘Could you let me have about three thousand dollars on my farm for a short period?” Calvin Snanks mused for a few moments. “Well, I reckon I could let you have twenty-five hundred, Mr. Stanwood, for a while.” He prepared ashort-term note secured by a first mortgage. Deems signe od the papers. “If you will, Mr. Snanks,”’ he said, wish you would consider this little trans- action a matter between me and you—sub rosa, you know.” Notary Snanks shut one eye and looked at the young _ with the other. “Not a word,” he chuckled. At the bank the cashier looked curiously at Deems as he took Calvin Snanks’ check “Where’s Philip Thawson?”’ he asked. “‘We haven’t seen him for a long while.” “The colonel is in New York—or he was the last time I heard from him.” Coming back, he stopped at Rebecca Stoneman’s, On one excuse and another he was a frequent caller there now. He went to consult Julia Hadley on some question of poultry husbandry, to carry to her some new book or journal he had received, to make some inconsequential report about the stock he had purchased from her, to ask her advice in regard to some part of his construction work at the farm. Rebecca Stoneman was in despair. “Yes, indeed—what is he doing it for?”’ she complained. ‘‘Who couldn’t answer that question now? But I'll never consent to Julia’s—if it should come to that of course. I'll prevent it in some way! It must not be! If he only didn’t have that money!” Tn-t day when Deems left his car and entered the yard he saw Julia’s sunbonnet moving about in the poultry runs. He hastened to join her. He found her mak- ing ready to toe-mark a hundred young chickens. “I'll help you do that,’ “T need the experience.” He took off his coat fence. “Why, look how you've torn your coat!” she exclaimed. “Oh, that’s an old coat I picked up and put on this morning. I'd forgotten it was torn and I didn’t notice it until I was on my way to town. I'll have to ask Mrs. Bellows to mend it for me.” The work occupied them more than an hour. When it was finished and he was preparing to go he said: ‘‘ Well, to-morrow is the big day—Deckard comes to-morrow morning with the flock of Yanconas.”’ “That will be an interesting event. I want to come out—I must see them just as soon as possible. I'll come to-morrow afternoon.’ “* Make it the day after to-morrow, won’t you? I shall be busier to-morrow all day than I ever was before in my life, I suppose. Shall I come for you in the Thap?” “Oh, no, Willie Figg will take me out.”’ “Darn Willie Figg!” She stepped back “Why, Mr. Stanwood!” she exclaimed. “Oh, now, I beg your pardon, Miss Hadley! I—I’'m alittle bit excited to-day, I'm afraid. Forget the explosion, please, but I can’t say I didn’t mean it. You'll come then day after to-morrow in the afternoon?” ““Yes—perhaps,” she said slowly. He went away, forgetting to take his coat. She picked it up and looked at it and a smile played about her lips. “T’ll mend it,” she whispered. She carried it into the house and sat down at her work table. Then she heard * he said and hung it on the March 6,1920 her aunt approaching. She tossed the gar- ment behind a door and as she did so a folded piece of paper fell from a pocket. Miss Stoneman passed on through the room. Julia noticed the piece of paper lying on the floor. Wondering what it was, she picked it up, unfolded it and in an in- stant—before she realized that she was reading a private letter—her eyes had taken in the four lines the note contained: “Your fortune is gone—there is nothing left. I played the market with your money to make a million and—I lost. Workman & Wilmot, Wall Street, will give you details.” She started, her hands began to tremble and her face paled. Suddenly a_ flush spread over her cheeks and tears welled to her eyes. She looked at the note again, saw Thawson’s scrawled signature and read the date. “Tt was the week I went to New York!” she murmured. “All this time! And he is trying to make his own way!” She brought the coat from behind the door and just for a moment she held it against her flushed cheek. Then she sat down to mend the rent. She had all but finished when she stopped and stared at the note lying on the table before her. Then she folded it up to a small size, slipped it into the torn opening and sewed it in. The second day after she went with Willie Figg and her aunt to Deems’ farm, where she spent the entire afternoon look- ing at the great flock of Yanconas which Deckard had delivered there the day be- fore. And that evening Deems found his coat in the back part of the Thapsacus. He saw that the rent had been sewed up and he wondered where he could have left it that Mrs. Bellows could have found it and mended it. He had been busy before, ever since he had come to the farm, but now he found his work more than doubled. From early morning until late at night he worked in and about the poultry yards and runs and among his more than five hundred fowls. Bellows was busy in the fields getting in late crops and could not assist him. And there came new demands for money. Feeds must be bought and mixed—and what a lot of feed five hundred fowls consumed! There were shell and grit and charcoal and meat scrap and alfalfa to purchase, and disinfectants and tonics and medicines. With dismay he watched his increasing ex- pense account and his dwindling bank be uli ance. “Hundreds for outgo but not a cent of income!” he sighed. And income he had not —the few eggs he was gathering each day counted as nothing. The molting season had come and the hens were not laying. “Tt will cost you at least one hundred and fifty dollars a month to feed them,” Deckard had told him, “if you feed them right, and you must feed them right if you expect to get results. Stuff them, but stuff them with the right stuff—be sure of that. Give them all the 2y want and everything they need. They’ ll pay you back and something over. Would the molting season never end? Eat, eat, eat! Gobble, gobble, gobble! By the pailfuls he threw out the high-priced feeds to the ever-hungry fowls; purchased more high-priced feed and threw that out to them. Eat, eat, eat! He began to hate the gobbling birds. Buy, buy, buy! Would it never end? Was he never to have a crate of eggs to sell? His enthusiasm was lagging, doubts were beginning to rise within him. Rebecca Stoneman first noticed the signs. “Tt’s coming,” she told herself. And she was surprised to find how little pleasure the thought brought to her. “Yes, he is nearly through with his venture in poultry rais- ing. To Julia one day he confessed that he wi as iosing hope: “Those chickens are going to eat me into the poorhouse. Jeremiah or Esau or someone of those old chaps was fed by ravens, but I’m to be devoured by Yan- conas!’’ “Oh, cheer up, Mr. Stanwood! Sit tight for a month longer and you’ll have cause to smile again. Don’t expect too much. One would think to hear you that it really matters whether your hens lay or just lay round. That's the poultry man’s joke par excellence, Mr. Stanwood. Have you heard it before?” (Conctuded on Page 109)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 107 a | | leanne , f Finer Work shi | A Car Of Finer Workmanshit « “HE enthusiastic reception whi hhas gine asa foundation, with the inspiration Phe Grant S in short, a summ ) greeted the new Grant Sixeverywhere toward finer workmanship that grew out up of all th palit which ! has marked this beautiful light six as of war work, Grant Six engineers wet owners demand—beauty, light | \ one of the notable cars of the season. in a position to give America what 1s cmer. feuibility. enced at nl ae kew cars have so a curately forecast the unlve rsally conceded to be the’most beau Yer My i car of ‘iiietiae tedly modcfrat trend of public favor as the Grant Six. tful, the most completely refined light 7. , Yet the qualities which make the S'* [tt the season has brought forth. - ere? —— my | | Grant Six so popular are obvious enough. Eindemneaths the beautibal beady of dh Five Passenger Pouring Car, $1,595 | For several years it has been impe sible to pew Grant Six there is a splendid chass Three Passenger Roadster, $1,595 mistake the growing preferenge for hight = which is nearly mechanically perfect Five Passenger Sedan, $2,450 weight, the increasing demand for lively, Only those who are familiar with the Four Passenger Coupé, $2,450 ae eager power, and above all'for distinctive — mechanical details of many cars car All prices f. o. b. factory. beauty. really appreciate how sincerely and with | With the experien » gained in build what infinite care Grant engineers hav Grad | ing thousands of light sixes, with the re worked out their mast rpiece, thi pre markable Grant Six overhead valve en- ent model. } GRANT MOTOR CAR CORPORATION, CLEVELAND

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March 6,1920 108 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST EMERSO DANCE HI Ess; ’ Toe-teasing Emerson dance “ hits’ the ‘“‘encore’’ kind SAYS MISS AMERICA: “IT love a sparkling one-step; a waltz I can’t refuse. Fox-trots sweep me off my feet and hyp- notize my shoes. They set my heart aflutter— I simply can’t keep still—so dance I must and dance I shall, until I get my fill. If you would like to listen to some dance hits most entrancing, you'll find the Emersons below expressly made for dancing.” Yes— Emerson dance hits are made expressly for dancing. The time is perfect and the tunes defy ‘‘sitting-out.’”” Emerson dance numbers are played | by musical combinations famous for their under- . . e ‘ | standing of the three R’s of dance music— time, tune and accent. Ask any Emerson dealer to | play for you these and other irresistible Emerson dance hits. And as you listen, note how they **register’’ with your feet. No. 10131 Dardanella Fox-trot Plantation Jazz Orchestra | Make Your Trombone Laugh Fox-trot Plantation Jazz Orchestra No. 10117 | That Naughty Waltz Waltz Green's Novelty Orchestra Little Blue Devil, Medley Fox-trot Green's Novelty Orchestra | No. 10120 Nobody Knows, Medley Fox-trot The Imperial Three You'd Be Surprised Fox-trot Emerson's Military Band No. 10121 Dardanelle Fox-trot Sanford’s Famous Dance Orchestra O (Oh!), Medley Fox-trot The Imperial Three No. 10116 Weary Blues Fox-trot Louisiana Five Down Where the Rajahs Dwell Fox-trot Louisiana Five No. 10111 Roly Boly Eyes, Medley Fox-trot Emerson's Military Band See-Saw, Medley Fox-trot Emerson's Military Band EMERSON PHONOGRAPIH CoO., Inc. The new Emerson * Emerson 5 Records Makers of Gold Seal ““measure Rec up" Standard 10-inch Gold Seal Records Also records in foreign languages 10-inch diameter ords full 4 big money's worth— a big Music’s-worth ee

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ee | it | j | ; | (Concluded from Page 106) He went away happier than he had been for several days. The mood lasted but a brief period. “One would think that it really mat- ters!” He repeated her words as gloom descended upon him again. “If she but knew the facts!” Another month showed no better re- sults. Two hundred early-hatched pullets from which he was expecting much went into a late molt; the cheaper grade of feed which he was using he had purchased it against Deckard’s advice—proved to be more than unsatisfactory; a score or more of his hens sickened and died of some mysterious disease that Deckard himself could not name. And he was gathering but three or four dozens of eggs a day. Expenses, expenses, expenses! He could not check them. The fowls had to be fed and Bellows had tobe paid and little bills and big bills—they were rolling in upon him all the while—had to be met. And there was Calvin Snank’s short-term note was about to fall due! He wondered if Snanks would extend it. One day he questioned Bellows about Snanks. Bellows laughed. ‘Cal Snanks? Cal Snanks would sue his father for a buffalo nickel! He’d foreclose a mortgage on the most-widdered widder that ever was a widder! Steer clear of Snanks, Deems, whatever you do. Don’t have no money dealin’s with Cal Snanks.” Deckard? No, he wouldn’t ask Deckard for assistance—he didn’t want Deckard to know—he didn’t want anyone to know! The Farmers’ Bank? It would demand first-mortgage security, and Calvin Snanks had that already. Will Dalcott? Oh, he couldn't bring himself to do it! Maybe Calvin Snanks would extend the note, but he doubted. “‘In a few days, Calvin Snanks”—he was addressing an envisaged Snanks as he sat in his room one evening—“‘if Vachil Bel- lows has you properly characterized you're going to have your hooks on a mighty fine little chicken farm. I wonder if you know anything, Calvin?” Taking a borrowed crate back to Julia Hadley, Bellows paused at the gate for a few moments of conversation. “Oh, no, Jule, it’s not goin’ good up at the farm, but I reckon that isn’t disturbin’ Deems any. Somethin’, though, has put him down in the dumps. He’s awful blue- like, lately—not himself a-tall. I hap- pened to learn the other day that he’s borrowed twenty-five hunderd dollars from Cal Snanks and give him a mortgage note. I can’t figger out what he done it for—with all his money. It’s fallin’ due soon, too, and he doesn’t want to overlook it either and forget to pay up, or Cal will give him trouble—you know Cal Snanks, Jule. No, sir, I'm blamed, Jule, if I ever seen such a contrary bunch of hens as them hens up there. No eggs a-tall, Jule!” After Bellows had gone Julia stood star- ing at the ground, thinking hard. ' So he was going to lose! He was without funds with which to carry on—he couldn’t meet his note! And Calvin Snanks would foreclose she knew that. She went into the house and sat down, her brain still at work. How to help him—help him without his knowing that was the problem over which she pondered. When she had solved it she telephoned to Willie Figg. In a half hour Willie Figg and the Cel- lini were at the front gate. She hurried out to the car and told him she wished to go to Deckard's farm. She was in Deck- ard’s office but a few minutes. He followed her to the door as she came out. “7 will send for them, to-morrow, Miss Hadley,” he was saying. ‘‘Thank you for giving me the first chance after you had decided to sell.” “Now, Willie, I want to go to Oakland, she announced to the waiting go At Oakland she went to the National Bank, where she exchanged Dec kard’ s check for two thousand dollars for a New York draft for a like amount. This draft, to- gether with a short note which she wrote in the bank’s office, she mailed to James Stoneman in New York. Then she and Willie Figg went back to Pickleburg. Four days later the Farmers’ Bank at Oakland received a draft from New York for two thousand dollars, the anonymous sender of it instructing that it be placed to the credit of Deems Stanwood. The bank at once notified its client by telephone. Deems heard the announcement in amaze- ment. Then he chuckled. “It’s the colonel! He’s trying to make restitution! Poor old chap! He wasn’t a ” THE SATURDAY bad sort—he didn’t really intend to fleece me just a case of hard luck, that’s all. I wonder if he’s been following my career these past few months? He certainly gets the money to me in the nick of time. Two days more and I would have been in the clutches of Calvin Snanks if Calvin had decided to clutch.” He hurried to Oakland and drew a check for twenty-five hundred dollars, which he had certified. He left one dollar in the bank to hold his account open. “Cleaned out to the last simoleon!"’ he laughed as he went out of the bank. “I'll have to ask Vachil for a hundred or two 1.0 carry on with a little while longer. Then if there’s nothing doing I'll throw up the sponge and go down and strike Dalcott for a job.” He carried the check to the notary public. Mr. Snanks gave a disappointed “‘Humph!” as he received it. “Maybe you'd like to have the note renewed, Mr. Stanwood,” he suggested. “Oh, no, thanks—I’ll be in town fre- quently from now on marketing eggs, and I can do my banking any time.” And Deems climbed into his Thapsacus and shot away. Calvin Snanks gazed after him with one eye. “Wonder where he raised this?” he mumbled. ‘‘I thought Thawson had sheared him to the hide.” One evening not long after his paying off the note Deems hailed Bellows as his assistant came in from the fields. “‘How many do you think I gathered today, Vachil?” “Tell me quick, Deems!” “‘Fifteen dozen and four!” ae No!” “Yes!” And again a little later on he shouted to Bellows, ‘‘What do you suppose the score is to-day?” “Let's have it!” “Twenty dozen and a half!” “No!” “Yes!” “That’s almost up to a fifty per cent lay, eh, Deems? Good work!” The lay quickly went to fifty per cent to fifty-five per cent, to sixty. “There, Vachil, my friend, if we can hold it at sixty per cent through the winter we ‘ll be all right, won’t we? “You said somethin’ then, Deems! And the price of eggs is goin’ up—oh, no, eggs ain't goin’ up!” But the lay did not stop at sixty per cent—it moved steadily up to sixty-five, to seventy, to seventy-five. Julia Hadley clapped her hands at each report brought to her. “Why, I never heard of such returns from that kind of a flock as you are get- ting!" she cried. Deckard came over and expressed his surprise and pleasure. Bellows was jubi- lant. “Didn’t I tell you? Didn't I tell you? Didn’t I tell you that Yanconas was the big little layers and the little big eaters? You thought they was eatin’ their heads off, that they was loafers, when they was simply gettin’ in trainin’. They don’t eat half as much as Madagascar Whites. Say, boys!” With the shortening of the days the use of the electric lights in the houses had be- gun. Deems did not regret his expenditure of nearly a thousand dollars for the little plant. One day he gathered more than four hundred and fifty eggs. Every day either he or Bellows would go to Oakland with eggs, hauling them in the Thapsacus, which he had converted into a small truck. The eggs were white eggs and he was receiving five cents a dozen more for them than the shippers were paying for brown eggs. And the price of eggs climbed steadily up—fifty, fifty-five, sixty, seventy cents a dozen. Then at Deckard's advice EVENING POST he sought for and found a buyer in New York and thereafter shipped his eggs direct to the metropolis and received for them seventy-five cents net. One day as he was climbing into his car to start to Oakland with several crates of eggs Bellows remarked: “Say, Deems, did you know that one of our fellow Pickle- burgi ians is goin’ toge t married next week?” ‘No, who is it? “Willie Figg.” He started the Thapsacus so suddenly that a crate of eggs toppled from the load and crashed to the ground. He did not stop. “So this ends it!’ he muttered as he drove through Pickleburg. ‘Fate, eh? Seas separated us—and the side of a barn! Fate! What a splendid conspiracy of events it was that brought me here!" He laughed bitterly. Before the Stoneman cottage he saw the Cellini standing. “Oh, yes, it was fate—I don’t think!” He laughed again sardonically, with his heart in his breast as heavy as lead. At the freight station he met one of Deckard’s men whom he knew. The man was communicative. “Deckard says you've got him beat all hollow. You've put Deckard to guessin’. The only thing that keeps the boss from worryin’ himself sick, I guess, is them yillies he bought from Julia Hadley—he’s tickled silly about them.” “‘Did she selb those yillies?”’ said Deems in a surprised voice. “I didn’t know that. When was it?” “Oh, quite a while ago—say, it was November tenth. I remember now—that was my birthday and I had to go after them, and I wanted that day off.” Deems left the man. He was thinking hard. November tenth? Calvin Snanks’ note had fallen due on the seventeenth. The Farmers’ Bank had notified him on the fifteenth that it had received and placed to his credit two thousand dollars. The draft had come from New York. The cashier had shown him the brief note that had accompanied it. It was signed ‘ X.” He hurried to his car and started for Pickleburg, speeding the Thapsacus as it had never been speeded before. His head whirled. Willie Figg! Yancona yillies! Two thousand dollars! Calvin Snanks! His brain buzzed—above the humming of the motor he could hear it buzzing. Willie yillies! Yancona Figgs! Two thousand Snanks! His thoughts were jumbled, they rattled—above the rattling of the crazy Thapsacus he could hear them rattling. Before he knew it—he never knew it —he had come to the end of the brick road a half mile from Pickleburg. With a jump and a thump he landed in Rich County, jolted and joggled down a hill all humps and bumps, shuddered up a hill gullied and gorged by a thousand rains, bounced and jounced over four hundred yards of demacadamized high- way, and so came to the bounds of Pickle- burg, where the road makes a jackknife bend to the left. He was going forty miles an hour when he arrived there; he had checked his speed to fifteen miles when he struck the side of Miss Renecca Stoneman’s barn. Tom Trickle, when he repaired it, had strengthened it not a bit. It yielded before the lunge of the Thapsacus and toppled inward and the little car rolled upon it and over it into the barn. Julia Hadley stood at the farther side of the building holding a Yancona rooster in one hand, a pair of scissors in the other. She had been clipping a highflyer’s wings. “‘Deems!” she cried, dropping the bird. Without a word he climbed out of the ear, strode across the short space that separated them, took her in his arms and kissed her, kissed her hard, kissed her full upon the lips. “Julia, you're not going to marry Willie Figg! Do you hear me? ‘You're going to 109 marry me!" And his voice was the voice of a masterful man. She gasped. “Willie Figg! Well, I should say I'm not going to marry Willie Figg! The idea! Willie Figg is to marry my cousin, Mattie Hadley, at Balsamville next week!” She tried to release herself from his arms. ‘Let me go! I never gave you PS ‘Julia, where are those Yancona yillies? You sold them to Deckard, didn’t you?” She made no reply. “*He gave you two thousand dollars for them, didn’t he? What did you do with that two thousand dollars? You sent it to that cousin of yours in New York, didn't you? Told him to send it to the Farmers’ Bank and instruct the bank to place it to my credit, didn’t you?” No answer. “So that I could pay off Calvin Snanks’ note. And you did this because you loved me—wasn't that it? Answer me!” And still his voice was the voice of a masterful man. She looked up at him, slipped her arm about his neck and laughed. res, Deems, it was.” They were walking through the yard to the house, her hand tightly held in his, when suddenly he stopped. “But why, Julia—why did you do that when you knew I had so much money? Tell me that.” “Oh—I just did it.” “Listen, girl! Would it make a differ- ence with you—would you be greatly dis- appointed if I-told you that I don t possess all that money that everyltody thinks I have? If I told you that everything I have in the world is that chicken farm out yon der and that scrubby little Thapsacus there in the barn?” “Not the least bit of difference, Deems. I knew it.’ “You knew it? But you couldn’t! No- body knew about it but the colonel, myself and some Wall Street brokers, who prob- ably forgot all about it the next day. What do you mean? She was carrying in her hand the scissors with which she had been clipping the wings of the highflying rooster. She took hold of his coat and began to snip at some threads in a mended place “Oh, now, Julia, that won't do! Stop! I've got to make this coat do for everyday wear for a long while yet!”’ “These are my stitches—I think I can cut my own stitches if I wish to!" She continued snipping the threads until the old rent was partly open. She inserted her fingers and drew out a folded piece of paper, which she opened and gave to him. “The colonel’s letter!’’ he exclaimed “Why, I burned that with the other trash the day I moved!” “No, you didn’t, Deems. It was in this coat and it fell out the day you left it here, and I picked it up and read it. Before I knew I was reading a private letter I had seen what it contained—it was so short. I thought of destroying it—I could not think of ob mye. it to you and I was so afraid somebody else would get hold of it—and then I sewed it up in your coat. “And it made not a bit of difference?” “‘Deems, until to-day that was the hap- piest day of my life. For I knew Aunt Rebecca would never give her consent to my marrying you so long as you had so much money. It was money, Deems—too much money that was the cause of her life being made bitter.” ‘Yes, I think I know about that. And do you suppose she will ‘‘Deems, I know she adores you.’ “Then I will go in and break the news, You wait here for me.” He went into the house. Ten minutes, fifteen minutes—then he came back. “Julia, I have seen some angry women in my life, but I never saw quite so angry a woman as Aunt Rebecca is. She’s having tantrums in there.” ‘Why, Deems, what in the world — ‘She's pouring out the vials of her wrath on the colonel for fleecing me out of my inheritance. She says it’s the most shame- ful thing she ever heard of. Wants me to start off right now to hunt the poor old boy down and try to recover something and send him to the penitentiary. But she'll calm down in a little while. Shall we run out to the farm for an hour or two?” “Oh, yes, that will be lovely. Bring the car out of the barn while I go for my hat and coat. And, Deems, you'd better prop up that wall in some fashion so the chickens won't get out in the road.”

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wea = i gg eae So, — ee EN ei gna Ee Ty ta REE THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ii! Master in Motor and Style Hudson 1s Creator of Distinctive Body Designs and the Exclusive Super-Six Motor, Which Added 72% to Power O other fine car is so well regarded by so many people, as the Hudson Super-Six. The proof is everywhere about you. More than 85,000 are now in service and for five years it has been the world’s largest-selling fine car. You will see more Hudson closed, and chauffeur-driven cars on Fifth Avenue than of any other make. Observe its pre- dominance in any assemblage of fine cars. Each body type is noted for handsome appearance and the completeness of every detail. Hudson created new standards of beauty. All know how its leadership is acknowledged. But Hudson’s chief appeal must always be in performance. What Car Can Match Hludson’s Proofs? F any car disputes Hudson’s claim to leadership in speed, endurance, hill-climbing or acceleration, it has not been by official proof. Hudson history is written in the records of the greatest speed and endurance tests known. When it came, when all engineers were seeking ways to reduce motor vibration, Hudson solved the problem through the patented Super-Six motor which added 729% to power and almost doubled efficiency. No weight or cylinders were added. The simplicity of the Six was retained. Why We Tried the Speedway HE Super-Six established its leadership in these qualities by every avenue open to such proof. It became the most famous speed car, winning all important stock car speed records, and with special cars embodying the Super-Six prin- ciple, won distinction in all championship speedway events. But it was not to prove speed that these tests were made. Hudson merely established its speed qualities in the development of its value as a reliable, enduring car, such as you want. The Super-Six Motor is Exclusive ND remember, it was chiefly through endurance, made possible by its exclusive motor that Hudson won these victories. Such tests crowd scores of miles into one. ‘They impose a strain that could be equalled in ordinary driving, only by years of use. These records are three, four and five years old. Yet they have never been matched. And the Hudson of today is even a better car because of what they taught. Its 3500-mile run, both ways across the continent in 10 days and 21 hours, and the 24-hour run of 1819 miles, equalling the distance from New York toa point west of Denver showed ways in which to improve the Super-Six. These Tests Helped Build the Present Hudson EW metal compositions resulted from these experiences. Ways to overcome faults common to all cars were dis- covered, Owners have helped. They gave information that led to the elimination of faults common to all cars. But not the slightest change has been made in the Super-Six principle, for no way has been found to improve it. And because Hudson has found no rival in performance in the five years since it began its record winning career, its leader- ship of sales has been unbroken among the world’s fine cars. Hudson production has always been under the demand. This year shows a repetition of the shortage of former years. Immediate deliveries for the most part are out of the question. So to get a Hudson at all this summer calls for early decision. HUDSON MOTOR CAR COMPANY DETROIT, (3016) PTTL UU ALU PTTL MUL WL CL MICHIGAN UU CU

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was intensified to a clatter and John said, “It’s turned to hail. There'll be snow by morning.’ The girl thought he wet end cold out come up to the barn. John smiled. “‘He can care His shelter will turn this, easy. come if he wanted to come.”’ His tone was friendly and Ruth asked, watching him, “You like Mr. Danvers, don’t you?” “Yes,” John told her. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly; “I like the man.” What pain the from her ey es altoge ther a little disappointed. She had not wanted John to like Danver and yet she loved the man. She must love him; she had longed for him so. Thinking of him as she sat here with her mending in her lap she felt again that unaccountable pang of loneliness. And the girl looked sidewise at John. John was watching the little flame that showed through the grate in the front of the stove. He seemed to pay no heed to her, After a while “He'll ought to of Danvers. In this He for himse If. ls cost him he hid yruel wo she was, V Ruth said she would go to bed; and she put away her basket of mending, set her chair in place by the table and went to the door that led toward her own room, John still sitting by the stove had not turned, She stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him. There was a curious yearning in her eyes. By and by she said softly, ‘‘Good night, John.’ ’ He got up from toward her and stood there, Ruth,” he answered. She did not close the door between them; and after a moment, as though without his own volition, his feet moved. He came toward her, came nearer where she stood. She did not know whether to stay or to go. The girl was shaken, unsure of herself, afraid of her own impulses. And then she remembered that she loved Danvers, must love him. And she stepped back and shut the door slowly between them, Even with the door shut she stood still, listening; and she heard John turn, go back to his chair and sit down, She wasswept by an un- accountable wave of angry disappointment. And the girl turned into her room and with quick sharp movements loosed her garments and put them aside and A herself ready for bed, She blew out the light and lay down. But her eyes were wide open, and she was wholly without desire to sleep. And by and by she began to ery, for no reason she could name, She was oppressed by a terrible weight of sor- row, indefinable. It was as though this great sorrow were in the very air about her. It was, she thought once gropingly, as though someone near her were dying in the night. Once before lept she heard Evered moving to and fro in his room, ad- joining hers, John had no heart sleep that night. He sat in the kitchen alone for a long time; and he went to bed at last, not because he was sleepy, but because there was nothing else to do. He put wood in the stove and shut it tightly; there would be some fire there in the morning. He put the cats into the shed and locked the outer door, and so went at last to his room. The man tn- dressed slowly and blew out his light. When once he was abed the healthy habit of his lusty vouth put him quickly to sleep. He slept with scarce a dream till an hour before dawn, and woke then, and rose to dress for the morning's chores. From his window, even before the light came, he saw that some wet snow had fallen during the night. When he had made the fire in the kitchen and filled the kettle he put on his boots and went to the barn, There were inches of snow and half-frozen mud in the barnyard. It was cold and dreary in the open, A little snow fell fit- fully now and then. Within the barn the sweet odors that he loved greeted him. The place steamed pleasantly with the body warmth of the his chair, and turned **Good night, she THE SATURDAY EVENING POST EVERED (Continued from Page 25 cattle and the horse stabled there; and he heard the pigs squealing softly, as though in their sleep, in their winter pen at the farther end of the barn floor. He lighted his lantern and hung it to a peg and fed the stock —a little grain to the horse, hay to the cows, some cut-up squash and a basketful of beets to the pigs. As an after- thought he gave beets to the cows as well. John worked swiftly, cleaned up the horse’s tall and the tie-up where the line of cows was secured, After he was done here he fed the bull, the red bull in its strong stall; and while the creature ate he cleaned the place and put fresh bedding in upon the floor. The bull seemed undisturbed by his presence; it turned its great head now and then to look at him with steady eyes, but there was no ugliness in its movements. When he had finished his work John stroked the great creature’s flank and shoulder and neck for a moment. He said under his breath, right, old boy. You're all right. clever, by golly. Clever as a cow.” When Fraternity says a beast is clever it means gentle and kind rather than shrewd, The bull seemed to understand what John said, or what lay in his tone. The great head turned and pressed against him, not roughly. John stroked it a minute more, then left the stall and took a last look round to be sure he had forgotten nothing, and then went to the hous se. Day was coming now; there was a ghostly gray light “You're all You're It Was No More Thana Fifthofa Second That John Evered Stopped Within the Gate of the Pen in the farmyard. And the snow had turned, for the time, to a drizzling, sleeting sprinkle of rain. In the kitchen he found Ruth moving about; and she gave him the milk pails and he went out to milk. There were only three cows giving milk at that time. Two would come in in December; but for the present milking was a small chore. John was not long about it, but by the time he had fin- ished and returned to the kitchen breakfast was almost ready. Evered had not yet come from his room. Ruth half whispered; ‘‘ He was up in the night. I think he’sasleep. I’m going to let him sleep a while.” John nodded. “Allright,” he agreed. **He’s so tired,”’ said Ruth; and there was a gentleness in her tone which made John look at her with some surprise. She had not spoken gently of Evered for months past. They separated the milk and gave the cats their morning ration and then they sat themselves down and breakfasted. When they were half done Ruth saw that day was fully come, and blew out the lamp upon the table between them. It left the kitchen so bleak and cheerless, however, that she lighted it again. “T don’t like a day like this,” “Tt’s ugly. Everyth ing is ugly. me nervous, somehow. She shivered a little and looked about her as though she felt some fearful thing at her very shoulder. John, more phlegmatic watched her in some bewilderment. Ruth was not usually nervous. They had not heard Evered stirring; and all that morning they moved on tiptoe about their work. John forbore to split wood in the shed, his usual task on stormy days, lest he waken his father. Ruth han- dled the dishes gently, careful not to rattle them; she swept the floor with easy strokes that made but little sound. When Evered came into the kitchen, a little before noon, she and John looked at the man with quick curiosity, not knowing what they would see, They saw only that Evered’s head was held a little higher than was his custom of late; they saw that his eyes were sober and clear and thoughtful; they marked that his voice was gentle. He had dinner with them, speaking little, then went back to his room. Soon after dinner Danvers came to the door. Ruth asked him in, but the man would not come. John was in the barn; and Ruth, a little uneasy and afraid before this man, wished John were there. She asked Danvers, right, last night?” He said he had been comfortable; that he had been able to keep dry. He had come on no definite errand. “‘] just—wanted to see you,” he said. Ruth made no reply, because she did not know what to say. Danvers asked, “‘Are you all all right here?”’ “Why, yes,” she told him. He looked to right and left, his eyes unable to meet hers. ‘‘Is Evered all right?” he asked. She felt the tension in his voice without understanding it. ‘‘ Yes,”’ she said uncertainly; and then: “Why?” He tried to laugh. “Why, nothing. Where’s John?” Ruth told him John was in the barn and Danvers went out there. Ruth was left alone in the house. Once or twice during the afternoon she saw John and Danvers in the barn door. They seemed to be doing nothing, sitting in the shelter there, whit- tling, smoking, talking slowly. She felt the presence of Evered in his room, a presence like a brooding sorrow. It oppressed her. She became nervous, restless, moving aimlessly to and fro, and once she went to her room for something, and found herself crying. She brushed away the tears impatiently, unable to understand. But she was afraid. There was something dreadful in the very air. At noon the wind had turned colder and for a time the sleet and rain altogether ceased. The temperature was dropping; crystals of ice formed on the puddles in the barnyard, and the patches of old snow which lay here and there stiffened like hot metal hardening in a mold. Then with the abrupt and surprising effect of a stage transformation snow began to come down from the lowering, driving clouds. This was in its way a whole-hearted snowstorm, in some contrast to the miserable drizzle of the night. It was fine and wet, and hard- driven by the wind. There were times when the barn, a little way from the house, was obscured by the flying flakes; and the trees beyond were wholly hidden behind a veil of white. Ruth went about the house making sure that the windows were snug. From a front window she saw that the storm had thinned in that direction. She was able to look down into the orchard, which lay a little below the house, sloping away toward North Fraternity. The nearer trees were plain, the others were hidden from sight. she said. It makes “Were you all March 6,1920 The driving wind plastered this wet snow against everything it touched. One side of every tree, one side of every twig assumed a garment of white. The windows which the wind struck were opaque with it. When Ruth went back to the kitchen she saw that a whole side of the barn was so com- pletely covered by the snow blanket that the dark shingling was altogether hidden. Against the white background of the storm it was as though this side of the barn had ceased to exist. The illusion was so abrupt that for a moment it startled her. The snow continued to fall for much of the afternoon; then the storm drifted past them and the hills all about were lighted up, not by the sun itself but by an eerie blue light, which may have been the sun refracted and reflected by the snow that was still in the air above. The storm had left a snowy covering upon the world; and even this white blanket had a bluish tinge. Snow clung to windward of every tree and rock and building. Even the clothesline in the yard beside the house was hung with it. At first, when the storm had but just passed, the scene was very beautiful; but in the blue light it was pitilessly, bleakly cold. Then distantly the sun appeared. Ruth saw it first indirectly. Down the valley to the southward, a valley like a groove between two hills, the low scurrying clouds began to lift; and so presently the end of the valley was revealed, and Ruth was able to look through beneath the screen of clouds, and she could see the slopes of a distant hill where the snow had fallen lightly, brilliantly illumined by the golden sun—gold on the white of the snow and the brown and the green of grass and of trees. Mystically beautiful—blue sky in the dis tance there; and, between, the sun-dappled hills. The scene was made more gorgeous by the somber light which still lay about the farm. Then the clouds lifted farther and the sun came nearer. A little before sunset blue skies showed overhead, the sun streamed across the farm, the snow that had stuck against everything it touched began to sag and drop away; and the dripping of melt- ing snow sounded chee rfully in the stillness of the late afternoon. Ruth saw John and Danvers in the farm- yard talking together, watching the skies. They came toward the house and John bade her come out to see. The three of them walked round to the front, where the eye might reach for miles into infinite vis- tas of beauty. They stood there for a little time. The dropping sun bathed all the land in splendor; the winds had passed, the air was still as honey. Earth was become a thing of glory beyond compare. They were still standing here when they heard the hoarse and furious bellow of the great red bull. xvi VERED had not slept the night before. There was no sleep in the man. And this was not because he was torn and agon- ized; it was because he had never been so fully alive, so alert of mind and body. Danvers’ accusation had come to him as no shock; Danvers’ proof that his wife was loyal had come as no surprise. He had ex- pected neither; yet when they came it seemed to the man that he must have known they would come. It seemed to him that all the world must know what he had done; and it seemed to him that he must always have known his wife was—his wife forever. His principal reaction was a great relief of spirit. He was unhappy, sorrowful; yet there was a ong ease and solace in his very unhappiness. For he was rid now, at last, of doubts and of uncertainties; his mind was no more beclouded; there were no more snadows of mystery and question- ing. All was clear before him; all that there was to know he knew. And—his secret need no longer be borne alone. Danvers knew; it was as though the whole world knew. He was indescribably relieved by this certainty. He did not at first look into the future at all, He let himself breathe the present. He came back to the farm and ate his supper and went to his room; and there was something that sang softly within him. It was almost as though his wife waited for him, comfortingly, there. Physically a little restless he moved about for a time; but his mind was steady, his thoughts were calm. (Continued on Page 115)

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— gee” PRT ae cna oe ee THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Why 40,000 in 6 months chose BlueBird BlueBird’s proved ability to wash its copper tubful of clothes in fifteen minutes or less, without harming a thread of the most delicate fabric, is only partly re sponsible for adding, in the last six months, 40,000 to the list of BlueBird owners. Even more influential has been the fact that BlueBird not only provides fifty-two happy washdays a year, but assures them for many years. Ihe entirely rigid, solid construction of BlueBird, and its tub of thick copper, are visible evidence for years of untroubled washday service. But perhaps even more important is the corps ol BlueBird-trained service men, whose sole duty it is to see that BlueBird unfailingly surpasses what its many thousands of enthusiastic owners tell their friends to expect. The torty thousand new BlueBird owners are more than any electric clothes washer has ever won in a like period BlueBird dealers are daily reporting hundreds of additions to them Have the BlueBird dealer in your locality demonstrate BlueBird for you~ and tell you about the plan of convenient payments by which you can immediately begin to enjoy the benefits of BlueBird superiority for an initial payment of seven dollars See these BlueBird superiorities : Hand et teabin wi ig, rigid tra ‘ \ x at ’ ‘ 1 Larne ve le wring i" « ‘ t r 4 ‘ ad r \ i le p ! t ically for high rt weal ’ “ ‘ i for t Washes by perfect rock abye a u ke most thorough way Highest grade ¢ ' powert Jependablie, absolut "ly water Built tur a lile-time of service; ealta proot BlueBird Appliance Co., St. Louis, U. S. A. Branches: Chicago, New York, Boston WASHER

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114 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 6,1920 .'THE MENACE Fi RE K ¢ i} : \3 y oe oy 4 Fee se & Nh eerll Ae 3 AY | HIS Red Menace hangs over your factory, store or home every day in the year. You cannot see it, but it is there awaiting an opportunity to strike. Rising costs make its threat constantly more dangerous. Insure suthciently with the Hartford Fire Insurance Company, and let us help you to do everything possible to prevent fire. Thus you will be doubly protected. If fire comes you will be promptly reimbursed. If it does not come you will have that feeling of security that only dependable insurance gives. The Hartford’s Fire Prevention Service — practical and valuable to the highest degree — is free to policy holders. Insure with the ‘‘Hartford’’ agent in your town or any broker, but insist on getting a ‘‘Hartford’’ policy. Hartford Fire Insurance Co. Hartford Conn. The Hartford hire lusurance Co, and The Hartford Accident and Indemnity Co. write practically every form of insurance except life, ee cr Es —— re a tt et - - -- —

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{ (Continued from Page 112) His thoughts were memories, harking backward through the years. Evered was at this time almost fifty years old. He was born in North Frater- nity, in the house of his mother’s father, to which she had gone when her time came near. Evered’s own father had died weeks before, in the quiet fashion of the country- side. That had been on this hillside farm above the swamp, which Evered’s father had owned. His mother stayed upon the farm for a little, and when the time came she went to her home, and when Evered was a month old she had brought him back to the farm again. She died, Evered remembered, when he was still a boy, nine or ten years old. She had not married a second time, but her brother had come to live with her, and he survived her and kept the farm alive and producing. He taught Evered the work that lay before him. He had been a butcher, and it was from him Evered learned the trade. A kind man, Evered remembered, but not over wise; and he had lacked under- standing of the boy. Evered had been a brilliant boy, active and wholly alive, his mind alert and keen, his muscles quick, his temper sharp. Yet his anger was accustomed to pass quickly, so that he had in him the stuff that makes friends; and he had friends in those days. Still in his teens he won the friendship of the older men, even as he dominated the boys of his own age. He and Lee Motley had grown up almost together. There had always been close sympathy between these two. When he was nineteen he married, in the adventurous spirit of youth, a girl of the hills; a simple lovely child, not so old as he, married her gayly, brought her home gayly. There had been affection between them, he knew now, but nothing more. H> had thought himself heartbroken when, their boy child still a baby, she had died. Buta year later he met Mary MacLure, and there had never been any other woman in the world for him. Evered’s memories were very vivid; it needed no effort to bring back to him Mary’s face as he first saw her. A dance in the big hall halfway from North Frater- nity to Montville. She came late, two men with her; and Evered saw her come into the door. He had come alone to the dance; he was free to devote himself to her, and within the half hour he had swept all others aside, and he and Mary MacLure danced and danced together, while their pulses sang in the soft air of the night, and their eyes, meeting, glowed and glowed. Fraternity still talked of that swift hot courtship. Evered had fought two men for her. And that fight was well remembered. He had fought for a clear field, and won it, though Mary MacLure scolded him for the winning, as long as she had heart to scold this man. From his first moment with her Evered had been lifted out of himself by the emotions she awoke in him. He loved her hotly and jealously and passionately; and in due course he won her. Not too quickly, for Mary MacLure knew her worth and knew how to make herself dear to him. She humbled him, and at first he suffered this, till one night he came to her house when the flowers were abloom and the air was warm as a caress. And at first, seated on the steps of their porch with the man at her feet, she teased him lightly and provokingly, till he rose and stood above her. Something made her rise too; and then she was in his arms, lips yielding . his, trembling to his ardent whi ispers. For long minutes they stood so, conscious only of each other, drunk with the mutual eestasy of conquest and of sur- render, tempestuously embracing. They were married, and he brought her home to the farm above the swamp, and because he loved her so well, because he loved her too well, he had watched over her with jealous eyes, had guarded her. She became a recluse. An isolation grew up about them. Evered wanted no human being in his life but her; and when the ardor of his love could find no other vent it showed itself in cruel gibes at her, in reckless words. Youth was still hot in the man. He and Mary might have weathered this hard period of adjustment, might have come to a quiet happiness together; but it was in these years that Evered killed Dave Riggs, a thing half accident. He had gone forth that day with bitterness in his heart; he had = led with Mary, and hated him- self for it; and hated by proxy all the world THE SATURDAY besides. Riggs irritated him profoundly, roused the quick anger in the man. And when the hot clouds cleared from before his eyes Riggs was dead. A thing that could not be undone it had molded Evered’s soul into harsh and rugged lines. It was true, as he had told Danvers, that he had sought to make some amends; had offered help to the dead man’s wife, first openly, and then—when she cursed him from her door—in secret, hidden ways. But she left Fraternity and took her child, and they lost themselves in the outer world, So Evered could not ease his conscience by the reparation he longed to make; and the thing lay with him always through the years thereafter. A thing fit to change a man in unpleasant fashion the killing had shaped Evered’s whole life—to this black end that lay before him. The man during this long night alone in his room thought back through all the years; and it was as though he sat in judgment on himself. There was, there had always been a native justice in him; he never deceived his own heart, never pal- liated even to himself his own ill deeds, There was no question in his mind now. He knew the thing he had done in all its ugly lights. And as he thought of it, sitting beside his bed, he played with the heavy knife which he had carried all these years. He fondled the thing in his hand, eyes half closed as he stared at it. He was not con- scious that he held it. Yet it had become almost a part of him through long habit; and it was as much a part of him now as his own hand that held it. The heavy haft balanced so familiarly. The night, and then the day. A steady calm possessed him. His memories flowed smoothly past, like the eternal cycle of the days. The man’s face did not change; he was expressionless. He was sunk so deep in his own thoughts that the turmoil there did not disturb his outward aspect. His countenance was grave and still. No tears flowed; this was no time for tears. It was an hour too deep for tears, a sorrow beyond weeping. During the storm that day he went to the window now and then. And once in the morning he heard the red bull bellow in its pen; and once or twice thereafter, as the afternoon drove slowly on. Each time he heard this sound it was as though the man’s attention was caught and held. He stood still in a listening attitude, as though wait- ing for the bellow to be repeated; and it would be minutes on end before his eyes clouded with his own thoughts again. It would be easy to say that Evered dur- ing this solitary night and day went mad with grief and self-condemning, but it would not be true. The man was never more sane. His thoughts were profound, but they were quiet and slow and unperturbed. They were almost impersonal, There is in most men—though in few women—this power to withdraw out of one’s self or into an inner deeper self; this power to stand as spectator of one’s own actions. It is a manifestation of a deeper, more remote con- sciousness. It is as though there were a man within a man. And this inner soul has no emotions. It is rng by love or passion, by anger or hatred, by sorrow or grief, by hunger or by thirst. It watches warm caresses, it hears ardent words, it sees fierce blows, and listens to curses and lamentations with the same inscrutable and immutable calm. It can approve, it can condemn; but it neither rejoices nor be- moans. It is always conscious that the moment is nothing, eternity everything; that the whole alone has portent and im- portance. This inner self has a depth beyond plumbing; it has a strength un- shakable; it has understanding beyond be- lief. It is not conscience, fcr it sets itself up as no arbiter of acts or deeds. It is simply a consciousness that that which is done is good or evil, kind or harsh, wise or foolish, This calm inner soul of souls might be called God in man. Evered this day lived in this inner con- sciousness. As though he sat remote above the stream he watched the years of his memories flow by. He was, after the first moments, torn by no racking grief and wrenched by no remorseful torments and burned by no agonizing fires. He was with- out emotion, but not without judgment and not without decision. He moved through his thoughts as though to a definitely ap- pointed and pre-determined end. A strange numbness possessed him, in which only his mind was alive. He did not pity himself; neither did he damn himself. He did not pray that he EVENING POST might caneel all the past, for th inner knew the past could never be canceled. He simply thought upon it, wit! grave ar d sober consideration, When his thoughts evidenced themselves in actions it was done slowly, and as though he knew not what he did. He got up from where he had been sitting and went to the window and looked out. The snow had ceased; the sun was breaking through. The world was never more beautiful, never more gloriously white and clean. The man had held in his hands for most of the day that heavy knife of his. He put it now back in its she: ith. Then he took ofl his shirt and washed himself. There was no fire of purpose in his eye; he was utterly calm and unhurried. He put on a clean shirt. It was checked blue and white. Mary Evered had made it for him, as she was accustomed to make most of his clothes. When it was buttoned he drew his belt about him and buckled it snug. Then he sat down and took off his slippers—old, faded, rundown things that had eased his tired feet night by night for years. He took off these slippers and put on hobnailed shoes, lacing them securely. When this was done the man stood for a little in the room, and he looked steadily before him. His eyes did not move to this side and that; there was no suggestion that he was taking farewell of the familiar things about him. It was more as though he looked upon something which other eyes could never see. And his face lighted little; it was near smiling. There was peace in it. I do not believe that there was any deadly purpose in Evered’s heart when he left his room. Fraternity thinks so; Fra- ternity has never thought anything else about the matter. He took his knife, in its sheath—that is proof enough for Frater- nity. “He went to do the bull, and the bull done him.”’ That is what they say, have always said. It does not occur to them that the man took the knife because he was a man; be- cause it was not in him to lay down his life supinely; because battle had always been in his blood and was his instinct. It does not occur to them that there was in Evered’s mind this day the purpose of atonement, and nothing more. For Fraternity had never plumbed the man, had never under- stood him. No matter. No need to dig for hidden things. Enough to know what Evered did. He went from his room into the kitchen. No one was there. Ruth and John and Danvers were outside in front of the house. Thus they did not see him come out into the barnyard and go steadily and surely across and past the corner of the barn, till he came to the high-boarded walls of the red bull's pen. He put his hand against these board walls for a moment, with a gesture not un- like that of a blind man. One watching would have supposed that he walked un- seeingly or that his eyes were closed. He went along the wall of the pen until he came to the narrow gate, set between two of the cedar posts, through which it was possible to enter. Evered opened this gate, stepped inside the pen and shut the athe behind him. He took half a dozen paces forward, into the center of the inclosure, and stood still. The red bull had heard the gate open; and the creature turned in its stall and came to the door between stall and pen. It saw Evered standing there; and after a moment the beast came slowly out, mov- ing one foot at a time, carefully, like a watchful antagonist —came out till it was clear of the stall; till it and the man faced each other, nct twenty feet apart. After a moment the bull lowered its great head and emitted a harsh and angry bellow that was like a roar. COUSCLOUSIIESS xx HE beauty of the whole world in this hour should be remembered. Houses, trees, walls, shrubs, knolls—all were over- laid with the snow blanket inches deep. It had been faintly blue, this carpet of snow, in the first moments after the storm passed, and before the sun had broken through. When the sun illumined the hill about the farm the snow was dazzling white, blinding the eye with a thousand gleams, as though it were diamond dust spread all about them. Afterward, when John and Danvers and Ruth had passed to the front of the house to look across the valley and away, the sun descending lost its white glare; its rays took on a crimson hue. Where they struck 115 the snow fairly it was rose pink; where hadows lay the blue was coming back again. The air was so clear that it seemed not to exist, yet did exist as a living, pulsing color which was all about —faint, hardly to be seen, Che three stood silent, watchir gz all thi Ruth could not have spoken if she had wished to do so; she could searce breathe Danvers watched unseeingly, automatically, his rr busy elsewhere, John stood still, and his eyes were narrowed and hi face was faintly flushed, either by the sun's light or by the intoxication of beauty which was spread before him. And they were standing thus when there came to them through the still, liquid air the bellow of the bull. John and Ruth reacted automatically to that sound. They were accustomed to the beast; they could to some extent distir guish between its outcries, guess at its moods from them. Its roaring was always frightful to an unaccustomed ear; but they were accustomed to it, were disturbed only by some foreign note in the sound They both knew now that the bull was murder ously angry. They did not know, had no way of knowing what had roused it. It might be a dog, a cat; it might be that one of the cows had broken loose and was near its stall; it might be a pig: it might be a hen; it might be merely a rat running in awkward loping bounds across its pen They did not stop to wonder; but John turned and ran toward the pen, and Ruth followed him, stumbling through the soft snow. Danvers, to whom the bull's bellow had always been a frightful sound, was startled by it, would have asked a question When he saw them run round the house he followed them. John was in the lead but Ruth was swift footed and she was at his shoulder when he reached the gate of the pen. The walls of the inclosure and the gate itself were so high that they could not look over the top. But just beside the main gate there was a smaller one, like a door; too narrow and too low for the bull to pass, but large enough fora man. John fumbled with the latch of this gate; and his moment's delay gave the others time to come up with him. When he opened the way and stepped into the pen Ruth and Danvers were at his shoulder Thus that which was in the pen broke upon them all three at once —a picture never to be forgotten, indelibly imprinted on their minds. The snow that had fallen in the pen was trampled here and there by the feet of the bull and by the feet of the man, and in one spot it was torn and tossed and crushed into mud, as though the two had come together there in some strange match- ing of strength. At this spot too there was a dark patch upon the snow; a patch that looked almost black. Yet R uth knew what had made this patch, and clutched at her throat to stifle her sere and John knew, and Danvers knew. And the two men were sick and shaken. At the other side of the pen, perhaps a dozen long paces from where they stood, Evered and the bull faced each other Neither had heard their coming, neither had seen them. They were, for the fraction of a second, motionless. The great bull head was lowered; its red neck was streaked with darker red where a long gash lay. From this gash dripped and dripped and spurted a little stream, a dark and ugly stream. The man, Evered, stood erect and still, facing the bull. They saw that he bore the knife in his left hand; and they saw that his right arm was helpless, hanging in a curiously twisted way, bent backward below the elbow. f The sleeve of his checked shirt was stained there, and his hand was red His shoulder seemed somehew distorted Ye he was erect and strong, and his face was steady and curiously peaceful, and he made no move to escape or to flee An eternity that was much less than a second passed while no man moved, while the bull stood still. Then its short leg seemed to bend under it; its great body hurtled forward. The vast bulk moved quick as light. It wa upon the man They saw Evered strike, lightly, with his left hand; and there was no purpose be hind the blow. It had not the strength to drive it home. At the same time the ma: leaped to one side, sliding his blade dow: the bull’s shoulder; leaped lightly and surely to one side. The bull swept almost past the man, as the great head showed beyond him. Concluded on Page 118

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116 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 6,1920 DURATEX HIGHEST QUALITY The Upholstery That is Wear-Proof for the Whole Life of Your Car HE fact that Duratex actually does last longer is by no means the only cause for its preference. Of course the longer life and better wear of Duratex is its chief title to superiority. But in Duratex, Science has rewarded years of patient research for a process that would include every one of the elements essential to a better upholstery. Duratex is a genuine material, processed by original methods. It is the product of an insti- tution that has been making fine leathers for fifty years. It is as tough as a pig’s skin and of tremen- dous tensile strength. Yet because it is pliable and soft in texture, it will not crack or stiffen. Look for the Duratex Gold Label. ce DUR. MAIN OFFICE ANDWORKS NEWARK.N.J. SS, It actually withstands, without fading, the fiercest rays of the sun. Rain or snow will not hurt it a particle. You can keep its fine appearance fresh and clean for the life of the car with soap and water. Duratex not only wears longer and gives better service. It retains its beauty against deterioration during the period of that service. That is why Duratex is now being used on thousands of motor cars. We firmly believe it will pay you to antici- pate your own ultimate use of Duratex by verifying at first hand these facts about its betterment. We simply ask you to observe closely the increasing friendliness you are going to find among motor car owners towards this better upholstery. It is a Guarantee of Genuine Quality BA COMPANY President BRANCH OFFICE BOOK BUILDING DETROIT. MICH. — ee ee = —— et

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Concluded from Page 115) Then the head swung back and struck Evered in the side, and he fell, over and over, rolling like a rabbit taken in midleap by the gunner’s charge of shot. And the red bull turned as a hound might have turned, with a speed that was unbelievable. Its head, its forequarters rose; they saw its feet come down with a curious chopping stroke-—apparently not so desperately hard—saw its feet come down once, and twice upon the prostrate man It must be remembered that all this had passed quickly. It was no more than a filth of a second that John Evered stopped within the gate of the pen. Then he was leaping toward the bull, and Ruth followed him. Danvers crouched in the gate, and his face was white as death. He cried, ‘Come back, Ruth!"" And even as she ran after John she had time to look back toward Danvers and see him cowering there. John took off his coat as he ran, took it off with a quick whipping motion. He swung it back behind him, round his head. And then as the bull’s body rose for an- other deadly downward hoofstroke John struck it in the flank with all his weight. He caught the beast off balance, so that the bull pivoted on its hind feet, away from the fallen man; and before the great creature could turn John whipped his coat into its face, lashing it again and again. The bull shook its great head, turning away from the blinding blows; and John caught the coat about its head and held it there, his arms fairly round the bull’s neck. He Was shouting, shouting into its very ear. Ruth even in that moment heard him. And she marked that his tone was gentle, quieting, kind. There was no harshness in it, She needed no telling what to do. John had swung the bull away from Evered; he had the creature blinded. She bent beside the prostrate man and tried to drag him to his feet, but Evered bent weakly in the middle. He was conscious, he looked up at her, his face quite calm and happy; and he shook his head. He said, “Go.” The girl caught him beneath the shoul- ders and tried to drag him backward through the soft snow across the pen. It was hard work. John still blinding the bull, still calling out to the beast, was working it away from her. She could not call on him for help; she turned and cried to Danvers, “ Help me earry him.” Danvers came cautiously into the pen and approac hed her and took her arm. “Come away,” he said. Her eyes blazed at him; again, “Carry him out.” He said huskily, “Leave him. him here. Come away.” She had never released Evered’s shoul- ders, never ceased to tug at him. But Danvers took her arm now as though to pull her away; and she swung toward him so fiercely that he fell back from her. The girl began abruptly to cry; half with anger at Danvers, half with pity for the broken man in her arms. And she tugged and tugged, sliding the limp body inch by inch toward safety. Then she saw John beside her. He had guided the bull, half forcing, half per- suading, to the entrance into the stall; he had worked the creature in, prodding it, urging; and shut and made secure the door. Now he was at her side. He knelt with her. “He's terribly hurt,” she said through her tears. John nodded, her. and she cried Leave “I'll take him,” he told THE SATURDAY So he gathered Evered into his arms, gathered him up so tenderly, and held the man against his breast, and Ruth supported Evered’s drooping head as she walked be- side John. They came to the gate and it was too narrow for them to pass through. So Ruth went through alone, to open the wider gate from the outside. She found Danvers there, standing uncer- tainly. She looked at him as she might have looked at a stranger. She was hardly conscious that he was there at all. When he saw what she meant to do he would have helped her. She turned to him then, and she seemed to bring her thoughts back from a great distance; she looked S him for a moment and then she said, “Go away! ag He cried, “Ruth! Please She repeated, - want you to go away. Oh,” she cried, “go away! Don’t ever come here again!” Danvers moved back a step, and she swung the gate open so that John could come through, and closed it behind him, and walked with him to the kitchen door, sup- porting Evered’s head. Danvers hesitated then followed them uncertainly. When they came to the door Ruth opened it, and John—moving sidewise so that his burden should not brush against the door frame—went into the kitchen, and across. Ruth passed round to open the door into E vered’s own room; and John went through. When he reached the bedside and turned to lay Evered there he missed Ruth. He looked toward the kitchen; and he saw her standing in the outer doorway. Danvers was on the steps before her. John heard Danvers say something pleadingly. Ruth stood still for a moment. Then John saw her slowly shut the door, shutting out the other man. And he saw her turn the key and shoot the bolt. She came toward him, running; and her eyes were full of tears. They laid Evered on his own bed, the bed he and Mary Evered had shared. Ruth put the pillow under his head; and because it was cold in the room she would have drawn a blanket across him. John shook his head. He was loosening the other gar- ments, making swift examination of his father’s hurts, pressing and probing firmly here and there. Evered had drifted out of consciousness on the way to the house; but his eyes opened now and there was sweat on his forehead. He looked up at them steadily and soberly enough. “You hurt me, John,” he said. Ruth whispered, “I'll telephone the doctor.’ Evered turned his head a little on the pillow and looked toward her. “No,” he said, ‘‘no need.” “Oh, there must be!”’ she cried. must be! He can ”” Evered interrupted her. ‘Don’t go, Ruthie. I want to talk to you.” She was crying; she came slowly back to the bedside. The sun was ready to dip behind the hills. Its last rays coming through the window fell across her face. She was somehow glorified. She put her hand on Evered’s head, and he—the native strength still alive within him—reached up and caught it in his and held it firmly there- after for a space. “You're crying,” he said. “T can’t help it,” she told him. “Why are you crying?” he asked. “ Because I'm so sorry for you.” A slow wave of happiness crept into his eyes. “You're a good girl, Ruthie. You mustn’t ery for me.” “There EVENING POST She brushed her sleeve across her eyes. “Why did you do it?” she asked almost fiercely. “‘Why did you let him get at you?” “You've been hating me, told her gently. “Why do me?” “Oh,” she told him, “ now. I don’t hate you now. He said weakly, ‘ You've reason to hate me. Ruthie,” he you cry for I don’ t hate you No, no!"’ shesaid. ‘ Don’t be unhappy. You never meant you 4 d Mary.’ “Aye,” he agreed, loved Mary. I loved Mary, and John i. you.” She was sitting on the edge of the bed, John standing beside her; but she did not look up at him. Her eyes were all for Evered. Please,’ the doctor.” His head moved slowly in negation. “Something to tell you, Ruth, first —before the doctor comes.” She looked toward John then, for de- cision or for reassurance. His eyes answered her; they bade her listen; they told her there was no work for the doctor here. So she turned back to Evered again. He was speaking slowly; she caught his words, bending above him. It was thus that the man told the story at last, without heat or passion, neither sparing himself nor condemning himself, but as though he spoke of another man. And he spoke of little things that he had not been conscious of noticing at the time —how when he took down his revolver to go after the bull the cats were frightened alse from him; howas he passed through the barnyard the horse whinnied from its stall; how he was near stumbling over a ground sparrow’s nest in the open land above the woodlot; how a red squirrel mocked at him from a hemlock as he went on his way. It was as though he lived the day over while they listened. He told how he had come out above the spring; how he saw Mary and Dane Semler there. “T believed she loved him,” he said. And Ruth cried, “Oh, she never loved anyone but you.”” Shewas not condemning, she was reassuring him; and he understood, his hand tightening on hers. “I know,” he said. “And my unbelief was my great wrong to Mary; worse than the other.” He went on steadily enough. ‘‘ There was time,” he told her. ‘I could have turned him, stopped him, shot him. But I hated her; I let the bull come on.” The girl scarce heard him. His words meant little to her; her sympathy for him was so profound that her only concern was to ease the man and make him happier. She cried, ‘ Don’t, don’t torment your- self! Please, I understand.” “I killed her,”’ he said. And as one would soothe a child, while the tears ran down her cheeks she bade him never mind. “There, there. Nevermind,” she pleaded. “T killed her, but I loved her,”’ he went on implacably. And he told them something of his sorrow afterward, and told them how he had stifled his remorse by telling himself that Mary was false; how he had kept his soul alive with that poor unction. He was weakening fast; the terrific battering which he had endured was having its effect upon even his great strength; but his voice went steadily on. Ife came to Danvers, came to that scene with Danvers the night before, by thespring; * she said, ‘Rest. Let me get March 6,1920 and so told how Danvers had proved to him that Mary was—Mary. And at last, as though they must understand, he added, “So then I knew.” They did not ask what he knew; these two did understand. They knew the man as no others would ever know him—knew his heart, knew his unhappiness. There was no need of his telling them how he had passed the night, and then the day. He did not try. Ruth was comforting him; and he watched her with a strange and wistful light in his eyes. ““You’ve hated me, Ruthie,” he reminded her. “‘Do you hate me now?” ” There was no hate in her, nothing but a sorrow for the “oe No, *” flooding sympathy and broken man. She cried, “You're forgiving “Yes. Please—please know. “Then Mary will,’’ he murmured half to himself. Ruth nodded, and told him, she will. Please, never fear.” For a little while he was silent, while she spoke to him hungrily and tenderly, as a mother might have spoken; and her arms round him seemed to feel the man slipping away. She was weeping terribly; and he put up one hand and brushed her eyes. “Don’t cry,” he bade her. “It’s all right, don’t cry.”’ “T can’t help it. I don’t want to help it. Oh, if there was only anything I could do.” He smiled faintly; and his words were so husky she could scarcely hear. “Go to John,” he said. She held him closer. ‘‘ Please —— ‘Please go to John,” he urged again. She still held him, but her arms relaxed a little. She looked up at John, and saw the young man standing there beside her. And a picture came back to her—the pic- ture of John throwing himself against the red bull’s flank, blinding it, urging it away. His voice had been so gentle, and sure, and strong. She herself in that moment had burned with hate of the bull. Yet there had been no hate in John, nothing but gentleness and strength. She had coupled him with Evered in her thoughts for so long that there was a strange illumination in her memories now; she saw John as though she had never seen him before; and almost without knowing it she rose and stood before him. John made no move to take her; but she put her arms round his neck and drew his head down. Only then did his arms go about her and hold her close. There was infinite comfort in them. He bent and kissed her. And strangely she thought of Danvers. There had been something hard and cruel in his embrace, there had been loneliness in his arms. There was only gen- tleness in John; and she was not ba here. She looked up, smiling through her tears. “Oh, John, John!’’ she whispered. As they kissed so closely the warm light from the west came through the window and enfolded them. And Evered, upon the bed, wearily turned his head till he could see them, watch them. As he watched his eyes lighted with a slow contentment. And after a little a smile crept across his face, such a smile as-comes only with supreme happiness and peace. A kindly, loving smile. He was still smiling when they turned toward him again; but they understood at once that Evered himself had gone away. ” no. ” “Yes, yes; ” (THE END)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 121 “wp s%— of — BUSEY STA SING NNN SG SG SG TA ST NA STA TIGNES Se oe Se soele stl etge ot Nady aie Teer ef get 4k ae ek ge ekg eg ae . ‘ z DY DADA REE acy y . CP ee ed De A828 4° 88 . . es ei ee) apps sresh'S Be ‘ ss : 1" 7a es ell | oie BTS Set bates espa eioatescerey DRA SGP eis e where | Aa A] Al Mee Ae ee Ate | LE Aa | = rN | at oe , fe. 4 site eerenepezenapapersessenvecsssesecsesne : ITECIriniriiiti iit! ease PTiTiTitiititriririi reir ir The ideal way . is the way the of washing delicate things Eden washes everything rc) @ 3 The Sediment Zone makes cleaner washing | The Sediment Zone is one of the Eden’s exclusive features i ' The depression at the bot- tom of the tub is the Eden Sediment Zone—quiet wa ter which traps all dirt and makes Eden-washed things cleaner The Eden driving mech- anism is fully and safely enclosed and ws packed in solid grease, which does way with mussy oiling, The Eden Automati Clutch releases the motor if the washer or wringer is overloaded and prevent burnt-out motors and blown-out fuses —— that make Eden-washed things so spotlessly clean—so daintily laundered! As the gentle dip of the Eden re- leases the dirt from the clothes, all dirt particles settle in The Safety Interlocking ean the Sediment Zone, leaving the wash water clean and convenient locked poss sanitary. Dirty water cannot churn back and forth while swinging of swing Eden safety device | through your things in an Eden. This exclusive Eden feature is only one of the many which, com- bined, have made this washer exceptionally serviceable for home laundering. Any Eden Dealer will gladly show you the many good points of the Eden machine in a demonstration which will | neither cost you a cent nor in any way obligate you to buy. { t Ask about the Eden easy-payment plan by which you can practi- cally pay for your Eden out of its large cash savings. BROKAW-EDEN COMPANY 4 New Jorh { $/; Saint Louis Denver — Sanfrancisco i. ao j FACTORIES AT LOWELL MASS AND ALTON iLL TAA o-Aere [RO. SE SE SOO eae Let setetet 1% me - «he ern 1%, Set! ‘am — ew Neto aie | oy mc be am A ee _ - ' y2 oe * AGS sg le a hi ee eet LISI PP a eeeewewe Armco Rust-resisting Iron is Used in the Eden wu

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Whether or not hatred of dirt be inheritable | leave to biologists, merely noting two facts for their consideration: Susan's mother had hated dirt with an unappeas- able hatred; her nightly after-supper in sensate pursuit of imaginary cobwebs had been one of Bob's choicest grievances against her. And little Susan hated dirt in all its forms with an almost equal venom, but with a brain at once more active and more unreeling. She had good reason to hate it. She must either have hated it or been subdued to it. For five years, more or less, she had lived in the midst of dirt and suffered. It had seemed to her one of the inexpugnable evils of existence, like mos- quitoes, or her father’s temper, or the smell of Pearl's cheap talcum powder when warmed by the fumes of cooking cabbage. But gradually it came upon her that dirt only accumulated in the absence of a will to removal Once her outreaching mind had grasped without wordily formulating — this physical and moral law, her course was plain. Since the will to removal was dormant or missing in Pearl, she must supply it. Within the scope of her childish strength she did sup- ply it. Susan insists that it took her two years merely to overcome the handicap of Pearl’s neglect. Her self-taught a ae was faulty; proper tools were lacking. There was a bucket which when filled she could not lift; a broom that tripped her; high corners she could not reach— corners she had to grow up to, even with the aid of a chair. But in the end she triumphed. By the time she was thirteen —she was thirteen when I first saw her in the Eureka Ga- rage— Bob's four rooms were spotless six and one-half days out of every seven. Even Pearl, in her flaccid way, approved the change. “It beats hell,”’ she remarked affably to Bob one night, “how the ugly little monkey likes to scrub things. She's a real help to me, that child is. But no comp'ny. And she’s a sight.” ‘Well,” growled Bob, “‘she comes by that honest. So was the old woman.” They were annoyed when Susan, sitting bye them, for the first time within their mem- ory burst into flooding uncontrollable tears. I should probably in my own flaccid way have lost all track of Susan if it had not been for certain ugly things that hap- pened in Bob's four-rcom house one breathless evening— June twentieth of the year 1907. It is a date stamped into my consciousness like a notarial seal. For one thing it happened to be my birthday—my thirty-third, which I was not precisely celebrating, since it was also the anniver- sary of the day my wife had left me, two years before. Nor was I entirely pleased to have become, suddenly, thirty-three. I counted it the threshold of middle-age. Now that eleven years have passed, and the world’s futile pretense at peace with them, I am feeling younger This book is about Susan, but it will be simpler if you know something, too, con- cerning her scribe. Fortunately there is not much that it will be needful to tell. iv WAS— in those bad, grossly comfortable old days—that least happy of Nature's experiments, a man whose inherited in- come permitted him to be an idler, and whose tastes urged him to write precious little essays about precious little for the more precious reviews. My half-hearted attempt to practice law I had long aban doned. I lived in a commodious inherited mansion on Hillhouse Avenue—an avenue which in all fairness must be called aristo- cratic, since it has no wrong end to it. It is right at both ends, so, naturally, though broad, it is not very long. My grandfather toward the end of a profitably ill-spent life built this mansion of sad-colored stone in a somewhat mixed Italian style; my father filled it with expensive and unsightly movables—the spoils of a grand European tour; and I in my turn had emptied it of these treasures and refilled it with my own carefully chosen collection of rare furniture, rare Oriental carpets, rare first editions, and costly objets d’art. This collection I then anxiously believed and do still in part believe to be beautiful—though I am no longer haunted by an earlier fear lest the next generation should repudiate my taste and reverse my opinion. Let the auction rooms of 1960 decide. Neither in flesh nor in spirit shall I attend them. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE BOOK OF SUSAN (Continued from Page §) The tragi-comedy of my luckless marri- age I shall not stop here to explain, but its rather mysterious ending had at first largely cut me off from my old family friends and my socially correct acquaint- ances. When Gertrude left me, their sympathies, or their sense of security, went with her. I can hardly blame them. There had been no glaring scandal, but the fault was inferentially mine. To speak quite brutally, I did not altogether regret their loss. Too many of them had bored me for too many years. I was glad to rely more on the companionship of certain writers and painters which my scribbling had quietly won for me, here and in France. I traveled about a good deal. When at home I kept my rooms filled —often, in the horrid phrase, with “‘ visitors of distinction.” In this way I became a social problem locally, of some magnitude. Visitors of distinction—even when of eccentric dis- tinction—cannot easily be ignored in a university town. Thus it made it a little awkward perhaps that I should so often prove to be their host; a little—less on the whole than one would suppose. Within two years—just following Ballou’: brief stay with me, on his way to introduce that now forgotten nine days’ wonder, Poly- morphous Prose, among initiates of the Plymouth Rock Poetry Guild, at Boston— my slight remaining ineligibility was tacitly and finally ignored. The old family friends began to hint that Gertrude, though a splendid woman, had always been a little austere. Possibly there were faults on both sides. One never knew And it was just at this hour of social reéstablishment that my birthday swung round again, for the thirty-third time, and brought with it a change in my outer life which was to lead on to even greater changes in all my modes of thinking and féeling. Odd that a drunken quarrel in a four-room house toward the wrong end of Birch Street could so affect the destiny of a luxurious dilettante living at the very center of bonded respectability, in a man- sion of sad-colored stone on a short broad avenue which is right at both ends! Vv EVER in this world!” grumbled Bob Blake, bringing his malletlike fist down on the marble top of the parlor table. The blow made his half-filled glass jump and clinkle; so he emptied it slowly, then poured in four fingers more, forgetting to add water this time, and sullenly pushed the bottle across to Pearl. But Pearl was fretful. Her watery blue eyes were fixed upon the drumhead of the banjo, where it hung suspended above the melodeon. “I did so paint them flowers! And well you know it. What's the good of bein’ so mean? If you wasn’t heeled you'd let me have it my way. Didn't I bring that banjo with me?” “Hungh! What does that prove?” “I guess it proves somethin’, all right.” “Proves you swiped it, likely.” “Me! I ain’t that kind, thanks!” “The hell you ain't.” “If you're tryin’ to get gay, cut it out!” “Not me.” “Well, then—quit!” This was shortly after supper. It was an unusually hot, humid evening, doors and windows stood open to no purpose, and Susan was sitting out on the monolithic door slab, fighting off mosquitoes. She found that this defensive warfare partly distracted her from the witless inter- minable bickering within. Moreover, the striated effluvia of whisky, taleum powder and perspiration had made her head feel a little queer. By comparison the fetid breath from the exposed mud banks of the salt marsh was almost refreshing. Possibly it was because her head did feel a little queer that Susan began presently to wonder about things. Between her days at the neighboring public school and her voluntary rounds of housework Susan had not of late years had much waking time to herself. In younger and less crowded hours, before her father had been informed by the authorities that he must either send his child to school or take the consequences, Susan had put in all her spare moments at wondering. She would see a toad in the back yard, for example, under a plantain leaf, and she would begin to wonder. She would wonder what it felt like to be a toad. And before very long something would happen to her, inside, and she would be a toad. She would have toad thoughts and toad feelings. There would stretch above her a dim, green, balancing canopy—the plantain leaf. All about her were soaring translucent fronds—the grass. It was cool there under the plantain leaf; but she was enormously fat and ugly, her brain felt like sooty cobwebs, and nobody loved her. Still, she didn’t care much. She could feel her soft gray throat, like a blown-into glove finger, pulsing slowly —which was almost as soothing a sensation as letting the swing die down. It made her feel as if Someone—some great unhappy cloudlike Being—were mak- ing up asong, asong about most everything, chanting it sleepily to himself—or was it herself?—somewhere; and as if she were part of this beautiful, unhappy song. But all the time she knew that if that white fluffy restiessness—that moth miller—fluttered only a little nearer among those golden- green fronds, she knew if it reached the cool rim of her plantainshade, she knew then that something terrible would happen to her— knew that something swift and blind, that she couldn’t help, would coil deep within her like a spring and so launch her forward, open-jawed. It was awful—awful for the moth miller—but she couldn't not do it. She was a toad. And it was the same with her father. There were things he couldn’t not do. She could be—sitting very still in a corner—be her father when he was angry; and she knew he couldn’t help it. It was just a dark slow whirling inside, with red sparks flying swiftly out from it. And it hurt while it lasted. Being her father like that always made her sorry for him. But she wished, and she felt he must often wish, that he couldn't be at all. There were lots of live things that would be happier if they weren’t live things; and if they weren’t, Susan felt, the great cloudlike Being would be less unhappy too. Naturally, | am giving you Susan’s later interpretationsof her pre-schoolday wonder- ings; and a number of you mene, * gasp a little, knowing what firm, delicate imagin- ings all Susan Blake’s later interpretations were, if I should give you her pen name as well—which I have promised myself not to do. This is not an official study of a young writer of peculiar distinction; it is merely an unpretending book about a little girl I knew and a young married woman I still know—one and the same person. It is what I have named it—that only: The Book of Susan. Meanwhile, this humid June night—to the sordid accompaniment of Bob and Pearl snarling at each other half-drunkenly within —Susan waits for us on the mono- lithie door slab; and there is a new wonder in her dizzy little head. I can’t do better than let her tell you in her own words what this new wonder was like. “Ambo, dear’’—my name, by the way, is Ambrose Hunt; Captain Hunt, of the American Red Cross, at the present writ- ing, which I could date from a sleepy little village in Southern France—‘‘Ambo, dear, it was the moon, mostly. There was a pink bud of light in the heat mist way off beyond East Rock, and then the great wild rose of the moon opened slowly through it. Papa, inside, was sounding just like a dog when he’s bullying another dog, walking up on the points of his toes, stiff leggeds round him. So i tried to escape, tried to be the moon; tried to feel floaty and shining and beautiful, and—and remote. But I couldn’t manage it. I never could make myself be anything not alive. I've tried to be stones, but it’s no good. It won’t work. I can be trees—a little. But usually I have to be animals, or men and women—and of course they’re animals too. “So I began wondering why I liked the moon, why just looking at it made me feel happy. It couldn’t talk to me; or love me. March 6,1920 All it could do was to be up there, some- times, and shine. Then I remembered about mythology. Miss Chisholm, in school, was always telling us about gods and goddesses. She said we were children, so we could re-create the gods for ourselves, because they belonged to the child age of the world. She talked like that a lot, in a faded-leaf voice, and none of us ever understood her. The truth is, Ambo, we never paid any attention to her; she smiled too much and too sadly, without meaning it; and her eyelashes were white. All the same, that night somehow I remembered Artemis, the virgin moon goddess, who slipped silently through dark woods at dusk, hunting with a silvery bow. I loved the thought of Ar- temis from that moment. I began to think about her—oh, intensely !—always keeping off by herself, cool, and shining, and—and detached. She liked clean, open places, and the winds, and clear, swift water. What she hated most was stuffiness! That’s why I decided then and there, Ambo, that Arte- mis should be my goddess, my own pet god- dess; and I made up a prayer to her. I’ve never forgotten it. I often say it still: “Dearest, dearest Far-Away, Can you hear me when I pray? Can you hear me when I cry? Would you care if I should die? No, you wouldn’t care at all; But I love you most of all. “Tt isn’t very good, Ambo, but it’s the first rime I ever made up out of my own head. And I just talked it right off to Artemis without any trouble. But I had hardly finished it,when —— What had happened next was the crash of glassware, followed by Bob’s thick voice bellowing: “ ‘C’'m ba’ here! Tell yeh t’ ¢’m ba’ an’—an’ ’pol’gize!” Susan heard a strangling screech from Pearl, the jar of a heavy piece of furniture pee sca The child’s first impulse was to run out into Birch Street and scream for help. She tells me her spine knew all at once that something terrible had happened or was going to happen. Then, in an odd flash of hallucination, she saw Artemis poised the fleetingest second before her beautiful, a little disdainful, divinely un- afraid. So Susan gulped, dug her nails fiercely into her palms, and hurried back through the parlor into the kitchen, where she stumbled across the overturned table and fell, badly bruising her cheek. As she scrambled to her feet a door slammed to, above. Her father, in a gro- tesque crouching posture, was mounting the ladderlike stair. On the floor at the stair’s foot lay the parchment head of Pear|’s banjo, which he had cut from its frame. Susan distinctly caught the smudged pinks and blues of the nondescript flowers. She realized at once that her father was bound on no good errand. And Pearl was trapped. Susan called to her father, dar- ingly, a little wildly. He slued round to her, leaning heavily on the stair rail, his face green white, his lips held back by some evil reflex in a fixed appalling grin. It was the face of a madman. He raised his right hand slowly, and a tiny prismatic gleam darted from the blade of an opened razor—one of his precious set of six. He had evidently used it to destroy the banjo head, which he would never have done in his right mind. But now he made a shock- ing gesture with the blade, significant of other uses; then turned, crouching once more, to continue upward. Susan tried to cry out, tried to follow him until the room slid from its moorings into a whirl- pool of humming blackness. That is all Susan remembers for some- time. It is just as well. What she recalls next is an intense blare of light rousing her from her nothingness like trumpets. Her immediate confused notion was that the gates of hell had been flung wide for her; and when a tall black figure presently cut across the merciless rays and towered before her she thought it must be the devil. But the intense blare came from the head lights of my touring car, and the tall black devil was I. A greatly puzzled and compassionate devil I was too! Maltby Phar—that exquisite anarchist was staying with me, and we had run down to the shore for dinner, hoping to mitigate the heat by the ride, and my new sensation of frustrate middle-age by broiled live lobsters. It was past eleven. I had just (Continued on Page 124) aw SS Se - 2 em SS a er ee 8 - OO ——— eer ttt

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THE SATURDAY EVENING

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(Continued from Page 122) dropped Maltby at the house and had run my car round to the garage where Bob worked, meaning to leave it there over- night so Bob could begin patching at it the first thing in the morning. It had been bucking its way along on three cylinders or less all day. Bob’s garage lay back from the street down a narrow alley. Judge, then, of my astonishment as I nosed my car up to its shut double doors! There on the concrete incline before the doors lay a small crumpled figure, half-curled, like an unearthed cut- worm, about a shining dinner pail, I brought the car to a sudden dead stop. The small figure partly uncrumpled, and a white blinded little face lifted toward me. It was Bob’s youngster! What was she up to, lying there on the ribbed concrete at this time of night? And in heaven’s name why the dinner pail? I jumped down to investigate, “You're Susan Blake, aren’t you? “Yes” —with a whispered gasp—‘“‘ Your Royal Highness.” Susan says she doesn’t know just why she addressed the devil in that w ay, unless she was trying to flatter him and so get round him, “I'm not so awfully bad,” she went on, “if you don’t count thinking things too much,” The right cheek of her otherwise deli- cately modeled child’s face was a swollen lump of purple and green, I dropped down on one knee beside her. “Why, you poor little lady! You're hurt!” Instantly she sprang eyed. “No, no! It’s not me—it’s Pearl! Oh, quick—-please! He had a razor!” “Razor? Who did?” I seized her hands. “I’m Mr. Hunt, dear. Your father often works on my car. Tell me what's wrong!” She was still half dazed. “‘I—I can’t see why I’m down herewith papa’s dinner pail, Pearl was upstairs, and I tried to stop him from going.”’ Then she began to whimper like a whipped puppy. “It’s all mixed. I'm seared.” “Of course—of course you are; but it’s going to be all righi.”” I led her to the car and lifted her onto the front seat. “Hold ona minute, Susan, I'll be back with you in leas than no time!” I sounded my horn impatiently. After an interval a slow-footed car washer inside the garage began trundling the doors back to aaa me, | ran to him, No. Bob, he left at six, same as usual. He hadn't been round since, . . . His kid, eh? Mebbe the heat had turned her queer, Nuff to addle most folks, the heat was, I saw that he knew nothing, and snapped him off with a sharp request to crank the car for me. As he did so | jumped in beside pusan. “Where do you live, Susan? Oh, yes, of course— Birch Street Bob told me that. . «Eh? You don’t want to go home?’ “Never, please. Never, never! [won't!” Proclaiming this she flung Bob's dinner pail from her and it bounced and clattered down the asphalt. “It’s too late,” she added in a frightened whisper, “I know it is!” Then she seized my arm—thereby al- most wrecking us against a fire hydrant and clung to me, sobbing. I was puzzled and—yes--alarmed. Bob was a bad cus tomer, The child’s bruised face—some thing she had said about a razor? And instantly I made up my mind. “I'll take you to my house, Susan. Mrs, Parrot”—Mrs. Parrot was my house keeper—“‘will fix you up for to-night. Then I'll go round and see Bob; see what's wrong.” I felt her thin fingers dig into my arm convulsively. “‘ Yes,”’ I reassured her, tuking a corner perilously at full speed, “that will be much better, You'll like Mrs, Parrot,” Rather recklessly I hoped that this might prove to be true, for Mrs, Parrot was a little difficult at times, Maltby Phar saw me coming up the steps with a limp child in my arms, and he opened the screen door for me, “ Aha!” he exclaimed. ‘“‘Done it this time, eh! Always knew you would, sooner or later. You're too damned absent-minded to drive acar. You ‘Nonsense!’ to her feet, wild- “Tell Mrs. I struck in, Parrot to ring up Doctor Stevens. Then send her to me.” upstairs with Susan. And I continued on THE SATURDAY When Mrs. Parrot came Susan was lying with closed eyes in the middle of a great — embroidered coverlet, upon which her shoes had smeared greasy permanent- looking stains. Mercy,” sighed Mrs. Parrot, “‘if you've killed the poor creature nobody’s sorrier than I -_ But why couldn’t you have laid her down on the floor? She wouldn’t have known,” In certain respects Mrs. Parrot was invaluable to me, but then and there I sus- pected that Mrs. Parrot would, in the not- too-distant future, have to go. Within five minutes Doctor Stevens arrived, and after hurried explanations Maltby and I left him in charge and then made twenty-five an hour to Birch Street. However, Susan's intuitions had been correct, We found Bob’s four-room house quite easily. It was the house with the crowd in front of it. We were an hour too late. “Cut her throat clean acrost; and his own after,” shrilled Mrs. Perkins to us Mrs. Perkins who lived three doors nearer the right end of Birch Street. ‘“‘But it’s only what was to be looked for, and I guess it’ll be a lesson to some. You can’t expect no better end than that,” perorated Mrs. Perkins to us and her excited neigh- bors, while her small gray-green eyes snapped with electric malice. ‘“* You can’t expect no better end than that to sech brazen immorality.” “My God,” groaned Maltby as we sped away, “how they have enjoyed it all! Why, you almost ruined the evening for them when you told them you'd found the child! They were hoping to discover her body in the cellar or down the well. Ugh! What a world! “By the way,” he added as we turned once more into the dignified breadth of Hillhouse Avenue, “what'll you do with the homely little brat? Put her in some kind of awful institution?” The bland tone of his assumption irri- tated me. I ground on the brakes. “Certainly not! I like her. If she re- turns the compliment, and her relatives don’t claim her, she'll stay on here with me,” “H’'m. Bravo. Maltby Phar. About two weeks,” said wi T WAS not Susan who left me at the end of two weeks; it was Mrs. Parrot, Maltby had departed within three days, hastening perforce to editorial duties in New York, He then edited, with much furtive groaning to sympathetic friends, The Garden Exquisite, a monthly magazine de lure, devoted chiefly to advertising matter and to photographs taken—by request of far-seeing wives and daughters— at the country clubs and on the country estates of our minor millionaires. For a philosophical anarch, rather a quaint occupation! Yet one must live. Maltby, however, had threatened a return as soon as possible, “‘to look over the piteous débicle.”” There was no probability that Mrs. Parrot would ever return, “You cannot expect me,”’ maintained Mrs. Parrot, ‘‘to wait on the child of a murde ring suicide. Especially,” she added, “‘when he was nothing but a common sort of man to begin with. I’m as sorry for that poor little creature as anybody in New Haven; but there are places for such.” That was her ultimatum. My reply was two weeks’ notice and a_ considerable monetary gift to soften the blow. Hillhouse Avenue in general, so far as I could discover, rather sympathized with Mrs. Parrot. She at once obtained an ex- cellent post, becoming housekeeper for the Misses Carstairs, spinster sisters of in- credible age, who lived only two doors from me in a respectable mansion whose portico resembled an Egyptian tomb. Wandering freshmen from the Yale campus frequently mistook it for the home office of one of the stealthier secret soc ieties, There, silently ensconced, Mrs. Parrot burned with a hard gemlike flame, and awaited my final downfall.. So did the Misses Carstairs, who, being distant rela- tives of my wife, had remained firmly in opposition, And rumor had it that other members of neighboring families were suffering discomfort from the proximity of Susan. It was as if a tiny, almost negli- gible speck of coal dust had blown into the calm watchful eye of the genius loci, and was gradually inflaming it—with resultant nervous irritation to all its members Susan was happily unconscious of these things. Her gift of intuition had not yet EVENING POST projected itself into that ethereal region which conserves the more tenuous tone and the subtler distinction—denominated ‘“‘so- ciety.”” For the immediate moment she was bounded in a nutshell, yet seemed to count herself a princess of infinite space—yes, in spite of bad dreams. We—Doctor Stevens and I—had put her to bed in the large, coolly distinguished corner room formerly occupied by Gertrude. This room opened directly into my own. Doctor Stevens counseled bed for a few days, and Susan seemed well content to obey his mandate. Meanwhile I had requested Mrs. Parrot to buy various necessities for her—tooth- brushes, nightdresses, day dresses, petti- coats, and so on. Mrs. Parrot had sup- posed I would want the toilet articles inex- pensive, and the clothing plain but good. ‘Good, by all means, Mrs, Parrot,” I had corrected, ‘‘but not plain. As pretty and frilly as possible!” Mrs. Parrot had been inclined to argue the matter. “When that poor little creature goes from here,” she had maintained, “flimsy, fussy things will be of no service to her. None. She'll need coarse, substantial articles that will bear usage.” “‘Do you like to wear coarse, substantial articles, Mrs. Parrot?” I had mildly asked. “So far as I am permitted to observe as Mrs. Parrot had resented the implica- tion. “‘I hope in my outer person, Mr. Hunt, that I show a decent respect for my employers, but I’ve never been one to pamper myself on linjery, if I may use the word—not believing it wholesome, Nor to discuss it with gentlemen. But if I don’t know what it’s wisest and best to buy in this case, who,”’ she had demanded of heaven, “does?” “Possibly,” heaven not replying, had been my response, “Ido. Atany rate I can try. ‘It was fun trying. I ran down on the eight o’clock to New York and strolled up and down Fifth Avenue, shopping here and there as the fancy moved me. Shop- ping—with a well-filled pocketbook—is not a difficult art. Women exaggerate its diffi- culties for their own malign purposes. In two hours of the most casual activity I had bought a great number of delightful things——‘“‘for my little daughter, you know. Herage? . . . Oh, well—I should think about fourteen. Let’s call it ‘going on fourteen.’ Then it’s sure to be all right.” It was all right—-essentially. By which I mean that the parties of the first and second parts—to wit, Susan and I—were entirely and blissfully satisfied. Susan liked particularly a lacy sort of nightgown all knotted over with little pink ribbony rosebuds; there was a coquettish boudoir cap to match it—suggestive some- how of the caps village maidens used to wear in old-fashioned comic operas; and a pink silk kimono embroidered with white chrys- anthemums, to top off the general effect. Needless to say, Mrs. Parrot disapproved of the general effect, deeming it, no doubt with some reason, a thought flamboyant for Gertrude’s distinguished corner room. But Susan, propped straight up by now against pillows, wantoned in this finery She would stroke the pink silk of the kimono with her sensitive fingers, sigh deeply, happily, then close her eyes. There was nothing much wrong with her. The green-and-purple bruise on her cheek a somber note which would not harmonize with the frivolity of the boudoir cap—was no longer painful. But, as Doctor Stevens put it, “The little monkey's all in.” She was tired, tired out to the last tiny filament of her tiniest nerve. During those first days with me she asked no awkward questions; and few of any kind. Indeed, she rarely spoke at all, except with her always-speaking black eyes. For the time being the restless- terrier look had gone from them; they were quiet and deep, and said “Thank you,” to Doctor Stevens, to Mrs. Parrot, to me, with a hundred modulating shades of expression. In spite of a clear-white, finely drawn face, against which the purple bruise stood out in shocking relief; in spite of entirely straight but gossamery black hair; in spite of a rather short nose and a rather wide mouth—there was a fascina- tion about the child which no one, not even the hostile Mrs. Parrot, wholly escaped. “That poor, peeny little creature,”’ ad- mitted Mrs. Parrot, on the very morning she left me, “‘has a way of looking at you so you can’t talk to her like you’d ought to. It’s somebody's duty to speak to her March 6,1920 in a Christian spirit. She never says her prayers. Nor mentions her father. And don’t seem to care what’s happened to him, or why she’s here, or what’s to come to her. And what is to come to her,” de- manded Mrs. Parrot, ‘‘if she stays on in this house without a God-fearing woman, and one you can’t fool most days? Not that I could be persuaded, having made other arrangements. And if I may say a last word, the wild talk I’ve heard here isn’t what I’ve been used to. Nor to be approved of. No vulgarity. None. I don’t accuse. But free with matters better left to the church; or in the dark—where they belong. All I hold is that some things are sacred and some unmentionable; and conv ersation should take cognizance of such!’ I had never known her so moved or so eloquent. I strove to reassure her. “You are quite right, Mrs. Parrot. I apologize for any painful moments my friends and I have given you. But don’t worry too much about Susan. So far as Susan’s concerned, I promise to take cog- nizance in every possible direction.” It was quite clear to me that I should have to expend a good deal of care upon engaging another housekeeper at once. And of course a governess—for lessons and things. And a maid? Yes; Susan would need a maid, if only to do her mending. Obviously, neither the housekeeper, the governess nor I could be expected to take cognizance of that. But I anticipate. Two weeks before Mrs. Parrot’s peroration, on the very evening of the day Maltby Phar had left me, Susan and I had had our first good talk together. My memorable shopping tour had not yet come off, and Susan having pecked birdlike at a very light supper was resting —semi- recumbent—in bed, clothed in a suit of canary-yellow pyjamas two sizes too big for her, which I was rather shaken to dis- cover belonged to Nora, my quiet little Irish parlor maid. I had not supposed that Nora indulged in night gear filched from musical comedy. However, Nora had meant to be kind in a good cause; though canary yellow is emphatically a color for the flushed and buxom and should never be selected for peeny, anemic little girls. It did make Susan look middling ghastly, as if quarantined from all access to Hygeia, the goddess. Perhaps that is why, when [| perched beside her on the edge of Ger- trude’s colonial four-poster, I felt an unac- customed prickling sensation back of my eyes. “How goes it, canary bird?” I asked, taking the thin, blue-threaded hand that lay nearest to me. Susan’s fingers at once curled trustfully to mine, and there came something very like a momentary glimmer of mischief into her dark eyes, “If I was an honest- to-God canary I could sing to you,” said Susan. “I'd like to do something for you, Mr. Hunt. Some- thing you'd like, I mean.”’ “Well, you can, dear. You can stop call- ing me Mr. Hunt. My first name’ 8 pretty awkward, though. It’s Ambrose.’ For an instant Susan considered my first name critic ally, then very slowly shook her head. “It’s a nice name. It’s too nice, isn’t it—for every day? I laughed. ‘But it’s all I have, Susan. What shall we do about it?”’ Then Susan laughed too; it was the first time I had heard her laugh. “I guess your mother was feeling kind of stuck up when she called you that.’ ““Most mothers do feel kind of stuck up over their first babies, Susan.” She considered this, and nodded assent. “But it’s silly of them, anyway,” she an- nounced. “There are so many babies all the time, everywhere, , There’s nothing new about babies, Ambo,” “Aha!” I exclaimed. “‘You knew from the first how to chasten my stuck- -up name, didn’ t yout Ambo is a delightful improve- ment,” “It’s more like you,” said Susan, tight- ening her fingers briefly on mine. And presently she closed her eyes. When, after a long still interval, she opened them, they were cypress-shaded pools. “Tell me what happened, Ambo,” “*He’s dead, Susan. Pearl’s dead too.” She closed her eyes again, and two big tears slipped out from between her lids, wetting her thick eyelashes and staining her bruised and her pallid cheek. “He couldn’t help it. He was made like that, inside. He was no damn good, Ambo. (Continued on Page 127) eee

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(Continued from Page 124) That’s what he was always saying to Pearl—‘You’re no damn good.’ She wasn’t either. And he wasn’t much. I guess it’s better for him and Pearl to be dead.” This—and the two big tears—was her good-by to Bob, to Pearl, to the four-room house; her good-by to Birch Street. It shocked me at the time. I released her hand and stood up to light a cigarette—staring the while at Susan. Where had she found her precocious brains?) And had she no heart: Had something of Bob’s granitic harshness entered into this uncanny, this unnatural child? Should I live to regret my decision to care for her, to educate her? When I died would she say—to whom? “T guess it’s better for him to be dead. Poor Ambo! He was no damn good.” But even as I shuddered I smiled. For after all she was right; the child was right. She had merely uttered truthfully thoughts which a more conventional mind, more con- ventionally disciplined, would have known how toc onceal yes, to conceal even from itself. Ge nius was very like that. “Susan!” I suddenly demanded. “Have you any relatives who will try to claim you? : fp “Claim me? Yes. Want to take care of you? “‘Mamma’s sister-in-law lives in Ho- boken,” said Susan. “But she’s 3a widow; and she’s got seven already.’ **Would you like to stay here with me? For all ‘answer she flopped sidewise down from the pillows and hid her bruised face in the counterpane. Her slight canary- clad shoulders were shaken with stifled weeping. “That settles it!” I affirmed. ‘I'll see my lawyer in the morning, and he'll get the court to appoint me your guardian. Come now! If you cry about it I'll think you don’t want me for guardian. Do you?” She turned a blubbered, wistful face toward me from the counterpane. Her eyes answered me. I leaned over, smoothed a pillow and slipped it beneath her tired head, then kissed her unbruised cheek and walked quietly back into my own room where I rang for Mrs. Parrot. When she arrived, ‘‘ Mrs. Parrot,’ I sug- gested, “‘please make Susan comfortable for the night, will you? And I'll appreciate it if you treat her exactly as you would my own child.” It took Mrs. Parrot at least a minute to hit upon something she quite dared to leave with me. “Very well, Mr. Hunt. Not having an own child, and not knowing—you can say that. Not that it’s the same thing, though you do say it. But I'll make her com- fortable—and time tells. In darker days I hope you'll be able to say that poor, peeny little creature has done the same by you. “Thank you, Mrs. Parrot. Good night.” ““A good night to you, Mr. Hunt,” elab- orated Mrs. Parrot, not without malice; ‘‘many of them, Mr. Hunt; many of them, I’m sure.” 9” “ 9 vit Y THE time Mrs. Parrot left us, house- keeper, governess and maid had been obtained in New York through agencies of the highest respectability. Miss Goucher, the housekeeper, proved to be a tall, big- framed spinster, rising fifty; a capable, taciturn woman with a positive talent for minding her own affairs. She had bleak light-gray eyes, a rudderlike nose, and a harsh, positive way of speech that was less disagreeable than it might have been, because she so seldom spoke at all. Having hoped for a more amiable presence I was of two minds over keeping her; but she took charge of my house so promptly and effi- ciently, and effaced herself so thoroughly a difficult feat for so definite a figure—that in the end there was nothing I could com- plain of; and so she stayed. Miss Hadow, on the other hand, who came as governess, was all that I had dared to wish for; a graceful, light-footed, soft- voiced girl—she was not yet thirty—with charming manners, a fluent command of the purest convent-taught French, a nice touch on the piano, and apparently some slight acquaintance with the solider branches. Merely to associate with Miss Hadow would, I felt, do much for Susan. I was less certain about Sonia, the maid. I had asked for a middle-aged English maid. Sonia was Russian, and she was only twenty-three. But she was sent directly to me from service with Countess Dimbro- vitski-— formerly, as you know, Maud Hoch- stetter, of Omaha—and brought with her a most glowing reference for skill, honesty THE SATURDAY and unfailing tact. Countess Dimbrovitski did not explain in the reference, dated from Newport, why she had permitted this para- gon to slip from her; nor did it occur to me to investigate the point. But Sonia later explained it all, in intimate detail, to Susan—as we shall see. I had feared that Susan might be at first a little bewildered by the attentions of Sonia and of Miss Hadow; so I explained the unusual situation to Miss Goucher and Miss Hadow~—with certain reservations and asked them to make it clear to Sonia. Miss Goucher merely nodded, curtly enough, and said she understood. Miss Hadow proved more curious and more voluble. “How wonderful of you, Mr. Hunt!” she exclaimed. ‘To take in a poor little waif and do all this for her! Personally, I count it a privilege to be allowed some share in so generous an action. Oh, but I do—I do. One likes to feel, even when forced to work for one’s living, that one has some little opportunity to do good in the world. Life isn’t,”” asked Miss Hadow, ‘‘all money- grubbing and selfishness, is it?’’ And as I found no ready answer she concluded: “But I need hardly ask that of you!” For the fleetingest second I found my- self wondering whether Miss Hadow, deep down in her hidden heart, might not be a minx. Yet her glance, the happiest mix- ture of frankness, timidity and respectful admiration, disarmed me. I dismissed the unworthy suspicion as absurd. was a little troubled, though, when Susan that same evening after dinner came to me in the library and seated herself on a low stool facing my easy- -chair. ‘Ambo,” she said, “I’ve been blind as blind, haven’t I?” Have you?” I responded. “Fora blind girl it’s wonderful how you find your way about!” ‘But I’m not joking—and that’s just it,” said Susan. “What's wrong, dear? something is.” “Yes. I am. The wrongest possible. I’ve just dumped myself on you, and stayed here; and—and I’ve no damn business he re at all!’ “IT thought we were going to forget the damns and hells, Susan.’ “We are,” said Susan, coloring sharply and looking as if she wanted to ery. “But when you've heard them, and worse, every minute all your life—it’s pretty hard to forget. You must scold me more!” Then with a swift movement she leaned forward and laid her cheek on my knee. “You're too good to me, Ambo. I oughtn’t to be here— wearing wonderful dresses, having a maid to do my hair and— and polish me and button me and mend me. I wasn’t meant to have an easy time; I wasn’t born for it. First thing you know, Ambo, T’ll get to thinking I was—and be mean to you somehow!’ “T’ll risk that, Susan.’ “Yes, but I robe om to let you. I could learn to be somebody’s maid like Sonia; and if I study hard—and I’m going to! some day I could be a governess like Miss Hadow; only really know things, not just pretend. Or when I’m old enough, a house- keeper like Miss Goucher! That’s what you should make me do—work for you! I ean clean things better than Nora now; I never skip underneaths. Truly, Ambo, it’s all wrong, my having people work for me— at yourexpense. I know itis! Miss Hadow made it all clear as clear, right away. “What! Has Miss Hadow been stuffing this nonsense into your head!” I was furious. “Oh, not in words!” cried Susan. ‘‘She talks just the other way. She keeps telling me how fortunate I am to have a guardian like you, and how I must be so careful never to annoy you or make you regret what you’ve done for me. Then she sighs and says life is very hard and unjust to many girls born with more advantages. Of course she mears herself, Ambo. You see, she hates having to work at all. She’s much nicer to look at and talk to, but she reminds me of Pearl. She’s no damn— she’s no good, Ambo dear. She’s hard where she ought to be soft, and soft where she ought to be hard. She tries to get round people, so she can coax things out of them. But she'll never get round Miss Goucher, Ambo—or me.” And Susan hesitated, lifting her head from my knee and looking up at me doubt- fully, only to add, ‘“‘I—I’m not so sure about you.” “Indeed. You think possibly Miss Hadow might get round me, eh?” > I asked. ‘‘I see EVENING POST “Well, she might—if I wasn't here,” said Susan. ‘‘She might marry you.” My explosion of laughter—I am ordina- rily a quiet person—startled Susan. ‘‘ Have I said something awful again?” she cried. ““Dreadful!”’ I sputtered, wiping my eyes. ‘‘Why, you little goose! Don’t you see how I need you? To plumb the depths for me—to protect me? I thought I was your guardian, Susan; but that’s just my mannish complace ney. I'm not your guard- ian at all, dear, You're mine.” But I saw at once that my mirth had confused her, had hurt her feelings—I reached out for her hands and drew her onto my knees. “Susan,” I said, ‘‘ Miss Hadow couldn’t marry me even if she got round me, and wanted to. You see, I have a wife already.” Susan stared at me with wide, frightened eyes. ““You have, Ambo? Where is she?” “She left me two years ago.” “Left you?”’ It was evident that she did not understand. ‘‘Oh—what will she say when she comes home and finds me here? She won't like it; she won't like me?” wailed Susan. ‘“‘I know she won't.’ “Hush, dear. She’s not coming home again. She made up her mind that she couldn’t live with me any more.” “What's he ‘r name?” “ Gertrude.’ “Why couldn’t she live with you, Ambo?” ‘She said I was cruel to her.’ ‘Weren't you good to her, Ambo? Why? Didn't you like her? The rapid questions were so unexpected, so searching, that I gasped. And my first impulse was to lie to Susan, to put her off with a few conventional phrases— phrases that would lead the child to suppose me a wronged, lonely, broken-hearted man. This would win me a sympathy I had not quite realized that I craved. But Susan’s eyes were merciless, and I couldn’t manage it. Instead, I surprised myself by blurting out: “That’s about it, Susan. I didn’t like her—enough. We couldn’t hit it off, some- how. I'm afraid I wasn’t very kind.” Instantly Susan's thin arms went about my neck and her cheek was pressed tight to mine, “‘Poor Ambo!” she whispered. ‘I’m so sorry you weren’t kind. It must hurt you ” Then she jumped from my knees. ““Ambo!” she demanded. “Is my room her room? Is it?” ‘Certainly not. It isn’t hers any more. She’s never coming back, I tell you. She put me out of her life once for all; _ and God knows I’ve put her out of mine! “Tf you can’t let me have - room, Ambo— I'll have to go.’ “Why? Hang it all, Susan, don’t be silly! Yon’t make difficulties where none exist! What an odd overstrained child you are!’’ I was a little annoyed. ““Yes,”” nodded Susan gravely, “I see now why Gertrude left you. But she must be awfully stupid not to know it’s only your skin that’s made like that!” Next morning, without a permissive word from me, Susan had Miss Goucher move all her things to a small bedroom at the back of the house, overlooking the gar- den. This silent flitting irritated me not a little and that afternoon I had a frank little talk with Miss Hadow —franker perhaps than I had intended. Miss Hadow at once gave me notice, and left for New York within two hours, letting it be known that she expected her trunks to be sent after her “Gutter snipes are not my specialty,” was her parting word. vir HERE proved to be little difficulty in getting myself appointed Susan's guard- ian. No one else wanted the child. I promised the court to do my best for her; to treat her, in fact, as I would my own flesh and blood. It might well be, I said, that before long I should legally adopt her. In any event, if this for some unfore- seen reason proved inadvisable, I assured the court that Susan’s future would be provided for. The court benignly replied that, as it stood, I was acting very hand- somely in the matter; very handsomely; no doubt about it. But there was a dim glimmer behind the juridic spectacles that seemed to imply: “‘Handsomely, my dear sir, but whether wisely or no is another question which, as the official champion of widows and orphans, I am not called upon to decide.” It was with a new sense of responsibility that I opened an account in Susan’s name with a local savings bank, and a week later added a short but efficient codicil to my will, In the meantime—but with alert sus picions—I interviewed several highly rec ommended applicants for Miss Hadow’s deserted post; only to find them wanting Poor things! Combined they could hardly have met all the requirements, esthetic and intellectual, which I had now set my heart upon finding in one lone governess for Susan! It would have needed, by this, a subtly modernized Hypatia to fulfill my idea, I might of course have waited for Octo ber to send Susan to a select private school in the vicinage, patronized by the little daughters of our more cautious families It was, by neighborly consent, an excellent school, where carefully ste srilized cultures physic al, moral, mental and social — were painlessly injected into the blue blood streams of our very nicest young girls. | say that I might have done so, but this is a euphemism. On the one hand I shrank from exposing Susan to possible snubs; on the other, a little bird whispered that Miss Garnett, principal of the school would not care to expose her carefully ster ilized cultures to an alien contagion. Bear ers of contagion —whether physical, moral, mental or social —were not sympathetic to Miss Garnett’s clientéle. In Mrs. Parrot's iron phrase, there are places for such. Public schools, to wit! But in those long past days—before Susan taught me that there are just two kinds of persons, big and little; those you can do nothing for because they can do nothing for themselves, and those you can do nothing for because they can do everything for themselyes —in those di ays, I admit that I had my own finicky fears. Public schools were all very well for the children of men who could afford noth ing better. They had, for example, given Bob Blake’s daughter a pretty fair prelim inary training; but they would never do for Ambrose Hunt’s ward. Noblesse—or at any rate, largesse—oblige Yet here was a quandary: Public schools in my estimation being too vulgar for Susan, and Susan in the estimation of Hil! house Avenue being too vulgar for private ones; yea, and though I still took cogni- zance, no subtly modernized Hypatia com- ing to me highly recommended for a job how in the name of useless prosperity was i to get poor little Susan properly educated at all? It was Susan who solved this difficulty for me, as she was destined to solve most of my future difficulties, and all of her own. She soon turned the public world about her into an extra-select, super-private school. She impressed all who came into contact with her, and made of them her de voted if often unconscious instructors. And she began by impressing Miss Goucher and Nora and Sonia and Philip Farmer, assistant professor of philosophy in Yale University; and Maltby Phar, anarchist editor of The Garden Exquisite; and first and chiefly —me. The case of Phil Farmer was typical. Phil and I had been classmates in the dark backward and abysm, and we were still, in a manner of speaking, friends, I mean that though we had few tastes in common we kept on liking each other a good deal. Phil was a gentle-hearted, stiff-headed sort of man, with a conscience—formed for him and handed on by a long line of Unitarian ministers—a conscience which drove him to incredible labor at altitudes few of us attain, and where even Phil, it seemed t» me, found breathing difficult. Not having been thrown in with much feminine society on his chosen heights he had remained a bachelor. The Metaphysical Mountains are said to be infested with women, but they cluster, I am told, below the snow line. Phil did not even meet them by climbing through them; he always ballooned straight up for the unmelting; and when he occa sionally dropped down his psychic chill sel dom wore entirely off before he was ready to ascend again. This protected him; for he was a tall, dark-haired fellow whose fea tures had the clear-cut gravity of an Indian chieftain; his rare, friendly smile was a ce light. So he would hardly otherwise have escaped. Perhaps once a week it was his habit to drop in after dinner and share with m« three or four pipes’ worth of desultory con versation. We seldom talked shop; since mine did not interest him, nor his me Mostly we just ambled aimlessly round the outskirts of some chance neutral topi: who would win the big game, for example. (Continued on Page 129)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 6,1920 Fordson Tractor Plant puts Accounting on Production Basis with Elliott-Fisher System BPENRY FORD and Son, Inc., — the Ledgers must be, since they are will give the greatest possible ac- H found that pen methods of — written at the same operation. curacy, speed and convenience to bookkeeping couldn't keep The Flat W riting Surtare permits the user. pace with modern quantity-produc- the simultaneous use of forms of Whatever Service or Product you Gon In the factory. They deter- different sizes and shapes; of sell or buy, whether your business is mined to put all departments on posting card, loose-leaf and dound large or small, there is an Elliott- the same efficiency plan, and after records; of making ten to twenty Fisher System that will save money careful consideration they installed Carhons; and in every case with — for you and give you better account- the Elhott-Fisher Flat-Bed System assurance of perfect registration and ing results. Thousands of manu- for all accounting work. clear copies. It greatly facilitates facturers, retailers, banks, etc., have Lost motion was stopped immedi- the handling of forms and carbon proved this in actual use. ately with the Plat Writing Sur- paper. We have descriptive booklets cov- face of the Elliott-Fisher machine a// Elliott-Fisher means more than a ering the various fields—send_ for records of one entry are made at wachine; it means a system adapted the one that fits you; or have our one time, resulting in a speed and ty your needs, whether it be in ac- representative call and study your accuracy possible in no other way. counting, billing, stock keeping, re- methods with you—there is no he Ledger is posted and balanced, cording deeds, or order writing, that — obligation. duplicate remittance advice made, and Proof Sheet . ELLIOTT-FISHER COMPANY Purchase Journal writ- 3 Harrisburg, Pa. ten all at one Opers ‘ : iy / Branches in 100 Cities tion. Each day’s busi- ness is a unit by itself, finished and balanced by noon of the follow- ing day. ‘There is no longer any delay over trial balances. Four Elhott-Fisher operators do work that would require Part of Accounting Department fifteen pen-and-ink & Mery Ford & Son, In bookkeepers; forfeit- ure of cash discounts through slow handling has ceased; Accounting has caught up with Production. The Proof Sheet is a Journal of With four of these ma ’ ; Fal chines all of today’s the day’s transactions. ‘Totals can secmantidiens: anh ie tie be checked against independent con- books and proved by noon tomorrow’ Quan- ; uty production ts an ings, if the Proof Sheet is correct accomplished fact Elliott-Fish moor System of Accounting—Bookkeeping—Billing—Recording trol figures to prove the day’s post-

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i ' Continued from Page 127) It amused neither of us, but it rested us both One night, perhaps a month after Susan had come to me, I returned late from a hot day’s trip to New York—one more unsuc- cessful quest after Hypatia Rediviva—and found Phil and Susan sitting together on the screened terrace at the back of my house, overlooking the garden. It was not my custom to spend the muggy mid- summer months in town, but this year I had been unwilling to leave until I could capture and carry off Hypatia Rediviva with me. Moreover, I did not know where to go. The cottage at Watch Hill belonged to Gertrude, and was in consequence no longer used by either of us. As a grass widower [ had, in summer, just traveled about. Now, with a ward of fourteen to care for, just traveling about no longer seemed the easiest solution; yet I hated camps and summer hotels. I should have to rent a place somewhere, that was certain; but where? With the world to choose from, a choice proved difficult. I was marking time. My stuffy fruitless trip had decided me to mark time no longer. Hypatia or no Hypatia, Susan must be taken to the hills or the sea. It was this thought that sim- mered in my heated brain as I strolled out to the garden terrace and overheard Susan say to Phil: “But I think it’s much easier to believe in the devil than it is inGod! Don’t you? The devil isn’t all-wise, all-good, all-every- thing! He’s a lot more like us.” I stopped short and shamelessly listened. “That’s an interesting concept,” re- sponded Phil, with his slow, friendly grav- ity. ‘You mean, I suppose, that if we must be anthropomorphic we ought at le vast to be consistent.’ *“Wouldn’t it be funny,” said Susan, “‘if I did mean that without knowing it?”’ There was no flippancy, no irony in her tone. *** Anthropomorphic,’”’ she added, savoring its long-drawn-outness. Susan never missed a strange word; she always pounced on it at once, unerringly, and made it hers. “That’s a Greek word,” explained Phil. ‘It’s a good word,” said Susan, “‘if it has a tremendous lot packed up in it. If it hasn’t it’s much too long “I agree with you,” said Phil; “‘but it has.” ““What?” asked Susan. “‘It would take me an hour to tell you.” “Oh, I’m glad!” cried Susan. ‘It must be a wonderful word! Please go on till Ambo comes!” I decided to take a bath, and tiptoed softly and undetected away. x FTER that evening Phil began to drop in every two or three nights, and he did not hesitate to tell me that the increasing frequency of his visits was due to his pro- gressive interest in Susan. “‘She’s a curious child,” he explained; which was true in any sense you chose to take it, and all the way back to the Latin curiosus, “careful, diligent, thoughtful; from cura, care,’”’ and so on. ‘I’ve never seen much of children,”’ Phil went on; “never had many chances, as it happens. My sister has three boys, but she’s married to a narrow-gauge missionary and lives—to call it that —in Ping Lung or some such place. I’ve the right address somewhere, I think—in a notebook. Ber- tha sends me snapshots of the boys from time to time, but can’t say I’ve ever felt lonely because of their exile. Funny. Per- haps it’s because I never liked Bertha much. Bertha has a sloppy mind—you know, with chance scraps of things floating round in it. Nothing coheres. But you take this young- ster of yours now I call her yours ——”’ “Do!” I interjected. “Well, there’s the opposite extreme! Susan links everything up, everything she gets hold of —facts, fancies, guesses, feel- ings; the whole psychic menagerie. Chains them all together somehow, and seems to think they'll get on comfortably in the same tent. Of course they won’t—can’t and that’s the danger for her! But she’s stimulating, Hunt’”—Phil always called me Hunt, as if just failing whole-heartedly to accept me—‘“‘she’s positively stimulat- ing! A mind like that must be trained; thoroughly, I mean. We must do our best for her.” The ‘we’ amused me and—yes, I con- fess it- nettled me a little. **Don’t worry about that,” I said, and more dryly than I had meant to; “I’m THE SATURDAY combing the country now for a suitable governess.’ “*Governess!”’ Phil snorted. ‘‘ You don’t want a governess for Susan. You want, forti. ,ob,”’ he insisted, ‘‘a male intellect — a vigorous, disciplined male _ intellect. Music, dancing, water colors—pshaw! Deportment—how to enter a drawing- room! Fiddle-faddle! How to enter the Kingdom of God! That’s more Susan’s style,” cried Phil with a most unaccus- tomed heat. I laughed at him. “Are you willing to take her on, Phil?” I asked. ‘‘I believe i’’s been done; Epicu- rus had a female pupi, or two.” “‘T have taken her off,’ Phil replied quite without resentment. “‘Hadn’t you noticed it?” “Yes,” I said; ‘only it’s the other way round.” “I’ve been appropriated, is that it?”’ “Yes; by Susan. We all have, Phil. That vampire child is simply draining us, my dear fellow.’ “‘All right,” said Phil after a second’s pause, “if she’s a spiritual vampire, so much the better. Only she'll need a firm hand. We must give her suck at regular hours; draw upaplan. You can tackle the languages, if you like—wsthetics, and all that. I'll pin her down to math and logic- teach her to think straight. We can safely leave her to pick up history and sociology and such things for herself. You’ve a mid- dling good library, and she’ll browse.” “Oh, she’ll browse! She’s browsing now. “Poetry? 2” demanded Phil, suspic ion in his tone, anxiety in his eyes. “If she runs amuck with poetry too soon there’s no hope for her. She'll get to taking sensations for ideas, and that’s fatal. A mind like Susan’s What further he said I missed; a distant tinkle from the front-door bell had dis- tracted me. It was Maltby Phar. He came out to us on the garden terrace, unexpected and unannounced. “Whether you like it or not,” he sighed luxuriously, ‘‘I’m here for a week. How's the great experiment—eh? Am I too late for the bust-up?”’ Then he nodded to Phil. “*How are you, Mr. Farmer? Delighted to meet an old adversary! Shall it be swords or pistols this time? Or clubs? But I warn you I’m no fit foe; I’m soft. Making up our mammoth Christmas number in July always unnerves me. By the time I had looked overa dozen designs for our cover this morning and found Gaspar, Melchior and Balthazar in every one of them, mounted on fancy camels and heading for an exag- gerated star in the right upper dark-blue corner, I succumbed to heat and profanity, turned ’em all face downward, shuffled ’em, grabbed one at random, and then fled for solace! Solace,” he added, dropping into a wicker armchair, ‘‘can begin, if you like, by taking a cool, mellow, liquid form.”’ I rang. Phil, I saw, was looking annoyed. He disliked Maltby Phar, openly disliked him; so I felt certain—I was perhaps rather hoping—that he would take this oppor- tunity to escape. With Phil I was never then entirely at ease; but in those days I was wholly so with Maltby. Miss Goucher answered my summons in person, and I suggested a sauterne cup for my friends. Phil frowned on the suggestion, but Maltby beamed. The ayes had it, and Miss Goucher, who had remained neutral, with- drew. It was Phil’s chance; yet he sur- prised me by settling back and refilling his pipe. “When you came, Mr. Phar,” he said, his tone withdrawing toward formality, “we were discussing the education of Susan.” “Then I came just in time!” cried Maltby. “For what?” I queried. “T may prevent a catastrophe. If you're really going to see this thing through, Boz”’—his name for me—‘‘for God's sake do a little clear thinking first! Don’t drift. Don’t flounder. Don't wallow. Scrap all your musty, inbred prejudices once for all, and see that at least one kid on this filthy old planet gets a plain, honest, unsenti- mentalized account of what she is and what the world is. If you can bring yourself to do that, Susan will be unique. She will be the first educated woman in America.” ““*What she is and what the world is, repeated Phil slowly. ‘‘What is the world, may I ask? And what is Susan?”’ There was a felt tenseness in the moment; the hush before battle. We leaned forward EVENING POST a little from our easy-chairs, and no one of us noticed that Susan had slipped noise- lessly onto the window seat by the opened library window which gave upon the ter- race. But there, as we later discovered, she was; and there, for the present silently, she remained. “The world, " began Maltby Phar sen- ” tentiously, ‘ ‘is a pigsty. “Very well,” interrupted Phil; “T’ll grant you that to start with. What fol- lows?’ “What we see about us,” said Maltby. ““And what do we see?” asked Phil. At this inopportune moment Miss Goucher reappeared, bearing a Sheffield tray, on which stood three antique Vene- tian goblets, and a tall pitcher of rare Bohemian glass, filled to the brim with an iced sauterne cup garnished with fresh strawberries and thin disks of pineapple. Nothing less suggestive of the conven- tional back-lot piggery could have been imagined. By the time a table had been placed, our goblets filled, and Miss Goucher had retired, Maltby had decided to try a new opening. “Excellent!” he resumed, having drained and refilled his goblet. ‘‘ Now Mr. Farmer, if you really wish to know what the world is and Susan is, I am ready. Have with you! And by the way, Boz,” he interjected, sip- ping his wine, ‘‘your new housekeeper is one in a thousand. Mrs. Parrot was admir able; I’ve been absurdly regretting her loss. But Mrs. Parrot never quite rose to this.” Phil’s tongue clicked an impatient pro- test against the roof of his mor uth. “Tam still unenlightened, Mr. P har.” ‘True,” said Maltby. ‘‘That’s the worst of you romantic idealists. It’s your permanent condition.” He settled back in his chair, and fell to his old trick of slowly caressing the back of his left hand with the palm of his right. ‘“‘The world, my dear Mr. Farmer,” he continued, ‘‘the universe indeed, as we have come gradually to know it, is an infinity of blindly clashing forces, They have always existed, they will always exist; they have always been blind, and they always will be. Anything may happen in such an infinity, and we—this world of men and microbes—are one of the things which has temporarily happened. It’s re- grettable, but it isso. And though there is nothing final we can do about it, and very little in any sense, still this curious acci- dent of the human intellect enables us to do something. We can at least admit the plain facts of our horrible case. Here, a self- realizing accident, we briefly are. Death will dissipate us one by one, and the world in due time. That much we know. But while we last, why must we add imaginary evils to our real ones, and torment our selves with false hopes and _ ridiculous fears? “Why can’t each one of us learn to say: ‘I am an accident of no consequence in a world that means nothing. I might be stone, but I happen to be a man. Hence, certain things give me pleasure, others pain. And obviously in an accidental mean- ingless world I can owe no duty to — but myself. I owe it to myself to get as much pleasure and to avoid as much fm as possible. Unswerving egotism should be my law.” Ile paused to sip again, with a side glance toward Phil. ‘Elementary, all this, I admit. I apolo gize for restating it to a scholar. But such are the facts as science reveals them—are they not? You have to try somehow to go beyond science to get round them. And where do you go—you romantic idealists? Where can you go? Nowhere outside of yourselves, I take it. So you plunge, per- force, down below the threshold of reason into a mad chaos of instinct and desire and dream. And what there do you find? Buga boos, my dear sir, simply bugaboos: divine orders, hells, heavens, purgatories, moral sanctions—all the wild insanity, in two words, that has made our wretched lives even less worth living than they could and should be!” “Should? Why should?”’ asked Phil. “‘Granting your universe, who gives a neg- ligible damn for a little discomfort more or le a I do!” Maltby asserted. “I want all the comfort I can get; and I could get far more in a world of clear-seeing secular ego- tists than I can in this mixed mess of super- stitious, sentimental idealists which we choose to call civilized society!” It was at this point that Susan spoke from her window 129 “Pearl and papa weren't married, Mr Phar; but they didn’t get much fun out of not being.” ‘ I confess that I felt a nervous chill start at the base of my spine and shiver up toward my scalp. Even Phil, the man of Indian gravity, looked for an instant per- turbed. “Susan!” I demanded sharply. ‘Have you been listening? ‘Mustn’t I listen?”’ asked Susan. ‘Why not? Are you cross, Ambo?” ‘The mischief's done,”’ said Phil to me quietly; “better not make a point of it.” **Please don’t be cross, Ambo,”’ Susan pleaded, slipping through the window to the terrace and coming straight over to me. “Mr. Phar feels just the way papa did about things; only papa couldn't talk so splen- didly. He had a very poor vocabulary” **Vocabulary!”’ I gasped —‘‘except nasty words and swearing. But he meant just what Mr. Phar means, inside.” Phil, as she ended, began to make strange choking noises and retired suddenly into his handkerchief. Maltby put down his glass and stared at Susan. ““Young person,” he finally said, “‘you ought to be spanked! Don't you know it’s an unforgivable sin to spy on your elders?” “But you don’t believe in sin,” re- sponded Susan calmly, without the tiniest suspicion of smartness or pertness in her tone or bearing. ‘“‘You believe in doing what you want to. I wanted to hear what you were saying, Mr. Phar.” “Of course you did!’ Phil struck in. “But next time, Susan, as a concession to good manners, you might let us know you're in the neighborhood,” Susan bit her lower lip very hard before she managed to reply. “Yes. I will next time. I’m sorry, Phil.” (Phil!) Thensheturned to Maltby. ‘‘ButI wasn’t spying! I just didn’t know you would any of you mind.” “We don’t really,” I said. “Sit down, dear, You're always welcome.” I had been doing some stiff concentrated thinking in the last three minutes, and now I had taken the plunge. ‘‘The truth is, Susan,” I went on, ‘that most children who live in good homes, who are what is called well brought up, are carefully sheltered from any facts or words or thoughts which their parents do not consider wholesome or pleasant. Parents try to give their children only what they have found to be best in life; they try to keep them in ignorance of every- thing else.” ‘But they can’t,” said Susan. “At le ast they couldn’ t in Birch Street.” ‘No. Nor elsewhere. But they try. And they alw: ys make believe to them- selves that they have succeeded. So it’ supposed to be very shocking and dan gerous for a girl of your age to listen to the free conversation of men of our age That’s the reason we all felt a little guilty at first when we found you'd been over hearing us.” “How funny,” said Susan. cared,” Good for him!” exclaimed Maltby. “I didn’t feel guilty, for one! 1 refuse to be convic ted: of so hypocritic ally squeamish a reaction.’ “Oh!” Susan sighed, almost with rap- ture. ‘‘ You know such a lot of words, Mr. Phar! You can say anything.” : ‘Thanks,” said Maltby; ter myself that I can.” “And you do,” grunted Phil. ‘But words,”” he took up the dropped threads awkwardly, ‘‘are nothing in themselves, Susan. You are too fond of mere words. It isn’t words that matter; it’s ideas.” “Yes, Phil,” said Susan meekly, “but I love words —best of all when they’re pi tures,” Phil frowned, without visible effect upon Susan. I saw that her mind had gone else where. , Ambo?” “Yes, dear?” “You mustn't ever worry about me Ambo. My hearing or knowing things —or iying them. I—I guess I’m different.” Maltby’s face was a study in suppressed amazement; Phil was still frowning. It was all too much for me, and I laughed laughed from the lower ribs! Susan laughed with me, springing from her chair to throw her arms tightly round my neck in one big joyous suffocating hu, “Oh, Ambo!” she cried, breathle “Isn’t it going to be fun—all of us—to gether —now we can talk!” “Papa never “T rather flat- TO BE CONTINUED

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132 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 6,1920 for the foot, while giving i Where comfort and health combine | THE growing feet must be comfortably shod, or the child will not take the daily exercise necessary to health. needed s ipportatevery point = i ' i | mT { The Brown Shaping Lasts in — Se \ sure perfect freedom of action / { Buster Brown Shoes are the most comfortabl Good stores everywhere sell them for $4.00, I shoes a boy or girl can wear ~~ because the Brown $5.00, $6.00 and up, according to style and size {J Shaping Lasts provide the correc t space at every in button, lace and blucher models, in all fashion- é point inside the shoes, without cramping, pinch ableleathers. Alwaysask for Buster BrownShoes. ; —— binding the feet. To learn the truth about children’s shoes, 4 The Brown Shaping Lasts insure the natural read “‘Training the Growing Feet’’—the free \) growth and development of the feet, and thus book that explains why children need special prevent corns, bunions, twisted toes, weak ankles shoes and tells how and where to secure them. and broken arches Write for it today. BROWN SHOE COMPANY, ST. LOUIS, U.S. A. Manufacturers of White House Shoes for Men, Maxine Shoes for Women, Buster Brown Shoes for Boys and Girls, and Blue Ribbon Service Shoes. pif bg A Shee a ae nn ay owe ee

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| | i { ero 2 - — — ee ——u — penne But let’s do a little figuring. The 1915 Iowa census shows that there are 199,755 farms in lowa averaging 164 acres in size. Now 8.9 per cent of this applied to the whole state would mean about 17,779 farms were sold. If 1400 farms sold for $60,296,- 906, one farm sold for $43,069 and 17,779 sold at the same rate would mean a total of $765,723,751. Now my best judgment is that you could double this and still not exceed the amount involved in the farm real-estate transactions in Iowa in 1919. Here’s another way to figure it: Prof. O. G. Lloyd, farm-management expert at the Iowa Agricultural Experiment Station, at Ames, has estimated from the data col- lected by the government men, along with information from other sources, that the average Lowa farm increased in value about $16,000 in 1919 because of the land boom, or approximately $100 an acre. Multiply $16,000 by the total number of farms in the state and you have a sum of $3,196,080,000 as the total increased value of Iowa lands because of the boom. This is an increase of fifty per cent for 1919 and an increase of one hundred per cent since 1915. The stories that real-estate men tell of the amount of farm-sale business done sound like fairy tales. One firm in Dallas County, Iowa, sold fifty-six farms the first six months of the year. The May business of this firm totaled more than $1,000,000. A lawyer in Grundy County told me that he had written contracts for about 150 sales. In another county one firm figures that it did $9,000,000 worth of business. In Warren County an average of twenty farms to each of the sixteen townships was sold In Cass County, on one day, June twenty- sixth, twenty-three farms aggregating 4000 acres and valued at $1,000,000, changed hands in the town of Anita. In Worth County there was sold round $3,000,000 worth in three months. What the Agents Said A firm at Madrid, Boone County, had sold—a member told me—up to September first fifty-two farms that totaled round 7600 acres and at an average price of approximately $300 an acre. This made a business of $2,280,000 for them, or perhaps $3,000,000 for the year. One agent in Clinton County cleared $210 a day on com- missions during one month at the height of the boom. I have it from an intimate friend as authentic that one real-estate agent in the state had to pay an income tax on his earnings the past year of nearly $25,000 tax, this sum is, mind you, not the total amount of his earnings. This has been a heyday year for real- estate agents in Iowa and elsewhere. These examples are but a few picked out from a great lot I have heard, some authentic, THE SATURDAY EVENING POST FRENZIED FARM FINANCE (Continued from Page 19 some hearsay, but all relatively true. These agents have made more money in 1919 than they would have made in five ordinary years or in a lifetime. But their stories are no more interesting than some of the tales men tell of the sale of the farms. In July, 1918, a banker at Hartley, Iowa, bought an eighty-acre farm for $300 an acre. His friends told him that he had bought a lemon at such a high price. In May, 1919—in less than a year—he sold the farm for exactly $500 an acre. He had cleared $16,000 on an investment of $24,000. At Humboldt, Iowa, a farmer bought a 320-acre farm on May 1, 1919, for $225 an acre. He sold it in November for $285 an acre. His profit was $19,200 on the deal. A farmer at Armstrong, Iowa, bought 160 acres of land four years ago at $100 an acre. In May, 1919, he bought another 160 acres for $250 an acre. He sold the entire farm six weeks after making the second purchase for $100,000, or about $312 an acre. His profit was $44,000 for his invest- ment in Lowa dirt. Some Sales in lowa A man at Dinsdale, Iowa, bought a quarter section of land in March at the rate of $285 an acre and sold it in July for $425, an increase of $140 an acre, or a total profit of $22,400. How long would it have taken him to make the same profit by plow- ing corn and feeding hogs? Just make a guess. Twelve years ago a man at Armstrong paid $24,000 for a half section of land. He sold this July 15, 1919, for $108,000. His investment had grown nearly 400 per cent in those twelve years. It pays these modern days to hide one’s talents in the cornfield, In 1864 a man came to Tama County and bought 160 acres for four dollars an acre. Recently he refused to take $400 an acre for this same farm. Jack’s beanstalk has nothing on his four dollars when it comes to growing. A 175-acre farm at Glidden, bought two years ago for $300 an acre, was sold in November, 1919, for $450 an acre. A profit of $26,250 is not so bad for two years of ownership. It beats feeding steers—or being a bank president. Do these stories sound fishy? Well, they are just some conservative ones. I could tell of farms bought one day and sold over- night for a small fortune more than was paid; of men racing by train and autos to get hold of land first; of men speculating on a shoe string almost and getting rich overnight; of deeds and actions of land- crazed men that equal an oil strike in an Oklahoma oil-boom town. I have here on my desk hundreds of stories like these I have told. Give me two weeks and a flivver in Iowa or Illinois and I could have ten thousand of them to tell. ey But interesting as these stories are modern fairy tales of wealth that put to shame the stories of Aladdin or Sindbad the Sailor—there is a still more interesting angle. This is of the farms that have changed hands several times. Many and many of these sold three, four and even six times within the last six months or a year. In a certain Iowa bank I have been told that there are held nine contracts for one farm sold that many times in one year. In Jasper County, Iowa, a 160-acre farm was sold to a real-estate firm in 1917 for $200 an acre. Within a few weeks .it sold for $212. About August, 1918, it sold a third time for $265 an acre and then late in the fall it sold for $281. In June, 1919, it was bought by a man in Newton for $325 an acre. Along in August this man again sold the farm for $400 an acre. His own modest profit for a three months’ fly on the land market was a measly $12,000. The present owner now wants to sell the farm again. Heaven only knows how much it will bring. What’s the use of trying to turn lead into gold? You can do it easier with Iowa corn dirt. Here are four typical sales in Tama County, where the lowa boom was fiercest. A 240-acre farm sold in 1918 for $265 an acre, was resold along in March, 1919, for $275 and in July once more for $325—an increase of $14,400 over the 1918 price. A second farm of 160 acres was bought along in June for $285 an acre, sold in early July for $426 and within a week was turned again for $455. A third farm of 120 acres was bought in July for $278 and in a few days was sold for $430. A fourth farm that was bought for $100 an acre twelve years ago was sold for $275 an acre early in 1919. It was resold for $300 in September and turned again in mid-October for $322. The man who bought it turned down an offer of $400 an acre and about $16,000 profit late in October. Quick as a Gunshot At Clearfield a farm that was sold for $200 an acre in March has since been resold respectively for $210, $230 and $405 an acre. At Lamoni a 220-acre farm was bought for $155 an acre along in July and the same day resold for $200 an acre. This is in the southern part of the state, where land is worth a good bit less. But $9900 is not bad pin money to pick up in one day’s speculation. I could tell stories like this by the score. But there is no need. The ones I have given illustrate just what the land boom has meant in actual figures to the landowners and land speculators of Iowa. It is Corn Belt frenzied finance in good working order. Just how this land boom began no one seems to know. Why it began is a mooted question, though there are reasons aplenty, a fait a ae er. Severs tae 133 as I shall presently relate. It just seemed to come at once like the shot of a gun. It was like a toy balloon held in leash, that accidentally cut loose suddenly soared to the skies. No one seems to have started the boom. But once it came, real-estate men and speculators were quick to ‘take hold of it, particularly men with the gam bling instinct in their veins. Once it was it motion, these men saw to it that the boom “ontinued, A number of big real-estate firms saw the advantage of proper advertising. Local papers and the Des Moines papers as well all through the summer were filled with hundreds of ads, some big display ads tak ing up quarter and half pages, thousands of them in the classified columns. This was more and more true as the summer wore on As fuel is added to a fire, so was money put in advertising to keep the boom going. Farm Advertising On Wednesday, August twentieth, a Des Moines morning paper carried 310 Lowa farm ads, 371 Minnesota ads and 50 more from other states. These included actual farms listed or of a firm stating the actual number of farms it had listed for sale. On August twenty-fourth a Des Moines Sun day paper carried a total of 774 ads. These included 180 of [Towa farms, 378 Minne- sota, il Missouri, 5 Nebraska, 84 Wiscon- sin and 116 from other states, This same issue carried in addition general ads of seventy-nine other real-estate firms. A Des Moines evening newspaper of Ox tober fifteenth carried a total of 183 farm ads, of which eighty-nine were from lowa and the rest from other states. This issue carried ads of forty-seven real-estate firms A Sunday paper of November twenty-third had a total of 620 farms listed Examination of country weeklies over the state showed an astounding number of farms advertised or listed for sale. An August fifteenth issue of a Storm Lake pa per recorded the sale of seven farms an listed 303 for sale. An August first issue of a Tama County paper reported twenty-five farms sold and seventy-seven for sale These two are typical of hundreds of Lowa weeklies during the time from April to August and September. When the boom began to die down, when people began to get wary of too-high prices and when advertising failed to stir up the suckers to bite, the real-estate men hit upon the idea of auction sales. A farm would be advertised to sell at auction This would bring a crowd of people. The farm would be cried and sold to the highest bidder. I have records of any number of such sales, with prices paid as high as $425 an acre, But the chief value from an auction Continued on Page 137) PHOTO BY EUGENE J. HALL, OAK PARK, ILLINOIS Alfatfa and Cornfilelds in the Western Corn Belt

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134 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 6, 1920 - , : ie ln on ta. ‘. as” we —— ae SD hegre ai P. if ree ag ; BEF 3 was : eo - ~*~ “we “~ / : ay >? Sy o - ¥ + es ¢ $e ‘7 At 4; ~~ eee ae we: ° : : eae j A P ' 7 ‘a oh. ; OF eS * a ne Nowa 3 “ DASA Pe FOE ID ae s s ' ot 2 Bae:

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— ee (Continued from Page 133) was in the stimulation to other sales. Get- ting the crowd together, getting them stirred up, generating excitement, getting men to bid against each other, giving the farmers and other buyers a chance to swap experiences—all this would bring on a re- newed activity in buying. The auction game is still being worked in some places. To tell the story of Illinois is to tell the Iowa story over again. The boom began in the central strip of corn land in the state, mainly in McLean, Champaign, Living- ston, Woodford and Douglas counties, but it spread all over the state and raged just as fiercely in the north as it did in the cen- tral portions. There was the same sudden jump in prices, anywhere from $50 to $150 an acre increase and a probable average increase for the state of $100 an acre. There was the same buying and selling and reselling of farms. A 150-acre farm in McLean County that was bought in July for $466 an acre sold in August for $566. A Champaign County farm that sold in May for $375 an acre resold in July for $425. Some representative sales in McLean County are $330, $400, $500, $577. In Woodford I know of farm sales at $615, $687 and $700; in Sangamon at $540, in Lee at $386 and so on. Taking fifteen rep- resentative sales ranging in price from $200 to $700 an acre, I find that they averaged 190 acres in size and $414 an acre in price. This is higher, of course, than the average of the bulk of sales even for the best por- tions of the state. But it shows the general tendency toward high prices. This ten- dency had been foreshadowed, however, more than in lowa during the last two or three years by isolated high-priced sales here and there. I stopped one day at Belvidere, county seat of Boone County, in the extreme northern part of the state. This is out of the best corn region and in the heart of the dairy section. Here the boom had been just as bad as a hundred miles south. I went into one of the banks there to ask for information. “Well, I should say we have had a land boom here,”’ replied the banker to my ques- tion. ‘‘We have been land crazy round here. Everyone is selling land or buying it. A dry-goods merchant is just as likely to be out selling farms as he is selling dry goods. I went out on the street the other day, walked up and down, and there must have been thirty-five men standing round on the corners, each the middle of a knot of men or buttonholing a prospect off to one side— and all selling land. Right round here I know of fifty farms that have changed hands in the last sixty days.” Good Roads and Poor Poets **Our $200-an-acre land is now selling at $300. I would say that the average in- crease for all land round here has been fifty dollars an acre. A little farther south the price has increased anywhere from $100 to $175 an acre. Lots of it is bought by spec- ulators. They pay just a few hundred dol- lars down and expect to sell soon. I know of a man over in the next county who has bought fifty-three farms in this manner. But many of the farms too are being bought by renters.” This is but typical of almost any town in central and northern Illinois. The total number of farms sold in the state, the in- crease in price, the total profits are all matters of conjecture. You can figure it out for yourself or wait until reports are ublished in about steen years from now. But the money involved figures up into hundreds of millions of dollars and the total increase in value, as in Iowa, will reach into billions. Go to Indiana, where there are more good roads to the square mile and poor poets to the cubic yard than in any other state in the land, and all over the state you find there has been a land boom. The first town of any size I visited was Crawfordsville, county seat of Montgomery County. Here the boom did not strike until the latter part of June and it was all over by the middle of August. But round Crawfordsville land in that time increased anywhere from twenty-five dollars an acre to $100. One real-estate firm in the town told me that it had han- dled 125 sales. A bank that deals in land had made seventy-five sales. Another real-estate firm informed me that it had made sixty-five sales. A small firm gave me twenty as the number of farms it had sold. And there were three or four other established firms in town whom I did not visit. I had heard enough to give me some idea of the vast farm-sale business that had been done here. These were not wild guesses either, but actual figures. In some instances before my eyes the real-estate man took out his records and counted the contracts on file. These men gave me any number of actual instances of farms being sold over and over again, each time at a substantial increase. One 180-acre farm that sold in December 1918, for $220 an acre, sold in August, 1919, for $300. A farm that sold for $150 in August was resold in September for $225 an acre. One farm had been sold four times respectively for $90, $100, $110 and $150 an acre. One of 600 acres changed hands in September for $250 after it had sold in August for $190 and in March for $175. An eighty-acre place that brought $200 one day in July was sold three days later for $225 and in September for $250. A farm near New Richmond, some miles north, sold respectively for $175, $178, $195 and $200 an acre. In the Maumee Valley These prices do not go so high as in Illinois and lowa. But the percentage of increase, the boom of them, the specula- tion in them is just the same. The reasons for this Indiana boom are different, however, from those in the other two states mentioned, as I'll tell about presently. Over round Ft. Wayne, clear across the state, I found conditions just about as at Crawfordsville. Land that three or four years ago was selling at $100 and $150 an acre went like hot cakes—and with no more concern than one would order hot cakes for breakfast—for $300 an acre this past summer. One large real-estate firm oper- ating in this region and also extensively in Ohio and Illinois and with a dozen branch offices or more has sold several hundred farms. The Ft. Wayne branch alone er sold almost a hundred farms up to the fir: of October. The top price paid was ata $350 an acre. The increase in price was anywhere from $50 up to $150 an acre. i have figures from a number of other sections of Indiana, but it is useless to give them. They are so similar that it would just be a useless mass of details. I went on into Ohio and during several weeks of travel over the western, north- western and central portions of the state I found land boom and land talk wherever I went. From Dayton to Mt. Stirling and Columbus, north through Sidney, Wapa- koneta, Lima, Van Wert, Paulding and Bryan —everywhere there had been buying and selling of farms to a degree never seen in the state before. One real-estate man at Marion sold fif- teen farms in two weeks. A firm at Sidney sold $118,000 worth of farms in a few months. Since these were smaller, any- where from ten acres up to eighty acres, in a region where farms are scarcely half the size of Illinois farms, this record compares favorably with other records that look on the face much bigger. One man at Wapa- koneta told me that he had sold fifteen farms himself within a few months. At Lima, county seat of Allen County, one real-estate firm sold fifty farms from March to September, 1919, totaling $1,500,- 000 worth of business. I saw the contracts counted and the sum added. This firm had sold six more in September in addition to this. Another Lima firm told me it had sold more than fifty farms. A third firm had sold about fifty. “I believe that at least thirty-five per cent of the farms in Allen County have changed hands in 1919,’’ one of the best- known real-estate men in Lima told me. “Land has increased here anywhere from fifty to seventy-five dollars an acre all over the county. It is still going up. There isa lot of speculation, but also a (ot of buying for homes. There has been a lot of buying, selling and reselling. “One farm of + acres that sold four years ago for seventy dollars an acre sold early this year for $140 and last week for $165. A farm that a man bought for $185 this last spring he sold for $225 re- cently and just now it has sold once more for $250 an acre. A large farm that brought $150 early in the year sold again for $175 and then a third time for $235 an acre. And that’s the way land has been going all round.” THE SATURDAY EVENING POST From Lima I drove over to Delphos, a smaller town in the extreme western part of Allen County. Here one firm had sold eighteen farms that totaled nearly $325,000. There were four other men in town selling farms. There was the same increase in price of fifty or seventy-five dollars an acre. Farms that early in the year sold for $150 to $200 sold in July, August and Sep- tember for $200 and $275. I was told of sales at $315, $333 and of one man who has his farm listed at $400 an acre. There was the same selling and reselling. One 120- acre farm that sold late in ae for $200 had changed hands since for $225, then for $240 and a fourth time at $260" an acre. This is a typical example When I came to northwestern Ohio I found a head boom that in wide extent, in the energy with which things boomed and in the results rivaled anything any place | had been. As I traveled through Williams, Defiance, Paulding and Van Wert coun- ties I found conditions that rivaled Lowa at its most frenzied time. To understand this boom here it is necessary to explain some- thing of the conditions. The Maumee River is formed at Ft Wayne by the ur vag ller streams The Maumee Valley, running away an i ever widening out from Ft yo to the northeast, is one of the richest farming re- gions in America. Here is corn land so fertile and rich in mineral elements that addition of commercial or farm fertilizer actually seems to retard crop growth in- stead of aicing it. The valley is some 150 miles long and seventy miles wide at the end. Running out from Ft. Wayne are two ridges anywhere from a hundred to several hundred feet wide on top and from a few feet to twenty or thirty feet high. One goes to the southeast and along its top line lies the Lincoln Highway. The other goes to the northeast toward Hicksville and Bryan and on its ridge for a way runs the Yellow- stone Trail. Between these two natural ridges, constructed countless ages ago by Nature, lies the Maumee Valley. It is a land of rich, black, alluvial loam with a clay subsoil that holds moisture. This land is corn land, almost exactly the same in chemical composition as the gray loam of Illinois or the black loam of Lowa. Twenty-five years ago this whole region was largely a vast swamp and covered with virgin hardwood trees. So thick were the trees and so much of the land was under water that it was scarcely habitable by man. For long years, while the lowa and Illinois farms had been mined and ex- yloited to grow bumper crops of corn, this ~ was the home of wild animals and hunters came in great numbers to paddle round in boats and hunt, much as the In- dians of an earlier day had hunted here. The Preacher's Bargain Men thought that this land would al- ways be thus. But timber became scarcer and more valuable. So about twenty-five years ago timber companies came here, en- tered the valley and in just a few years cleared the timber off the whole space. A banker at Paulding told me that twenty- four years ago in Paulding County there were twenty-four stave factories running at one time and sawmills by the hundred. The timber gone, it was seen that all this land could be drained. So the timber com- panies divided the land up into small tracts and sold it to men for a song. The best land could be bought for from fifteen to eighteen dollars an acre and on almost any terms a man wanted. These men who came in were of the pioneer type. They worked long and hard to clear out the stumps, dig drainage ditches, build roads and fences. In barely ten years this whole region was conquered in forty and eighty acre tracts and turned into high-producing farm land. About fifteen years ago, just after the land had been fairly cleared up, a boom struck the region and land jumped from thirty and forty dollars an acre to round seventy-five and eighty. Many of the men who had done the pioneer work sold out at this time, satisfied with their profits. Folks in Paulding tell of the first man who about that time had nerve enough to declare that he would not sell until he received $100 an acre. “You'll have that farm until you die, said his friends. But along came a preacher who actually paid that amount—the first farm in the 137 county that ever sold for such an enor- mous sum ‘**He’s stung,” said everyone But some tfme later the preacher sold it for $115 an acre. A few years ago it sold for $225 an acre. In 1918 it changed hands at $300, To-day this land is ninety per cent drained. The swamps and the stumps are gone. There are fences and fine farm- steads. All over the valley there are hun dreds of miles of hard-surfaced roads and even concrete ones. Where twenty-five years ago was a vast swamp there are to- day nine trunk-line railroads and a net- work of electric interurbans. Here it was, the garden spot of the Corn Belt—and all ready to be boomed. Well, this year the boom came and it came with a bang as well as with a boom. It does not matter where you go, from one end to the other, you can hear the same story. All over the valley land has gone up an aver wre of nearly seventy-five dollars an acre In many places of course there are in stances of its going up a good bit more Any tiumber of farms are selling round $300 and 1 heard of men asking $400 an acre At Bryan in Williams County one real- estate firm had sold fifty-two farms up to the day in September when I visited them. The head of the firm told me that two or three other firms in town had sold about as many. He estimated that 300 farms had been sold in the surrounding country in the five months previous. He had sold a total of about 12,000 acres of land, on which he had made a commission of five dollars an acre, or $60,000. This was three times as much as he had ever sold in any similar period in his life. The day | was there he had three hundred farms listed for sale, totaling 30,000 acre A Well-:Spent Dollar At Paulding, as nearly as I could de- termine, there were about 200 farms sold during the boom. One of the smaller real- estate firms told me it had sold forty. An otiver firm was reported to have sold round a hundred. Land had advanced on some farms $100 and $150 an acre above what it would have sold for at the beginning of the year. The top price was abiout’ $300 an acre. Over at Payne, a smaller town in the county, | found one firm that had sold forty farms during the year. These men here placed the number of farms sold in the county during the summer at 400. Land had been bringing $350 here, with the bulk of the sales close to $300 an acre At Hicksville in Defiance County the boom struck the town like a cyclone strikes a town in Kansas. It came all on a sum mer’s day, early in August, burned like a fierce fire and then in two weeks or so died down suddenly. But in those two weeks land advanced $100 an acre in price and thirty farms changed hands right round within a few miles of the town. A lot of the sales were speculation, One man bought three farms in one day. A real-es _ man aoe an option on a farm a while before the boom and paid just one dollar to secure the option at $150 an acre During those two weeks in August he sold the farm for $225 an acre. From an invest ment of one dollar he had cleaned up $12,000. I was told a number of stories similar to this one in the two hours I was in tae town. A recording of all these details grows monotonous. But before trying to inter- pret them I want to say a word about how the land boom spread to other states, I was in southern Minnesota in August and there I found men buying land as frantically as in lowa, Far out in Kansas lands were boomed and boosted and sold. Missouri had a boom all its own. At Rrookfield for a short time in July farms were sold at the rate of twenty a day. In Livingston County prices rose fifty and a hundred dollars an acre and one farm near town was reported sold for $500. The average price was round $200 an acre. In Boone County one week in July a half million dollars’ worth of land changed hands and a newspaper report was to the effect that in a few months a total of $8,000,000 worth was sold. All over eastern Nebraska there was a great advance in the price of farms. Prices went up twenty-five, fifty and seventy-five dollars an acre overnight. A real-estate man told me of one farm that was bought (Continued on Page 141)

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138 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 6,1920 } { “Have a Demonstration” {, a Sees ship > Se —

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140 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 6, 1920 BREAD Will reduce the High Cost of Eating PRUNE AND NUT SANDWICH Stice the breed and cut our with « femey « pound of stewed prunes through « se chopped nat me n breed ead plece ¢ BREAD AND MOLASSES TART : Rub hall a cup of lard inte two cups of four, and hell « tee spoon of salt and enough water to make « stiff paste. Roll and line @ buttered tim, Mix bread crumbs with eght tablespoons of moles ses, Grated rind and strained juice of one lemon. Spread over the pertry end bake in hot oven thirty minutes. Serve hot or cold % %. ai “e 1 the best bread eave, Gil with eggs and sauce and ley on hot dish. Arrange border 4 of pees end serve \ ie —_ wD ” oil: (ee + ae! “ie c — 7 7 BREAD CROQUETTES WITH PEACHES Slice and toast « feel of breed. Crind fine end add one pound To two cups of stale bread crumbs, add half « cup of chopped e . ; P A SAVORY NUT ROAST = “itd ‘ . —_——— “i Y — 5 s) of chopped aut meats, two cups chopped celery, ene pound of : ln j . , oe . almonds. teespoon of grated lemon rind, tablespoon of lemon jwice fematees, ball cup chopped onions, two tablespoons of melted but ” AY v7 e eon af ee tablespoon of melted butter, quarter teaspoon of salt and one cup ter, teaepocs of salt, tesapoon of pepper aad two eggs well beaten : ™ ——— ’ . “TS ae = eile > ef milk. Heat and let boil one minute. Remove from fire and Boke in moderate oven one hour Decorate with lemon and serve ae ee ae — z : add yolks of two eggs. When cool, form inte six croquettes. Roll with tomate savce ae _ LE. - > - 19 bread crumbs and fry in smoking fet, Serve with peaches.

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—— (Continued from Page 137) for $38,000 and a week later sold for $48,000. One farmer in Central Nebraska paid but thirty-five dollars for a whole 160 acres about thirty years ago. Eight years ago this was sold for thirty dollars an acre. Six years ago it sold again for eighty dol- lars an acre. Three years ago it was turned for eighty again and a year ago it brought $100. In 1919 it sold for $125 an acre. Up round Wayne in the northeastern part there was pretty much of a boom too. Here it broke forth in an epidemic of auction sales that extended on into winter. In one week near Wayne three large farms totaling 2160 acres sold at auction for an average of $293 an acre. Some of these auctions were advertised by half-page and even full-page spreads in the local news- papers and attracted a lot of attention. Also they doubtless stimulated a lot of buying. Far out in the sand hills of Northwestern Nebraska, where it is still wild and un- settled, land that a year ago was selling for five dollars an acre has been boosted to $12.50, twenty and twenty-five dollars an acre, The sagebrush and the sand hills are not immune from frenzied finance, it seems. The total amount of land sales over the Corn Belt and regions touched by this boom is so high that no man can estimate just how high it is as yet. The total value added to all farm lands, whether sold or not, is so stupendous as to stagger the imagination, running into billions of dol- lars. The results from it are likely to be just as vast and far-reaching. The most significant thing out of all of this buying and selling is the interdepend- ence of the boom in one state and the boom in another. It was the farmers leav- ing the high-priced land and going to the regions of lower-priced land that kept the hoom moving. The Iowa farmers who sold their land for $400 and $500 an acre are moving to Minnesota, to North Dakota, to Missouri and even to Kansas. The Illinois farmers are moving to Indiana and more to Ohio. The Minnesota farmers, having sold out to Towa farmers, are moving on to the north. The Ohio farmers who are selling are moving on to Michigan and are going outh to Mississippi. A farmer walked into a real-estate office in Lima, Ohio, one day last September and held out a piece of gray clod to the real- estate agent, “See that dirt?” he said. ‘‘That came from a farm out in Illinois that I sold last week for $625 an acre. Now I want you to find me one round here that has dirt just as yood and I'll pay $300 an acre for it.’ New Farms for Old And the agent went out and found the man a farm that had been worth but $200 an acre before. But to the Illinois man it was worth $300 and cheap at that. It was because this land at a much higher price is still cheap to the man who has left the still higher priced lands of Illinois such as he had sold. Thus one farm sells for $300 an acre and promptly all the farms round advance to $300 an acre too. In the town of Bryan, Ohio, in one day last September there were forty-three IIli- nois farmers wanting to buy Williams County farms. For day after day this past summer this same condition has continued all up and down the Maumee Valley. As a matter of fact it has been going on for several years now. Anywhere from fifty to eighty per.cent of the farms sold in North- western Ohio last summer were sold to men from Illinois. They know corn land when they see it, do these men. They will have no other. It is just as good as they sold back home; it costs but half as much and it is new virgin soil. Besides it lies along much better roads. So then the boom in one place drives farmers on to cheaper land at another. Ar- riving there with higher-price standards behind them they are willing to pay a premium and so force up the land in the place where they go. They force out men who in turn go on to still cheaper land. It is a process that is never ended. It ex- plains why a boom once set in motion can goon and on. It explains too the frantic advertising of Minnesota lands in Iowa newspapers imploring Iowa farmers to come to the country of cheaper land. The second significant thing that stands out is that everywhere it was the corn land, good black or gray corn dirt, that men were so eager to get hold of, for corn dirt is gold THE SATURDAY out in the Middle West. Take it in North- western Ohio. The corn land is the drained swamp land that lies between the two ridges running out of Fort Wayne. On the one side of the-ridge it was corn land. On the other side it was not—and there might be a difference of fifty dollars an acre in the price. In Clinton County, Iowa, where the soils department from Iowa State College has made a soil survey, men procured soil maps from the county and the boom fol- lowed the lines of soil demarcation on the map. The whole world wants corn. The land on which it can be grown is limited. It can be stretched but little. There is no more. And so with a world crying for corn and more corn the land it grows on is more and more valuable. That is why men fought for and begged for and bought corn land. A third significant thing that stands out is the part that the real-estate men have played. I have long since come to the opinion that there are about three or four times as many such as we need in the country anyhow and that all the extra ones are but parasites upon the farmer and city landowner. But here came this boom and with it such a swarm of agents sprang up that they covered the Corn Belt as the grasshopperssometimes cover Kansas. They had no offices, so they used their autos, parked on the shady side. They may have had other businesses, but they gave them up. Mushroom Real-Estate Agents One class of legitimate though some- times pestiferous real-estate firm is one that with plenty of capital makes a busi- ness of buying and selling farms outright. One firm has done more to boost the price of land in Ohio than any other one thing. Another type of agent, who is the most reliable of all, is the established agent who sells on a commission. Of course he has to get out and hustle. He rides the country over looking for farms that might be for sale. Once he procures one he lists it and then proceeds to find a buyer, For his work in bringing the buyer ‘and seller to- gether the universal commission is round five dollars an acre, or a small percentage of the purchase price. It was not this type of agent who handled a big share of the land boom, though of course he did his best to help it along, but it was the newly sprung-up agents of the curbstone. In one Ohio town, besides three legitimate agents, there were one ex-postmaster, one stock dealer and race-horse driver, one jeweler, one butcher, two lawyers, one painter, one hardware man, one farmer and one retired farmer all of whom had lately blossomed out as dealers in real estate, In another town in the Corn Belt I found, in addition to three regular firms, a jeweler, a garage man and a farmer, who had set themselves up to sell farms. In another small town, besides one regular firm, there were a reformed drunkard, a former farmer who has been lately in a garage, a night »oliceman, a man who had been bartender Sdene the town went dry—all real-estate agents, It would take a separate story to tell of the activities of these fungous agents. Many of them used questionable methods to induce men to buy farms. I found ample evidences of this as I traveled round. Many city men, business and _profes- sional, rode the country buying and selling farms. One good deal would net more in a week than their ordinary business would bring in a year or several years. Farmers by the hundred neglected their crops to sell land, getting options and selling to others, Many farmers were content with selling their own farms themselves, saving the paying of any commission to real- estate men. Throughout the whole boom, in the hands of this sort of agents, there was a large element of speculation. This varied in different places and it depended upon those with whom I talked. The bankers almost without exception looked upon the boom with some alarm or serious concern, They were inclined to call a lot of the buy- ing and selling speculation and gambling. But the real-estate agents were as a rule loud in declaring that it was not specula- tion. “Investment” was the word they used overtime. Yet one of them told me of a young fellow, twenty-two years old, with scarcely any capital, who had made $60,000 by buying and‘selling. No, that’s not spec- ulation. It’s gambling. ae on ay ee EVENING POST Speculation as such was strongly con- demned at a meeting of the American Farm Economies Association, held at Chicago in November, when the land boom took up a big share of the program and discussion. As nearly as I can determine, about half of the farms bought and sold were pure speculation—-gambling, if you want to call it that. We apply the latter term when a man plunges in Wall Street and it fits just as well to a land plunge in Lowa. The other half of the farms were bought or sold by men who wanted larger farms or more land as a safe-and-sure investment. Some were bought by or for returned soldiers. They were bought in large share by men form- erly tenants who had acc ‘umulated enough to make a first payment on a place of their own. Some of these farms were sold by men who wanted to retire, but the most of them were sold just because the owners could get the price. Some men sold who were sorry afterward that they did. These farms were almost all bought on long-time payments, Not five per cent of the sales anywhere were for cash. A man would buy a farm, pay down, say, $1000 or $2000 to bind the contract and agree to pay about thirty to fifty per cent on March 1, 1920. For the rest a mortgage running anywhere from five to ten years at five and a half or six per cent would be given. Thus the man who had $2000 could in- vest it in an option on a farm, keep it a week or a month, sell the farm at a big profit and turn over to the next man the burden of meeting the big March first payment and paying interest on the mort- gage. If he did not sell and could not make the first payment he could lose his $2000 and back down on his contract. Along in the summer, following an epi- demic of stories of high-price sales in the newspapers, there began to appear here and there a different sort of news story. Here is a typical one: John Williams, livingin Jefferson County, is not going to move this fall, even if he did sell his 320-acre farm in the spring. When aman came along and offered him $265 an acre he thought it was time to sell while the market was so good, and so he did. Recently Mr. Williams began casting about for a place to buy and move on, but he could not find any for anything like what he had taken for his place. So get- ting into his car he made a trip to see the man who had purchased the farm, After a very earnest conversation with the man he yot out his check book, wrote out a chec! for the purchase price he had received, added $10,000 to it and the deed was re turned to him. Mr. Williams considers himself very lucky indeed, I know of any number of instances of men who sold their farms at what they thought were boom prices, expecting to buy another cheaper, but found that while they stopped to get in a load of hay or feed the hogs prices had gone up so that they could not find any farm suitable to their needs or pocketbooks. Sadder but wiser, they were only too glad to pay a good-sized premium tt — the buyer of their old home place to back down on the deal, To Sell or Not to Sell? I did not quite realize just what it meant to be offered a big price for a farm until one night I was visiting with an lowa farm family with whom I am well acquainted. Someone knocked at the door and the man of the family, who owns the farm, went to the door. Two strangers were there. He stepped outside and | heard a murmur of voices for some time, Then the men went away and the farmer returned, smiling. “Those men just offered me $500 an acre cash for the farm, Mary,” he said to his wife. ‘‘What about it? Shall we take the $80,000 and let them have it?” “Well, I should say not!” replied the wife, “Why s hould I sell?” the farmer said, turning to me. “I have lived on this farm thirty years all told. I know it from end to end. I have built me this good home here, Here are my friends and relatives. I am near to town and a shipping station. I am a farmer and expect to farm all the rest of my days. So why in the world should I sell this farm and move away to a strange neighborhood at my time of life?” The tragedy of many a man without wisdom such as my friend had is that hav- ing sold his farm he cannot buy it back. It is in the hands of one who will not sell, or else it is held so high that he cannot eee cee on SS 141 I know of a man in afford to buy it back. Paulding County, Ohio, who sold his farm for $225 an acre. When he offered $300 to get it back the buyer just laughed at him. The causes of all this land boom are e asy to find and yet a deep mystery. During the war all land was at a standstill and prac- tically no farms changed hands. Particu- larly the speculators were not in the business. Though land stood still, the price of hogs rose to twenty-three dollars a hun- dred, Cattle sold for more than ever be- fore. Corn, wheat and other farm products went to dizzy heights. Yet the land on which all these were produced remained the same in value, Then the war came to an end. Suddenly land began to boom. That it should rise some was natural—it was due to come. But when land reached the legitimate rise it Saag not stop. The boom beeame a panic. fen bee ame mad—that’s the only term that can describe it—-and under mob influ ence land was pushed to dizzy he sights. Pretty much all over the Corn Belt a rise of twenty-five dollars or so an acre was legitimate. The rest of the advance was boom—forced, speculative increase. This increase too was bound to come in time, but it would have taken five or maybe ten years under normal circumstances. The Corn Belt shot forward five or ten years in three months as it were. Inflated prices for farm products, cheap money, enormous bank deposits, the influ ence of the Federal Farm Loan, tenant farmer prosperity, soldiers back from ™ war, an actual shortage of farm land and consequent congestion so that men were willing to bid against each other, plus a frenzied state of public mind—these were the things that seemed to bring the rise in prices. Added to these was the stimulation given the mob mind through newspaper publicity and the pulling power of paid advertising and the artificial boosting by real-estate agents and auction sales, The World’s Biggest Moving Day But even all this does not explain the panic, the frenzied part of the boom. Well, that’s the question that is shrouded in mystery. There was a time when I thought the thing was artificial, planned by real- estate agents, found out that it was natural and that it surprised the agents as much as anybody. Now I say I don't know. But the thing has been done. The land has gone up, The farms have been sold; now they must be paid for. Of fur more importance now is to face the consequences and if possible determine in advance what they are likely to be and to prepare for them. First of all, we face thie spring the world’s most gigantic moving day. With all of these farms sold, it means that the man now on each one will haye to move. Or- dinarily nearly half of the tenant farmers of the country move every spring as it is. Now comes all of the moving from these boom sales, I do not believe I exaggerate when I say that in many a community in the Corn Belt where tenantry is high from forty to fifty per cent of all farm families will have to move this year, Not only will there be a vast migration from one state to another but there will be smaller ones from one community to another, The sale of one farm often sets in motion forces that cause a dozen families to move. March first is proverbially set as moving day in the country, but it will be a physical impossibility for all to move on that day. All through the months of March and April there will be caravans of wagons and trucks along the public highways. Just think of the rare damage that will be done to the muddy roads! There will be teight cars loaded and shipped and families on the rail roads on the way to their new homes. I do not exaggerate at all when I say that this vast moving day in its entirety will make the e »xodus from E gypt or the migration of our fathers to the West look like mere trifles, That folks are preparing for this moving has been made manifest during the recent winter months by a most unusual phe- nomenon out in the Middle West. This is the vast number of farm auction sales that are being held everywhere—the sales where the household goods, the implements and the stock are cried and gold, Usually sales are held late in the winter, But this last fall they began in numbers late in October. Concluded on Page 145)

Page 144

SATURDAY EVENING POST [aa ‘i bia, LK We iesee Ge mJ. Mil = \ ) +* is At the Salesroom \ : = VN Sm i WYN cy) wy WH WOM uy (EDIT ( OU y . MOTOR TRUCKS Dissect this 34,-ton Stewart— Fast, smart, durable, inexpensive— Equipped with electric lights, electric starter, magneto ignition and pneumatic tires, Chassis price, $1275 This 344-ton Stewart has the speed and flexibility of a passenger-car truck but none of its lighter con- struction. And as to heavy trucks why do some merchants put them on 3/4-ton work? Compared with them, this Stewart darts about and covers ground like a destroyer in a naval convoy and gets the job done easily, quickly and at little cost. It’s the right truck to start with and every fleet needs one, for Model 11, the 3/4-ton size Stewart, hustles the loads, puts in full days, and is a business getter—a smart-looking salesman—an advertisement—a model of service. A real truck, without a passenger-car part in it, designed by experienced truck designers, ready for all the bumps and strains and demands of the worst kinds of roads or weather. This truck is not only inexpensive to buy—but economical to run. Any Stewart is a money-saver, for none is too light for its work and none carries needless weight. Stewart simplified design has eliminated hundreds of useless parts, hundreds of pounds of unnecessary weight—the result of seven years of wise, experienced, progressive truck building. The Stewart is a 100° truck. Every dollar invested in it is a live, working, producing dollar. It is easy to handle, easy to keep up, simple to operate. Simplicity means less time lost for repairs and replacements—less dead weight to move—hence, less expense for tires, gasoline and oil. But best of all, you get an attractive, well-balanced quality truck—all truck from the ground up—built to last—built for real day-in, day-out service—a truck that does more, rather than less, than it promises. Quality trucks since 1912 STEWART- MOTOR: CORPORATION - BUFFALO-N-Y- March 6,1920

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At the Factory

Here’s the proof: Fleets that grew from one It isn't the size of a truck fleet that tells the real story. A big industry that decides to motorize may buy 20 to 50 trucks at once—may make a mistake of judgment that will never be discovered. But the business man who buys one truck, finds it pays big, has to buy another and still others to keep up with expansion—his experience is a valuable guide. Stewart dealers can tell you of numerous cases, right in your own vicinity, where the first Stewart expanded gradually into a large fleet, and every truck that was added was another Stewart. Each Stewart fleet tells a complete story of the service, efficiency and economy of Stewart trucks—a story that has gone round the world—for Stewarts are giving everyday satisfaction in 600 American cities, on hundreds of farms and in 27 foreign countries. And only through this satisfaction of owners could the Stewart Corporation have become one of the world’s leaders in truck building in only 7 years. Read what these fleet owners say:

ee | ry HENRY J. BALL ROTHENBERG & CO. 4 MILWAUKEE, WIS W. i4tm St., New York Cory We are using at the present time We have thirteen Stewart truck twenty-six Stewart trucks from one and operate them ore of 40 aay iree ol ton to three-and-one-half ton capa to 50 miles every city. This explains how we like them these trucks in a year's time have We are more than satisted and we not cost us more than $100 for repair expect to buy more in the near future Upon this splendid performance, we al < When we began buying trucks we decided to buy ten more Stewarts, had several different makes, but are and find we have made no mistake so well satisfied with the Stewart The trucks give us perfect satista trucks that we are now standardizing tion, and with the service you rendet on them. us nothing more can be asked. Signed) HENRY J. BALI igned) 1.EO A. PRICE, Pre (Have bought more since writing above)

i

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

Mudel 12 — 2000 Ib. — Chassis $1595, with electric starter, electric lights, magneto ignition, S-in. cord tires

Model 9 — 1'2-ton — Chassis $2095

Model 7 — 2 ton — Chassis $2695

Model 10 — 3'-ton — Chassis $3650 Dri STEWART- MOTOR: CORPORATION- BUFFALO-NY:

| } }

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144 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 6,1920 What you see in the window is not all the G-E motor dealer has to offer—look beyond the window and the store! This Store Window’s Real Meaning OUR choice of electric motors and accessories is not limited by the G-E motor dealer’s stock and his service facilities but only by the great designing, engineering and manufacturing resources of the General Electric Company. Only six standard types of G-E motors and control are displayed. By means of slight electrical or mechanical variations each motor equipment can be adapted to the differing requirements of an endless variety of machines. oe — Throughout the United States G-E motor dealers and "f leadersip. - this Company stand ready to aid you in selecting just the and manufacture right motor and control for your purpose. i GENERAL ELECTRIC COMPANY, SCHENECTADY, N. Y. -K motors From the Mightiest to the Tiniest } G EyN°EBYRA LOE L BSC.T RIC CO MR ATREY |

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(Concluded from Page 141) By November they were being held every- where. December saw sales by the score in every county in the land-boom country. Veteran auctioneers say it surpasses any- thing ever known in the history of the Middle West. One day in early January I walked into an Iowa newspaper office, picked up copies of ten representative lowa country weeklies from the exchange table and counted the sales advertised in them. These ten papers had a total of eighty-six display ads for sales and a total of 164 listed in the classi- fied columns. This one week’s record is typical of the whole Corn Belt. On one road ten miles long in Boone County, Iowa, there are eighteen farmers who are having sales. “‘Having sold my farm I am moving to town,” “I am moving to Minnesota,” “‘Having sold my farm I am leaving the community,” ‘‘Since I am retiring’’—these are some of the typic -al explanations for the sales given in the ads. All of this moving, coming as it is at one time, is bound to have a widespread influ- ence on the rural and city life of America in ways so vast that it can scarcely be realized or measured now. History is being made in this March first moving day. It means that communities will be torn apart and broken up. Farmers’ organizations will lose part of their members. Farm women’s clubs will be disintegrated. School-teachers will face a new lot of pupils next fall, with different textbooks and different prepara- tion. The blow will fall hardest on rural churches, already in desperate straits. Church congregations will be broken up; new families will be moving in and stran- gers will not attend or support a church as did the old members who moved away. It will mean the death of more than one struggling congregation. One of Iowa’s best-known rural pastors told me that it would take six or more of the best families right away from his church and community, The settlement for these farms and mak- ing the first big payment on them on March first, when most of the settlements are due to be made, will result in just about the biggest business transaction the coun- try ever saw. The way the banks are hand- ling all this, how money is being procured for payments, the incidents humorous and tragic, will make a story in themselves, So also wll the payment of income taxes on all of those big profits made last summer, Farm Rents Boosted The boom is already meaning that rents will be higher on farm lands. I have data — from dozens of sources in several tates to show that cash rent has been raised anywhere from fifty to one hundred per cent for this year's le easing over rents last year. I found Ohio owners in the north- western part of the state asking as high as twenty dollars an a_re for beet land. In Belvidere, Illinois, rent has advanced from ten dollars up to fifteen dollars an acre. In northern Iowa land that rented a year ago for eight and nine dollars an acre is being held for twelve and fourteen dollars this year. In Grunay County farms that rented for twelve dollars an acre last year are being held for twenty-five dollars this year. One farm near West Liberty, Iowa, rented for thirty dollars an acre. The man who had a farm valued at $200 an acre and who rented it for ten dollars an acre last year feels that with its value raised to $400 an acre now he ought to get twenty dollars an acre. The farm is worth twice as much, so he must have twice as much interest. Or say a man has bought this farm for $400 an acre that rented for ten dollars an acre last year. He must have his interest, so he boosts the rent. This rent boosting is well-nigh uni- versal over the Corn Belt Now what is happening is of importance and mighty significant. The tenant farm- ers have been refusing to pay these high rents in many places. Instead they are moving out and going on to communities or states where land is cheaper. They may have saved enough to buy a cheaper farm, or at any rate enough to go where rents are cheaper. Usually Corn Belt farms are rented along in July and August for the next year. With all of the buying and selling and raising of rents farms were not rented last summer. A county agricultural agent told me in September that he knew of 150 ten- ants in his county who had not located for THE SATURDAY the coming year. I know of another county where in December not half of the farms offered for rent had been taken. All this means that the enterprising tenant farmer will be taken out of the community and the farms will be turned over to younger or more inexperienced men. It will mean that many owners who cannot get tenants on a cash basis at all will have to supply the capital and put men on their farms on some sort of a joint- partnership basis. All this on a widespread scale over a number of states will have a marked effect on agriculture and com- munity life. The land boom will mean ultimately an increase in the number of tenants. Of course many tenants have bought farms and in so buying are graduated to the landowner class. But many men bought who live in town. They do not expect to farm. They want a tenant on the place. Higher prices, too, will mean that it willtake a tenant longer to get ahead and that he must remain a tenant longer. Will Land Prices Tumble? There will be more retired farmers in the future. All over the Corn Belt reports are that men who sold their farms are moving to town. Having made enough on specula- tion or on the increased value of land to keep them the rest of their days, why buy another farm and slave on? Looking on the land boom that enables them to do it, they move to town with rejoicing. And pretty nearly everywhere the retired ‘farmer as a rule is a detriment to a community rather than an asset. Another thing is that the land has been getting into the hands of the men who do not do the actual farming. During the past few years there has been a steadily decreasing number of farms over the Corn Belt. I know of any number of counties where there are two or three men getting control over a large number of farms or of large acreages of land thrown together into one large farm. I know of men who have as high as 125 farms under their control. Now it has keen this class of men who have been buying more farms. These men have been taking advantage of the present speculation to add to their holdings. All this is a dangerous tendency. It means still more tenantry. It means that the time will come when large landholdings must be dis- couraged, But after all, these things I mention are but incidental. The big questions ure yet to be viewed. First of all, since there seems little doubt but that the price of land was forced abnormally high rast summer, will the price stay up or will it come down? The universal testimony is that it will stay up. The testimony is that Iowa and Illi- nois land is high because it is worth it worth $500 an acre and more for the be The same applies to the higher land fe mn elsewhere. Even more, prices will keep on rising not by another boom but by a steady, sub- stantial rise each year. High authorities believe that the best Lowa land will average $600 and $700 an acre in the next few years. I could quote men by the dozen in Iowa, Illinois and Ohio who predict that land will go anywhere from $50 to $200 higher than it sold for this last year before it stops. I know of one Iowa farmer who is willing to bet $5000 that land in his county will sell for $1000 an acre within ten years. I grant you that at present prices of farm products, with hogs at fifteen cents a pound or more, wheat selling at $1.75 a bushel and other things in proportion, these farms are worth all that men paid for them last summer. But suppose prices drop, will the farms still be worth as much? Look back to thé terms I mentioned under which these farms were sold. Or better yet, here are some actual figures which I copied from an actual contract as | found it on file in an Iowa bank: A Grundy County farm of 160 acres was bought April 2, 1919, for $52,000. A first EVENING POST payment of $1000 was made when the con- tract was’ signed. The conditions call for $29,000 to be paid March 1, 1920. In addi- tion a $22,000 mortgage for five years at five and a half per cent is to be taken over. On May sixteenth this farm was resold for $56,000. The terms called for $1000 down, $1000 on November first, $32,000 on March 1, 1920, and assumption of the $22,000 mortgage. Now this man who bought last owns 320 acres of land on which he has not paid out. He has it mortgaged for all that it will stand. This extra quarter section he bought on speculation in the hope of selling it for more than $56,000 before March 1, 1920, comes round, Now suppose he does not sell, He has no money. His banker told me that he can- not borrow, because he has alre vady bor- rowed the limit. All that he can do is to sell the other farm—if he can. If he cannot he must go back on his contract, lose his $2000 paid and throw the farm back into the hands of the man he bought it from. But maybe that man had bought it on speculation too, He does not have the money to make that March first payment, having counted on getting it from the man to whom he sold, He, too, must go back on his bargain. Now as a matter of fact most of the men who have bought farms have enough money in sight to pay the first big payment this spring. Either they have it in hand or they can arrange to borrow it from a bank or a loan company or from private sources. Not more than five per cent of the farms bought last summer will be thrown back on the men who sold them. For the rest the initial payment will be made, But the big question is, Will these men be able to pay the next big installment at the end of five years? At the old value of land a landlord was making barely four per cent on his money invested, and many made less than that. Under the present values a man who rents a farm for cash is going to have a hard time to get more than two or three per cent at best as interest. If he expects to raise $22,000 in five years he has another think coming—as farm man- agement experts at the state agricultural colleges can show from ample data from farm surveys. Conflicting Views of the Boom The man who bought a farm for a home and who has approximately forty to fifty per cent of the purchase price to pay down is pretty safe. Even if he eannot raise enough in five years to pay the full amount due his credit will be good; he can get the mortgage renewed and go on in good shape, But for the fellow who has bought on ten or twenty or even thirty per cent—as many did buy, with no higher initial payments than these— there is danger ahead. If prices stay up on farm products all is well. But let hogs and corn and wheat drop to prewar levels and a third or a half of the men who have bought farms will be in hard luck. They will have a hard row to hoe, Many will be unable to meet interest, let alone payments. They will fail. The farms will have to - sold perhaps at a sacrifice. The whole boom is pretty much of a bubble. If it can just hold long enough it will solidify. But let prices come down any time within the next five years before the money has been earned for the second big payment and the bubble’s pricked. Then there will be a panic of a different sort from last summer—and the deuce to pay. It’s queer how men look at this boom in such different lights. Real-estate men are enthusiastic and optimistic, bankers con- servative and pessimistic, county agricul- tural agents pretty much divided. But farmers are pretty generally of the opinion that since for forty years their profits have been mainly what had come from the un- paid work of their wives and children, they are entitled to the profit that came from the increased value in land. He believes, 145 does the average farmer, that the present high prices of farm products as well as land are justified and that they are going to remain high, that never will prices go back to prewar levels. I talked one day last fall to a county agent from northern Iowa and in a few minutes after with one from the other end of the state. “The land boom has been the worst thing that has ever struck the country,” said the man from the north. “Seventy-five per cent of the present sales have been from speculation. It will raise the rent about a hundred per cent. Our best tenants are moving out. Owners won’t be able to get men to go on their farms. ‘Farms were hardly earning good inter- est on their investment at former land prices. Now they must grow twice as much or take less interest. A dollar, too, is worth only half as much.” “T am an optimist,” said the other man. “Ninety-nine out of every hundred who have bought farms will be able to pay out. The few speculators who bought are now unloading their farms at a small profit and on good terms to men who can do the paying out.” A College Man’s Opinion “Money is bound to be cheaper. Farms at $400 and low interest are no harder to pay for than at $200 and high interest. Production can be increased fifty per cent without much expense. “Right in my county there will be hun- dreds of carloads of lime put on the soil this year that will essentially increase the crops grown.” There you are! Here is another county agent who takes a dark view. “Farmers will never be able to pay out on the farms they have bought,”’ said he. “This land boom will set the country back fifty years from the standpoint of progres- sive agriculture, “Yet some men are saying that it will stimulate agriculture. In thirty years lowa has not increased corn production one bushel. It is foolish to hope that you can raise the level of farm produce in a year to meet this crisis. You can’t change the farmers of a whole state overnight.” Of the hundreds of men with whom I talked concerning the land boom and spee- ulation, none has a better grasp of the situation than has Dean C. F. Curtiss, of Iowa State College, at Ames. Nor do I know of any man whose opinion ought to carry more weight. “This land boom resulted mainly from the inflated price of farm products,” Dean Curtiss said. “‘At the same time land had not responded in proportion to the increase in the price of these products and increase in other prices All at once peop ile discov- ered this, woke up to the fact and began to tuke advantage of it. “How permanent will be the present inflated prices for farm products is a ques- tion. It remains to be seen, but it is a consensus of opinion that though they will remain high for a year or two they will not remain permanently as high as now. They are due for a drop in values after a period of adjustment. “Another fact equally clear is that the price of agricultural products will come down before the price of agricultural labor. The price of corn and wheat and cattle and hogs vill drop before the cost of production decreases. This means that for a period farms will have to be operated on a smaller margin of profit. ‘Agriculture is first to feel a reduction of prices. With respect to reacting on the future value of the land the man who owns or nearly owns his own farm can take this decreased margin of profit and continue to operate his farm during such a transition period. The man who does not own his farm so, or the speculator, is likely to be caught. After the period of readjustment there will come cheaper labor and cheaper machiner “The ultimate value of farm lands will be governed largely by the standards of value that may be established for money. Whether we shall continue to have inflated value no one knows. Some say this infla- tion is permanent and others say it is but for a short time. It will not be until we have the reaction of agricultural produc- tion and industrial conditions in the coun- tries involved in the war that we can tel! Sut I believe that land prices wil! continue to move slowly upward.”

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146 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ull Lid it duu A a la

A |

. z . ¥ s , ie if : [ . f : > ~- rm . — ¥

JPL \ : Hi Y N \ SS . ’ z 4 : oe AS SSS AF 4 = SS ' =. at Sai SS SSSS K@—SES= JANES | ; 4 CBD MET FLATS MLEVEN years ago we a mazed | the publicity world by buy- ing a double-page advertise- ment in the Saturday Evening Post.

Hardly a novel expenditure to- day! But then, it was the first two- page men’sclothes ad that had ever appeared in the Post. We bought the big-

¥ HE ROYAL TAILORS CHICAGO -——- NEW YORK The Clothes that Real Men Wear Are Roya! Tailored

March 6,1920

—— \\ht \\ wk, | yy, \ Ye WAN hee y, \ bh,’ WA NN \ , WR AG = ) 4 | | Nin YY ‘ite 5 mi 4 JInisy FnPeT re ; od ; et ry oe we ysis & - oo > gest magazine space we could get because we felt we had the biggest clothes-‘message to deliver. To wit: That discerning men do not have to be rich men in order to afford the best made-to-order clothes. T-R-T Before that ad appeared eleven years ago, genuine custom-tailoring was considered the wearing apparel of the extravagant or wealthy.

\\\ \ | Vi » Haig

—e a4 PITS, 3 sony °°"° EY _ 4°" a*] "i ys i ae r-( > CT Vii may... JIrtdbeu But long since then Royal Pub- licity has knocked that notion into a cocked hat. It has pointed out how the mam- moth Royal Sunshine Tailor-Shops —centralizing under one roof the combined buying power, skill and resourcefulness of two thousand local tailors—produce and deliver the best made-to-order clothes at the price of ready-mades. And indeed, often for less than the price of ready-mades!

ROYAL TAILORED- TO-ORDER CLOTHES

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= — ( Given a worthy service, funda- mentally sound, and your Old Father Time is the greatest business builder extant. Look what he did for the Royal Tiger these eleven years. Multiplied our number of dealers by five—from 2,000 to 10,000. And multiplied our sales volume in even larger proportion. T-R-.T But there are still some men who are wronging their wardrobes by 4 ca \. “4 \ | ‘ 4 ¢ s 8 We kaa /// j ° ’ bd (} Y \ - _ /f / “oe ~ —— , c OG. eas —=— — —F y Y o% Yeo = aiaeg = i Z — «<a , ‘ é a a 4A iothes that Ke Py , . . ‘ uJ 3 Be, ee od eu &. SB. ¢ : » « Sse ck, “Es THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

I) i Nf

the delusion that good made-to- order clothes are expensive. For these men we continue the Royal propaganda. There never was a better time than this time of critical prices, to prove that the Royal way is the logical way—the soundly economic way to get the best clothes-values for the least cost. Genuine made-to-your- measure clothes—with i Z \ iis 2 YX ait | 4 } x me N) | A Wj If \h } / i Mh, ifs I/ / \\ WA iy, WKY Ly Ze \\ fi! i} mY os Sores ps al Men Wear 147 i\\\ \ \ \\ ae, \\ \ \ I} Aa ees ¢\ \ \ \ \\ AMA \ /, \ \ \ \ \ / | vaily 2 . i nin i

opyright, 1920, The Royal Ta worsteds and 83 new Spring styles to choose from—at the price of ready-mades! There is a Royal dealer—a master of the tape line—in your town. His Spring 1920 woolen line is ready. Royal prices—$40, $45, $50 and $60° to $80 the suit or overcoat.

nearly 500 woolens and

— 10,000 AUTHORIZED LOCAL DEALERS

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 6,1920 A The Big. Brother to the Railroads» Gitting the Overhead NY business man who knows the meaning of business overhead and how to analyze it knows that increased efficiency means decreased overhead. There is no finer parallel than that for the Kelly truck with this overhead drive —the latest achievement of Kelly engineers. It combines the efficiency and flexi- It doesn’t hammer out tires, empty It has disc type steel wheels and four bility of the chain drive with the con- or under load. selections of wheel base. venient enclosure of the worm drive. It saves on repairs, due to the flexible It means longer life, more active It economizes fuel by delivering full construction, location of the radiator, life, slower depreciation, hence bigger power direct to the load without waste —_ and ease of routine care. return on the investment. in side thrusts. Our sole business is to build trucks, build every vital Our experience and financial resources are back of part of them and build them good enough to more than the entire Kelly-Springfield line, and are devoted to the earn their way for the investor. We have had fourteen building of a product so good that business overhead years’ experience and growth, with a past record to is materially reduced. There is a Kelly equipment for preserve and a future ambition to fulfill. every motor truck need. 1/2 to 6-ton models. KELLY-SPRINGFIELD MOTOR TRUCKS Springfield Ohio. DAI Xt QQ QA WW Quality always costs more #/ yf, VME,

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The business men of the town came, look- ing shabby ut well brushed, for an apéritif and a game of chess or piquet or checkers before dinner. Family parties, the women till in the styles of 1914, chatted and drank weak beer. French soldiers of the latest mobilized class, very young, callow and spruce beside one’s memory of the war- time poilu, arranged seats for their girls, whose old clothes were always pathetically relieved by some touch of new finery, as a fresh ribbon, a knot of tulle. British soldiers, resting from their gruesome day’s work of finding, burying and identifying the old remains of the dead in that slaughter pen just to the north, sat apart drawing in- vidious comparisons between French beer and the British product. Their officers, still farther apart, looked as though they would like to make the acquaintance of someone or other, but were too shy. Everyone with the price seemed to try to make the Café de l’Univers at some time between five and seven of an evening. It was the bright spot in Arras, the one place, except for a small cinema, where one could vary the monotony of living and of grubbing among ruins. Next day the place appeared in the misty daylight of late November for what it was a city faintly convalescent from a sickness almost fatal. I propose in this article to describe ruin and the effects of ruin as little as possible. Water Carried by Hand The splintered walls of Northern France have been scintillated upon us from cine- mas; they have bombarded us from illus- trated newspapers: they have been shouted at us by propagandists for a year and a half. Nearly every writing man in America, Eng- land, France and Italy has taken his whack at describing them, if only for the challenge to his art, since this three or four hundred miles of unmitigated, depressing mess and old horror cannot be described; every writer who has tackled the job knows that now. It is enough to recall that Arras stood for more than four years with hell at its very gates—the line was never more than five or six miles away. Between fifty and sixty per cent of its buildings were leveled or so damaged that they could not be restored; of the rest not one escaped damage, vary- ing from deroofing and gutting to mere loss of windows and holes in the walls or plaster. But I had gnly to wander from my hotel into the street in order to perceive that a modern city under bombardment loses more than buildings. The first reminder came when I stumbled over a pile of ex- tremely disgusting garbage. The city had a system of sewers, their main lines dating almost before the Middle Ages. During the war the British used those sewers for mili- tary purposes, together with that strange system of deep interlocking cellars which lay under the town. The Germans replied THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE ASHES OF HELL Continued from Page 10 The Schoothouse at Bouchoir with burrowing shells. The sewage system is still clogged up or caved in, as I dis- covered when later in the day I investigated a little and found even the dunnage of war, a smashed field-telephone switchboard, still in ee. The city must needs take to the garbage-disposal system of the Middle Ages. Down the street moved a procession of women, each carrying two pails of water; later a water cart came bumping over the worn pavement. In the bombardment water pipes were smashed; the system liter- ally went all to pieces. There has been no time to replace that either. The best that could be done was to establish certain public taps, like the old town pump. Every drop of water used in Arras has to be transported by water tank or by hand from the public tap. The ruins, or at least those of buildings most immediately needed for human habi- tation or for business, have been very largely cleaned up; but squads of German prison- ers, working at the easy pace of involuntary labor, were still here and there heaving down walls or desultorily tapping the mor- tar off of bricks. Indeed, so far is Arras in advance of many other cities in the same class that twenty or thirty brand-new build ings—mostly made of that same recovered brick—have been completed. The less im mediately necessary buildings still their ragged walls, The great pretentious cathedral is a pic- turesque ruin growing from a trash heap. A wall ten or twelve feet high confines the heap, prevents broken stone from falling onto sidewalk or pavement. The famou town hall is, of course, a stump; of its-an- tique Gothic glories only one carved pillar remains, The Petite Place about it has been enlarged by the clearing up of the completely ruined buildings which surrounded it on oneside. Here, even in midwinter, innumer able wide pushcarts roofed with canopies stand all day long offering for sale article which range from sides of meat and com- plete men’s suits to souvenirs of the war and post cards. The proprietors of these booths are mostly merchants of the town whose old locations have been neither re built nor repaired; they are starting life anew, With a pushcart and a little stock The shopkeepers, more fortunate in that they have been able to raise the sum neces- sary for repairs to slightly damaged build- ings or to rent new locations, offer us as a rule only basic necessities in the way of food and clothing— and often very little of them. Shop a little through Arras and you begin to sense that transportation problem which is the basis of much of the trouble in the devastated region of Northern France and indeed in all France. Gentlemen’s col lars? Not this week. An order was sent in to a jobber at Paris three weeks ago, but when they will come in is a secret of God Shirts? Yes, some very fine and durable shirts. Unhappily only the very large and very small sizes remain The hundreds of buildings still standing but deroofed, gutted, requiring not patch- ing up but extensive repairs show least progress of all. Here and there an owner has put on a temporary roof to keep out the ravages of theelements, or theeternalsquads of German prisoners have fitted up a frame work to prevent a loose wall from tottering over into the street. Partly as a matter of local pride, partly doubtless to draw tourist traffic when the rush comes, the local and governmental authorities have done a curi ous piece of patching on the Grande Place ruise Old Spanish Carvings This, it may be necessary to recall, was an attraction for the antiquarian Dur ing the days of their occupation in French Flanders the Spanish surrounded this large plaza with a series of curious, tall, high peaked houses bearing odd carvings. Until the war these Spanish buildings remained unbroken by asingle modern structure. All were damaged more or less by the bombard ment, but only two or three went down Continued on Page 153) Pozieres, Somme Battlefield, December, 1919 A bove—Rouvroye, a Typical Farming Town, Coming Back Albert. The Eternal Beehive Huts

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 6, 1920 * Shik a Aah cd ocak aki, in di eel ae ee

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST mist jee [ee [ee ler . : eexececces (LLL P lpr ire ire elPP PP ire ; al ie: 0 | i Soda is 2 RII F | PAINTS ~ VARNISHES ~ COLORS ~ INSECTIC : a D Everywhere on Everything ~where lasting protection is needed Protecting railroad rolling stock is responsibility of a very high order. It involves tons of paint, and hours of labor. It is probably the greatest oppor- tunity that Glidden products have to make worth- while savings. Locomotive Paint that lasts even a few months longer than ordinary kinds multiplies the savings by thousands of locomotives. Car paint that puts off repainting for any part of a year performs worth- while service to the railway and to the public. Thus the Glidden development of new qualities in paints, varnishes and all kindred materials is a matter of great economic significance. Glidden paint shop experience is available to industry in general through the good offices of a thorough going Service Department. Phone, wire or write for a conference. The Glidden result is just as easily available to the man about to finish his car as to the railroad with its vast equipment. Glidden Auto Finish is made for the busy business man who wants his car finished without laying it up for a week. Forty-eight hours will see him driving again in a car that looks like new. This is just one example of Glidden usefulness everywhere on everything. Glidden dealers will gladly offer decorative suggestions and give you color cards THE GLIDDEN COMPANY National Headquarters, Cleveland, Ohio . Stocks in Principal Cities Factorte w York Chicago Kansas City Detroit Boston Scranton Evansville Cleveland Chicago San Francisco Reading New Orleans St. Louis Birmingham Baltimore Minneapolis St. Paul Poron Pittsburgh Atlanta Dallas Des Moine Montreal W

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152 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 6,1920 ie Straight | % Bones | Bent Bones That Were That Grew fc de | Bent by Straight in . Pointed | Educator | | DUCATOR Ennote base ee Unless stamped thus on the sole it is motan Educator te, . MITT Shop-Window Feet ~~ : | | WP : vs. Shoe-Unconscious Feet § NHOES made for shop windows— pointed, narrow, bone sure that you see EDUCATOR stamped on the sole. Without } ’ &® bending, “stylish’”—or shoes shaped like feet—natural, this famous trademark it is not an Educator. \ ” neat, conservative—which are really sensible? A Book That Will Help You 4 Every day, more men and women are letting their eyes be Send for “Bent Bones Make Frantic Feet.’ It tells the ; opened to the folly, the absurdity, of enduring corns, bunions, interesting story of both kinds of feet and contains surprising callouses, ingrowing nails, fallen arches, twisted toes, which pictures. Free. Write for it today. come from buying shoes that looked good in the shop window. RICE & HUTCHINS foot with five toes—not two-and-a-half toes. But they have no ke ugly looseness. They are well made, with the high-class look that any conservative article of dress is bound to have. Stop now and decide whether you want a lifetime of bent P] : ‘ Every day more and more men and women are learning the absolute foot-unconsctousness that comes from wearing Educators—the shoes that let the feet grow as they should. Kducators are shoes made to give the necessary space for a eg EE Ee eee bones, corns, bunions, and other foot ills—or a lifetime of REG. U.S. PAT. OFF. absolute comfort-—feet that do not “go back” on you. . . ™ . Get thé whole family into Educators—they are made for F or M en, Wo men, (; h 1 | d ren men, women and children of all ages. In buying, always make RICE & HUTCHINS, INc., Boston, Mass. ny a = i +

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2 | | | | (Continued from Page 149) completely. However, the shell fire on the square, gathering force from its contact with the hard cobblestones, blew off per- haps a third of the peaked cornices which rendered this place so distinctive. The French, showing the same spirit which made them stretch the anti-aircraft strips of paper on the Parisian windows in pretty little designs, have replaced the cornices with peaks of building paper, the laths on their surface arranged in artistic patterns, har- monious with the old Spanish plan, The pavement and sidewalks are re- stored on the main streets and boulevards; wander away from these and you are in a sticky, clayey mud, which when it dries seems to defy the brush. However, winter in the devastated region brings this com- pensation—it is mud now, not dust. The veterans of the San Francisco disas- ter remember most vividly that choking dust of ruins which worked its way through every crack of a home, That same dust — only infinitely more filthy, since it is usually scented with the old garbage of armies— plagued the whole devastated region last summer, Wandering through the streets of Arras produces a continuous succession of depres- ions, lighted here and there by a glint of hope. The people look dingy, sober, dis- couraged. The faces of the women as they carry their water pails through the streets seem to express impatience that they who once had a fine modern water system have been reduced to this. I was to know in a fortnight of wandering through the devas- tated zone a disgust of ruin, so that when I returned to Paris I wanted never to see a broken wall again. But these people will not or cannot go to Paris; they must live with it all for half a generation. The gloom lightens when you come round a corner and behold a gang of French workmen in blouses and wooden shoes laying brick, hammering, plastering. To the American spirit, at least, there is nothing so cheering as to see people making something. Ain Eight Years’ Job When I, an adopted son of San Fran- cisco, returned home a year and a half after the disaster I approached the city in the proper sentimental mood, ready to shed tears for the glory that had departed. I landed at the ferry, walked up Market Street, then all in process of reconstruction. By the time I reached Lotta’s Fountain I was never more enthusiastic in my life. I had forgotten the tragedy in the glory of a big job. I felt a ghost of the same reaction when I stood on the heap of ruins which used to be a great church and surveyed Lens. To jog the reader’s memory again, Lens was for France the greatest industrial tragedy of the war. In a district covering a few square miles of this city was produced more than a third of the French coal. Every building in Lens proper, most of the buildings in its immediate suburbs, went down before intensive artillery fire—com- pletely leveled or damaged beyond repair, The Germans made the job complete by flooding all the mines. Just after the British took the town in 1918 I stood on this same eminence and saw grotesque, ghastly, smoking, gas-yellowed ruins of home and shop, mine house and factory, running to the mists of the horizon; and my depression at the moment was equaled only by my disgust for war as an institution. But now—the ruins were virtually gone. Of shattered walls and incoher- ent heaps there remained only two or three short streets surrounding the town hall, and even these were in process of cleaning up. What stretched to the ho- rizon now resembled a huge and very busy junk yard and lumber yard. Fields of brick neatly stacked or loosely piled, other fields of illmatched timber stacked as best it might be, showed what had be- come of the ruins. Interspersed with these fields and with other piles of un- related material such as rolled-up barbed wire, steel girders, damaged boilers, old iron, ran a crazy pattern of temporary houses. Near by were three or four rows of huts made—as closer inspection was to show— of cleaned-up brick from the ruins. Beyond were stone huts of the same uniform, entirely unornamented pattern. Everywhere between wooden sheds followed roughly the conformation of the formerstreets. Unpainted, frail, uniform, they housed the officers directing the busi- ness of reconstruction, the new necessary shops and private citizens. One area was dotted with semicylindrical sheet-iron huts of the beehive pattern—relics of the armies. Here more plain citizens lived. From my elevated position I looked down upon a tiled floor, still in place though the house above it was gone. I noted a stovepipe just beginning to smoke—someone installed in the cellar under the tiles was getting luncheon. Inspecting the confused land- scape below through my glasses I picked up everywhere the smoking stovepipes of still other cellar homes. The Lille road had now become Main Street for Lens. Down its wide-paved length hurried, at a pace almost excited, heavy trucks carrying still more material, gangs of workmen bearing planks, house- wives returning with full baskets from their marketing, and at a more leisurely pace squads of German _prisoners—a violent green splash in the landscape. That was not the only note of high color. Along the streets where the ruins still stood, venders of souvenir post cards—getting established against the tourist rush—and proprietors of small workingmen’s cafés had knocked together board shacks and had painted them in loud blues, reds and greens, as though striving to relieve the universal ruin by a little note of gayety. I was hailed from the base of the stone pile below me. A very dusty, middle-aged man in overalls was standing at the mouth of a hole hugging an eight-day clock. About his feet stood boxes full of plates, cups, knives, forks and miscellaneous table fixtures. “‘If monsieur wishes the time I can give it to him,” he said. I descended and interviewed him on the spot. His house and shop had stood before the war backed up against the cathedral. Before he went away in 1914 he had packed all his movable household belong- ings into the cellar. The clean-up of the ruins had only just now reached the point where he could burrow into his storehouse. “And they’re all there—quite un- touched!” he exclaimed. ‘‘The house caved in before the boche found them,” He laughed; he was like a man who had discovered buried treasure, Nevertheless, Lens appeared sad enough when a few days later I interviewed the mining engineers in charge of reconstruc- tion and was permitted to see for myself. The French official statement that it might take ten years to put these mines into full production seemed to me, when I went to Lens, a probable exaggeration. I came away convinced that it was plausible—if not absolutely true. Let me state the problem in terms of the layman. I am not a practical mining man. Perhaps for that very reason the untechnical reader will better understand. These narrow-veined and deep but rich mines lie under a very wet topsoil. For the first few hundred feet of their depth the shafts must be not timbered, but heavily cemented. The Germans blew up this cement with high explosive. The natural THE SATURDAY EVENING POST leakage and seepage of a marshy soil did the rest. Gradually it filled the lower drifts and levels, rising steadily in the shaft until in some cases it overflowed the shaft mouths. There it lay for years, reducing workings which meant the painful labor of a century to pulp and slush. The Courrié@re district has probably ad- vanced farthest toward reconstruction, Lens itself lay on the steadily maintained battle line of 1914 1918. The town was leveled and the Germans did their work early. Courriére, some four or five miles from the line, was only half destroyed by shell fire; and the Germans did not get round to blowing up cement bulwarks, the shaft houses and the surface machinery until 1916. The engineers in Courriére had houses for their workers. Starting with that, they cleared up the wreckage. Now the Cour- riére mines lie in what appear to be some- what broken open fields, the location of the shafts designated by steel plates. The engineer who escorted me pulled one of these plates aside; I saw a shattered iron ladder running down into blackness. He tossed in a stone. I heard it splash. “The water begins thirty or forty feet, English, down there,”’ he said. ‘‘ Under that is four hundred meters—say thirteen hundred feet—of water and most dread- ful slush,” It was the same everywhere, mine after mine, except that here and there a steam engine puffed in a tiny engine house, show- ing where a mine was in process of being pumped out. Just after the rescue of Northern France certain engineers registered the opinion that it would pay better to abandon the old shafts and sink new ones. A little exploration showed the error of this opinion, These reservoirs have soaked all the sur- rounding upper soil. New shafts would have to be sunk by the freezing process or painfully cemented in mushy soil as the work proceeded, That would not, either, evade the task of pumping out the old shafts. The water from these reservoirs would still run into veins and workings. It was better to pump out these drowned mines at once and to patch up the old cement bulwarks before tackling the nasty, dangerous task of reopening, cleaning out and retimbering the old workings. Pumping machinery had been ordered from strictly French firms—even before the Armistice. There was some delay, there will probably be further delay in delivery. This is one of the things about French gov- ernmental policy that strike the alien ob- server as shortsighted. By last surmmer the pumps were at work in Courriére. The mines on which they began are drying out. By next April the second stage patching up the cement bulwarks—will begin. By the end of 1920 the workings of one or two of the most favorably situated and least damaged mines may be in condi- tion for work —and again they may not. “It’s all guessing after all,” said one of the engineers. “The condition is almost un- precedented. We don’t know what we shall find down there.” Posieres 153 What with cave-ins, fire damp and gases, it will all be extremely dangerous. One and all, the engineers impressed upon me the impossibility of crowding the work. “It isn’t like a surface job where you speed up by multiplying men and ma- chines. In some mine galleries only two or three men can work abreast, and the same applies to machinery.” If all goes well Courriére will get out a little coal, a very little, in 1921. The most optimistic of the engineers thought that if surface machinery came through fast enough the district might almost reach full pro- duction by the end of 1922. Courriére before the war yielded about 3,500,000 tons a year against a total production of 14,000,- 000 for the Lens district. It all goes more slowly at Lens proper. The ground was more marshy, the mines had nearly two years longer to soak; there was no housing for the workers; the ruins of the city lay over everything. As I have shown in describing the present state of Lens, the clean-up was practically finished by last December. Lens is just now getting to pumping. That and all other processes must go more slowly than at Courriére; and the final work of getting the galleries into shape will be both more difficult and more dangerous. About the time necessary for complete restoration of the whole dis- trict expert opinion differed —all admitted that they were guessing. Two-Cylinder Touring One optimist said: ‘Leaving out two or three mines in especially bad shape, five ye ars.’ A pessimist said: ‘‘Ten years.” The man whose opinion is perhaps most worthy of respect said: ‘‘ My guess is seven to nine years,” Valenciennes, farther to the north, pro- duced 6,000,000 tons of coal a year. The Germans worked these mines until just be- fore the forced retreat of 1918. It was re- ported then that they merely blew up the shaft houses and surface workings. Fur- ther investigation showed that they had applied here the same drowning process as at Lens. But the French came in so soon that the shafts did not fill up; only the lower workings were flooded. I did not visit Valenciennes on this trip, but some of the Lens engineers had done so. They reported that Valenciennes would get out some coal in 1920 and might restore full production by 1922. I went to Courriére from Lille in a taxi- cab, — I believe was impressed into service by the Germans all during the war. Not until we struck the broad highway did I know the full iniquity of that machine, It preceded itself with a cloud of steam, caus- ing peasants here and there to run out to see if we were on fire. Every five miles it had to be watered from a large can which the driver carried beside his seat. Its best running time by the watch was fourteen kilometers or, say, nine miles—an hour, On every little slope I had a fear that its own power would never drag it off. Once, indeed, it struck a stretch of road under repair and stopped entirely on loose cob- blestones. I got out and pushed it off, slightly aided by the engine. At this point | insisted on opening the hood for a look. “Why, it has only two cylinders!" said s ‘True, monsieur, she has two cylin- ders, that machine,”’ replied the driver, **but one of them does not always fune- ti yn,” I had planned to go first to Lens, where there is a restaurant, and get luncheon there. But this plan seemed impracticable. A workman whom I in- terviewed at a crossroad falsely assured me that déjeuner could be purchased from an estaminet at Courrié¢re. On arrival in the town we found that the mine which we were seeking was still a mile and a half away ‘*And,” we were assured by a pleasant middle-aged townsman, “‘there are no restaurants or estaminets either here or there, But,” he added, “I travel much myself, monsieur, and know the hard- ships of travel, Will you be my guests?” Five minutes later we sat in his kitchen—parlor-—lhving room watching his wife and sister-in-law pour long white slices of potato into sizzling fat ‘They had erected a kind of a dwelling from cleaned-up bricks. The room in which we sat was bare of plaster, paint or (Centinued on Page 156)

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154 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 6,1920

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MERICA has at least one great industry a knowl- edge of which will warm the hearts of all woman-kind. Salute the canned food on your pantry shelf. The Pure Food Laws—commendable and necessary . though they are—are yet far exceeded in the require- ments which the great organized food canning in- dustry of the United States lays down for itself. Think what such protection means to our tables! You whose important duty is the selection of the food that goes on the family table, remember this: All over the United States there stretch the great organizations of the Pure Food Laws, Federal and State, working hand in hand. oe EES ~ Ls . ant SN. —| ew nt 4 2 “> Saale sgdtert awe SN . ee ae SS SS > a“ as Saw. SEAS Saw SSD A ENS e ~ . = oo ee SP a rg ae a = . _ : es pg SES RRS Se. nme: 0a FESS SRS =. . = m . ov. : . - e ese MS sags ‘ . “ea . ee a ‘ qecess

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST All over these same United States there stretches from Washington — from the head- quarters there of the National Canners Asso- ciation —another great pure food organiza- tion—the voluntary Inspection Service of the National Canners Association. Not how Little it Must do—but how Much it Can do This is not an arm representing force or compulsion. Rather, it represents a united ambition on the part of a vast industry to keep itself in spirit and in practice above any necessity of laws of regulation. Little wonder, then, that the canning in- dustry has been called ‘‘the industry which legislates for itself’?! Never does this indus- try forget that it is dealing with food —with food, the thing of such vast consequence to the little family circle of the American home. In a very real way it realizes its responsibility and in a very real way it faces its respon- sibility. If only you could See it all for Yourself Every American housewife should have the privilege of following through some of the great canneries of fruit, vegetables, soup, meat, sea food, milk and other products. Follow the Inspector of the Association as he passes, on one of his visits, from the sup- ply of fresh foods to the sorting, cleaning, preparing; follow the Inspector all the way through to the sealing of the cans, the final cooking, cooling and storing away. The Inspector represents a system which constantly, and at great expense, searches out the latest scientific facts of importance to this vital work of supplying the family table. He isa symbol of the painstaking care with which the canning business is conducted. He rep- resents the earnest determination of the in- dustry to supply our families with the best of food, clean, wholesome, nourishing and safe. Canned Food— “The Miracle on Your Table” And so may American housewives, men- tally at least, salute the most self-respecting of objects, the can of food. You are standing before a very wonderful thing——a product which knows the limitations of neither cli- mate nor season, coming to you at any time and from any place. Richly it deserves its title —‘**The Miracle on Your Table.” National Canners Association WASHINGTON, D. C. A nation-wide organization formed in 1907, consisting of producers of all varieties of hermetically sealed canned foods which have been sterilized by heat. It neither produces, buys, nor sells. Its purpose is to assure, for the mutual benefit of the industry and the public, the best canned foods that scientific knowledge and human skill can produce. (2 anned ood-the Mivticle’ > 7 : s\V 4 a a Pint Da Tew None pss a , : “ . ; ‘ .

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156 Continued from Page 153 paper just four brick wall It contained Lhe following obrect small table with tablecloth, a cupboard holding barely enough dishes and acces- sories for four persons, a stove with a few iron kettles and pans. Nothing else. At- tached to this room, they told me, were two small chambers, doubtless just as barely furnished. While madame cooked our imple but delicious luncheon we di- vided attention in her chatter with an ailing chicken, huddled up, its eyes closed, under the stove. Madame was one of those women who has the motherly touch for men, animals and all other foolish, helpless creatures. No, this wasn’t really their house. Mon- sieur had been the leading butcher of the town, but their particular ruin was too large to clear away for the present. They had bought this place and rebuilt. There was nothing doing in the butcher business just now. Everyone was eating refriger ated meat. Thereupon monsieur, smoking his pipe in the corner, snorted out loud and said, ‘‘ Refrigerated meat!"’ with a gesture of deep scorn Would we like some butter? Yes, indeed, they had butter! They had saved four cows from the war. Last summer before it arrived that the children needed all the milk she had churned some butter. Be hold it! Madame showed a roll, whose licht color proved the honesty of its manufac- ture, with the air of a queen parading her jewels, ‘Butter is rare,”’ put in monsieur “even that margarine stuff. A sort of re- frigerated meat!” And he made that same gesture of scorn which wiped refrigerated meat from the list of decent things. Four chairs, one From Ruin to Ruin Madame sketched her own experiences of the war. Monsieur was gone with the artillery. She had been obliged to keep house during three years for a German officers’ mess—-she ate well then at any rate, Then they deported her to Belgium. Finally she was repatriated to France through Switzerland and awaited in Gas- cony the end of the war. ‘‘Always packing packing my trunk to travel,” she said. “That is done at any rate, One is so glad to be settled at home! Another picture We are in Rouveroye now, a village of the old devastated region from which the Germans fell back in 1917, to return in April, 1918, to be beaten back in October, 1918. It held some twelve hundred souls. Now a bare hundred and fifty shiver through a damp winter in wooden shack or in those eternal corrugated iron beehive huts, All about stretch fields in variou tages of recovery. On some lie even the old trench systems, still guarded by barbed wire entanglements. Some lie plowed and sowed with winter wheat. Some lie fallow; and they are spotted with circles, sig and little, of a different color, show ng where the shell holes have been filled up. The energy of the people and of the German prisoners has all been needed to level the fields and put them under cul tivation. Through the center of Rouveroye runs an old firing trench, It has eaved in here and there; its firing step and ducl boards have been taken away for fire wood; but its dugouts still gape. Tum bled about in the wreck of its parapet still lies the broken dunnage of war helmets, British, French and German, pierced with one single fatal hole or shiv ered to ribbons, shattered gun stocks, shell splinters, shriveled leather bando liers, fragments of webbing, innumerable cartridge shells. Unexploded grenades, as dangerous as rattlesnakes, peep every- where from the tumbled earth. All about the town lie coils of barbed wire as high as a man’s head, This and similar steel wreckage awaits the time when restored transportation will enable Northern France to realize on its mil lions of tons of iron junk. Here and there, too, are piles of unexploded am munition, varying from grenades and three-inch shells to the great missiles of twelve-inch howitzers. The dull, famil- iar crump of exploding shells sounded at intervals from a field to the north. German prisoners were blowing up a dump of unexploded hardware. A squad of those same German prisoners worked THE SATURDAY methodically but languidly just beside the trench system at piling clean brick into a cart. Still others, in a cleared-up area just beyond, were laying with cleaned brick the foundations of a building. Rouveroye seemed to be just awakening to convales- but it was dreary. Bouchoir, the next town, seemed to have gone a stage farther. Here were just ruins left; the wooden buildings had almost an air of permanence. The two largest of these bore, the one a cross, the other the sign “Ecole Communale.”” School was just letting out for recess whén I entered the town, and the schoolmaster came out to greet visitors from civilization. Of course in the old days, he told us, the boys and girls were taught separately. There had been a hundred of each in the old com- munal schools. Now they had but thirty all told and Bouchoir had taken to co- education—only temporarily, he said. The discerning feminine eyes of the women who had accompanied our party that day noted that the children looked a little undernourished, showing the gravity of the milk crisis, and that their clothing, though neat and well patched, was just about falling to pieces. And one of them saw a thing which would have been invis- ible to the eye of any mere man. It was the shoe king condition of the ribbons in the well-brushed hair of the little girls. Little French girls, be it known, never braid their hair in pigtails like ours. They wear it down their backs tied up with a ribbon. “Those ribbons look like old, greasy strings,” said this discerning lady. ‘Poor little things—not a new hair ribbon since the Armistice!” cence, Albert in the cold drizzle of an afternoon in early December. I must jog memory again. Albert lay until 1916 just on the free side of the old trench line. From those trenches, in full view of the town, the British started the battle of the Somme. That old Somme battlefield, perhaps the ghastliest, most obscene wreckage of the war, comes down, therefore, to its very gates, The town was half destroyed before the British forced it temporarily out of the shell zone. After the Germans had taken it in the spring advance of 1918, after the British had retaken it in the battle of Liberation, it was with Pompeii. Restoration was going on irregularly at Albert. Most of the ruins still stood, but there were several rows and squares of frame sheds covered with roofing paper, and beehive huts stood all among the ruins. I found the sub-préfet in charge of that dis- trict installed in an office as plain and primitive as a voting booth, At first sight the sub-préfet seemed quietly but neatly dressed, However, I noticed presently that he was wearing a celluloid collar and that his very wide cravat was put on over an undershirt—clean starched linen is a luxury which must be dispensed with in pioneer condition In the course of an hour’s clear se EVENING POST exposition concerning the desperate condi- tion and crying needs of the district which was his life he dwelt especially on a pe- culiar problem of psychology. “Figure to yourself,” he said. ‘When the Germans retired beyond Bapaume the people came back very enthusiastic and got ready to get the factories to work. They collected the government allocution and began to rebuild—even to put in ma- chinery. After a year that was all wiped out. Worse ruin than before—annihilation. It is hard to blow up the dead ashes of an enthusiasm.’ Albert was a small but very prosperous manufacturing town, making among other things bicycles, automobile parts and sew- ing machines. I found only one factory in process of rebuilding. As for the agricultural problem, the sub-préfet differed from other experts whom I have interviewed. As all the world should know by now, the Somme battlefield is one of those districts where day after day of rolling curtain fire blew away the topsoil or ground it into the clay subsoil. It is the largest and most important area of this character, though the districts about Vimy Ridge and Verdun are in such condition as greatly to gratify Satan. This official believes that the Somme area can be restored to agriculture. He bases his opinion practic ally on the exist- ing growth of weeds and theoretically on the well-known effect of explosive in loosen- ing atoms of nitrogen. “And after all,”’ he said, “the fertility of France is more a matter of climate and scientific fertilization than of mere soil.”’ But when he considered the cost of res- toration, he added, it all came to the same thing. Getting out the junk, leveling, fer- tilization, would cost between one thou- sand and two thousand frances an English acre. That on the original cost of the land made the thing a poor investment just now. His office has been working overtime in restoring land titles. Of twenty-five farm- ing villages in the district under his con- trol eighteen have totally disappeared. Sometimes their sites can be located by the crossing of roads; sometimes by a reddish- brown stain in the earth which shows where pulverized bricks have been ground into the universal ruin of the earth; sometimes even this sign is lacking. Accurate restoration of land ownership is impossible. However, surveys of the communes, or townships, exist in the archives of the department at Amiens, together with records of the holdings. The field has been accurately re surveyed for commune boundaries and the owners arbitrarily assigned parcels equiv- alent to their original holdings. From other sources I learn that this process has not gone without hitches. The French peasant is enormously conservative in his personal ways. The landholders want not six acres of land in the commune but the same old field, and sometimes hav- ing formed their own ideas on where their Pumping Piants Over “* Drowned" Shafts, Lens March 6,1920 fields lay they are disposed to fight for them. An American woman, active in one of the societies for rebuilding the devas- tated zone, proposed to a village that they pool the bricks then in process of being cleaned by the Germans. The suggestion re uised a storm of protest. *What?”’ asked an old peasant. ‘Let someone else use the bricks which my great -grandfather himself built into our house? And, indeed, the problem is complicated by entire changes in the conformation of the country. For example, the train from Arras to Albert runs now for four or five miles past a lake perhaps half a mile in average width. Everywhere old snubbed- off trunks of dead trees stick up from its surface and its banks are foul with the garbage and dunnage of armies... The brooks of the region, turned from their natural course, made a lake of what was a fine forest as recently as 1915. in and About Péronne Albert has now even a hotel, resembling in every respect a Maison Riche or Eagle Hotel of an early-day mining camp. Leav- ing the town, I noted at the door of a mere board hut a woman whose plain dress had, nevertheless, a touch of smartness and whose fine-lined face looked odd in these surroundings. I learned later in Amiens that she was the wife of the richest man in Albert. They had before the war a mansion in town, a chateau in the country, a fac- tory in the outskirts—all now dust and junk. They threw together that board shack last summer and came back with the pioneers to begin life anew. dozen miles across the desolation of the Somme lies Péronne, French objective in the great dual battle of 1916. One traverses the field by a good road; but leave it at any point for a visit to the sub- sidiary villages and you are on a highway which makes an automobile bump like a country buckboard. Much work has been done in cleaning up the Somme, as the enormous junk piles show; but much re- mains to be done. By Courcelette, for example, lie miles and miles of ground strewn dangerously with unexploded grenades, bristling with wreckage; and farther toward Péronne are front trench lines with the ragged barbed- wire entanglements still in place. Here and there a solitary man or a wretched family lives miserably in a beehive hut; beside some of the roads are the wooden barracks of German prisoners or of British soldiers on grave identification service. Otherwise those areas have gone back to the rat, the field mouse and the partridge. Those British soldiers conceal under their elaborate designation the business of undertaking. There is still work for them. On Vimy Ridge and equally here | came across human ribs and thigh bones. Still in places, they told me, they were finding the dead of the last battles lying about as though fallen yesterday; still they find skeletons on the barbed wire. “In remote spots people will be com- ing on the dead for years,”’ one of their officers told me. I shall not try to describe Péronne ex- cept to say that it all went and that lodging for some 2000 of its 8000 inhab- itants has been provided in wood or stone buildings. Here the sub-préfet and one of the merchants talked over with me the peculiar problem of their town, It used to call itself the richest city of its size in France. It was a sugar-beet town; both land for sugar beets and re- finery stock grew immensely valuable during the decade or so before the war. \ great part of the inhabitants lived easily by their holdings in land or re- finery stock. “We had one automobile for every five inhabitants; no other town in France even approached that,”’ said the sub- pretet In this district were twenty-one refin- eries—all gone. This year shaping the land for crops has used up all the energy of the inhabitants. Things have fallen so that little or nothing has been done toward restoring the refineries. In the meantime a big French company, almost a trust, has been buying up both land and refinery stocks. In the end, the mer- chant believed—the sub-préfet, keeping official silence, would give no opinion on this—the industry in that region would (Continued on Page 159) == — _ ttt a ee ne

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| Continued from Page 156 pass into the hands of one or two great companies. The old town is no more thor- oughly gone than the old easy life of com- fortably well-to-do families. “Tt will become like any other industrial town,” said the sub-préfet. Neither man believed it possible that any sugar refining — be resumed in the Péronne region before 1922—if then. Fi- nally on the edge of Péronne was a glimpse of a small farming community, which is coming back after its own fashion. Just before the armistice, and while the British guns were still booming in the dis- tance, I accompanied through this region Captain de Warren of the French Army, an expert in farmers’ coéperation. His mission was to form coéperatives among the peasants for the purpose of getting the land in shape as soon as possible. Tem- porarily the farmers surrounding one of the little towns were to pool their land, put into shape as soon as possible the least- damaged areas, cultivate them regardless of ownership and divide crops or profits on the basis of the effort and money em- ployed. In the same way they were to hold in common the plow a, implements and other machinery furnished by the agg scree or by the American Red Cross. Captain de Warren ¢ xplained that the arrangement \ as only temporary; as soon as norma! con- ditions were restored everything would re- vert to individual control. This arrangement was largely though not universally accepted. The suspicion of the French countryman and the same con- ervative spirit which made the old peasant refuse to pool his bricks stood in the way. But, in general, wherever there is a coép- erative at work there is also a bright spot amid devastation. This village, for example—I have for- gotten its name—stood an oasis in an especially foul region. It had not sustained the steady hammering of curtain fire lasting in son > emns fuer ten 3—by which the ge nerals $ 1916 overdid artille ‘ry prep- aration. It had, however, received the long-distance fire of that engagement and had since been twice fought over directly. { remember noticing this place in late October, 1918, just after the Germar left. Then the terrain about it looked to the casual eye as thoroughly ruined a those of the Somme battlefield. Now you approa hed the village through brown car pets of level fields, plowed, harrowed, seeded, soaking in the winter rain, Praise for the Mayor The village itself consisted merely of frail one-story board sheds or the eternal beehive huts, but they were arranged in rder and pattern among the eternal ruins. Also, flower boxes tossed greenery from Between the huts were vegetable garden Sidewalks and path- ways laid from duck boards of the old rated the horror of the mud Foundations for more substantial build ws were laid here and there, and in one of the bigger sheds German prisoners were unloading mortar for still further building ope rations The sergeant in charge of the German prisoners informed me in passable French that the mayor was away, but that he could take me to madame, the cousin of the mayor, This man, a tall businesslike Bavarian, seemed thoroughly to have ac- cepted his position of head servitor to the community. When he took us into the presence of madame he bowed and saluted her stiffly. As for this hand- some, pleasant, eflicient-looking peasant woman, her air toward him as she ordered him round was that of a great lady to a rather respected family butler. She received me in a beehive hut—re- member, just a mathematical half cylinder of corrugated iron with a door, a window and plain clapboards finishing eith er end. It was, I estimate, about twenty-five fee long over all and ten feet in free eter. Someone had added a little piazza of rough everal windows trenches miti lumber and the stalks of a flower garden tood at each side of the step. Within, the hut was evenly bisected at right angles with its walls by a partition. The farther half was again bisected bya par- tition parallel with its walls. So was formed two tiny bedchambers —one formadame and her husband, the other for the two little boys. The third room served for all other purposes of a household. It was ceiled inside ith miscellaneous boards, showing here and there a pattern of English or German lettering. A wood fire blazed in a small stove. Everything in the way of furniture was plain, skimpy, utilitarian, but exquis- itely neat. Madame said that all went well on the whole, thanks to the mayor, whom she praised immoderately. Doubtless she was right. I had noticed already that when any community up here seemed to be doing ex- traordinarily well it was the work of some able individual. There is not enough of anything quite to goround; the strong and persuasive win, “Of course we've been worried about food at times,”’ said madame, “But the mayor bought a condemned army truck last winter and when we can’t get things at Péronne we send all the way to Amiens. There is not always petrol for the truck; then we must use wagons, which are slow. Once we were a long time without meat and had to kill some of our chickens and rabbits. But the things you must have and can’t get—grand heaven, monsieur, you can’t imagine! The time I had obtaining a broom! Little sickness, grace to God, and when anyone is ill we send the truck to Péronne for the doctor.” The two little boys, back from school, arrived at this point, their satchels over their shoulders. The elder paid his re- spects at once; the younger had to be reminded to salute the English gentleman and to hang up his cap. They looked plump and clean, but their little black smocks were much patched. ‘But it’s hard being a mayor in these times,” concluded madame. ‘Figure to yourself! When anything goes wrong, even by act of God, it is all laid to him. If the Germans should come again I suppose there are people in this town who would say it was by neglect of the mayor!” So much for pictures. I could multiply them indefinitely, though I ranged only between Braye and Lille—the sector which formed during the last two years of > war the right wing of the British Front. I chose that because it was the richest region « all before the war and because its re- constitution is most vital to France. The departments of the Nord, the Pas-de-Calai THE SATURDAY EVENING POST and the Somme, which cover this region, were in 1913 first, second and sixth among the eighty-seven departments of France for production. They represented the bulk of the cotton and wool-weaving indus- try, much if not most of the metal industry and the richest of French agricultural lands. The region from the Argonne to Pont-a-Mousson, over which the American Army did its heaviest fighting, stood com- paratively low in the scale of production. But though I saw only three out of ten devastated departments I have informa- tion on the others, either from reliable American sources or from the central gov- ernment in Paris. To establish a basis of comparison in American minds let ‘me put this disaster beside our greatest catastrophe—the San Francisco earthquake and fire of 1906. Shortly after the armistice I calculated roughly that there were twenty or twenty five San Francisco disasters in Northern France. An exact comparison would be difficult to make, even by an expert stati tician, which I am not. Most people who know Northern France think that my fig- ures are conservative We restored San Francisco in a great burst of energy. It disturbed the country a bit even at that; the rebuilding of Sa Francisco was given as a cause of the brief financial panic some two years later. We had in that period about two and a half times the population of France and a muc! greater proportion of resources. Moreover, we were in the full flush of prosperity based on long peace. We were not drained and wearied by four years of war on our own soil, fettered with debt, worried by an un certain economic future. No one need expect that this job could under any circumstances be accomplished with the speed and certainty of our job in san Francisco, It must resemble rather the gradual process by which we developed the old savage West. It is work not for a year or so, but for a generation. It has gone so far on a regular plan. Transportation must first be established, for the tight mesh of railroads, canals and tramway lines which supplied this richly productive country wa pieces. Rebuilding damage d, railroads during the war a milit wry necessity; for that purpose the army had onhand large supplies. This helped. By last summer the railroad and tramway lines were all virtually re stored. It went more slowly with those canals down which much of the slower freight necessary to Nortl er Frar ce moved in old times. Restoring a caved-in canal i infinitely more difficult than patching up a bombarded railway embankment. Every where the Germans had blown up locks, not only destroying machinery which it was hard to replace but sometimes produc ing floods which blended the channel with the fields in a common mush. The canals are not yet all running; perhaps a third of their mileage is still stagnant water and wreckage, The demand for transportation in the north was great enough to tax all the had been French resources in rolling stock at any time. But now France is going through a crisis in transportation As much rolling } s the ordin: 5 need f the country could spare was assigned to the north. It has been jealously guarded. Even when in Decembe r last ( oal hortas ‘ for ‘ d ayen eral reduction of French passenger traffi the Department of Railw i) kept stru tly off the nort ‘. Restoration of the Land Simultaneously the Department of the Liberated Re gio! began the next three stages of the job— getting down the ruins getting the agricultural land into shape and providing housing for the German prisor ers and the French civilian workmen. Pro vision had to be made also for the people, ome of them a drag rather than a help, who insisted on returning to their former home Those plain barracklike board sheds whic} I have mentioned so often in describing the renascent towns were built in standard ized sections in the south, where there are great pine forests, shipped up by tens of thousands and thrown together on the chosen sites. During the whole armistice winter the returning refugees had bur rowed into dugouts and vaulted cellars, or had patched up shattered military shed Most of them and most of the others who had arrived were moved into these frail but more sanitary dwellings as soon as the prisoner workmen had been provided for But not all. I have described the stove pipes sticking out of tiled floors at Len These represent the dwellings of people who prefer the old home on any terms, or who maintain that a cellar is wariner if not drier than a shacl On paper, at least, the work of restoring the land has gone at the most gratifying pace. The official reports show that three quarters of it now stand in shape for cul tivation. This is a case where accuracy is not quite accurate. Included in it are large areas on the fringe of battle that received only a comparatively light long-range | bardment. It was necessary in these field only to dig up a little military junk, to make careful exploration for dud shells and to fill up a few shell holes often as few as fifteen or twenty to the acre nder such conditions the farmer himself, with the aid of an assistant, a shovel and a wheelbarrow could do the work. When his field was crossed by reserve barbed-wire entangle ments he had but to notify the authoriti presently German prisoners would come along with a tractor-drawn machine whict pulled up the stakes and rolled them into big, ragged, insanitary looking spirals Still the work appears to have proceeded fast. For example, it is eighteen miles from Amiens north to Albert. In the spring drive of 1918 the Germans came acros Albert to within about six miles of Amien om and stayed there through most intensive fighting until our autumn victorie That twelve-mile stretch on the Amc Albert road looked to me as | traversed it, just after the armistice, nearly as im; ible a the Somme battlefield Now the visitor ould know only by the j piled along the wayside or by an occasional shattered town that this was a recent battlefield the farms are all restored. The remaining quarter of the devastated land consi wre ly of thoroughly blasted terrain like that of the Somme field And it tilla question if that land can be recovered for agriculture in our time M. Le Brun was Minister of the Liber ated Regions during most of the preliminary Concluded on Page 163

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LA ele —_—— (Concluded from Page 159) stages of this work. Whether he drove the job and cut the red tape binding all bureaucratic operations in France with the greatest possible speed and energy it is not for a foreigner to say. The question is now academic. Visiting the Department of Meurthe-et-Moselle during the autumn elections, M. Clemenceau found M. Le Brun running for the Chamber of Deputies on the same ticket with a man who had opposed the peace treaty. “Get off the ticket of that man or get out of my cabinet,” said M. Clemenceau in effect. “Go to Hades!” said M. Le Brun, or its French equivalent. Clemenceau promptly dropped him and appointed André Tardieu, who so successfully ran the French High Commission in the United States. An out- sider would say that of all prominent figures in French polities he is the man for the job. He has that talent for organiza- tion in which France usually is rather weak. Heis, further, a foe of red tape and a scourge to dilatory bureaucrats. Under him the work seemed to take on new life. Monsieur Tardieu’s Task He has announced his program: The work of temporary housing, of tearing down and salvaging the ruins, will go on until March. By that time, of course, not all the ruins, or indeed most of them, will be down; but enough to give elbow room. Then will begin the general work of per- manent reconstruction, with the preference given to the buildings necessary to the economic life of the district and to the decent housing of human beings. It is probable that the tourist of next summer will notice about as much of construction as of ruin. Of course these three stages of the work will overlap; long after the build- ing era has started they will still he setting up temporary huts; and there will doubt- less be ruins here and there when the last soldier of the great war comes doddering up to look over the fields on which he fought as a boy. Neither M. Tardieu nor anyone else looks forward to a miracle of restoration. M. Loucheur, Minister of Ravitaillement, announced just after the Armistice that it would take sixty-five billion francs to re- store the north. The latest estimate from the Ministry of the Liberated Regions is one hundred and thirty billions. The in- creased estimate is at least partly due to the depreciation of the franc. Whether or not this is exaggerated I can- not say. Even admitting that M. Lou- cheur’s figures were nearer the truth, they prove how very long it must be before the north stands as it was. At that, full res- toration will not be necessary in order to give back the district its former economic importance. A great deal of this bill of damages includes splendid chateaus, great cathedrals, massive town halls and costly have been obliged to import nearly all of their nut meats from China, Spain, France and Italy. Fruit pulps have come from the Mediterranean and from England. The cocoa beans, of whieh there are sixteen kinds and grades, have come to us from countries in the tropical belt, but princi- pally from West Africa. The United States neither owns nor controls any cocoa- producing countries, if we assume that the Philippines are not an important source of cocoa supply. The cocoa beans, of course, are the base of chocolate. The importations of cocoa in 1919 established a new high record, totaling about 2,600,000 bags of approxi mately 160 pounds each. The greater part of this cocoa will go into home consumption, which bears out recent statements that Americans have become the greatest candy eaters in the world. The average increase in the price of cocoa since the United States entered the war has been something like fifty per cent. The American people during recent years have been giving more attention to the principles of dietetics than ever before. Many physicians now give greater thought to means for controlling the character of the food their patients eat than they do to the administering of drugs. The candy people have been under fire for many years and it is only recently that the leaders of furnishing of these—all not strictly neces- sary to economic existence. The unique town hall of Arras must have been valued at many millions. Yet the set of plain- board shacks at present housing the law in Arras will serve the purpose. Our pioneer Western cities got along for a generation without fine courthouses, cathedrals and expensive high schools. So it must be in Northern France; and the full task is not for one generation there, but for many. That housing problem is the crux of everything. It will do no good to rebuild and restock the ruined factories of La Bassée, Armentiéres or Albert unless there are homes for the weavers and mechanics; no good to restore the soil unless there are homes for the farmers. The two or three American relief societies which still con- cern themselves with the needs of Northern France have done well to make first hous- ing and then the care of the children their special concern. That housing problem had queer angles. There is Amiens, for example, a great and prosperous town. It specialized on the manufacture of velvets. Silk, the main raw material of velvet, is easily obtainable now. The Germans banged up the factories a bit with long-range fire. They are in shape again, but they have achieved only one-half to two-thirds of their 1914 production. Above Amiens lies a wide belt of horri- bly devastated country, including the old Somme battlefield. Residents of this dis- trict have crowded into Amiens in order to be as near as possible to their properties. They fill every available house and room and they have bulled the rents to a price beyond the pocket of the average working- man, Amiens cannot reach full production until the factories find housing for their people. As for the individual, life still resembles pioneering, but what with the conditions hitherto described it is like pioneering on a city dump. The government is eager to repopulate this district as soon as possible. To that end it offers an allocution of two francs a day per person to any resident of the devastated region who will go back and try it. Two franes a day is only the begin- ning of support, but in most districts the demand for workmen exceeds the suppl Common labor at pulling down walls, cleaning bricks and filling up shell holes commands fifteen francs a day and even more. My own inquiries confirmed what I heard from official sources in Paris—gen- erally there is no great lack of money among the people of the stricken north. What they do need is certain necessities and comforts which money cannot buy. Everyone has had to begin exactly like a pioneer on his quarter section in the old West— with the question of water. The wells almost universally were choked and defiled either with the garbage of armies or with dead bodies. Popular rumor has it further that the Germans poisoned the wells in their retreat. I did not take the THE SATURDAY EVENING POST trouble to run down this report; but filth- choked water and poisoned water come to thesame thing. Noone trusted the old wells; a new one must first be dug or driven. Next the pioneer had to assure himself of a food supply. In a general way the govern- ment ruled that in the north provisions had the right of way and the right to rolling stock over all other goods. Sometimes there has been a hitch at the source of sup- ply, and then the north has trembled with the fear of impending famine. M. Tardieu had no sooner taken office than he found it necessary to rush to Dun- kirk and straighten out a traffic jam which threatened to starve the devastated dis- tricts of the Pas-de-Calais and the Somme. But when the provisions are dumped at railhead or at way stations the problem is only half solved. People in remote com- munities or upon isolated farms, often connected with the centers only by impos- sible roads, must find their own means of transportation. Often they manage this coéperatively, as in the case of the village near Péronne which I have cited. When they cannot do this — it is their problem. **Food is plenty at Amiens, yes,”’ said a peasant whom I found installed in an abandoned and shrapnel-peppered hut on the Somme battlefield. ‘But it is thirty- five kilometers to Amiens, and when one has traveled there and back what has it cost him?” Some of the préfets of the departments keep flying squadrons of motor trucks to relieve communities and districts which run short of food and have no means of transport. This refers only to the common neces- sities of life for a healthy adult. Two ele- ments of the population offer a special »xroblem to the authorities. When the in- fabitants were invited to return, one class, most undesirable under present conditions, accepted with the greatest alacrity. It consisted of the old, eager with that pa- thetic universal trait in the old to assure themselves of dying at home. They need »ecial foods, special care. Then come the children. Europe, owing to the slaughter of cattle, is universally short of milk. Young children must have milk if they are to re- sist disease and grow up strong. Most of the public and private relief organizations at work in the north are specializing on milk or other special nour- ishment for the children. Clothing is in most districts very scarce, hence the uni- versal shabbiness. At Bray, a town which many American flying men will especially remember, I found the women of a French relief society conducting an ourroir, like those of wartime. They had managed to obtain odd lots of cloth, including canvas and duck from the army stores. Under them three hundred women were making overalls and jumpers from army duck, shirts and children’s dresses from cotton remnants. The hundred and one articles and appliances which even the simplest EVERYBODY'S BUSINES Concluded from Page 38 the industry commenced to hit back. 1 asked one of the leading authorities in the confectionery business to give me his point of view in the matter of the food value of candy and here is what he said: ‘The principal ingredients of candy are sugar, chocolate and nuts, all of which possess high food value. Sugar is a highly concentrated food and is easily digested. Experiments show that 98.9 per cent of its total energy is available to the body. On account of the rapidity with which it is assimilated sugar quickly relieves fatigue According to the United States Department of Agriculture, six ounces of sugar are equal in food value to one quart of milk or one and a quarter pounds of lean beef. It has a food value of 1810 calories. “Chocolate is made from the beans of the cacao tree. The aborigines of Central America used cacao beans as currency, the value of the beans depending on their size. The ancient Aztecs prepared a beverage from the cacao beans which later was called Theobroma, or food of the gods. With the exception of prepared coconut, chocolate is higher in food value than any other ingredient used in the manufacture of confectionery, since it has a food value of 2860 calories per pound. The nut meats used in making candy will average approxi- mately 1500 calories per pound. The glucose from which gumdrops, hard candies and taffies are principally made is a heavy sirup made from corn, and according to government chemists is readily and com- pletely absorbed by human beings. The food value of glucose is 1599 calories per pound, which makes it one of the cheapest food fuels known. “Taking a list of the various kinds of candy, we find that the food values range from 2498 calories per pound in chocolates with nut centers down to 1451 calories in caramels. Sugar-coated almonds show 2410 calories; chocolates with cream cen ters, 2092; cream filberts, 1915; stick candy, 1745; marshmallows, 1737; gum drops, 1685; and fudge, 1587. These values compare with our common daily foods as follows: Whole eggs, 695 calories; beefsteak, 1090; rice, 1620; white bread, 1180; and corn bread, 1175 calories per pound. “It is a demonstrated fact that during violent exercise or exhausting labor the sugar in the blood is heavily drawn on to supply the body with the necessary fuel, and it is this fact that is responsible for the individual's frequent craving for something sweet. Candy was a special article of diet furnished to the American soldiers during the war. One Marine Corps general said, ‘Men fight like the devil on chocolate. It is particularly good in hot weather 163 household needs can be obtained only irreg- ularly. Especially in remote towns, people must make shift with junk. On every road I met trucks loaded with chairs, almost always of the simplest pattern. Nevertheless, in many huts and dugout homes I found the inhabitants sitting on stools or benches thrown together from the wooden rem nants of the trenches. A family on the old field of Vimy, whose ménage I investi- gated, had one good kettle. Otherwise, their cooking utensils consisted of scrap iron from the salvage dumps. Halves of German grub cans, scoured and hammered into a new form, served for frying pans. Even stoves may be improvised from parts of smashed camp kitchens. Life is wet up there amid the cold winter rains and piercing winds of the north; life is filthy amid those unspeak- able dump heaps; life is gray and sad among the memories of millions of dead. Only one curse of hardship is lacking. In spite of the coal shortage they have fuel. Everywhere amid the wreckage is splin- tered wood, useless for any purpose except to burn. Toughened by Hardship And curiously the préfets and the health inspectors of the districts all report that the public health up to now has been aston- ishingly good. Considering the conditions of the battlefields, one would expect that the new wells would be breeders of typhoid. That danger has been met by an educa- tional campaign. People have been taught to seek expert advice upon the location of wells, to boil and disinfect suspected water, to get themselves inoculated. Typhoid did break out last summer in the Aisne. That was the only general epidemic; it was checked by strong sanitary measures and by inoculation. Otherwise this out-of-doors pioneer life, this camping out even amid the filthy wreckage of war, has toughened the people to such a point that they resist disease. Of course the malnutrition : children, owing to lack of proper food, quite ancther thing. That does not aor as yet in the mortality statistics. This summary of conditions in the devas- tated zone has ignored Lille. The great Lille triangle, the most important indus- trial center of France, suffered complete destruction only about the edges. ille, Roubaix, Turcoing, angles of the triangle, and the busy towns between, were not much damaged by shell fire or by confla- gration. But their machines to the value of hundreds of millions of dollars were generally either ruined in the search for copper parts, junked for scrap iron or carried away whole toGermany. However, the question of Lille is so closely interwoven with the whole financial and industrial question in France that its proper place for consideration is another article on the whole state of France. Seasoned fighting men take it on the march with them.’ The foregoing opinion concerning the food value of candies is, of course, the con- fectioner’s favorable point of view regard- ing his own product. Practically all of the figures he has given were taken from food charts prepared by disinterested Federal chemists. There is no doubt, therefore, that candy has a substantial value when manu- factured from pure materials and when eaten in moderation. Recent laws have largely eliminated from the business the use of coloring matters that are harmful During the last eight or nine months the records show that more than 300 new candy manufacturing concerns have entered th« confectionery business here in the United States. This brings the total number of manufacturers in this industry up to some- thing like 3000, with an invested capital estimated to be about $130,000,000. In the retail end there are something like 70,000 confectioners doing business in this country, while at the same time there are 2100 wholesale concerns and 8000 supply houses. Altogether, the candy industry 1s an enterprise of much importance in the nation's business life and if present prophe- cies come true the nation’s sweet tooth will be well catered to in the dry days which ars now upon us

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 6,1920 firestone Park—and Most Miles per Dollar LL ideals that aim toward the general good, all practical efforts / at community betterment, have a wide and far-reaching effect. Firestone Park, a community of homes, churches, schools and all incentives to loyal citizenship—is an example of the way in which the Firestone Organization shows itself mindful of the importance of the home in any great working group. Here are those advantages of environment and atmosphere which mean private good and, through it, a public gain. Because, aside from the ethical interest in all social progress, it is a proven fact that “‘the better the homes the better the men,” and the better the men the better the work they do. In Firestone Park are gathered together Firestone workers who are also owners of their homes and stockholders in the business.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST They are united by every motive of personal pride to make tires of best possible quality at lowest possible cost. Firestone’s resources in capital and workers such as these, create economies all along the line—economies that are passed on to the car owner in more tire for the money —most miles per dollar. KIRESTONE TIRE & RUBBER COMPANY, Firestone Park, Akron, Ohio Bran hes and Dealer } ”) restone a eg al

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March 6,1920 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 7 Exide” Starting and Lighting Batteries have won their high place in the regard of motor car owners by~ coming closest to giving 100% freedom from battery~ trouble and expense. They are built he the largest maker of storage batteries in the world. “Exide” Service meets every~ need of every make of starting and lighting battery. There is an ‘‘*Exide’’ Service Station near you. Address will be sent on request. THE ELECTRIC STORAGE BATTERY CO. The largest manufacturer of storage batteries in the world 1888 PHILADELPHIA, PA. 1920 New York Boston Chicago Washington Denver San Francisco St. Louis Munneapolis Cleveland Atlanta Kansas City Pittsburgh Detroit Rochester ST rieataene Special Canadian Representative, Charles E. Goad Engineering Co., Limited, Toronto and Montreal LOOK FOR Fiend a te “Exide”, “WycapsExide”, “FroncladeExide”, “ ThinsExide”, “Chloride Mccumulator” THIS SIGN Batteries are made by this Company for every storage battery purpose p THE ELECTRIC STORAGE BATTERY C 0. © ee

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LO A itl tll ———————E— servant, trim in black uniform and white apron, but she had a good-natured face, and she could cook, though her ideas of menus were very limited. She slapped down the soup plates and retired tothe kitchen. After the soup came chops. Rodham raised his eyebrows at sight of them. “That’s the third time in a week, Really, Cora a “I'm sick of them too,” said Cora; “but Mary likes to get something that’s easy to cook.” Hashed-brown potatoes, peas and a heart- of-lettuce salad followed the chops. Cora shook her head warningly at her husband. “She simply won’t serve the salad as a separate course — it makes her later getting off, you know. I can’t say a word.” She attacked her food with relish. “Frank, dear,” she went on, ‘“‘I saw the sweetest evening dress to-day “s “I thought you were at the movies,” said Frank. “Well, you see, Martie wanted to do some shopping, so we started early, about eleven, and then had a little luncheon at the Newcome Grill ‘i “Oh, Cora,” said Rodham, “you know what the doctor said about su- pervising Babe’s meals. She’ll slip back into that nervous trouble again if you’re not careful.” Cora arched carefully shaped and shaved eyebrows. ‘Really, Frank, you are so unreasonable! Do I have to stay home every day in the week and watch Babe eat her luncheon? But listen—I want to tell you about this dress. It was black net, with little edges of sequins, and the girdle was that soft blue that is so becoming to me.—-What’s the matter? Don’t you like your dessert? I told Mary she might order some French pastry because she so hates making desserts.” “But I never eat pastry,” said Frank. ‘ Mary, bring me some fruit. Anything that’s in the house—yes, an orange will do.” “Tt was only a hundred and thirty- five, reduced from a hundred and seventy-five, and the woman said she’d be willing to hold it if I'd tele- phone first thing to-morrow. Don't you think that your old Sweetie Peach has a new evening dress coming to her, Frank? I’ve worn that garnet chiffon almost a year.” There is a point when by the end- less accumulation of petty annoy- ances, infinitesimal in themselves, the strongest man will suddenly go ber- serk. That point came to Frank todham when, with the echo of the garnet chiffon in his ears, Mary slouched in with an orange that had been hacked apart, heaped with granulated sugar, and placed un- steadily on a plate with a smear of egg on one side, dating back to break- fast. It was the wabble of the orange and the disgustingness of the smear that snapped the last link of Frank Rodham’s self-control. He heard him- self replying in a tone he had never before used to Cora, and did not know he could produce, saying: “Sweetie Peach! The little foolish pet name I used to call you when we were married eight years ago! Sweetie Peach! You're a darn sight more of a dill pickle than a peach! Oh—I'm through!” He flung down his napkin and went into the living room. Cora, round- eyed and awe-struck, followed him “Why, Frankie,” she trembled, “‘you must be sick. What’s the mat- ter, dear? Where do you feel bad?” “Cut it out,” said Rodham. ‘Cut it out. Cora, how old are you?” “Twenty-eight,” she said gaspingly. Was he oh, was he suddenly insane, she asked herself. “And you weigh a hundred and seventy pounds, and you're five feet five inches tall,” he went on musingly. He took a slip of paper out of his pocket and consulted it. ““You ought to weigh, at the most, a hun- dred and thirty-eight. A hundred and thirty would be better. You’re more than thirty pounds overweight. Most of it comes from laziness.” “Frank—what do you mean!” She hovered round him anxiously THE SATURDAY EVENING POST SWEETIE PEACH Continued from Page 17 “Of course you eat too much, and you don’t exercise,”’ he went on, leaning over and opening a tinsel-and-satin box that sat on the table beside him. It disclosed a store of rich chocolates. “There!’’ he said. “*There’s one of the worst enemies you and I and Babe have. I reckon we'll treat them like an enemy.” He got up and opened one of the front windows and hurled the candy, box and all, into the street. ‘“‘Now, Cora’’—turning back to her—‘‘go telephone Martie and Theodore not to come over to bridge to-night. You and I o are due for an under- standing. I've come to the jumping-off place.” She went away to the telephone with such a strange cowed look that Rod- ham’s mad- ness left y him. When she came back he was ; his normal self again— only his de- termination was not gone, “Cora, I'm sorry,” he began gravely enough, “‘that I spoke to you as I did. But the time has come when we've got to see where we're going. And we've got to see whether we're going together—or apart.” The quietness of his tone reassured her. “Well, Frank,” she said tartly, ‘I should think you would apologize! I never was so spoken to in my life. And as for thinking where we're going—and whether we're going together—I can’t imagine what you mean. I’ve been a true and faithful wife. My conscience is clear.” “Yes, you've Been true and faithful—in away. But that way isn’t enough. I want efficiency besides. 1 think I have a right to it.” “Efficiency! Frank, you are crazy!" “No, I'm not crazy, and I’m not fooling. When we were married you were as trim and slender and pretty a girl as anyone would want to see, We had that little walk-up flat, and you did your own work, and even sometimes the washing and iron- ing. You took care of Babe when she came. Everything was spotlessly clean. Look at this place. It’s thick with dust, and abominably overdecorated. You're forever buying some trashy gimerack, like that bunch of tin flowers I found out in the hall to-night, until the house has come to look like a badly kept fancywork store. The furniture isn’t polished, the rugs need cleaning, the lamp-shade fringe is hanging down, the sofa cushions are downright ragged, some of them—oh, the whole place is a mess! And look at that dinner to- night—perfectly good, perhaps, but just exactly what we had on Monday and Wednesday. You don’t so much as do your own ordering any more, let alone the cooking.” “Frank Rodham, if you expect me to slave in the kitchen for you ——” Cora’s eyes were bright with tears of anger. “I don’t expect you to do it all, but it wouldn’t hurt you to see that we have a little variety; or to make a salad or a pud- ding once ina while. But no—everything’s planned to suit Mary's convenience and your lazi- ness for laziness is Martie Accused Her of Going to the Far:Famed Speciat« - sst Who Had Done Such Wonders for Soma of the Well« Known Actresses the right word for it. You're a shirk, Cora, a thorough-going shirk. Look at yourself fat and flabby and untidy. Your dress gap- ing in the back, a perfectly visible run in your stocking, your slipper buckle hanging by a thread. Your complexion isn’t what it ought to be because you're always eating sweets and pastry, and you drench yourself with that sickening perfume when the only scent a decent woman needs is cleanliness and fresh air. No, you're not efficient, not as a housekeeper nor as a wife, nor even as a pretty woman. You value your appetite and your ease more than your looks.” “I didn’t know I was so hideous as all that.” 107 “Wait, I'm not through yet. You used to have a bright-enough mind. You read, you thought for yourself, you had interests that took you outside as much as you had time for them. You've dropped al! that Martie Anderson and Lillie Swain with their matinées and their everlasting bridge and their chatter about actresses and show and the society columns are your patterns now “Why, you've always seemed to like Martie and Theodore,” stammered Cora “T can’t imagine why you should turn or them too.” “T want my wife back,” said Frank dog gedly. “The pretty, slender girl who used to keep my house looking so clean and attractive, who used to read with me, and play the piano for me, and talk to me about the things we were going to do together I don’t want a fat silly doll, empty-headed, painted, a slacker in all the everyday things of life. Cora, don't you see? Won't you try to be fair? Look at me—I've kept myself fit, and there isn't a year I don’t get on a little farther. Estabrook has in mind, I know, to give me something important very soon—maybe within six months What’s the good of it all if I've got to come home night after night, to—to this sort of thing? “The Lord knows I don't want to be one of those men who look for what they want outside their own home.” “Are you threatening?” asked Cora with what she considered awful dignity “I might be, at that,” said Frank Rod ham grimly. “No jury would blame me if they saw you and saw this apartment, I assure you. Oh, Cora, that’s an outrageous way for us both to talk Don't, don’t say things like that. It makes me feel as if we're a darn sight farther apart than I'd suspected.” His voice dropped hopelessly, and he sat in silence. Suddenly she began to cry, and his first impulse was to put his arms round her and comfort her. But there was something about the roll and bulge of flesh on her shoulders that stayed him. He did not want to touch her. He did not realize it, but his refusal to console gave him the advantage as nothing he had said had done **I—I think you're perfectly mean, Frank Rodham!” he sobbed “P-perfectly mean. Coming home, and just because of a little — little d-dust, and éclairs for dessert, saying all these awful, cruel, horrible untrue things. I never, never was so.treated in m-my life.” “That'll do,” he said at last, and his voice had the ring of authority “‘Now, Cora, stop crying. I'm going to offer you one more chance. I'm going to” prove John Estabrook wrong or else and [ might just as we ll begin now ci He went out to the kitchen. Cora stifled her sobs and pricked up her ears ““Mary, we shan't need you after to-morrow,” she heard him say jo want you, to-morrow, to turn in and give this whole place a good cleaning from one end to the other—a rea cleaning, no lick-and-promise stuff and then you can go. Mrs. Rodham has decided to get along without a maid. You're a good cook and I'll give you a reference, saying so, and I'll pay you two weeks’ wages in advance. Youur derstand, Mary—a thorough cleaning of the whole apartment. If it’s absolutely spotless when I pet home to-morrow night bonus beside I'll give you five dollars as a the two weeks’ wages.” Murmurs indicating comprehension ot Mary’s part followed, but when Frank came back to the living room Cora was sitting up with flashing eyes and cheeks as red as her nose ; “Do you think for one minute, Frank Rodham,” she burst out, “that I'm going to slave doing housework for you when you make a ilary that’ ample to provide me two maids instead of one? Well, I'll soor show you. I'll go home to mother and father, that’s where I'll go; and I'll take Babe with me!” “Very well,” said Frank, “that’s your business. Only I warn you that you'll get no money from me if you do, and I don't Continued on Page 170

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 6,1920 Bearings and Dividends Cut down Horse-Power Waste. ee are waking up to the 4 relation between lubrication and dividends. Production must be increased. Shut-downs were never so costly. The better your bearings are lubri- cated the faster your work is done. Practically every machine has some You Can! kind of bearings. These bearings re- quire lubrication. As oil saves power, it follows that one oil saves more power than another. If you have shared the now-fading impression that it is enough to flood bearings with reasonably good oils, your attention is invited to the following facts. Why Gargoyle Bearing Oils Save Power and Reduce Production Costs Gargoyle Bearing Oils are unique in that they are made from crude oils specially selected for their /w4ricating oil value. When Gargoyle Bearing Oils are put to work, changing temperature has very little inhuence on them. The variation of the body of the oil is very slight. This is one of the reasons why Gargoyle Bearing Oils can be used much more sparingly than low grade oils. Gargoyle Bearing Oils will separate easily and quickly from water and other impurities when used in oil circulation and splash oiling systems. Thus the life of the oil is much longer. — VACUUM OIL COMPANY «83:22:97 NEW YORK,U.S.A. , Se —— — ———— }

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eR a I EP ee —_— SF THE SATURDAY EVENING POST We find that many executives do not give bearing lubrication its due importance. For forward-thinking executives we have prepared a special paper on bearing lubrication. We invite you to send for a copy. Please address our nearest branch. en ~ QS ey pF.) I—! ily baad A grade for cach type of service DOMESTIC BRANCHES: New York Boston Philadelphia Pittsburgh Detroit Chicago Minneapolis Indianapolis Kansas City, Kan. Des Moines GARGOYLE BEARING OILS Gargoyle D. T. E. Oils High-grade oils for ma 2 | ‘| | seemelbenien. 1 | tiany ft omn } J for t » Wiese 4 (y Eng and ot ty reulating | | irbonincylindersot D iGas lt | Ga D xtra Heavy Gargoyle Viscolite Oils Gargoyle Etna Oils Gargoyle Vacuoline Oils Gargoyle Velocite Oils Specialists in the manufacture of high-grade lubricants for every class of machinery. Obtainable everywhere in the world NEW YORK.U.S.A. . I 169

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170 THE SATURDAY Why Safety Razor Blades Should Be Stropped No one thinks of using an old style razor without stropping it. Why should you expect more of a safety blade than you would of an old style razor ? The edge of every razor blade is composed of infinitesimal teeth. If these teeth are perfectly aligned, the razor has a smooth cutting edge. If they are out of alignment, the razor pulls. These little teeth are very sensitive. Contact with the beard forces them out of alignment. Even changes in temperature affect them. That is why stropping Is necessary even with new blades. If you will strop your double edge blades with a Twinplex Stropper, you will notice a wonderful difference in the qu lity of the shave you get. The best way is to start with a new blade. Strop it before the first shave, and both before and after each succeeding shave just as a barber does. One blade, if stropped regularly, will give you de- lightfully smooth shaves almost indefinitely. Twinplex operates with the accuracy of a watch. It strops both edges at once, turns the blade over and strops the other side the correct principle of stropping. Twinplex is sold on 30 days’ trial and a 10 year service guarantee. Price $5.00, in satin lined nickel or leather case. Sold also in variety of cases holding Stropper and razor; also Stropper, razor, brush and soap. Nearly a million men have found shaving comfort with Twinplex. Write for free booklet Twinplex Sales Company 1650 Locust St., St. Louis 238 Fulton St., New York 591 Catherine St., Montreal Jnple e? EVENING POST (Continued from Page 167) | believe your father will be willing to sup- | port you.” Cora paused, and he could read her thoughts. Cornersville, the very dull little Western town where her father, a country doctor, lived, was a place she loathed. Moreover, she knew that her father was almost an invalid and that Frank had for three years been sending him a monthly check. The house was heated by stoves. The lights were kerosene lamps. There were no more than the most primitive bathing facilities. There were no shops of any account, and no amusements, save a movie house that showed old films on Wednesday and Saturday nights. Cora knew all these things, and very well. To think of making an indefinite stay with them was unendurable. ““Now, see here, Cora,’”’ went on Frank inexorably, ‘““I know you don’t want to go home and I don’t want you to. But if you decide to you shall certainly do it, and I won’t support you. That's the cold fact | of it.” He changed abruptly to pleading. “‘But won't you, won’t you try to see things my way a little? Won’t you do the | things I want for a little while—say, three | months; and then if it’s no go, and you hate it all, we'll have to make some other arrangement. But for a while—oh, my dear, try it. You don’t see yourself as others see you—you don’t understand how you’ve changed—and deteriorated. I want you back as you were—my interesting, interested wife, my pretty girl, my—my Sweetie Peach.” His voice caught on the foolish fond little name. But he did not reach Cora. | Her tears came again, a torrent now. | “Twon’t,I won’t!’’shestormed. ‘ You're a brute and a tyrant, and a rude pig!” She rushed back into the bedroom and he could hear her sobbing stormily. He took three steps after her, and then set his jaw. “I'm going through with this,” he told himself. And forthwith, first shutting the doors so that he could not hear his wife’s weeping, he sat down by the reading lamp and opened the evening paper, and looked at it steadily for an hour. To this day he does not know that he was holding it upside down all the time. It would be hard to tell who slept the less that night, Frank or Cora, but at seven he rose with determination. The long wakeful hours had given him leisure to think out his plan in detail. ‘“*Are you awake, Cora?” he said evenly. A white and flabby face that showed strange crumplings and creasings from tears and sleeplessness turned toward him, and Cora's eyes opened. ‘Get up,” he said, in the same voice that he would have used to Babe in her fractious moods. It was a ticklish moment. Would she obey him? If she did not, what would he do? He was taut and tense with suspense, but he relaxed as she crawled meekly out. During the dark watches of the night Cora had been meditating on Cornersville versus New York. “Stand over here by the window,” he commanded; and she again did as she was bid He stood before her, some five feet away. ‘““Now do exactly as I do, keeping time to my count.” And with snap and precision that’ would not have disgraced a veteran drill sergeant he put her through the setting-up exercises, which heretofore he had always done alone. Not that there was any snap and precision about Cora’s part in these gymnastics. She panted and she puffed. Her mouth fell open unbecomingly. Her arms and legs made strange wavering motions instead of direct and controlled ones.’ Once or twice she emitted strange moaning sounds. Nevertheless, for fifteen minutes by the clock Cora Rodham did setting-up exer- cises, and at the end of that time, instead of being let fall limply back into bed, she was hustled into the bathroom and left with the injunction to take a cold bath and be quick about it. The ery of anguish she emitted when the first gush of the icy shower struck her soft flesh woke Babe and was the sound that greeted Mary, entering the flat at that mo- ment for her last day’s work there. But when she at last tottered out she displayed a better color than she had had for five years. “Now hustle into your clothes,” advised Frank, ‘and make the coffee yourself, the March 6,1920 way you used to. Mary’s is always bad. You'll still have time to bathe and dress Babe before breakfast.” With which advice he retired to his own cold shower. It was the first morning in many months that the entire Rodham family had met at the breakfast table. Cora had recently fallen into the habit of having a tray brought to her bedroom after Frank had gone. Babe either was fed with bits from her mother’s repast or, if she wakened early and Mary had time to dress her, she sat in her high chair—not a real baby’s high chair, but a slightly raised elevation which Miss Babe thought exactly like her elders’, and gloried in accordingly—and had her cereal and her fruit juice and toast under father’s eyes. Yet it could not be said that this family breakfast was a great success. Cora was silent, obviously scared, but with a certain mulishness lurking about the corners of her mouth. Frank’s chin was a rock of ob- stinacy. Babe alone was her usual cherubic self, and her conversation helped to fill the silence, though it was not exactly tactful. ““Why, muvver, don’t you have a tway vis mornin’?” she asked sweetly. Her father answered her. “No,” he said, “‘mother’s going to eat breakfast with us after this. And she’s going to walk to kindergarten with you this morning.” **Q-o-oh, nice muvver!” breathed Babe with joy. ‘‘Mawy pulls my awm,” she added explainingly, but even that revela- tion did not change the expression of Cora’s face. After breakfast Frank Rodham addressed his spouse once more. ‘“‘Mary’s going to clean up this place to-day,” he said, “and I want you to take out a lot of these gim- cracks that you've got littering up every- thing, and either throw them away or pack them out of sight so you can get rid of them later. I'm tired of seeing this house look like a junk shop. In particular I want you to get rid of that dusty silk-dressed doll baby that you've hidden the telephone behind. You're to take Babe to kinder- garten, and go after her. Miss Jones will take her out in the afternoon, as usual, while you help Mary and get dinner. And there’s to be no chops for dinner, and no French pastry; I shall expect a dessert that you’ve made yourself —something not fattening too. To-night I shall outline my program a little further. Make no mistake about it, Cora, I’m going to be master in my own house for a while at least, until you're fit to run things again.” It was a magnificent ultimatum, though no one but those who have been in a similar case can understand with what a sinking heart Frank Rodham delivered it. He hadn't the least idea that he could make good or that Cora, pushed to extremes, would yield to it. But he had seen many a bluff go when all else had failed, and he was now profiting by that experience. In his heart he knew perfectly well that if Cora determined to defy him and keep on as she had been doing he would have no way to enforce his will—unless he beat her. And a man can be arrested for beating his wife, no matter how much she deserves it. As he went downtown Frank Rodham be- thought him longingly of that dear child of Nature, the Russian peasant in one of Turgenieff’s novels who, when asked if he beat his wife, replied: ‘‘Everything hap- pens sometimes.” “If it wasn’t for Martie Anderson and Lillian Swain and one or two others like "em, with no ideas in their heads except dancing and bridge and spending money and grafting off their husbands—they’re what have changed and spoiled Cora. She isn’t that kind really. She couldn’t be. Well, I’ve started this thing—and I’m going to see it through.” But he cannot be said to have felt very cheerful about it. He might, however, have had a gleam of hope had he been able to hear Cora talking over the telephone to Martie Anderson at that very moment. Martie had called up to plan something for the day. Cora had gritted her little white teeth and summoned her own self-control. She wasn’t going to let Martie Anderson and her crowd know the truth—they’d never get done laughing about it. “No, I don’t believe I can do anything to-day, Martie dear. I want to take Babe to kindergarten and this afternoon I’m going to give this place a real clearing out. . . . Oh, I mean of ornaments, and trash like that. . . . I didn’t realize until (Continued on Page 173) hn On Ss = Sa —S=—_ 2 ee eee ee ee a

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a il tilt —_— (Continued from Page 170) recently how dreadfully overdone it was getting to be, and, of course, simplicity in decoration is the note now. Remember that lovely room we saw at Stoane’s the other day? And—you'll laugh at this but I’m going to make my own dessert for dinner to-night. . . . No, this domestic fit isn’t sudden, my dear. I don’t think any woman ought to neglect her home too much, though of course Frank’s an angel and never complains. . . . I’ve almost decided to let Mary go too. She’s so in- competent and wasteful. I’m sure I could get someone better and train her in my own ways. . . . I don’t believe we can play bridge to-night, dear. Frank’s planning to bring a man home to dinner. By-by—call me up to-morrow.” She dropped the receiver on its hook, and tears rolled again down her cheeks “‘Anyway, Martie Anderson doesn’t sus- pect anything, and I'll take good care she doesn’t. I don’t care how many lies I tell her. But if Frank imagines I’m going to stand this Yet, think as hard as she could and rack her brains in every possible way, Cora did not see any feasible way of escape. She took Babe to kindergarten and did her own marketing on the way back, thereby sur- prising and displeasing her grocer and butcher, to whom she had been up to this time a most convenient telephone patron. She stalked about their shops grimly and displayed all her old astuteness in selection and bargaining. It was some relief to her overburdened spirit to do this, and she enjoyed the outlet of her emotions. “Really, Mr. Schwartz,” she told the grocer . “the grapefruit and lettuce you’ve been se nding me have been scandalously poor. If it’s the best you can do I’ve got to take my account somewhere else. And those horrid little seedy oranges!” She picked out half a dozen with a carefully weighing hand. ‘‘ Now these are something like oranges. No, I'll take them with me. And I'll take that nice hard head of lettuce too. Deliveries sometimes get mixed, you see.”” She looked at Mr. Schwartz’s shifty eyes with perfect comprehension of his state of mind. At the butcher’s she showed similar cap- tiousness, and no less than seven roasting chickens had to be brought from the ice box before she was satisfied. ‘‘I know a good chicken when I see one,” said Cora, ‘‘and you’ve got ’em, though you haven’t been sending any to me lately.” The butcher grinned sheepishly. ‘Well, there’s never been any law against you coming right here in the shop and choosing for yourself, Mrs. Rodham,” he suggested with heavy facetiousness. ‘I can see you're a lady who knows what's what.” “Hah,” thought the victorious Cora, walking down the street toward home, ‘I guess there’s still some people who think I’ve got some sense, even if Frank doesn’t.” This thought armed her for the after- noon’s exertions. With fierce and gloomy gestures she stripped the living room, hall and little library bare of all except essen- tials. Candlesticks, photographs, vases, po fancy jars and boxes, a hundred gimcracks she disposed of without mercy, dividing them into what was perfectly use- less—these went to Mary’s delighted hands—and what might later be utilized as Christmas and birthday gifts. Some of the vases she put up on a shelf in the kitchen cupboard for occasional use, wishing fer- vently that she could bang them over Frank’s head. She snatched down most of the pic tures. At the end of her rampage, Mary’s cleaning being also finished, she realized—though it did not lessen her anger—that the place not only looked larger but decidedly more attractive. It looked- why, it looked like the living room used to look when she and Frank started house- keeping. But she steeled herself against that thought. Frank had become a tyrant and a brute, and she hated him. Still, she went to the telephone and ordered fresh flowers, and could not help but observe when they came that they gave just the one real grace that the bare room needed. She hadn’t lost her touch for arranging a house, even if some people did think she was fat and useless; and she wagged her head defiantly at an imaginary Frank. At that moment the back elevator bell rang, and there was a delivery boy handing in an ungainly heavy object, which resolved itself into a white and accurate bathroom scales. Frank must have ordered it. And Cora once more sizzled with burning rancor. THE SATURDAY Yet when Frank himself came in just | before dinner and exclaimed delightedly, | “Well, this is something like home!” she | could not help feeling a pleased thrill. And when the dessert came on at dinner, a simple-enough fruit macédoine, but cov- ered with grated coconut and garnished lightly with marshmallows and _ cherries, Cora could not help feeling another thrill of pleasure at his look of gratification, though she would not unbend enough even to smile when he said, “I hav en’t tasted any- thing so good in years.’ However, she said nothing. What was the good of stirring Frank up to anything worse than he had already perpetrated? Maybe if she gave in for a while and let him think that he wasa real home Bolshevist or thereabouts he’d get over his radical ideas the more quickly. But Cora made these good resolutions with a large mental | reservation, which was caused by the aching of her muscles, quite unaccustomed to the sort of a day she had putin. She was just naturally too tired to argue and dis- pute with Frank Rodham to-night, but there was a time coming. Mary had consented to wash the dishes on this the last evening of her reign, so Cora glumly followed Frank into the living room. There was a constrained silence for sev- eral moments, but finally Frank broke it “It—it’s very good of you, Cora,” he began gravely, ‘‘to do what I ask you to do in this matter, and—and I’m sure—I'm sure after we get going a little you'll—feel better and—and—look better than you have for ever so long.”” He cleared his | throat and went on with more confidence: | “T’ve arranged a program for your days, and here it is.”’ He held out a neatly typed sheet of paper. Cora reached a reluctant hand. This is what she read: 7.00: rise. 7.00 to 7.30: exercise, bathe, dress. 7.30 to 8.00: prepare breakfast. 8.00 to 8.30: eat breakfast and get Babe ready for kindergarten. 8.30 to 9.30: take Babe to kindergarten, marketing. 9.30 to 12.00: 12.00 to 12.30: garten. 1.00: luncheon. 1.30 to 5.30: housework, lectures, walk. 5.30 to 6.30: prepare dinner. 6.30 to 7.00: give Babe her supper and put her to bed. 7.00: dinner. housework, prepare lunch. bring Babe from kinder- Cora read this remarkable document over several times. At last, scowling darkly, she inquired: ‘“‘What d’you mean—lec- tures?” “I’ve subscribed for a course of lectures for you up at the university,” said Frank, “on the art of home-making. It embraces domestic science, with such practical de- tails as cooking, laundry work, budget making, marketing; and goes somewhat into the artistic side, I believe—interior decoration and all that sort of thing. Tex- tiles, food products; oh, a lot of things I can’t remember. It’s considered very smart to take this course, I’m told. Young Mrs. John Estabrook is doing it.’ Cora mentally filed that fact to be used on Martie Anderson, but continued to scowl at the program. “What about my evenings? ?” she in- quired with sarcasm. ‘‘Why haven't you ple anned something jolly for them too?” “It isn’t any use for you to take that tone,” said Frank with emphasis. “No, I didn’t arrange your evenings; but if you insist on it I will. I thought we could go to the theater or to concerts, and have our friends in, and go to see them, as usual. You'll probably have to do some sewing and mending in the evenings we're at home alone. Mendig in particular. And I’ve something to say about several other things.” “Really?” — with unpleasant emphasis “You'll get the same housekeeping and personal allowance, minus the wages we paid to Mary. The laundress and cleaning woman will come as usual, and so will Miss Jones, for Babe. You'll do the rest of the work, including the cooking. But there’s got to be a radical change in your diet. No more candy, no more sodas, no more heavy, rich or starchy foods for you. If under this new régime you don’t lose at least two pounds every week you'll have to go to a gymnasium three afternoons, instead of to lectures. Of course going back and forth with Babe you'll get a mile-and-a-half walk each day, and in good weather you must EVENING POST 173 Lather is Doubly Effective When Shavaid is Used As a free trial will convince Men the nation over have welcomed this new way to shave—this quicker, easier, pleasanter way. Shavaid, the new beard-softener, ends old, harsh treatments. EN who use Shavaid are finding that shaving isn’t so difficult as it used to be. This newand scientific beard- softener makes your daily shav- For it softens the soothes the skin. ing a pleasure. beard instantly, No longer is it necessary to use hot towels nor to rub the lather in. Shavaid does away with all before-shaving preparations. Now you merely A delightful sensation Theinstant youapply Shavaid, note the cooling effect. Note that you can shave as closely as you like and no drawn, Shavaid your face feel cool and comfortable. The daily use of Shavaid keeps your skin smooth and firm, free from the there will be burning sensation, makes tender rub on a thin coat of Shavaid—then Sha smooth Hot water appli- cations before shaving can now be avoided. Hot water makes the face ten- der and it brings Removes the Protects the face hot towels skin remains firm and harsh ways ness and excessive dryness which are vaid | apply your favorite caused by hot lather. (Shavaid is Softens the beard eng Ort water and rubbing not a soap and ae? a a oo in. does not lather.) Saves time and trouble And best of all, St i bin bretebr tin 0 ae when you use op using : Shavaid, no after lotion is Shavaid a sooth- shaving required. razor “pull is in itself age the skin the blood to the surface at the wrong time. 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+ } i T IS NO SECRET among the ~~~ 4 dealers who sell candies that F only one sale of NUNNALLY’S is required to make a constant pur- chaser of those delicious sweet- meats. Distributed through the better stores only. Nunnally’ THE CANDY OF THE SOUTH ATLANTA, GA. ie e Fs "Te ARROW COLLARS FOLLOW THE ARROW AND YOU FOLLOW THE STYLE — ee Inc. VMakers, Troy. NY | a i cc THE SATURDAY EVENING POST walk one way from the university. With your diet corrected and the exercises you'll do night and morning, you'll get your figure back, and your complexion, I hope, in four or five months.” Cora stood up, quivering with anger. “Frank Rodham, what do you t ink I am?” she demanded tragically. “‘Aslave?” “You're a slave, all right,” ae Frank sententiously; “but not to me. You're a slave to idleness, extravagance and lazi- | ness—two of which are, I believe, num- bered among the seven deadly sins. Now cut the proud-rage stuff, Cora. You might just as well give in and try this thing first as last.” “T won't try it!” stormed Cora. “I won't, I won’t, I won't! I'll go out and earn my own living, that’s what I'll do. I'll leave your house to-morrow, Frank Rod- | ham, and get a job.” “The thing that you and a lot of women like you don’ t realize,” broke in Frank, “‘is that you've got a job, and one that you’ i not making good on. You're a wife, and a mot her, and a housekeeper besides. But you're pretty poor, as all of them. You want to spend money, but you don’t want to save it. You want to slide along through life and get a lot of easy things out of it, and give nothing in return. You and Martie Anderson and Lillie Swain and all that crowd—you're all alike. The only way you can earn your own living is by woman's | easiest graft—called marriage. You couldn’t go out and get a job that would pay for your nut sundaes unless you could find a cloak-and-suit manufacturer who wanted a model for a stylish stout, and I believe that profession is pretty well overcrowded at present. No, let that line of talk go, Cora. Sit down. I'm going to read you | some entertaining bits out of the evening paper—all about the League of Nations, and the Nonpartisan League, and archy’s latest, andthe Dempsey-Carpentier match.” He reached out a masterful hand and gently forced her back into her chair, picked up the paper and began to read aloud. After half an hour or more he became aware of a certain somnolent stillness on the part of his auditor. He glanced up. Cora’s head had dropped back, her lips were slightly parted, and she slept the deep sleep of one wearied with unusual sieaheal enatien and strange emotions. Frank sat and looked at her for a long while. “Well,” he said to himself, “at last I know what it means to be a bitter-ender.” Then he added aloud: ‘‘Wake up, Cora. You ean go to bed if you like, after I’ve put you through a half dozen or so of exercises.” He half pulled, half pushed her back to the bedroom, and forced her unwilling muscles through more of the contortions they had done in the morning. When at last she did drop into the bed she was asleep before her head touched the pillow. And Frank himself slept almost as quickly and as soundly. It cannot be said, even by the wildest stretch of the imagination, that Frank Rod- ham’s home was a pleasant place to live in during the weeks that followed. It was not. It was a decidedly unpleasant place. Yet it was clean—cleaner than it had been for many months; it was far more attractive in appearance, and the table Cora set, though simple, was extraordinarily good. There is something in the Bible, I believe, about the joy of a dinner of herbs where love is; but there is a singular reticence on how a dinner of herbs and hate withal may taste. Frank Rodham could have given some very pungent facts on that subject to the author of Proverbs. He had moments when he wanted to throw himself on Cora’s mercy | and beg her to return to her good old ways, call back Mary, have Martie Anderson and Theodore and their interminable bridge of evenings, as before, if it would also bring back her smiles, her easy laughter, her affection for him. Something, something unbendable and imperishable in his will prevented Frank Rodham from doing this. Also he was in- fluenced by the reading of the bathroom scales. It recorded in two weeks that Cora was down to one hundred and sixty-six. In three weeks it said that she weighed no more than a hundred and sixty-four, and at the end of the first month it unmistak- ably and triumphantly recorded her weight as a hundred and sixty-two. The bulge at the top of her corset showed an appreciable lessening, and her chin was beginning to reduce itself from two to one. Likewise her skin began to have the look of clean blood flowing under it, and not as if backed with layers of white impenetrable fat. March 6,1920 So far as he could tell Cora kept firmly to the rules he had laid down. She attended her classes at the university, and she took Babe back and forth to kindergarten; and she undoubtedly cooked and cleaned and mended. But she did not smile, and she never spoke to her husband save when it was absolutely necessary. Something un- bendable and imperishable there was in Cora’s will also, which would not permit her tosubmit tamely to what she considered her humiliation. Yet when she was alone she could not help relaxing. She played with Babe and sang about her work. She bullied the grocer and the butcher shamefully and had the satisfaction of knowing that when she went into their shops respect and interest at- tended her orders. She had a keen delight in the classes she was attending, though at first her atrophied mind found them bewildering and difficult. But she soon saw that much of what they presented was familiar ground to her. She ad been a housekeeper, and a good one— and it amused and amazed her to see how far theory and science backed her practical knowledge gathered from experience, and it lent a peculiar piquancy to her becoming a good housekeeper again. Moreover, there was another satisfaction. She had very early in her course found out that a certain little red-haired woman with wonderful furs was Mrs. John Estabrook, Jr. Cora had maneuvered a seat in class beside her, and from desultory words con- cerning notes and pencils an acquaintance that bade fair to ripen into friendship sprang up. This she would not tell Frank—she would not give him so much satisfaction. But more agreeable than all these, it must be confessed, she found her de- creasing waist measure, her vanishing hips. Only those who have been overstout know the supreme joy of getting back to their normal figure, and the feeling of delightful lightness and superiority it gives. On the rare occasions when she now saw Martie Anderson, Martie accused her of going to the far-famed specialist who had done such wonders for some of the well-known actresses. Cora, with an enigmatic smile, did not deny it. She knew Martie well enough to be sure that a figure regained by such sim- ple ways as diet and exercise, and not by the expenditure of vast sums of money, would be of slight interest to her. To Frank, however, Cora was adamant. Partly she could not help it. Deep within her was that wholly human resentment that we feel toward those who are right when we are wrong and who know how to correct our way better than we ourselves. Also there was the grudge of her coercion. For- give him that? Never—never—never! She had not forgotten one of his insulting statements. She was fat, she was flabby, she was lazy. She couldn’t earn a living except by a grafting marriage or as a model for a stylish stout. She was a poor wife, a poor mother, a poor housekeeper. She was a slacker. She was painted. And meanest and most cruel of all—he had called her a dill pickle in caricature of that dearest and fondest and silliest of silly and fond pet names. Never did she recall that one slur without a wave of primitive rage. The memory of it checked all impulse to be kind even when he brought home flowers and theater tickets, and, yes, even when he insisted on drying the dishes so that her evening’s work might be lightened. Some six weeks after Frank Rodham’s revolt, when the scales were recording that Cora’s weight was now one hundred and fifty-eight, but the thermometer of her demeanor was still recording some hundred and fifty-eight degrees below zero, old John Estabrook summoned his secretary for a private conference. “It’s about time for you to take a swing round the circle, Frank,” he said. “Of course you know this is preliminary to a bigger job. You’re going to get Haden’s place— he’s decided to retire. It’ll mean that you'll be away for two or three months anyway. I want you to go over all the plants, but stay longest in Buffalo and size up the situation there very carefully. You know I’ve sort of planned to send Johnny out there. He’s been doing all right here, hasn’t he?” Frank knew that the question was asked for confirmation, not for information. ‘‘ He’s doing fine,”’ he said. ‘‘He’s ready for the Buffalo job, and I’m sure that Pritchett will be glad to have him. And for myself — you know, Mr. Estabrook (Continued on Page 177) — Soe Se a=

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— ~ ae ae SS ES. ee” THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Suittly Lontidential ye 1L 50 Wtf? @ "“MULTIGRAPH SEN/OR rhis is a complete, compact equipment that turns out high quality printing and form typewriting at very low cost—av eraging a saving of from 25% to 75% It is simple and easy to operate; rapid and convenient. Electrically driven, with printing ink attachment, automat- ic paper feed, signature device, auto- matic platen release and wide printing surface. Easy payments if desired. “My DEE-ah! Don’t breathe a word of this to anyone. But I had it on the best of authority, adsoLUTELy in confidence, that” And in half a day it is the “strictly confidential” property of every one in town. Ridiculous ? Exaggerated? Perhaps,—yet you persist in doing much the same way with many of your most vital business secrets. That private report of the last directors meeting fine business to have it become public property! Yet you know and we know that in spite of every precaution leaks will happen, and it’s always just the one thing you want to keep mum that gets out. If it JS “strictly confidential,” the Multigraph im your own establishment keeps it so. INSIDE DOPE for the boys on the road—“‘A great little sales stunt~-too long to put in a letter, too many copies needed guess we'll have to print it.”. And then what may happen? Your competitor may steal a march on you. Get the identical scheme across to the trade TR ST y make your boys feel ridiculous when they come hustling along with the GREAT IDEA How did it get out? Who knows? But you DO know it never would have happened if you'd really kept the scheme STRICTLY Confidential by printing it on the MULTIGRAPH under your own roof CONFIDENTIAL Price List. Of course everyone con nected with handling it conscientiously tries to ke ep the job ‘ onfider n tial and you keep careful check on the work BUT You soon find tl oth f knows your inside figures as : well as you do Mebbe you'll decide some day that that price list JS going to be STRICTLY Conjfidential—printed on the MULTIGRAPH. Money is no real object when it comes fo keeping business secrets, So we won't say much about the 25% to 75% saving in printing bills when you use the Multigraph But wouldn't you like to be SURE that when you wanted to get a message across to only the chosen few you could simply put it up to Miss Private Secretary and the Multigraph AND KNOW that the job would be turned out in no time, and all right inside your own four walls —inside dope and NO mistake You're reaching for the phone to call in the Multigraph man — or for your pen to fill in the coupon—BUT—let us whisper STRICTLY Confidential You can’t buy a Multigraph unless you need it THE AMERICAN MULTIGRAPH SALES CO., Cleveland, Ohio Offices in Principal Cities CHE INTERNATIONAL MULTIGRAPH CO London, 15-16 Holborn Viaduct Paris, A Boulevard des Capucines HE MULTIGCRAPH SALES CO. Ltd 84-88 Bay St., loronto, Canada Offices in Principal Canadian Cities "MULTIGRAPH SUN/IOR This is a wonderfully efficient equip ment for concerns which have a limited amount of work. It does both form typewriting and office printing and pro duces the same high quality of work as the Senior Equipment, but it is hand- operated only and cannot be equipped with electric power automatic feed and signature device attachments as can the Senior. Easy payments if desired. MLULTIL RAF: Street Address Town The Multigraph ©. 40th St., Cleveland, Ohio This “strictly confidential” idea interests me: Tell me more about the Multigraph and what it can do for me. Our Line is Official Position State SFP 175

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176 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST No jerks—no rattles—when you throw in the clutch How the new flexible fabric universal joint absorbs the shocks that wear out your car RAPIDLY spinning fly wheel suddenly locked with a motionless rear axle that’s what happens when you start your car. A ton or more of dead weight must be moved the instant you throw in the clutch. The tremendous power from the engine is hurled along the drive shaft Metal universal joints transmit with no cushioning whatever the full impact of this terrific force. No matter how carefully you engage the clutch transmission and As metal joints become worn the sembly. In building up the exible fabric discs the several layers of fabric are put together so that the strands in each piece run in a different direction This patented fanwise con struction provides the greatest tensile strength In a labora tory test made recently at Pur due Unwersity the drive shaft, itself, was twisted at a total stress of 21,700 inch pounds without injury to the unwersal joint a violent blow racks the the whole rear axle as- strain is intensified. Cushioning the shocks in the drive shaft There is now a way to absorb these blows. Con- structed of flexible fabric discs, the Thermoid-Hardy Universal Joint effectively cushions the shocks that rack your car. You feel no jerks, no rat- tles when you throw in the clutch. With the Ther- moid-Hardy Universal Joint your car starts smoothly—runs quietly with the minimum of jar and vibration. Makers of ‘‘ Thermoid Hydraulic Compressed Brake Lining’’ and ‘‘Thermoid Crelide Compound Tires’’ Fanwise construction for strength Enormous strength is given the Thermoid- Hardy Universal Joints by the patented fan- wise construction of the fabric discs illustrated below. By this unique construction uniform strength and elasticity is obtained. Having no metal-to-metal wearing surfaces the Ther moid-Hardy Joint cannot wear loose. It re quires no lubrication—no constant attention. Adopted by leading manufacturers Over fifty manufacturers have adopted the Thermoid-Hardy Universal Joint as standard equipment. It has stood severe endurance tests—in many cars running 60,000 miles without replacement or adjustment. When you ride in a car equipped with Ther- moid-Hardy Universal Joints, notice the ab- sence of backlash, jerks, and rattles that are so common with metal joints. Observe how smoothly the car starts—how much more quietly it runs—even over rough roads. Send for our new book, ‘‘ Universal Joints— Their Use and Misuse.”’ It will give you in detail the construction of the Thermoid- Hardy Joint, records of performance, opinions of leading engineers and manufacturers who have adopted it. Thermoid Rubber Compang Sole American Manufacturers Factory and Offices: Trenton, N. J. New York Chicago San Francisco Detroit Cleveland Atlanta Philadelphia Pittsburgh Boston London Paris Turin March 6,1920 LIST OF USERS American-British Mfg. Co Allis-Chalmers Mfg. Co Anderson Motor Co The Autocar Co Available Truck Co Barley Motor Car Co. (Roamer) Briscoe Motor Corp Jas. Cunningham Son & Co Crow-Elkhart Motor C Dart Truck & Tractor Corp The Dauch Mfg. Co Diamond T Motor Car Co Dixie Motor Car Co Doane Motor Truck Co Fageol Motor Car Co H. H. Franklin Mfg. Co Garford Motor Truck Co Gramm-Bernstein Motor Truck Co Hebb Motors Co Hendrickson Motor Truck Co Holt Mfg. Co International Harvester Co. of A., Inc International Motor Co Kentucky Wagon Mfg. C.« Inc King Motor Car Co King Zeitler Co Larrabee-Deyo Motor Truck Co., Inc Lexington Motor Co Locomobile Co. of America Maxwell Motor Corp Menominee Motor Truck ¢ Mercer Motors Co Moreland Motor Truck Co McFarlan Motor Co Nelson & LeMoon E. A. Nelson Motor Car Co Nelson Motor Truck Co D. A. Newcomer Co O'Conneli Motor Truck Co Oliver Tractor Co Oneida Motor Truck Co Packard Motor Car Co Parker Motor Truck Co Pierce-Arrow Motor Car Co Reo Motor Car Co Root & Vandevoort Engineering Co Sanford Motor Truck Co Service Motor Truck Co Stoughton Wagon Co. Studebaker Corp Stutes Mar Tractor Co. Templar Motors Corp Tioga Steel & Iron Co Tow Motor Co Traffic Motor Truck Corp Transport Truck Co Twin City Four Wheel Drive Co., Inc Walter Motor Truck Co Ward-LaFrance Truck Co., In Watson Products Corp Wichita Motors Co. H. E. Wilcox Motor Co. J. C. Wilson Co Willys-Overland, Inc Zeitler & Lamson Truck & Tractor Co THERMOID-HARDY UNIVERSAL JOINT Fanwise construction for strength | en er — wctenneiien ; a eee a RE -- wwe

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=a” Continued from Page 174) “Oh, cut all that,”’ said Estabrook. “If you weren’t the man for the job you'd not get it. You’re just as much good to me as I’m to you, Frank. I’m going to miss you like thunder in here—with me, I mean. Who you got ready to take your place?” For it was part of the Estabrook plan that no man in an important job but had a subordinate in training to sueceed him “Young Dowell. He’ll be all ready after a few days’ special coaching. When do you want me to start?” ; “The sooner the better. And when you come back go directly into Haden’s office. It'll be waiting for you.” The old man offered his hand to the younger. ‘I know you'll make good,” he said. ‘‘Good luck, Frank. And say, by the way,” he said, breaking a somewhat em- barrassed moment after the handshake, “that wife of yours must be a wonder. Nina’s been telling me about her. Met her up at the university, you know.” Frank Rodham hid his surprise. He wasn’t going to let John Estabrook or any- one else know the state of his domestic affairs. Estabrook went on: “‘ Yes—these classes Nina’s been going to—she says Mrs. Rod- ham puts it all over the rest of the bunch, and sometimes even on the teachers. Prac- tical, you know. Knows what she’s talking about. Nina’s crazy about her. I tell you, a wife like that is a big help to a man, Frank. Well, I figure Nina’s been the making of Johnny, and you can just bet I haven't forgotten the pearl necklace I promised myself I was going to get her when Johnny made good. I guess I can go pick that out now, hey?” He laughed with affection. Frank Rodham came out of that inter- view with his head in something of a whirl. He was to have Haden’s place—twenty- five thousand a year to begin. That was sufficiently splendid in itself. And Cora was astonishing young Mrs. Estabrook with her cleverness and ability. Cora-—-Cora! Oh, he knew she could if she only would. He knew she had it in her to do anything. He had been perfectly right in snatching her from the way she was going and setting her feet in other pat But what did his perfect rightness avail him when she per- sisted in treating him as though he was an | ; own house? No, worse than that, he de- a criminal, guilty of stable to name, but unweicome guest in | she treated him cided omething too rather like de té ich it was bey \ 1 her power to punish. Set it down though to his credit that he did not waver. When he had called himself a bitter-ender he knew whereof he spake. So now, in tl new situation, with this wonderful prospect before him, his first thought was: What should he tell Cora and how would she take it? Would it make any difference to him? Would he be forgiven — and, if so, would she im- agine that she could at once slide back into the life of ease from which he had so rudely haled her? Not for nothing was Frank Rodham a coming power of the business world and canny old John Esta right-hand man. Into his present coil he put thought as concentrated and as cautious as he had put into the most complicated deal his chief had ever intrusted to his hands. On his decision he felt sure rested all the hap- in her behavior brook’s piness of his future life with Cora. At the end of his cogitation he had decided not to tell her of hi iecession to Haden’s place until he had returned from what Estabrook called the swing round the circle. If when he came back she had gone on with the life he had laid out for her—then he would tell her. If she had backslid and gone back to her old lazy ways—then he was through. He announced his going as merely a busi- ness trip, and asked her for no promise, gave her no ins ‘*She’s got a good start by this time,”’ he told himself, ‘‘and if she’s the girl I think she is she’s realized that what I want is the best. If she hasn’t got sense enough for that, and wants to go back to bridge and chocolate and avoirdupois, then * But he did not finish the sentence. There were too many memories of Cora, the slim and pretty and sparkling girl of eight years before, tender and kind and true, for him to be utterly ruthless in his decision. Yet it was with a very heavy heart that he set forth. Nor were Cora’s frigid good-by and the twinkle of unmistakable malicious satisfac- tion in her eyes reassuring. tructions THE SATURDAY “IT hope you have a pleasant trip,”’ she had said calmly. ‘‘Let me know where you'll be, and I'll try to write now and then, at least to tell you how Babe is.”’ And she presented a cool—albeit somewhat thin- ner-—cheek for his farewell kiss. No, it was not reassuring, and he started away in the calmness of an assured despair. “It’s on the knees of the gods now,”’ he told himself. ‘* Nothing I can do will change it. I’m going to forget it and put my best licks into the job ahead of me. That, at least, I can do. But there’s one thing I'll never be so sure and certain that I’ve got a right to stick my fingers into some- one else’s life and change it about into a pattern more to my liking. And yet—I know that I was right.” It is a very disconcerting mixture of feel- ing —to be sure you have been right and yet to feel that you have made an awful mess of things. More than one person of excel- lent motives has experienced it, and for generations to come persons of excellent motives will still continue to experience it. The worst of it is the utter helplessness of the one who started it. He has rolled a pebble down the mountainside and un- wittingly dislodged an avalanche. And by a curious paradox of fate, too often he is standing right in the path of the said ava- lanche, once it gets going hard. And all you can do as you wait for the avalanche to dislodge you is to say grimly: “‘T wish I’d started that pebble more tact- fully.” So with Frank Rodham. He wished sev- eral times a day, and any number of times in the still watches of the night that he had started Cora into a healthful sane plan of life with more tact in his method. Only it was a trifle late to say that now. The longer he stayed away from her the farther into the background did the fat and indolent Cora of these later years recede, while nearer and ever nearer came the Cora of honeymoon days, the Cora of their first years of marriage. Corastirring gingerbread and wishing that eggs were not so dear so that she could make angel cake; Cora mak- ing fun of him because he thought he could broil a steak better than she could; Cora in pink dusting cap and apron, an adorably pretty witch with her broomstick; Cora, hollow-eyed and white-faced, watching be- | side his bed as he came down with that long dreadful spell of typhoid; Cora beside him in the park on a Sunday morning, making fun of the people who rode on in motors, and telling him how much happier they were to walk. Oh, there were a hundred of these Coras, each dearer than the last. Where had she begun to turn away from him— where had he begun to lose her? He did not know clearly, but it seemed as if it had begun with his first substantial increase in salary. He had been so anxious that she should have everything she longed for that he had been recklessly generous. And their prosperity had been too much for her. So it was, after all, a great deal his own fault. He could see that now. He should not have given everything into her hands; he should have stayed nearer to her, have helped her, have taken her into his world instead of letting her slip away into a meaningless world of her own that concerned itself mostly with shops and spending. He could see all this now, and he could see, further, how it had been too sudden a resolution, and caused more by exaspera- tion than by any real desire to help her, that had made him order her to leave that world of hers and come back into his. Oh, he could see all these things plainly enough now, to be sure. The little notes that she wrote to him, as she had promised, told him absolutely nothing save that Babe was well and happy. A few casual words about the sort of weather they were having, and a few scraps of meaningless news put in to fill space—that the new janitor was better than the old one, that the hallboys changed more rapidly than the moon—down one page and across another—and the mock- ingly dutiful signature, ‘Your’ wife, Cora”’—and that was all of it. She never included any bulletins from the bathroom scales. It was the last of February when Frank todham went away, and it was the middle of May when he returned. He wanted unspeakably to get back, and yet he dreaded it unspeakably. He had moments when he wanted to get off the train and walk the rest of the way so that he could not arrive for days and days and days; and moments when he wanted to push the engine faster and faster and faster. He did not think at EVENING POST 177 cd ; ee ee ee er Se arene ee me rder | by Mail | ORICINAL ILE” PRALINES CRUNEWALD) TTS OE OEY STE OTR SAIN ee 8 PT “The South's Most “Famous Confection” If you have ever visited New Orleans then, of course, you have tasted this famous candy which the made and sold for many years Hotel Grunewald Caterers have The demand has become so great that we are now sup- plying Original Creole Pralines (Grunewald) direct by mail, parcel post insured, in specially constructed mailing cartons, carefully packed Absolutely pure, made only of pure Louisiana Cane Sugar and Louisiana (whole-half) pecan meats. Scrupulous care is maintained throughout in producing this famous candy. Cleanliness and purity are Grunewald watchwords. That's why Original Creole Pralines (Grune- wald) are Creole Pralines made regarded everywhere as the highest quality Do not accept substitutes A delightful confection, dessert, or after-dinner dainty Fr Mail orders filled anywhere. P.O.. or Express | money orders, or personal checks recetved | Box of 7 (Sample) $1.00 | Box of 12...$1.50 Box of 24.. $3.00 | | | THE HOTEL GRUNEWALD CATERERS Dept. P NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA LS) SMT Ct NO ale a ta Boys from 3 to 18 Styie B~ thew) for little brothers Sport4oving, active boys distlain garments that girls wear. They want the manly, sensible TEVAele) REG .U.S. PAT OFF. n A Support for Pants and Hose ? AGES 44018 Pants trim, stockings smooth, shoulders back —that’s Kazoo, the freely-giving, durable, regular suspender like dad’s. Saves washing, mending and button-sewing. Best of all — it satishes son! - At Boys’ Clothing, Furnishing and Notion Depariecnas; ot write ws. $1.00 and $1.75 Send fot our Booklet For Resi Bars” HARRIS SUSPENDER CO. 694 Broadway, at S., New York Hinman Cor, Ld, Torwmo, Conae

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‘Po Ca l-inch GUBERT RECTOR GILBERT TOOL CHESTS THE SATURDAY PIPE THREADING MACHINES n you thread a pipe in 20 seconds ? THE OSTER MFG CO. Tikexcinc cquenens CLEVELAND What they mean to boys Your boy’s future is largely what you make it. You can train his mind while he plays by buying him the right kind of toys. This is the big thought behind Gilbert Toys—the thing that has built up the biggest toy manufac- turing business in America. With Gilbert Toys the boy does the building and experimenting. In thought and action he is soon years ahead of the boy who does not have such toys. Buy Gilbert Toys for your boy— “‘toysthat are genuine” — boy teach- ers, boy helpers. The A. C. Gilbert Company 119 Blatchley Ave., New Haven, Conn. vr 4 a “a UAE CO t) i es | InCanada: The A.¢ Gilbert. Mensies Co., Limiuled loront Juni-ngland: TheA « af Gilbert Co., 125 High Gilbert factories . oe ‘The largest and most com = EVENING POST all of the empty office of Haden’s which was waiting for him. He only thought, with a great intentness, of his home, his wife. What would they be? How would he be received? His hours of uncertainty and unhappiness cut away the boyishness of his face, carved it into lines of care and wistful- ness. He did not try to pretend to himself now that it did not matter what he should find. He only hoped that he might steady himself through the worst—if it was the worst that greeted him. And so, in this mood of doubt and un- certainty, wondering, hardly daring to hope, Frank Rodham came home. He looked anxiously round the crowd that pressed about the gates of the terminal, but there was no one for him. Well, he might have expected that, he supposed. Only He hurried out and took the first taxi. The streets were bright in the spring sun- shine, and a flower seller passed with a tray of violets and daffodils. It was all curiously the same, and he resented it a little, feeling such change in himself. At last he reached his apartment door. He took his so long unused key from his pocket as he went up in the elevator, and then he slipped it back again and rang the bell. After a heart-searching minute he heard the tap-tap of light footsteps, and then the door was flung open. A woman stood before him, and it was the woman of his memories, slim and pretty and sparkling. “Oh, Frank,”’ a cool voice exclaimed. “So glad you're home again. Babe Babe—come--here’s daddy.” He came inside and kissed the apparition on the cheek—the same cool cheek he had kissed when he had gone away. Babe came racing and shouting, to fling herself upon him, keeping him engaged for some min- utes, but not so much engaged that he could not see that his home was exquisite in its simplicity, a little rearranged and subtly altered as to color scheme, but very much for the better. Cora moved here and there, and he was intensely aware of her. She was as slender March 6,1920 as she had been when a girl, as bright in color--but more poised, more sure of her- seif. She asked him polite questions. Had his trip been comfortable? Would he have a bath before dinner? At last he could stand it no longer. “Cora,” he said very humbly, ‘‘you’re very lovely—and very wonderful. I’ve thought about you so much, dear, and wanted so often to beg your pardon with all my heart for my clumsiness, my brutal clumsiness and cruelty. Aren’t you ever going to forgive me? Don’t you realize that no matter what I said or did it was all be- cause I loved you so, and couldn’t bear to lose you? Cora és Cora put her head on one side consider- ingly. It was nice to see him eating humble pie. ‘‘ You were brutal, and you were cruel,” she said. “‘And it wasn’t the whole truth, either. I wasn’t half as stupid and horrid as you made me out. And I just want to tell you, Frank, that I’ve been offered the position of assistant in some of the classes at the university next year—so I can earn my living without going out as a cloak model or without being what you call a marriage grafter.”’ It was evident that she had been simply dying to tell him this. “‘And I never wasted any money, except what you gave me and told me to spend remember that!’ And then she dropped her dignity and her aloofness and flung herself wildly into his arms. “Oh, you darling old thing!’’ she cried. “You were as mean as you could be, and I deserved it, every bit. But I’ve done everything you told me, exercises and all, all the time, and I weigh only a hundred and twenty-eight now, and— and—oh, I've missed you so—and I’ve wanted you so to come home.” There was a moment or two when words were not necessary. But presently she lifted a flushed and laughing face from the region of his necktie and exclaimed: ‘* And I guess you can call me now, without hurt- ing yourself e He finished thesentence for her: ‘Sweetie Peach!” And he meant it Medicine in Industry ANY employers are finding that great profit results from the establishment of a system of physical examination of all applicants for work before employment When men are simply hired without being subjected to a preliminary investigation the outcome is frequently mutually unsatisfac- tory. Often such men are unfit for the work in hand and after a few months they are sure to show a gradual decrease in efficiency due to the progress of disease or a dislike for the occupation they have en- gaged in. When a company hires men who are wholly unqualified for the service at hand the corporation is sure to lose through in- creased accidents and large labor turnover or because of unrest created in the organi- zation by these undesirable employees. It has been found that in industries where medical examinations are unknown the prevalence of acute contagious diseases is far greater than in those businesses where all prospective employees are carefully in- vestigated. It is also a fact that such exami- nations frequently enable the placement of men in positions where their efficiency is greatest. One investigator recently made a study of ten industries where medical examina- tions prevailed, and showed that of ap- proximately 120,000 applicants investi- gated in one year only 66,000 proved to have no/disabilities of any consequence. Nearly 12,000 applicants were wholly re- jected and 41,000 were employed with a full knowledge of their disabilities. Most of these latter workers were placed in selected positions where their infirmities would cause them the least handicap. Another investigator makes the state- ment that the practice in the United States with reference to medical work in indus- tries indicates an average annual cost of $2.50 per employee for medical examina- tions. Let us assume that one of our big American industries employs 200,000 work- men. Let us further suppose that in this industry there are no medical investiga tions of applicants for jobs. In such an in- dustry 20,000 men, or ten per cent of those employed, would be totally unfit for work and would soon be dismissed. This means 20,000 men added to the labor turnover, and if the cost of the labor turnover in the industry amounts to, say, forty dollars a person, then the employment of these un- desirables has cost the industry $800,000. Now if we accept the figure of $2.50 for each examination, as stated above, we find that this particular industry could have adopted a system of examining all prospec- tive employees at an expense of $500,000 annually, The yearly saving from the plan, therefore, to the industry would have been $300,000. It is further true that additional benefits from medical examinations of this kind would have resulted to all the indi- vidual companies making up the industry in question. An authority on the subject of industrial hygiene called attention recently to one instance where an examination of 15,000 applicants caused the rejection in a certain industry of forty-four cases of acute con- tagious disease which would have caused the companies in question great loss, due to the starting of six different kinds of epidemic that undoubtedly would have started if the diseased applicants had been engaged. In addition to the saving that is certain to come from this plan of carefully investi- gating all applicants, each employer is thus enabled to fulfill his duty, which includes the safeguarding of the health and happi- ness of all of the loyal employees who now serve him. — es ae oe aw ee ee ee

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a THE SATURDAY EVENING POST tandard’” PLUMBING FIXTURES Good building starts with the Architect-—-good plumbing with the Plumber. The Contracting Plumber is an authority on home sani- tation. It is his business. He knows good fixtures and how they should be installed. If you are building a new home, consult him. A timely suggestion may save a costly alteration later. New plumbing fixtures may be needed in your present home. If the house is over ten years old, the bathroom may be out of date. Here again his advice will prove valu- able. If you live in a city write Write for “Standard” Plumb- for “Standard” Plumbing ing Fixtures for the Farm” Fixtures for the Home.” if you live in the country. Standard Sanitary Mfg. Cv., Pittsburgh In addition to the displays of “Standard” Plumbing Fixtures shown by Wholesale Dealers and Contracting Plumbers, there are permanent ‘Stendard” exhibits in the following cities NEW YORK 35 W. 318T *EAST ST. LOUIS 15 N. COLLINSVILLE “ERIE 128 W. TWELFTH *SAN ANTONIO NEW YORK (EXPORT DEPARTMENT) 50 BROAD *CLEVELAND 4409 EUCLID *ALTOONA 918 11TH “PORT WORTH BOSTON 186 DEVONSHIRE CINCINNATI 633 WALNUT MILWAUKEE 426 BROADWAY KANSAS CITY PHILADELPHIA 1215 WALNUT *TOLEDO 311-321 ERIE *MILWAUKEE 311.313 FIFTH 8ST SAN FRANCISCO WASHINGTON SOUTHERN BLDG. *COLUMBUS 243-255 8. THIRD *LOUISVILLE 321.323 W. MAIN *LOS ANGELES *PITTSBURGH 439-449 WATER “CANTON 1106 SECOND 8ST. N. E *NASHVILLE 315 TENTH AVE. 5 DETROIT OFFICE PITTSBURGH 106 SIXTH *YOUNGSTOWN 458 W. FEDERAL *NEW ORLEANS 846 BARONNE CHICAGO OFFICE *CHICAGO 14. N. PEORIA *WHEELING 3120-30 JACOB *HOUSTON.. COR. PRESTON AND SMITH *TORONTO, CAN *ST. LOUIS 810 N. SECOND *HUNTINGTON 2ND AVE. AND 10TH ST. *DALLAS... 1200-1206 JACKSON *HAMILTON, CAN Service at “Standard” Branches In the « 7, marked (*) are carried complete lines of Plumbing and gee ne Farm Light ; : ing and Water Supply Systems; Tools and Supplies for Mills, Mines and Factories, also for the Water, Gas, Steam and Oil industries. Write or call on nearest branch. If interested in plumbing fixtures for factories, write for book, “Factory Sanitation 6 212 LOSOYA 626 6H ONROE 101 RIDU" &RCADE 149-55 BLUXOME 2248 CENTRAL 114 HAMMOND BLDG 10 KARPEN BLDG » E RICHMOND OW JACKSON @

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180 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST You Knew He’d Win Such was your respect for Barney Oldfield, that when this company began to build and market the tires he had devel- oped, you instinctively foretold another Oldfield victory. That victory has been won. Oldfield initial distribution has been gained with speed equalled, as we believe, by no prior feat in the history of tire merchandising. Oldfield Tire merchants are multiplying at the rate of hundreds a month. Look for the Oldfield sign on your own ‘‘ Motor Row.”’ If not already there, you will see it very soon. And, you can get your Oldfields without delay. Barney Oldfield him- self will tell you the merchant best located to promptly supply you. Begin now to equip your car with Oldfields—tires like those that stood up under the ‘Master Driver’s’’ most cruel tests. THE OLDOFIELD TIRE CO. CLEVELAND Export Department: 42 Broadway, New York, N. Y. March 6,1920 u - Seana ak LDFIELD TIRES “The Most Trustworthy Tires Built” ee ee ee ee

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They did get started and without more delay. They went in the car, and after a mile or so stopped on a rocky ledge beside the road at what Chet was used to call the Dummy Cover—an expanse of half a dozen acres tangled with alders and birches and thorn and dotted with wild apple trees here and there. Two or three low knolls lifted their heads above the muck of the lower land—an ideal place for woodcock when the flight was on. The men got out and belled their dogs and old Job stood quietly at Chet’s heel while Chet filled his pockets with shells. The other dogs were racing and plunging, breaking across the wall, returning impa- tiently at command, racing away again. When they were ready the three men went through the bars, and with a gesture Chet sent Job into an alder run to the right. The great dog be gan his systematic zigzag- ging progress, de signe od to cover eve ry foot of the ground, while the younger dogs circled and scuffled and darted about him, nosing here and there, wild with the excite- ment of the hunt. Such dogs flush many birds and one of these dogs flushed a woodcock now fifty yards ahead of where old Job was working. The bird started to circle back, saw the men and veered away again. Though the range was never less than forty yards, Chet, who had a heavy far-shooting gun, took a snapshot through the alder tops as the bird turned in flight and he saw it Jump slightly in the air as though the sound of the gun had startled it. Chet knew what that little break in its flight had meant and he watched the bird as long as he could see it and marked where it scaled to earth at last in the deeps of the cover ahead of them. It was while his attention was thus dis- tracted that Job disappeared. When Chet had reloaded he looked round for the dog and Job was gone. He listened and heard no sound of Job’s bell. He blew his whistle and blew again. The other two dogs came galloping to their masters, heads up, eyes questioning, but Job did not appear. The man Hayes said: ‘He's gone off alone. I wouldn’t have a dog I couldn’t keep in.”’ Chet looked at him with a flare of his native temper in his e yes. {e’s got a bird,’ said Chet. “He's right here somewhere and he’s got a bird.” He turned and began to push his way into the alders and the other two men kept pace with him, one on either side. It was hard going; they could see only a little way. Now and then Chet whistled again, but for the most part they went quietly. Woodcock may not be found in open stubble like the obliging quail. You will come upon them singly or by twos in wet alder runs or upon birch-clad knolls or even in the shelter of a clump of evergreens— in thick cover almost always, where it is diffi- cult for a man to shoot; and the bird must usually be killed before it has gone twenty yards in flight or it goes scot-free. In such a cover as this the men were now hunting for Job; and at the end of fifteen minutes, in which they had worked back and forth and to and fro without discover- ing the dog, Hayes and the doctor were ready to give up. “Call him in,”’ Hayes told Chet. ‘‘ Maybe we'll see the bird get up. We can’t find him and we’re wasting time.”’ Chet hesitated, then he said: “I'll shoot. Maybe that’ll scare up the bird.” On the last word his gun roared and through its very echoes each of the three men heard the tinkle of a bell, and Chet who was nearest, cried, ‘There he is! Careful! The bird’s moving.” The dog was in the very center of the cover they had traversed—in a little de- pression where he chanced to be well hid- den. They had passed within twenty feet of him, yet had he held his point. Hayes was the first to do homage. “By gad,” he cried, “‘that is some dog, MecAusland!” ““You be ready to shoot,’’ Chet retorted. “T’ll walk up the bird.” They said they were ready; he moved in to one side of Job and the woodcock got up on whistling wings. Hayes’ first shot knocked him down. Job found another bird a little farther on and Chet killed it before it topped the alders. Then they approached the spot where he had marked down that first wood- cock, the one which had been flushed by THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 181 OLD TANTRYBOGUS (Continued from Page 9) the too-rangy dogs. He called Job, pointed, said briefly: ‘‘ Find dead bird, Job.” The dog went in, began to work. When the other men came up Chet said: “I think I hurt that first bird. He dropped in here. Job will find him.” “Let's send the other dogs in too,” Hayes sugge ested, “Mine hasn’t learned retrieving yet.’ Chet nodded and the other two dogs plunged into the cover to one side of Job and began to circle, loping noisily. Job looked toward them with an air of almost human disgust at such incompetency, then went on with his business of finding the bird. The men, watching, saw then a curious thing: They saw old Job freeze in a point and as he did so the other dogs charged toward him. One, Gunther’s, caught the scent ten feet away and froze. The other hesitated, then came on—and Job growled, a warning deadly growl. The other dog stopped still. Chet exclaimed: ‘Now ain’t that com- ical? Hear old Job tell him to freeze? Hayes nodded and the three stood for a moment, watching the motionless dogs, silent. Then the young dog stirred again and Job moved forward two paces and flat tened his head so low it almost touched the ground and— growled again. Chet laughed. “All right, Job,”’ Fetch it in!” Job did not move, and Hayes said: “*Maybe it’s not dead.”’ *“*T’ll walk in,’’ Chet told him. shoot. You do the shooting.” They nodded and he began to work in through the alders toward where Job stood. The others waited in vantage points out- side, Chet came abreast of Job and stopped. sut the dog stood still, and this surprised Chet, for Job was accustomed to rush for- ward, flushing up the bird as soon as he knew that Chet was near at hand. So the man studied the ground ahead of Job's nose, trying to locate the bird; and he moved forward a step or two cautiously and at last began to beat to and fro, expect- ing every minute to hear the whistle of the woodcock’s wings as it rose, Nothing happened. The two younger dogs broke point with a careless air as though to say they had not been pointing at all; that they had merely been consider- ing the matter. They began to move about in the alders. And at last Chet, half con- vinced that Job was on a false point, turned to his dog and said harshly: ‘‘ There’s noth- ing here, Job. Come out of it. Come along. Come in.” Job watched Chet, but did not move. His lower jaw was fairly resting on the ground, and Chet exclaimed impatiently and stooped and caught his collar to drag him away. When he did this he saw the bird—saw its spreading wing beneath Job's very jaw —and he reached down and lifted it, stone dead, from where it lay. Not till Chet had taken up the woodcock did Job stir, but when he saw it safe in his master’s hand he shook himself, looked at the other dogs with a triumphant cock of his ears and turned and trotted on down the run. They left that cover presently, put in an hour in the Fuller pasture, where a par- tridge and two woodcock fell to their guns, and then drove back to the farm. It was beginning to rain—the thick brush soaked them. Chet bade them come and have dinner at the farm and wait on the chance that the afternoon would see a clearing sky. So they had a dinner of Chet’s cooking, and afterward they sat upon the side veranda watching the rain, smoking. Chet MecAusland is an extravagantly generous man. If you go fishing with him you take home both your fish and his own. He will not have it otherwise. Likewise if you go into the covers the birds are yours. “Sho, I can get woodcock any time! You take them,” he will say. ‘Go on now.” And it is so obvious that he is happier in giving than in keeping that he usually has his way. After dinner he brought out the birds that had been killed in the morning and laid them on an empty chair beside him and began to tie their legs together so that they | could be conveniently handled. Job was on the floor a yard away, apparently asleep. The men were talking. And Job See | Chet looked down, tens about—there were always he called. ‘‘ Dead bird! “T won't kittens at saw there were kit- | | On the Water Route | | | of Pere Marquette | a Down the long miles of inland waterways, where Pere Mar- | quette’s redskins laboriously paddled his birch canoe on its mission of Christianity, countless small craft now speed tirelessly —driven by purring Evinrudes Wherever navigable water flows you will find the Evinrude. It has brought fishing and hunting grounds within easy reach ot j sportsmen and has made waterways the playgrounds of nations 4 Magneto, built-in-flywheel type, and Automatic Reverse and standard Evinrude features. | The leading sporting goods or hardware | stores in most localities sell the Evinrude Catalog on request | | EVINRUDE MOTOR COMPANY | 220 Evinrude Bldg. Milwaukee, Wis. | — | | | i) / by | (A , ya Fae. if id i \, * \ \\" | 4*_- ” % ex | Ny A - Z t AK je eg | i! “? a j a j ¥ / a \ af / ent E y IN RU DE | | DETACHABLE MOTOR FOR WATERCRAFT DISTRIBUTORS . 69 Cortlandt Street, New York, N. Y. 214 State Street, Boston, Mase 436 Market Btreet, San Francisco, Cal 211 Morrison Street, Portland, Ore - ITSINTHE YELLOW PACKAGE BetterChocolate These “4. words tell why my Almond Bar Business within six months became one of the greatest in gyal?” * Harry B. Duane eezeswewr the world i. THE T ilaaen COMPANY NEWYORK BOSTON PHILADELPHIA CHICAGO CLEVELAND

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182 THE SATURDAY | Boys’ Classy Clothes That Stand the oa Play Real boys must play—play hard. They should, because in no other way can they build bone and muscle and grow into sturdy manhood. Outfit Your Boys With Steel Fiber NIK Suits In Latest Styles and Fabrics i These suits give double wear. They are reinforced at seat, knees and between the knees 1 with an extra thickness of cloth, reinforced by patented interweaving stitching which gives greatest wearing most strength and quality where needed. Always stylish and shape retaining, \ and save mother’s » ‘ time and bother in- | : volved in endless | patching and mending. | than } At most all good stores Made by Sheahan, Kohn & Co. CHICAGO Also Makers of **Young American’”’ t | Boys’ Long Pants Suits | They cost no more the ordinary kind. CAPS WERE ORIGINALLY intended for comfort. We added Style. “Regal” Caps are acknowl- edged style leaders. Spring models are now or sale at your dealer's. Sold only under the “ Regal” It will pay you to look for it. CAPS $2.00 to $5.00 THE REGAL HAT CO,, 643 to 651 S. Wells St, CHICAGO Largest Cloth Headwear House in the World name. | aloud. EVENING POST the farm—and reproved Job for growling at the kits. He was a little surprised, for Job usually paid no attention to them, even permitted them to eat from his plate. Chet said good-naturedly: ‘*What are you doing, Job? Scaring that little kitten? Ain’t you ashamed?” Job was so far from being ashamed that he barked loudly and Chet bent to cuff him into silence. Then he saw and laughed “Now ain’t that comical?” he de- manded. ‘Look a-there!” One of the kittens under Chet’s very | chair was laboring heavily, trying to drag | away a woodcock that seemed twice as large as itself. The other men laughed; Chet rescued the woodcock; the kitten fled and Job beamed with satisfaction and slapped his tail upon the floor. Hayes cried: = gad, McdAusland, that dog has sense! I'd like to buy him.” “You don’t want to buy him. He’s get- ting old. He won't be able to hunt much longer.” “Is he for sale?” “Oh, you don’t want him,” Chet said uncomfortably. He hated to refuse any man anything. ‘ll give you three hundred for him,” said Hayes. Now three hundred dollars was as much cash as Chet was like to see in a year’s time, but—Job was Job. He hesitated, not because the offer attracted him but because he did not wish to refuse Hayes. He hesi- tated, but in the end he said, “‘ You don’t want old Job.” Gunther touche r Hayes’ arm, caught his eye, shook his head; and Hayes forbore to push the matter. But he could not refrain from praising Job. I never saw as good a dog!” he declared. “He is a good dog,” Chet agreed. ‘ He'll break shot, but that’s his only out. He's staunch, he’ll mind, he works close in and | he’s the best retriever in Waldo County.” “You don’t lose many birds with him,” Hayes agreed. can throw a pebble from here right over the barn and he’ll fetch it in,” said Chet. ‘There's nothing he won't bring- if | I tell him to.” Gunther laughed. “You're taking in a good deal of terri- tory, Chet.” “T could tell you some things he’s done that would surprise you,”’ Chet declared, Hayes chuckled. “Let’s try him out,” * All right.” Hayes pointed toward the barn. The he suggested. | great doors were open and a yellow and black cat was coming through the barn toward them. As Hayes pointed her out she sat down in the doorway and began to | lick her breast fur down. | back at Chet, “Have him fetch the cat,” said Hayes. Chet laughed. He stooped and touched the dog’s head. “Job,” he said, “come here.” Job got up and stood at Chet’s knee, looking up into his master’s face, tail wag- ging slowly to and fro. Chet waved his hand toward the barn. “Go fetch the cat,”’ he said. “Go fetch the cat, Job.””. The dog lo8ked toward the barn, looked up at Chet again. Chet re- peated, “ Fetch the cat, Job.” And the dog, a little doubtfully, left them and walked toward the barn. The cat saw Job coming, but was not afraid. They were old friends. All creatures were friends on Chet’s farm. It rose as Job ap- proached and rubbed against his legs. Job stood still, a little doubtfully; he looked looked down at the cat, looked back at Chet. “Fetch, Job!’ Chet called. Then the dog in a matter of fact way that Celighted the three men on the porch closed his jaws over the cat’s back, at the shoulder. The cat may have been aston- ished, but it is cat instinct to hang quietly when lifted in this wise. It made no more than a muffled protest; it hung in a furry ball, head drawn up, paws close against its body. Job brought the cat gravely to Chet’s knee, and Chet took it from his mouth and soothed it and applauded Job. “T’ll give you five hundred for that dog,” said Hayes. “You don’t want to buy him,” Chet replied sldwly, and the two men saw that | there was a fierce pride in his eyes. ur DOG does not live as long as aman and this natural law is the fount of many tears. If boy and puppy might grow to March 6,1920 manhood and doghood together, and to- gether grow old, and soin due course die, full many a heartac he might be avoided. But the world is not so ordered, and dogs will die and men will weep for them so long as there are dogs and men. A setter may live a dozen years—may live fifteen. Job lived fourteen years. But the years of his prime were only seven, less than his share, for in his sixth year he had distemper and hunted not at all then or the year thereafter. For months through his con convalescence he was too weak to walk and Chet used to go in the morning and lift the dog from his bed in the barn into a wheelbarrow; and he would wheel Job round into the sun where he might lie quietly the long day through. But in his eighth year he was himself again—and in his ninth and tenth he hunted. When he was eleven years old his eyes failed him. The eye is the first target of old age in a setter. It fails while the nose is still keen. In August of Job’s eleventh year he went into the fields with Chet one day when Chet was haying, and because the day was fine the dog was full of life, — at a gallop to and fro across the field. Chet had begun to fear that Job was aging; he watched the dog now, somewhat reassured; and he said to Jim Saladine, who was helping him, “‘ There's life in the old dog yet.” “Look at that!” said Saladine. But Chet had seen. Job going full tilt across the field had run headlong into a bowlder as big as a barrel, which rose three feet above the stubble. He should have seen it clear across the field; he had not seen it at all. They heard his yelp of pain at the blow upon his tender nose and saw him get up and totter in aimless circles. Chet ran toward him, comforted him. The dog was not stone blind, but his sight was almost gone. It must have gone suddenly, though Chet looking backward could see that he should have guessed be fore. Job was half stunned by the blow he had received and he followed Chet to the barn and lay down on a litter of hay there and seemed glad to rest. Chet, his eyes opened by what had happened, seemed to see the marks of age very plain upon the old dog of a sudden. He took him into the covers that fall once or twice and Job’s nose functioned as marvelously as ever. But Chet could not bear to see the old dog blundering here and there, colliding with every obstacle that offered itself. After the third trial he gave up and hunted no more that fall. He even refused to go out with others when they brought their dogs. “My old Job can’t hunt any more,” he would say. “I don’t seem to enjoy it any more myself. I guess I'll not go out to- day.” Hayes was one of those who tried to persuade Chet to take the field. An abid- ing friendship had grown up between these two. And late in October Hayes brought another puppy to the farm. “He'll never be the dog Job was,” he told Chet. ‘But he’s a well-blooded dog.” “There won't ever be another Job,” Chet agreed. ‘‘ But—I'm obliged forthe puppy and he’ll be company for Job.” He called the new dog Mac and he set about Mac’s training that winter, but his heart was not in it. That Job should grow old made Chet feel his own years heavy upon him. He was still in middle life, as hale as any man of twenty. But—Job was growing old and Chet’s heart was heavy. Mary Thurman in the village—it was she whom Job called his mistress—saw the sorrow in Chet. She was full of sympa- thetic understanding of the man. They were as truly one as though they had been married these dozen years. Annie Bissell, Will Bissell’s wife, said to her once: ““‘Why don’t you marry him, Mary? Land knows, you’ve loved him long enough.” Mary Thurman told her: “He don’t need me. He’s always lived alone and been comfortable enough and never known the need of a woman. I'll marry no man that don’t know he needs me and tells me so.” “‘Land knows, he needs someone to rid up that house of his. It’s a mess,” the other woman said. ‘Chet don’t need me,” Mary insisted. ““When he needs me I reckon I'll go to him.” She saw now the sorrow in Chet’s eyes and she tried to talk him out of it and to some extent succeeded. (Continued on Page 185) a _— — _——___- ——

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te (Continued from Page 182) Chet laughed a little, rubbed Job’s head, said slowly: “I hate to see the old dog get old, that’s all.”’ “Sho,” said Mary, “he’s just beginning to enjoy living. Don’t have to work any more.” In the end she did bring some measure of comfort to Chet. And it was she who christened Job anew. He and Chet came down one evening, stopped on their way for the mail, and she greeted Chet and to the dog said, “ Hello, Old Tantrybogus.” Chet looked at her, asked what she meant. “Nothing,” Mary told him. “He just looks like an old tantrybogus, that’s all” “What is a tantrybogus?” Chet asked. “I don’t believe there’s any such thing.” “Well, if there was he’d look like one,” said Mary. The name took hold. Mary always used it; Chet himself took it up. By the time Job was twelve years old he was seldom called anything else. Chet had expected that Mac, the young dog, would prove a companion for Job, but at first it seemed he would be disappointed. To begin with, Job was jealous; he sulked when Chet paid Mac attention and was a scornful spectator at Mac’s training ses- sions. This early jealousy came to a head about the time Mac got his full stature in a fight over a field mouse. It happened in the orchard, where Chet was piling hay round his trees. Mac dug the mouse out of the giass, Old Tantrybogus stole it and Mac went for him. Tantry was old, but strength was still in him, and some measure of craft. He got a neck hold and it is probable he would have killed Mac then and there if Chet had not interfered. As it was, Chet broke the hold, punished both dogs and chained them up for days till by every language a dog can muster they promised him to behave them- selves. They never fought again. Mac had for Tantry a deep respect; Job had for Mac— having established his ascendancy a mild and elderly affection. In Tantry’s thirteenth year during the haying Mac caught a mouse one day and brought it an gave it to the older dog; and Chet, who saw the incident, slapped his knee and cried, ‘“‘ Now ain’t that comical?’ About his twelfth year old Tantry’s bark began to change. Little by little it lost the deeper notes of the years of his prime; it lost the certainty and decision which were always a part of the dog. It began to crack, as an old man’s voice quavers and cracks. A shrill querulous note was born in it. Before he was thirteen his bark had an inhuman sound and Chet could hardly bear to hear it. On gunning days while Chet was preparing to take the field with Mac, Old Tantrybogus would dance un- steadily round him, barking this hoarse, shrill, delighted bark. It was like seeing an old man gamboling; it was age aping youth. There was some- thing pitiful in it, and Chet used to swear and chain Tantry to his kennel and bid him—abusively _ be still. The chain always silenced Tantry. He would lie in the kennel, head on his paws in the doorway, and watch Chet and Mac start away, with never a sound. And at night when they came home Chet would show him the birds and Tantry wouldsnuffle at them eagerly, then hide his longing under a mask of condescension as though to say that woodcock had been of better quality in his day. In his thirteenth year age overpowered Tantry. His coat by this time was long; it hung in fringes from his thin flanks, through which the arched ribs showed. His head drooped, his tail dragged; hair was clotted into tarfyles here and there, because he was grown too old to keep him self in order. The joints of his legs were weak and he w — splayfooted, his feet spreading out like braces on either side of him. When he walked he weaved like a drunken man; when he ran he collided with anything from a fence post to the barn itself. is eyes were rheumy. And he was pathetically affectionate, pushing his nose along Chet’s knee, sme aring C het’s trousers with his long white hairs. In his prime he had been a proud dog, caring little for caresses. This senile craving for the touch of Chet’s hand made Chet cry and swear. It was at this time that Mary Thurman told Chet he ought to put Tan- trybogus away. “He's too old for his own good,” she said—‘“‘half sick, and sore and uncomfort- able. He ain’t happy, Chet.” his long THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 185 Chet told her that he would—-some day. But the day did not come, and Mary knew it would not come. Nevertheless she urged Chet more than once to do the thing. “You ought to. He'd be happier,” she said —‘‘and so would you. You ain’t happy with him round.” Chet laughed at her. “T guess Old Tantry won’t bother me long as he wants to live,”’ he said. ‘“‘He makes you feel like an old man, Chet McAusland, just to look at him,” she protested. But Chet shook his head. “*T won't feel old long as I can see you,” he told her. So Old Tantry lived on and grew more decrepit. One day in the winter of his thirteenth year he followed Chet down into the wood lot and hunted him out there and was so weary from his own exertions that Chet had to carry the dog up the hill and home and put him to bed in the barn “*T ought to put you away, Tantry,”’ he said to himself as he gave the weary old | creature a plate of supper. ‘“‘It’s time you were going, old dog. But I can’t—I can’t.” His fourteenth year saw Tantrybogus dragging out a weary life. Till then there had been nothing the matter with him save old age, a lump appeared on his right side against the ribs, and it was as large as a nut before Chet one day discovered it. Thereafter it grew. And at times when the old dog lay down on that side he would yelp with pain and get up hurriedly and lie down on the other side. By September the lump was half as large as an apple. And when Chet touched it Tantry whined and licked Chet’s hand in a pitiful appeal. Even then Chet would not do that which Mary wished him to do. ‘He'll go away some day and I'll never see him again,” he told her. ‘‘ But as long as he wants to stay—he’ll stay.” “*Tt’s cruel to the dog,’’ Mary told him. “You keep him, but you won’t let him do what he wants todo. I’m ashamed of you, Chet McAusland.” Chet laughed uncomfortably. “I can’t help it, Mary,” he said. iv CTOBER came—the month of birds, the month when a dog scents the air and feels a quickening in his blood and watches to see his master oil the gun and break out a box of shells and fetch down the bell from the attic. And on the third day of the season, a crisp day, frost upon the ground and the sun bright in the sky, Chet decided to go down toward the river and try to find a bird. When the bell tinkled Mac came from the barn at a gallop and danced on tiptoe round his master so that Chet had difficulty in making him stand quietly for as long as it took to adjust the bell on his collar. Old but in his fourteenth summer | Tantrybogus had been asleep in the barn, | and he was as near deaf as he was blind by this time, so that he heard nothing. But the stir of Mac’s rush past him roused the old dog and he climbed unsteadily to his feet and came weaving like a drunken man to where Chet stood. And he barked his shrill, senile, pitiful bark and he tried in his poor old way to dance as Mac was dancing Chet looked down at the old dog and because there were tears in his eyes he spoke harshly. ‘Tantry, you old fool,” down. You're not going. walk from here to the woods. and rest, Tantry.” Tantry paid not the least barked more shrilly than ever. He pre- tended that it was a matter of course that Chet would bell him and take him along This is one of the favorite ruses of the dog to prete nd to be sure of the treat in store for him until his master must have a heart of iron to de ny him, Tantry continued to dance until Chet walked to the kennel and pointed in and said sternly, ‘“‘Get in there, Tantry!”’ Then and only then the old dog obeyed He did not sulk; he went in with a certain dignity, and once inside he turned and lay with his head in the door, watching Chet and Mac prepare to go. Chet did not chain him. There was no need, he thought Tantry could scarce walk at all, much less follow him to the fringe of woodland down the hill. When he was ready he and Mac went through the barn and across the garden into the meadow and across this meadow and the wall beyond till the hill dropped steeply toward the river. 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186 THE SATURDAY ~ . x 1g tha? revolves DEPARTURE MFG = BRISTOL, CONN REFLECTIONS As the face in the crystal mirror is true to the gazer so are G@ennett Records faithful to the origi- nal voice or instrument. To know the utmost in music's reproduction hear Gee No. 9020. In the * Dardanella"’ Fox Trot the famous Cordes’ Dance Orchestra makes your toes fairly tingle, and this same orchestra unites with the clear tenor of Billy de Rex to bring out all the sweetness of ‘When My Baby Smiles at Me.” Betters all Phonographs— Hearing is Believing. Write for Record Catalog THE STARR PIANO COMPANY, Richmond, Indiana Los Angeles New York Birmingham, Ala aE London, Canada EVENING POST was fretting with impatience. Not till they were at the edge of the wood did Chet wave his hand and bid the dog go on. “Now find a bird, Mac,” Chet com- manded. “Go find a bird.” And Mac responded, moving into the cover at a trot, nosing to and fro. They began to work along the fringe down toward the river, where in an alder run or two Chet hoped to find a woodcock. Neither of them looked back toward the farm and so it was that neither of them saw Old Tantrybogus like a shadow of white slip through the barn and come lumbering unsteadily along their trail. That was a hard journey for Tantry. He was old and weak and he could not see and the lump upon his side was more pain- ful than it had ever been before. He passed through the barn without mishap, for that was familiar ground. Between the barn and the garden he brushed an apple tree that his old eyes saw too late. In the gar- den he blundered among the dead tops of the carrots and turnips, which Chet had not yet harvested. He was traveling by scent alone, his nose to the ground, picking out Chet’s footsteps. He had not been so far away from the farm for months; it was an adventure and a stiff one. The wall between the garden and the meadow seemed intolerably high and a rock rolled under him so that he fell painfully. The old dog only whimpered a little and tried again and passed the wall and started along Chet’s trail across the meadow. Midway of this open his strength failed him so that he fell forward and lay still for a considerable time, tongue out, panting heavily. But when he was rested he climbed to his feet again—it was a terrible effort, even this—and took up his progress. The second wall, which inclosed Chet’s pasture, was higher and there was a single strand of barbed wire atop it. Tantry failed twice in his effort to leap to the top of the unsteady rank of stones and after that he turned aside and moved along the wall looking for an easier passage. He came to a bowlder that helped him, scrambled to the top, cut his nose on the barbed wire, slid under it and half jumped, half fell to the ground. He was across the wall. ven in the trembling elation of this victory the old dog’s sagacity did not fail him. Another dog might have blundered down into the wood on a blind search for his master. Tantrybogus did not do this. He worked back along the wall until he picked up the trail, then followed it as painstakingly as before. He was increas- ingly weary, however, and more than once he stopped to rest. But always when a thin trickle of strength flowed back into his legs he rose and followed on. Chet and Mac had found no partridges in the fringe of the woods, so at the river they turned to the right, pushed through some evergreens and came into a little alder run where woodcock were accustomed to nest and where Chet expected to find birds lying on this day. Almost at once Mac be- gan to mark game, standing motionless for seconds on end, moving forward with care, making little side casts to and fro. Chet's attention was all on the dog; his gun was ready; he was alert for the whistle of the woodcock’s wings, every nerve strung in readiness to fling up his gun and pull. If Mae had not found game in this run, if Chet and the dog had kept up their swift hunter’s gait, Old Tantrybogus would never have overtaken them, for the old dog’s strength was almost utterly gone. But Chet halted for perhaps five minutes in the little run, following slowly as Mac worked uphill, and this halt gave Old Tantry time to come up with them. He lumbered out of the cover of the evergreens and saw Chet, and the old dog barked aloud with joy and scrambled and tottered to where Chet stood. He was so manifestly exnausted that Chet's eyes filled with frank tears they flowed down his cheeks. He had not the heart to scold Tantry for breaking orders and following them. He reached down and patted the grizzled old head and said huskily: ‘‘ You damned old fool, Tantry! What are you doing down here?” Tantry looked up at him and barked again and again and there was arending ring of triumph in the old dog’s cackling voice. March 6,1920 Chet said gently: ‘‘There now, be still You'll scare the birds, Tantry. Behave yourself. Mac’s got a bird here somewhere. Be still—you'll scare the birds.” For answer, as though his deaf old ears had caught the familiar word and read it as an order, Tantry shuffled past his master and worked in among the alders toward where Mac was casting slowly to and fro. Chet watched him for a minute through eyes so blurred he could hardly see and he brushed his tears away with the back of his hand. ‘The poor old fool,” he said. ‘“‘ Hell, let him have his fun!” He took one step forward to follow the dogs—and stopped. For Old Tantrybogus, a dog of dogs in his day, had proved that he was not yet too old to know his craft. Unerringly, where Mac had blundered for a minute or more, he had located the wood- cock—he was on point. And Mac, turning, saw him and stiffened to back the other dog. Tantrybogus’ last point was not beauti- ful; it would have taken no prize in field trials. His splayfeet were spread, the better to support his body on his tottering legs. His tail drooped to the ground instead of being stiffened out behind. His head was on one side, cocked knowingly, and it was still as still. When Chet, frankly weeping, worked in behind him he saw that the old dog was trembling like a leaf and he knew this was no tremor of weakness but a shivering ecstasy of joy in finding game again. Chet came up close behind Old Tantry and stopped and looked down at the dog. He paid no heed to Mac. Mae was young, unproved. But he and Tantry, they were old friends and tried; they knew each the other. ““You’re happier now thi in you've been for a long time, Tantry,” said ‘Chet softly, as much to himself as to the dog. “ Happy old boy! It’s a shame to make you stay at home.” And of a sudden, without thought or plan but on the unconsidered impulse of the moment, Chet dropped his gun till the muzzle was just behind Old Tantry’s head. At the roar of it a woodcock rose on shrill- ing wings—rose and flew swiftly up the run with never a charge of shot pursuing. Chet had not even seen it go. The man was on his knees, cradling the old dog in his arms, crying out as though Tantry still could hear: ‘“‘Tantry! Tantry! Why did I have to go and—I’m a murderer, Tantry! Plain murderer! That’s what I am, old dog!” He sat back on his heels, laid the white body down and folded his arms across his face as a boy does, weeping. In the still crisp air a sound seemed still ringing the sound of a dog’s bark —the bark of Old Tantrybogus, yet strangely different too Stronger, richer, with a new and youthful timbre in its tones; like the bark of a young strong dog setting forth on an eternal hunt with a well-loved master through alder runs where woodcock were as thick as autumn leaves. Half an hour after that Will Bissell chanced by Chet’s farm and saw Chet fetching pick and shovel from the shed, and — thing in the other’s bearing made him ask: ‘‘What’s the matter, Chet? Some- thing wrong?” Chet looked at him slowly, said in a hoarse voice: “I’ve killed Old Tantrybogus. I'm going down to put him away.” And he went through the barn and left Will standing there, down into the wood to a spot where the partridges love to come in the late fall for feed, and made a bed there and lined it thick with boughs and so at last laid Old Tantry to sleep. His supper that night was solitary and cheerless and dreary and alone. But—Will Bissell must have spread the news, for while Chet was washing the dishes someone knocked, and when he turned Mary Thur- man opened the door and came in. Chet could not bear to look at her. He turned awkwardly and sat down at the kitchen table and buried his head in his arms. And Mary, smiling though her eyes were wet, came toward him. There was the mother light in her eyes, the mother ra- diance in Mary Thurm: an’s face. And she took Chet's lonely head i in her arms. ‘There, Chet, there!’ she whispered softly. “T reckon you need me now.”

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THE SATURDAY EVENING ) e Electric Lroner { Write for Booklet—‘*The Art of Perfect Ironing.’ Irons Even Children’s Dresses and Men’s Shirts Write for “The Art of Perfect Ironing’? Which Tells How HE time has come for the women of America to put the days of ironing drudgery behind them The Thor Electric lroner does 95‘; of the work of ironing Ironing day is pleasant not one of wearisome labor. When the children come in, mussed up and grimy, you need not shudder at the thought of the long hours of hard ironing which will be required to make them prim again. The booklet, ‘‘ The Art of Perfect Iron ing,” tells you how you teed the clothes into the Thor Electric lroner and they HURLEY MACHINE COMPANY come out even neater than when troned by hand The ironing of lingerie is simple with this wonderful machine. Delicate gar- ments offer no obstacles. Children’s romp ers, dresses, stockings and underclothing come from the Thor Electric Ironer dainty and neat. House dresses, men’s shirts and soft collars are done up immaculately. Bed linens, towels, table-cloths and all ar ticles known generally as ‘flat work” are ironed easily and quickly. It requires only five minutes, for instance, to iron a good sized table-cloth. Che Thor Electric Ironer will save even more time than a washing machine. It is backed by the name HURLEY, the same name that stands behind the [hor Electric Washing Machine Mail us a letter or post card and, in addition to sending you the booklet on ironing, we will tell you how you may have a Thor Electric lroner delivered to you for only $10 down. Balance peyable monthly You really can do an ironing in an hour And you can iron your clothes better with the Thor Electric lroner and with only a fraction of the effort. Write tous. Simply say: "Send me the booklet, ‘The Art of Perfect Ironing.” Address Hurley Machine Company office nearest you Chicago’ ~~ New York San\Francisco \, Toronto Other products of the Hurley Machine Company are the Thor Electric Washing Machine and the Thor Electric Vacuum Cleaner English Distributors Charles F.. Beck G Co. Ltd., 70 New Bond Street, London

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ES — 188 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 6, 1920

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Be Our Exclusive supvosontative in Your Territory W I t t rk, to find 2 omen | ul r I Write for Our Catalog Today It gives full information Send for it now NORLDS star KNITTING C7) j DEPT. 52. bay city Mic WY i In Business Here Twenty-five Years il egos: —— : a I Eany M. rath nly Payo € “_e ‘TO RIDER prices make our wn new model fac We pu OFAC TORY Save you mone bicycles in our tory and sell direct real quality in them and our bi les a itisf " “et STYLES rs, and to ‘ fr famous RANGER line end tor b beautiful « lo ny paren sper rt tores, ete make the bicycle mone H | DELIVERED FREI koe 1 nt cash or ea paymen ndries 8 for all TIRES {i seer Be I pric SENDROMONEY MEAD ¢ ‘CYCLE COMPANY Dept. T55 Chicago ‘admin AGENTS AND SALESMEN & If you are earning less than $50.00 a week tr “ our nt and Sick \ ha new A iche or. ; for $10.00 yearly. Pay ~— > . | $500 ) h and $25.00 weekly fo wecidental injury or sickne 100, ith the State for tion Splendid part time workers r of good General for free particulars WR f i 4e for Write North American Accident Insurance Company, 196 MarketSt.,.Newark,N. J. Ag nts THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE SPRINGS OF YOUTH (Continued from Page 32) “Yellow jack?” said William, proud of this phrase— he had read Tom Cringle’s Log more than once. “That’s bad. I didn’t know you had it on the West Coast of Africa.” “Yes—I think we have everything.” Anderson smiled faintly and pulled up his trousers. “IT do wish, Johnny, that you would give up the at service!” said Nelly in an energetic tone. “Do you know that it is making you quite an old, old man? Two lumps, isn’t it?’’ Nelly spoke to Anderson, but her eye was on William. William saw that he was expected to support the argument. He pursed up his lips and frowned in the manner of the great Judge A. William had attended several di- vorce cases in his researches. “Yes,” he said, “it is a bad climate. It ages a man—ages him before his time.” He sprang up then to carry teacups. Anderson indeed made a sort of gesture as if to rise—he slightly moved one foot but he was intercepted. “Don’t move!” cried the active William in sympathetic tones. ‘I’m sure you oughtn’t to do too much.” ‘Thanks. I do feel rather ancient.” William studying the yellow skin and sunken eyes thought he looked as old as he seemed to feel. “That’s a bad _ sign,’ “W hy do you stay out there’ “Yes, why?” cried Nelly, eyes on William. ‘*Nowhere else to go,”’ replied Anderson, glancing also in William’s direction. ‘You see, Nelly, I’ve no special knowledge, except general office work and correspond- ence. Of course I know some law “Much sport out there?” asked William; and added: ‘“‘But I beg your pardon! I interrupted you.” ‘Not at all. No, not much where I am.” “Lions?”’ with a sonorous roll of the last syllable. William looked almost fierce. ‘“No—a few leopards.” “You've bagged a leopard, what?” Anderson shook his head, and made an effort to reach the cake stand, but it was an inch or so too far for him, and he gave up the attempt with indifference—as if he had scarcely expec ted to succeed William leaped up and offered him the The movement had quite he remarked. ” still with her scones, an acTo- batic neatness and agility—but William probably could have turned somersaults that afternoon, especially in the presence of Mr. Anderson. The contrast of that poor decayed young man’s languor was very stimulating. “I don’t see why you shouldn't be a pri- vate secretary,” said Nelly, catching Wil- liam’s eye, as if by accident. But William was still the dauntless adventurer. “T would give a good deal for a chance at big game,” he said, sitting very straight and balancing his cup like a weapon. “T ought to be able to manage a secre- taryship,”’ said Anderson. *‘As a matter of fact I did very nearly go Africa one year—East Africa. And I should have liked a shot at those Tsavo lions. By Jove’’— William wagged his head gently —‘“‘I envy that fellow!” “T actus ally did do secretary’s work for a time to “And, of course, you typewrite quite well, don’t you? Try the pink cake. It is better inside.” “7 wonder you haven't had a shot at a le opard,” said William. ‘* Dangerous beasts, aren’t they? ““T don’t know. I don’t think I want to see one. Anderson laughed, and something unex- I never saw one. In fact ” | pectedly youthful seemed to be revealed for that moment in his candid look. “After all, he’s only a boy,” was Wil- liam's reflection as he noticed it, not with- out surprise. Anderson did not stay long after tea. He remembered in his peculiar vague man- ner, as if by the working of time-worn and eccentric machinery, that he had promised to meet a man in the Sports Club at half past five, and left as soon as he had swal- : lowed his second cup of tea. Nelly, solicitous, took him to the door herself, and returned to William with an expression almost mournful. “Poor Johnny, I'm so worried about him!” she said, ‘‘ He’s a cousin of ours, you know—a second cousin.” “He didn’t look very strong.” “He looks very ill. But let me give you some more tea, Didn’t you think he looked iil?” Very.” “Tf only he could find something else to do,” sighed Nelly. ‘“‘Won't you have some more tea?”’ William vaulted toward the his cup. “He certainly ought to leave the Coast.” “And you see,”’ Nelly continued with a thoughtful frown as she placed the first finger of her left hand on the knob of the teapot and tilted it over William's cup —an action much admired for its extraordinary grace by the attentive William —‘ Johnny is getting to look like an old man. It’s not only looks— it’s feelings. Johnny feels old.” ‘“‘And a man is as old as he feels,” said William, breaking his rule for once upon such an excellent occasion. “Oh, I hope not!” said Nelly, smiling. “But it’s true—absolutely!”’ William very nearly added ‘‘ Look at me.” “No, no!” Nelly gently repudiated this sophistry. ings. Johnny is only mean from the date he looks older than he ought to, what I was going to ask you about.” “But why me?” William was a trifle dashed by Nelly’s cool destruction of his whole theory of life He had hardly yet discovered his new bearings, and spoke somewhat at random ‘Because you are the only one who can help.” Nelly fixed an earnest gaze on her friend. William revived amazingly. “You know, Nelly, that can do a: ‘Thank you, but I was sure you would.” table with as old as he is was born. anything I “Not at all. _Surely y you must know, my dear Nelly “Do you know anyone who wants a secretary? You see, if Johnny could only get something to do at home~ but it's so hard to find anything, and I wondered Nelly colored slightly and looked away. “T dare say I might hear of someone But there is a lot of competition for that sort of thing.” Nelly took a deep breath and began again “T thought— Mr. Elton told me—that you were looking—but, of course, Johnny would hardly do for - At least, very clever, you know, but still 9s William almost grinne “d “Why wouldn’t he do?” “Oh, if you think he would do—then, of course—only I don’t want to seem to be influencing you in any way.” “Will Johnny take it on if I ask him?” “Of course he would. Why, we were only talking about I mean— I was suggesting but I know he will. He'd be simply de lighted!” ‘Then I'll ask him,” mous William. Nelly was greatly moved. “How good you are to me,” mured with a tender glance “Not at all. After all, Nelly, we are old friends, aren *twe? And that is little enough to do ‘More than friends,” said Nelly warmly. “T don’t know how to thank you.’ William saw that his great moment had zrrived. Perhaps never again would he find so good an opportunity or Nelly in so affec tionate a mood. He had a speech ready. It required only a few words of introduction to join it quite nearly with the conversa tion. He began in an admirable manner: “I'm glad you think that, Nelly, be- cause"’-—here began the speech—‘‘for a some something very important, William began to lose his only and over said the magnani she mur long time I’ve been wanting to say thing to you at least to me.” “I'd have said it long ago nearly said it over wind. that is—I’ve “It’s nothing to do with feel- | But he and that’s he’s | 189 Want + Work ! at good pay? We pay hundreds of our workers a dollar an hour for spare time! 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190 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST When You Fix Up Your Car Putting accessories on your car means that you have to drill holes, and you can do this easier and quicker with a breast drill. Besides, it is a tool that can also be used in other operations because it can be shifted instantly from one kind of a job to another. When you put on your bumper or a new mirror, or straps to hold suitcase, make the holes with a MILLERS FALLS 4/ {5 BREAST DRILL No.87* (In Canada $16.00) The tool that every experienced automobile man or mechanic owns. Send 10c for our Mechanic's Handbook OU pages of mechanical in formation — valuable for mulas and helpful hints ow to figure paint ' t The continu ous ratchet and straightening crank make it possible to shingles, board measure use the drill in the most and 30. Shae uniel cab: inac cessible place 5. Its all ‘Stinere Falls tools & ball thrust bearing in- Ty 'S\ijters Falle tine ako sures both ease in opera- includ hak see breast tion and a long life of — boxes and other’ boring service. All the gears have cut teeth and the small gears are made of steel. Millers Falls Co. “‘Toolmaker to the Master Mechanic”’ 100 River St. Millers Falls, Mass. again—but I was afraid ” William | felt as if his collar was too tight for him, and thrust a finger between his front stud and his neck. Then he put his cup down on the rug, with exact care, cleared his throat and continued: “I was afraid it might spoil our friendship.” Nelly was sitting close to the impas- | sioned young man, and her gratitude had | one time. long been seeking expression. With a charming impulse of affection she laid her hand on his. “You need never be afraid of that. If you only knew how much I depended on you.” “Nelly, dear 1 “But I admit I was rather nervous at i I saw you had heard some- thing.” Nelly smiled archly. “Heard something?” William stared. “And I was afraid you didn’t approve. You see, I knew mother wouldn’t approve, so I had only you; in fact mother doesn’t know anything yet.” “Approve of what?” blurted William. “Of my engagement to Johnny. But don’t you see what a difference it makes if Johnny has not to go away again to that horrible Coast? You know’’— Nelly shook her head—‘‘that we had agreed that we couldn’t be married till Johnny did get something to do at home. So you see what it means to me—your giving him the secre- tary work.” “‘Waita minute!” said William, suddenly coming to life. He picked up his cup and carried it carefully to the tea table, flicked a crumb or two off his coat and returned to his seat. His expression was cheerful. “*T was afraid of treading on it,” he ex- plained; ‘‘and it’s a very nice set. So you didn’t think I approved?” “I was afraid not. I’ve been awfully nervous about this afternoon.” Nelly smiled. *“*And how did you know I knew? “Just by the way you looked.” “Tntuition?’’ William asked gravely. He knew that Nelly had much faith in intui- tion. “Perhaps I expect so,” said Nelly. William mused for a moment and then looked up. “Well, Ido approve. I congratulate y you, Nelly. I hope you will be very happy.” Nelly seized William’s hand and pressed it warmly. March 6,1920 “T shall owe it all to you. If you weren't helping Johnny like this, I don’t know what we should have done.” When William was departing he stopped in the doorway, as if he had recollected something. “‘By the way, Nelly, when I came in you were looking at a photograph.” “Was I?” Nelly laughed and blushed. “Yes; mine, I think.” “You see,” explained Nelly—‘‘but you won ’t mind, will you? “No, of course not.’ “It’s like this but you're sure you won’t mind?” “No, no, Nelly; go on.’ “Tt’s because you always remind me so much of my father.’ “In that case,” said the gallant William, “TI might as well have the privilege of a father, and say good-by properly.” Whereupon he kissed Nelly on both cheeks. Just opposite the Albert Hall, William ran into Elton. Elton was returning from two hours of aimless strolling, for he had nothing to do with his time until his first examination in bankruptcy. His face lighted up when he saw William, who was one of the few people to whom he owed neither money nor assistance. “Hello! I see you're limping a bit. What's wrong?” “Myrheumatism again,’ ‘replied William. **Didn’t know you had it.’ “Had it for years. And I’m over fifty, you know. One can’t expect to escape these things. By the way, Nelly Power is engaged.” “Oh! Whom to?” Elton was taken by surprise. For a moment he thought that William was an- nouncing his own engagement, with char- acteristic reserve. “‘A Mr. Anderson, cousin of theirs. Elton gazed curiously at William. He had not a great deal of tact. William bore himself with impassive courage. “Well, well. You and I are getting old. It’s unlucky to get old.” “It will be all the same in a hundred years,” said William, looking keenly at Elton. Their eyes met, and they smiled with a new understanding and sympathy. “So long, old man.” **So long.” ” THE SATURDAY EVENING POST IS fully protected by copyright. The use of our articles or quotations from them for advertising promotions and stock-selling schemes is never authorized. — a =e March 6, 1920 SHORT STORIES PAGE Old Tantrybogus— Ben Ames Williams 8 Behind the Velvet— Lowell Otus Reese 12 Sweetie Peach—Sophie Kerr . 16 The Yancona Yillies—Herschel S. Hall 20 The Springs of Youth— Thomas Joyce. 30 SERIALS The Book of Susan— Lee Wilson Dodd 3 Evered— Ben Ames Williams 24 The Possibilist George Kibbe Turner 26 ARTICLES A Substitute for Strikes—Henry J. Allen F ; : ‘ 6 The Ashes of Heil——Will Irwin 10 Why is Sugar Scarce and High?— Alonzo Englebert Taylor i 11 Memories of Mark Twain— Brander Matthews. . . 14 Frenzied Farm Finance—Harry R. O’Brien 18 Forty Years of a Diplomat's Life— Baron Rosen , 22 The Price of Empire—Henry M. Hyde. 53 DEPARTMENTS Editorial— By the Editor. ; +e ee 28 Everybody's Business—Floyd W. Parsons he ; 34 Sense and Nonsense 58 Out-of-Doors 66 _— ——— alk —_ a — i] | A Request for Change of Address must reach us at least 30 days before the date of the issue with which it is to take effect. Duplicate copies cannot be sent to replace those undelivered through failure to send this advance notice. Be sure to give your old address as well as the new one. 5

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a gy THE SATURDAY EVENING POST HIRTY-T'WO years ago there was only one mutual liability insurance company in America. Only one company with the vision to recognize the rightness of sharing it's savings with its policyholders. Today with fifty such companies in existence that same one company writes about 30°) of all the mutual insurance —and pays 40% of all the dividends paid by mutuals. So around the American Mutual has grown The Greatest Partnership in the World, for over three thousand representative American manufactur- ers have grouped in it their insurance risks, all sharing in its savings, and thus buying their protection af the ac tual costto completely protect, butwith the maximum strength of the strongest and “But Above All One Shall Stand” oldest company of its kind in existence. Kor thirty-two years the American Mutual has lowered insurance cost by returning to its policyholders each year never less than 30% ot their yearly premiums, with a net saving of at least 23° O- This saving is of course of tremen dous import to employers in the economical solution of their problems of workmen’s compensation insur ance. It extends its benefits even to the liability insurance of the individ- ual motorist. “Above all one shall stand.”’ Write us about your insurance problem as corporation or individual. Allow us to prove what it may mean to you if you join The Greatest Part nership in the World. AMERICAN MUTUAL ILITY INSURANCE CO The Greatest Partnership in the World Executive Offices: 245 State Street, Bostor 18 East 41st Street, New York Branches in Pris Citie The American Mutual writes The American Mutual in 32 the great total of approxi- years has returned to its mately 30% of all Mutual Policyholders never less than Liability Insurance in Americ: 30% of its premiums paid

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 6,1920 ee I foldebbel-abenlocms eleemmomme(sbe lebteter ide Etae cately, to such an appetizing brownness, as this fine-tex- that {ries tured lard. It makes dough- 2 nuts so light and tender, to perfection croquettes so flavory and crisp. Useit in your pie crust and biscuits—see how flaky and delicious they will be! Packed for you in three con- venient sizes. Swift & Company, U.S. A.

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DIAMOND BRAND WALNUTS Test-cracked to prove them best This man is paid to find fault with Diamond Brand Walnuts—if he can. When he says they are good, you can be sure of their quality. No Diamond Brand Walnuts can reach your table until they have passed a similar inspection. (See mar- ginal note.) Diamond Brand Walnuts Diamond Brand Walnuts are naturally good any Way may cost a few cents more per as good as California’ssoil and pound than no-name nuts, but sunshine (aided by our horti- they are worth more because cultural experts) can make you get more walnut meats them. But after harvesting, mot empty shells. they are subjected to a rigid You will enjoy walnuts system ofcleaningand grading, now just as much as you did vacuum-machine and hand during the holidays. Send for sorting, and finally to the in- our free booklet, “100 Deli spector’s cracking test, so that cious Walnut Recipes” (by you may alwaysbe absolutely Miss Alice Bradley, one of the sure of getting only big, full) foremost culinary experts in meated, perfect walnuts un- America,) and learn of all the der the guaranteed Diamond tempting ways to use wal Brand nuts. Say Diamond Brand to your dealer! Two kinds— iH “Soft Shells’? and ‘‘Budded’’ Walnuts—both of the iH | tested Diamond Brand quality. The **Budded” cost a HH few cents per pound more than the ‘Soft Shells” be- cause they have extra-plump kernels, extra-thin shells, and therefore a greater proportion of meats to the pound. | | ADDRE I I CALIFORNIA WALNUT GROWERS ASSOCIATION A purely covoperatn non-profit organization of TOWETS r In ( a ity > ae WALNT

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.) oe ¥uueveuve” Vey “e 6venially- WHY NOT NOW ? W SOY : ASHBURN - CROSBY BE SURE YOUR BREAD IS MADE FROM GOLD MEDAL FLOUR