The Saturday Evening Post 1921-01-01: Vol 193 Iss 27

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HE SATURDAY wc POST

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

(¢2) +4 e 20, a Day __ROBT. . ING ERSOLL & & BRO., Mew Your, CHICA AGO, SAN “FRANCISCO, Monreal 6 Million a Year é ee —= = ~ “ ‘ Yq’ es > en- MET AAMT AN GER : ‘ 10Y ake : a oe 2 puta _{« S HALF \ RADIOCLITE 7 My grandsire was a wealthy wight, And your assistance i ever employable, . PAST Four ' He had a _ R peater Al 0, you com to be quite undestroyable: feigned to te the time at night, / ‘s “ " A. ak Tueers i And yet it was a cheater ary ¢ . po wre 1gerso With ringing tick, with tiny tock, at W th tinkling, lying lau hter, Time he test of them, It used to say “twas two o'clock You are the f them, When it was quarter after! You tt rest of them, ‘ Fren t r Scotch; (CHORUS Ron ye em He never saw a Radiolite, that Q ( cheer to you, | lovely little Lady o’ Light 4 yp of the sphere to you! | whe, /.t" phere lo you | Whose candid spark throughout { | ’ Hoops ew Year to you \ ’ Ing ’ Watch! . ; ” | the dark would tell A 1 f ahi the truth exactly Co” A Busy Man to His Mistress My Ingersoll He never felt a pleasure like mine, he neve > . ¢ lad a treasure like mir on wr oY > , } ; : IT DIDN’T KNOW By Cuaistorner Morey By Berton Brarey Which clocks by night and watches by light, ‘ Amid the feyer of my days, You mark the hours o simply and compactly! By K. C. B.. ——__ Amid thetumult, long hours through, for me, good friend. a nee mee ey : n ‘ oung, down on the f; IN A vest it was. | AND BEING a| None know the secret of my ways You tell the minutes, had leleved Wisc the dichens. wep et & vd red like the dickens, i _ . | a And how, in stress, I turn to you. one and all. lu 1 to have a tin Alarm iM -A ocket tiaht. | * * Who guesses, in the market place, : To wake me with the chickens I Il DID’ T know. Or what companion understands Yet nothing for repairs I never had a watch at all, gy Oy r * * How I am guided by your face, on you I spend, 4 watch would cost like thunder : ore ° 1 4 t W HERI IT lay ma WH E N THEY Controlled by your small, slender hands? — es For this was long ere Ingersoll sa: a turned it ahead. How luminous, when we keep tryst, 7 agers Produced his timely wonder aye . * * You shine through darkest circumstance: — | THAT IT hadn’ I feel you softly touch my wrist, I ach hour exact, each second right, (CHORUS) night. —s And read your message at a glance. Upon your face the time I mark A — But now | have a Radiolite, . @oe run slow. : Your dial with its glowing Radiolite , my lovely little Lady o’ ; ae Out of the night that covers me, Tells came at dast ras a acy 0 WAS TAKEN out AND ITS littl Black as the pit to common sight, : =r \) \ y \ Light | ved . ittle You tell me what the time may be, ik eich inks ; th fall : dy ‘ ly Two in-One, Pony _> . pee watch heart. , . : 7 i y atches shatter when wy fall, »“ it to-none, the nights and days AND HUNG on a Se ; Unconquerable eg : cae daek iadieeh od fetta AN ¢ oreo a h 7 t matters not with whom the date, ] » s ge * _ ook WAS FILLED with With ] sa cies cen cues Hila aor i Whatever task is set you—Ingersoll, By her my hours are reckoned at night, she - ‘ g I ’ You come across watches every second at nigh , , shame. I will be there, I'll not be late \ ; ; RS HF OtGae; WHERE EYES -- = 2 ES . ly watch, She tells me when to rise, and then goes I have my good old Ingersoll Y ' might turn. FOR IT felt in its ; ou come across with me in the morning! > © 8 works. Paha : a —— AND TAKE a look. . @&s WAL T MAS SON SAYS , . a a . & a THAT IT was to ; ; ; AND SO it ran | blame. Oh, sad and bitter was the night, when in the bed I'd loll, before I bought ee Piaeah a Radiolite, that’s made by Ingersoll. I always take three beeswax BUT Ol : : IN ITS faithful way. © all os it! pills each hour, by night and day, to check the fever and the chills, | wasn’t. : ) . C ee eS ea and drive the same away. And in the silent night I'd wake in darkness | WITH NEVER a| THE SILLY young | dense and thick, and say “It’s surely time to take those pills that heal change dear the sick.”” Then I would leave my downy bed that I might see the clock, . & s oe and on the wall I’d bump my head with sore and grievous knock; the : TILL THERE w IT RAN right on. hanging plant, all unawares, would bash me on the crown, and I'd fall any * * * . T . a day. say 00 ; over silly chairs and knock the pictures down. Night after night in ray * Watch Out! we .s es 6 | S ’ . ») i ‘7 a tick was | less gloom, o’er furniture I’d climb, I broke my legs and wrecked thi (C DJ ’ - - WHEN ITS master clear. ont ca cy : peat oe « — and had the blamedest time. But now I do not dread the night, for f ). Goon B in) d : ” “ , Y KA — AND IT said to| me it has no ills, I’m told by my good “Radiolite” just when to tak yr pac. cn j ’ ir SS AND IT heard hin itself my ville. | do not have to must run | ; ¢* + * | true | The student at his midnight mp The cowboy nding with the |} a | ! gy, like t t, ‘ y | The trapper in his snow-bound hut, The fisher t ‘ tl \ ts, bir t e that; We The husky in the lumber camp, I} het that t t t t hy But v1 there I = TURN (IT ey The grader in the r F curt | Chink that tin t reer t \ + t ty t Y“AHEAD AN HOUR) gods, Sit “cgplmatomegenty iomonnitea cdg pore ‘ == UR) BTS: | Each scans an Ingersoll to know In heat team, ; le never faila, it’s How fast the irksome mor ts go. All trust t watch, without t My I: Amid the Kansas threshing scer It’s on the naked bush boy’s art Let other | An Ingersoll from sweaty jean And ity wears it a ! At games, at vol, at cit I Is yanked upon its leather charr An ar t that ca tf | Well known for being right pnt se . And joy! ‘tis noon. The whist Re \ rs k NW it t | Don't be a Goof N I THANK you. wy American And laughing to the feast they ¢ Fhis Ingersoll that times the | . G t a wat in Ir ! o

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 1, 1921 J Vata SUGA O60 Corp Mear Fork $1.20 each six TRASPOONS $1.76 : | ) | Berry Spoor \ Fl _ | ) | oases | | lay “Tividel 7 | 1" Ware ath Desi sign Efiex '€ is nothing in its price range quite so good AEE: the Onetda (Community Par PLATE. This good old-fashioned a-1 plate is named Par PLAT: because it gives 100% value for every penny of its very moderate price, Your choice of a full range of beautiful patterns, created by the designers of ComMuUNITY PLATE. Ask your dealer. Guaranteed for 10 Years Par Prare — ene , a ~ Mh} Comountitry Pare Six Teaspoons $1.75 ‘ Made aii Guarante ed by the Maker. : of Six Teaspoons $4.50 | (OMMUNITY Ps

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Published Weekly The Curtis Publishing Company Cyrus H. K. Curtis, President C. 4. Ludington, Vice-President end Treasurer P. S. Collins, General Business Manager Walter D. Fuller, Secretery William Boyd, Advertising Director Independence Squere, Philadelphia London: 6, Henrietta Street Covent Garden, W.C.

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Founded A’D' 1728 Sy Benj. Franklin Copyright. 1921, by the Curtis Publishing Company in the United States end Great Britain George Horace Lorimer EDITOR Churchill Williams, F. S. Bigelow, A.W. Neall, Arthur McNeogh., E. Dinsmore, Associate Editors Entered as Second-Cless Matter, Noverber 18, i879, at the Post Office at Philadelphia, Under the Act of March 3, 1879 Additions! Entry es Second-Cless Matter at Columbus, Ohio Entered os Second-Cless Matter at the Post- Office Department, Ortewa, Canada

Volume 193 Se. = 10c. in Canada PHILADELPHIA, PA., JANUARY 1, 1921 $2.50 THE YEAR by Subsecription Number 27

T <DFORD MILLS was one of those very rare people—a happy man. It was no drudgery to Beddy, as every- one called him, tostand all day behind a wicket at the Pocahontas Na- tional Bank and pass out soiled

By Lloyd Osbourne <*« TLELVUSTRATEDO Br an old New Yorker pushed aside with his old York nose in the air. Pride was the breath of an old New Yorker's nostrils; a pride as exquisitely concealed as the temper of a damascened blade. Helen's mother was dead, and she lived

DOUGLAS RYAN

pieces of green paper to greedy paws. He had no idea of re- pining at his lot; he cherished no stifled ambitions. He arrived whistling and left whistling, and cheerfully read the evening paper in the Subway jam, unmindful of elbows in his ribs. The abstract had never touched Bedford Mills; he was a stranger to all specula- tive questionings; he was inno- cent of any knowledge of books or pictures or music or social problems. In his attractive com- monplaceness he took everything for granted, conforming respect- fully to every tribal custom. If he had ever heard the word “ cul- ture’’—which he hadn’t—it would have conjured up some- thing vaguely German and men- acing. He was twenty-six; a tall, fair, well-set-up young fellow, with girlish blue eyes that could look very keenly at a doubtful check and a pleasant mouth that was always ready to part over exceptionally white teeth; and he could say odd, shy, impulsive things—usually to a girl—witha sideway smile that was extraor- dinarily winning. Beddy really did not know how winning that smile was or what havoc it had caused in many a pretty bosom. Perhaps he was too modest, or too cautious, to find out. Young as he was, he had seen so many unhappy marriages that he con- sidered himself disillusioned. That was why, perhaps, when the time came, he fell so madly in love with Helen Jessop. No young man was likely to be very cautious where Helen Jessop was Such lovely, slender, radiant blondes swirl a young man off his feet like a Kansas cyclone, and at the slightest hint of preference his heart is lost forever. Beddy, in his simple parlance, had been a goner from the moment he had first met Helen; he had swirled concert ed.

alone with her father in a charm- ing old house on the north side of Washington Square. Fifth Ave- nue had long ago become too vulgar for St. John Jessop. It had ceased to be a street where a Helen's father never made such remarks gentleman could live. snappishly; he was no choleric old gentleman with a growling voice and an expansive waist coat St. John Jessop was far toosilken and courtly and urbane for anything so uncouth. Tall and slender, with aristocratic hands and a deceptively gen- such re- proaches with a deprecatory air, tle manner, he uttered as of one who hated to object to anything Nothing less than a World War could have given Beddy Mills the entrée to such a house as the Jessops’. But in the gen- eral topsy-turvydom of ‘18 all sorts of unheard-of things hap- pened and all sorts of lambs lay down with all sorts of lions in a bewildering confusion. Beddy, in a military hospital, had been invited, together with fifty-nine other convalescents, to attend an afternoon party at the Jessops’. It was a do-something-for-the- poor-boys party, with ice cream, cigars and opera singers; and Beddy, quite had made a sensation by fainting unintentionaily, in the most public way possible This was probably due to the close air and the amplitude of ice cream, but in the emotion of that emotional period it took on teddy, in carried a more heroic aspect spite of his protests, wa toa resplendent guest room and glorious! im was kept thers prisoned for three never-to-be- forgotten day On leaving, he had been warmly pressed to call when he

grew better, Mr. Jessop murmur ]

into the air, military boots spurs and all, and had never really come down again Of course Helen was not nearly so much an angel as she looked. a Cupid’s-bow mouth and a face of sparkling purity do not always imply wings least in New York. Helen was too fashionable, too sophisticated for any great warmth of nature. She was a very intelligent, highly cultivated, self-centered young woman of twenty-three who set an inordinate value on herself and kept her heart in cold storage. It must be admitted that her own good opinion of herself was well justified. Not only had she beauty—the beauty that made people gape on the street — but those accessories that become it so admirably, wealth and distinguished social position. The Jessops were old New York, to whom half the owners of parterre boxes at the wretched strap hangers in the social system, whom Golden hair and not at opera were merely moneyed upstarts Heten Was Too Fashionable, Too Sophisticated for Any Great Warmth of Nature ing something about Beddy al ways considering 17 Washington Square as his second home; and lovely, radiant Helen, in be witching Red Cross costume, held hi hospital and occasionally smoothed his coal and unfevered brow, while his heart, pitapating crazily with joy. He was desperately in ‘ove; and in his unquenchable optimism and ignorance hand all the way to the whit } really needed attention, wa the three glorious days had settled that; of the world, and lulled besides into false security by magazine fiction, which in the hospital was devoured in vast quantities, he dreamed of it all coming right and pictured with a palpitating tenderness the appropriate course of his romance. Had she not held his hand? Had she not often stooped over him till her lips almost touched his hair? Had she not extorted from him, with transparent craft, that there was no other in his affections? And on the strictly practical side, had he not a four-hundred-dollar-a-month position held open for him at the Pocahontas National Bank?

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And had he not in American Moth Balls preferred and Candy common and some Liberties a little fortune of eleven thousand dollars that had come to him from an aunt? What him even did a happy young optimist need to make happier and more optimistic? Nothing! He had love and youth and ardor; health, and an excellent of several coveted medals won more position; and the prestige by gallantry in the Argonne He read the snippets of verse he had always disregarded before and was astonished at their pro- in the magazines, fundity and understanding Some of these snippets plumbed depths that he thought were his alone, and stirred him immeas- urably. The “he” of course was alwa himself, and the he” was likewise Helen Je Op; and though the nippet were often sad, they were tremendously re assuring People died a great deal in snippets, but their hearts were always tru and Beddy was agreeably impressed at the ease with which the heroines were won, and stayed won often at the cost of their blighted live He had called after leaving the hospital, and had been pleasantly received and invited to dinner But though Helen had been very sweet to him, he was conscious that something intangible had intervened. In his simplicity he did not realize that a young bank clerk is a very different person from a khaki-clad hero. But he was cruelly disappointed never- theles The aristocratic old house seemed to wear a formida- ble air, and his host and hostess had in some way receded from him. Had Helen not squeezed his hand at parting he would never have come again But he did come again at her express invitation; came and came, and often sat cozily with her for hours in the which she had He was utterly at a understand her music room, her own loss to made She could be so melting and so distant in per- plexing alternations; yet of real advance there was none. Once THE SATURDAY EVENING POST genealogies and my ancestors! I hate ancestors and this everlasting bowing down to the family joss! Beddy, much encouraged, murmured a typical common- place about the plain people. But that was not what Helen meant at all. She disavowed it with pink in her cheeks. All that the plain people were made for was to be walked on; to work and fill the back- ground of life. What she longed for was the ideal man. Beddy was dismayed at the intrusion of this horrid stranger, whose existence in Helen’s heart he had long January 1,192! Helen rippled invo :aughter. The examples seemed to amuse her immensely, or perhaps it was the jaundiced tone with which they were submitted to her. “All I meant was that I simply couldn’t love a man whose name wasn’t known,” she said. “I want people to turn round and look at me when they hear whose wife I am. If I can’t marry a Man Who!I’Il never marry anybody.” When Beddy walked home that evening his head was in a whirl. He had to become a Man Who, and how the dickens was he to do it? For weeks it had been becoming clear to him in many rankling ways that Helen’s preference for him was hardly more than the caprice of a spoiled young queen for a poor clod of a fellow who made her laugh. Somehow he was al- ways able to do that, though not wholly unaware that it was his boyishness and unsophistication which served to entertain her. But compared with the court- ships in magazine fiction, it wasa dreadful failure. It had never advanced at all. In fact there had been a positive retrogression since the time he was a wounded hero and she the outward sem- blance of a Red Cross nurse. With corrugating brows and tightening lips, he resolved to be- come a Man Who. It was his only chance. He had to succeed or lose Helen forever. She had shown him the way to her heart, like a fairy princess in a legend, never dreaming that he might take her at her word. And he had at least one of the qualifica- tions already—he wasn’t bald Well, he would surprise her. He would scale the castle wall and say; ‘‘ Here I am, Bedford Mills, the Man Who!” Had he not succeeded in everything he had ever put his hand to? Had he not brains, ability, determina- tion? Had he not the leverage of eleven thousand dollars, which was probably more than most of the Men Who possessed before they started? The only essential thing he lacked was an idea. It was a head-racking busiress he had caught her in his arms and kissed her passionately, hold- ing her till her panting breath fanned his cheek and her eyes closed in what seemed an exquisite submission. But a moment later she disengaged herself and, moving a little apart, gazed at him with lovely, troubled eyes. “I don’t want to make a mountain of this,” *L suppose it is what people doin your milieu, but in mine it is apt to lead to the immediate end of an acquaintance. If we are to continue friends, Beddy dear, you must never do such a thing again— never, never, never!” Beddy could not answer a word, but stood there, so glum and miserable and stricken that he wished the floor might But at least he was not so stupid as she said. open under his feet to apologize ‘I don’t know how to love a girl without wanting to kiss “If you drive a man mad with longing you can’t expect him to sit quietly on a chair like cap. 1—1 suppose it is nothing to you that I love you better than anything in the world, and © He could get no further; the words were already quaver- ing. He Helen come over to him and, with a half-playful, half her,”’ he blurted out at last an old lady in a lace might have been more humiliated still had not tender gesture, placed both hands on his shoulder. Worldly though she was, she was touched by his sincerity. The love of being loved is deep in every woman. Besides, Helen did care— just a little “Is it as bad as that?” she asked with a ghost of a smile “Worse,” Beddy, comforted in spite of himself “The more I come here the more I realize how utterly out said of my reach you ar “No girl is out of any man’s react aid Heler ‘But of course 1 am terribly high up on the wall, and the one that gets me will have to be quite a porch climber.” The troublk ou have everything,”’ remarked Beddy after he had been given one end of the couch and told to be good, and after he had been told he might smoke a ciga- rette if that would make him gooder. “ The most successful man in the world could not give you more than you have.’ ‘Oh, ves, he could!” exclaimed Helen, moving nearer, and with the animation she always showed when speaking about herself If only vou knew how I long to be lip of old New York living on Beddy Hardty Knew What He Said—it Was All So Gay and Happy and Unexpected and Delightful been suspecting. But he was evidently expected to ask about him, and so asked. “It’s a stupid word, of course,” replied Helen, in the prettiest of preoccupations for a better. “What I mean is somebody who has done something tremendous— whose name is a household word, and all that. The Man Who, you know. I would walk over red-hot plowshares, like a girl in a fairy tale, to be the wife of a Man Who.” Beddy was mystified; mystified and depressed. He was painfully conscious that Helen, as far as he was concerned, was demanding the impossible. That his unattainable be- loved should be talking of walking over red-hot plowshares for somebody else was indescribably smarting to his spirit. He gazed dismally at those trim, small feet, with their enticing dove-colored stockings, and for once found no pleasure in them. Were they not willing to walk over red- hot plowshares for the Man Who? Never had she seemed remoter from the fondest wish of his heart. “IT don’t understand,” he remarked at exactly do you mean by a Man Who?” “Who has done something, of course,”’ Helen answered, ecstatic but scornful. “To my mind it is the greatest title in the world. Have you never been to some wonderful party and had people pointed out to you like that? That's Massenet, the man who composed Thais; that’s Marconi, the man who invented wireless; that’s Amund- the man the South Pole; that’s Kovalsikoff, the man who shot the archduke. Oh, what is any prince or earl, or old New Yorker for that matter, compared with a Man Who! Any nice-looking one who wasn't bald could have me as easily as calling a taxicab.” Beddy was shocked. The comparison him to the He was too simple-minded to make allowances for feminine exaggeration. After a moment he remarked, in a hurt “Do you mean you would prefer some crack-brained idiot who had paddled down the Mississippi in a paper canoe, or had jumped off Mont Blane with a Japanese parasol, to—to’’—he hesitated, and then added “to a man of sterling business achievement?” “What last. sen, who discovered cut quick very voice, to try and find one. After half a night tossing on his pillow all he had attained was elimination—elimination of art, espe- cially as a great cartoonist; elimination of science; elimi- nation of invention. All these involved arduous preparation extending over years. Analysis of famous names showed exploration as one of the quickest short cuts in the past, but unfortunately there seemed nothing left to explore except Borneo. “The Man Who crossed Borneo!” No, it wasn’t very tempting. People who had never heard of Borneo were scarcely likely to be impressed by Beddy crossing it. The poles had been the prize packages, and they were gone. Geographically, alas, everything was gone except scraps. He toyed with the idea of shooting the Kaiser. “Bedford Mills, the Man Who shot the Kaiser!” It had a splendid ring, but he soon abandoned it. The Kaiser might continue sawing wood for all the interference he would get from Beddy. Politics? Elimination again, though with some lingering over that renowned Colonel Waring, who as street commissioner had actually cleaned the streets of New York. But of course that was a miracle. It couldn’t happen twice. Beddy ate a dispirited breakfast. a day as gray and cold as his own thoughts. Fame was not for him; his sleepless night had shown him that. In his discouragement he came near throwing over the morning service. Afterward, in the retrospect, it dismayed him to recall his indecision and what it might have cost him had he remained at home. For it was at church that he got his idea from the sermon on Service. It was an admirable sermon, a very moving sermon, and it floated down the great aisles in the most mellifluous voice in New York. It was all about devotion to humanity, self-dedication to humanity, and was touchingly biographical. With what unction the rector extolled those noble names! With what sonorous enthusiasm he dwelt on their imperishable place in the hearts of mankind! And how stupendously he buried them, while whole nations mourned and kings wept on their thrones. There is no better story in the world than that of the humble personage who becomes great through his love of humanity; and the mellifluous doctor told it and It was Sunday, and

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retold it and told it again with a steadily augmenting zest and pathos. Beddy, listening with respectful interest, sud- denly became electrified. Here, perhaps, was the answer to his quest; here were avenues to fame he had never dreamed of. All you needed apparently was a big heart and a capacity to bear persecution—and there was no height you might not climb to. With sufficient publicity in the way of contumely and derision you could spring to fame in almost the twinkling of an eye. In fact, judged by the preacher’s discourse, it was in a direct sort of ratio. The possibilities were dazzling. You needed no toilsome preparations, no prolonged study or research, no exile to Borneo or frozen wastes. You could woo fame at your own front door—if you had the nerve. You simply chose one phase of human misery or human oppression and went forth to remedy it with a flaming sword and as many spectators as possible. Beddy was no cynic, but he recog- nized that the limelight was as essential as the devotion. Where, indeed, would all these Men Who and Women Who have’ been without it? Beddy simply analyzed the matter like the practical young American he was, and said to himself, “It was the free advertising that did it.”’ He walked out of Saint Mark’s with the idea surging in his head and a tiny voice repeating from somewhere, “I shall marry her in June! I shall marry her in June! I shall marry her in June!’” Which, considering it was then late April, goes to show it was a very gripping idea indeed and had fastened on Beddy like the influenza. With it too were something of the same shivers; of the same alterna- tions of heat and cold; of a similar weakness in the knees. It was a simple idea—but appalling. Beddy spent the afternoon trying to nerve himself for its accomplishment next day, and feeling like a man getting ready for electrocution. The idea called for a front of brass; it demanded a skin as tough as that of a rhinoceros; and Beddy had neither. He had never done anything un- conventional in his whole life, and here was the idea incit- ing him to stagger New York. He had never even dared to wear a straw hat before the first of June, and here he was meditating something that would have made a Savonarola quail—that is, if Savonarola had been a young man in the Pocahontas National Bank. Beddy’s respect for the lovers of mankind went up tre- mendously as he began to realize what ridicule and derision really meant. Jumping into fame was an awfully scorching business. Even in anticipation you could feel the flames licking up your legs. Hespent an agonizing-afternoon that preceded an agonizing evening. And one of the troubles was that the idea, on its off side, had an undeniably silly look. There were times when it appeared downright idiotic. But in spite of such moments of despair, Beddy did not flinch. It was the only idea he had, you know, and the only one he ever seemed likely to get. Silly or not, the idea would certainly make him a Man Who—of sorts. And it was only by becoming a Man Who that he could hope to win Helen Jessop. He set his alarm clock for two A. M., the hour when the Morning Clarion went to press and he might count on finding Horton Meiklejohn in the office. Meiklejohn was one of the feature writers of the Clarion, and Beddy and he had been chums in the training camp—which was as near Flanders’ fields as Horton ever got, being, as he was, essential to the Clarion’s circulation. The idea called for an active codéperation on the part of Horton, who Beddy THE SATURDAY EVENING POST was sure would not fail him. Horton would never have failed anybody whose antics might bring in good copy. If you had boiled your grandmother in oil and then had telephoned to Horton Meiklejohn, he would have answered: “Splendid! Hold the story! I'll be round in five minutes with the staff photographer!” Horton was hurried but cordial, and amazingly wide- awake at that unearthly hour. A faint rumble of presses rumbled over the telephone, making an appropriate back- ground for his staccato voice. “You say you want a reporter at your door to-morrow at nine o'clock?” “Yes, a live wire—a really good one.” “But what for?”’ “T’ll show him when he comes.” “Say, I can’t send out reporters like morning milk,” said Horton in a peevish voice. “ He would have to get an assignment from the chief, and the chief would want to know why. Are you off your chump, or what?” “No, I am going to do something that will make all New York sit up.” Horton laughed scornfully. “Tt would take a bigger man than you to make New York do that,” he exclaimed. “ You poor nut, don’t you know you have no more news value than a last year’s orange pip? Why, you would have to steal more than your third-class bank is worth to get on the front page. Good Lord, man, if you committed suicide the Clarion wouldn't run more than ‘ Despondent Bank Clerk Ends Promising Career’—and it would think it was treating you mighty handsomely at that!” But these jeering remarks served only to accentuate Beddy’s determination. They brought his own unimpor- tance home to him like the repeated lashes of a whip. It was plainer than ever, thanks to these wounding comments, that he had to become a Man Who, or abandon all thoughts of Helen Jessop. Little though Horton knew it, he was adding fuel to the flames. Beddy redoubled his urging. He was truculent and be- seeching, both at once, though nothing could wring any explanation from him. Horton was mystified; he did not know what to make of it. It seemed to him like the ravings of a lunatic. Ah, that was what it was, of course! Another queer manifestation of war strain. The sanest people did erratic things nowadays; the sanest minds had been shaken in France. Poor Beddy, with this bee in his bonnet about making New York sit up! What ashame! Well, the only thing to do was to humor him. Horton’s voice, pre- viously on the verge of exasperation, turned suddenly to a soothing key. “T will make a point of coming myself,”’ he said. “I am one of those happy outlaws who can do as they please. Nine o'clock, wasn’t it? All right—I'll be there, sharp. And now go to bed, old boy, and don’t worry; and if you should change your mind in the morning it won’t matter a hill of beans. We'll have a good walk through the park instead, or maybe fix it up with the bank to let you go to Atlantic City for two or three days.” Beddy, with a sigh of relief, took his friend’s advice to return to bed, agreeably conscious that he had surmounted the first obstacle on the road to fame. Beddy shared an apartment on the Upper West Side with his two friends, Cooper and Haynes; and though these two L — — on should both have been on their way to their respective offices at the hour of Horton’s arrival, the journalist found them sitting with Beddy and looking profoundly per turbed. The little sitting room was as quiet as a tomb, and it needed but a corpse to ex plain the somber faces. Horton's quick eyes took in the flush on Beddy’s cheeks and then Beddy was attired as though for a formal afternoon call, in a cutaway blacl coat, fancy passed in surprise to his costume waistcoat, ascot tie with a pin and the appropriate trousers. Ona chair were a silk hat and a pair of suéde gloves, suggestive of an immediate departure But—why were his feet bare, giving the oddest look to his otherwise faultlessly groomed appearance? Bare, without even bath slippers? And why were Cooper and Haynes both staring at them like doctors who had detected some incipient and deadly disease? “What's the matter with your feet?" asked Horton after he had shaken hands. “Nothing's wrong with my feet,” returned Beddy bellig erently. “They are as good feet as anybody’s, I guess Only I am tired of buying twenty-four dollar shoes for them, that’s all.” “We are all pretty tired of that,”’ remarked Horton, not specially interested. “‘ But what can one do except pay or go without?” ‘I am going without,” announced Beddy shoes for me ‘No more I am going to be the man who broke the shoe trust.” “He is actually going out like that!” said Cooper in an awe-stricken voice “He says he is going barefoot till the price comes down to five dollars,”” added Haynes. “He'll lose his job, and everything; and tl ey will stick him in the ps} chopatl ic ward at Bellevue— mark my words if they don’t!” “They can just do what they damn well please,”’ growled Beddy ‘The public is sick of being gouged, and all they need is a leader to put the prices on the run. If the bank fires me, let it fire; if the police club me, let them club; if the poor, downtrodden people riot, let them riot! All I know is that I'll never wear shoe leather again till you can buy a decent pair of shoes for five dollars.” “He’s been saying that over and over again like a par- rot,”’ said Cooper, appealing helplessly to Meiklejohn “T think we ought to send for a doctor,” said Haynes All three were regarding the journalist as though in some way the decision rested with him Beddy , for all his air of resolution, was eager to see how the plan would strike Hor- ton. He prompted him by saying: “What do you think of the idea—as an expert in public opinion, you know?” Horton hesitated. As a journalist he foresaw some richly humorous copy; as a friend he was genuinely distressed. Pulled both ways, he was more than ever convinced that Beddy was suffering from a temporary aberration of mind. Hearkening to his better nature, he said: “‘ Don't do it! You will simply make yourself the joke of New York and won't be able to live it down in a hundred years. You will always be the man who went barefooted through the streets of New York.” To Beddy this last sentence was like a confirmation of all his dreams. Was not Horton, quite unconsciously, putting him in the Man-Who class? He beamed “Then you will write me up?” he asked. “Give me a real start? I may count on that, may I?” (Continued on Page 56) ee Compared With the Courtships in Magazine Fiction it Was a Dreadful Failure. It Had Never Advanced at All

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6 fl Quest OUBETCHERLAND is a great and a growing part of our country which to date the sociological cartographers and have roughly, geographers somehow over- looked Its boundaries, run as follow On the north the Canadian line, on the south the Mexican, on the east the foothills of the Rockies and on the west the Pacific But its typi- cal area, its ethnological midriff is, I wouid Central Oregon where the Cascades lift themselves five or six thousand feet in air, and then, having done that well, keep right on lifting a few thousand feet When a Cascade peak has to do in the long au tumnal lifts and lifts until you, standing below on the trained to believe Ocean most say, mn more nothing « Ise twilights it plateau, are cor that its snowed pinnacle is aiming to qualify as a downy stepping- stone for the angels’ feet Here is the heart of Youbetcherland Youbetcherland, a shrewd reader already has di: the has been given it from a turn of speech perhaps the ined, which here derives name tremendously much in vogue among those who populate it. Howsom- ever, this that the is by fined to any particular division or North not imply a claim trick exclusively does idiomatic in question any means con vernacular who prefer the subdivision of America. Those of us homely, hort more roundabout linguistic langy cuts to mean derings of the truly cultured have for long been addicted to the use of the phrase “ You bet you,” as sig nifying acquiescence or approval or cooperation or enthusiastic con currence. I believe that as far bac as pre-Civil War days Mr. Charles Dickens #0 many gaucheries in pain Mr. Dicken: people, generally were addicted to observed with pain— and our land did that we, as a ince of such an exclamation when as a matter of fact nothing partaking of the ture of a wager had been suggested the emphatic utter na- even remotely lo thi good day the thing puzzles some of Mr Dickens’ fellow islanders. There is a sort of visiting Englishman who, on being asked whether this or that appears to him satisfactory, replies, “Not ‘arf,’ meaning that it is wholly so; but for the life of him he cannot conceive why we, in our efforts to express the same thought, should resort to this Yankeeism. Yet perversely we do persist in it A Word for All Occasions qVLSEW HERE, then, the use of it is common, but in the 4 domain I roughly bounded, and notably up in Oregon, it is distinctive and almost universal. From a sen- tence it has been condensed into one polysyliabie word. It is at once an affirmation and a confirmation, a threat and a promise, a slogan and a shibboleth, a war cry and a peace It bespeaks the confidence of a gallant people in their abilities to master a difficulty. It sums up the un- undimmable optimism of the individual It falls trippingly from the tongue of neither, doubt touching on the destinies nor yet misgivings regard- ing the ultimate outcome of whatsoever proposition they have greeting dimmed and Western American a breed who have of themselves and of their race from taming the wilderness to enforcing a hundred undertake, You hear it a dozen times a day; may prohibition times a day, some days You ask the homesteader if he can put you up for the night in his one-room shack on the desert, and without a moment's hesitation he replies, “‘ Youbetcher!’’ Over the wire you inquire of the young lady at the long-distance desk whether there is any prospect of getting that connec- tion with Portland or Chicago pretty soon, and she snaps \ like that. With the ticket back, ‘* Youbetcher!"’— just THE SATURDAY EVENING POST bete By IRVIN S. COBB im XO Crater Lake National Park agent at the railroad station it is a favorite response, and the lunch-stand girl says it so often she almost has for- gotten the word “yes.”” And when it comes to tackling a civic or a communal or a state-wide improvement which would give a similar body of Easterners pause— pause, say, for about thirty years—these Oregonians rally round the polls and vote through the bond issue with loud shouts of “Youbetcher !” It was up there in Central Oregon that we went on our quest for the lava bear. We had heard, two of us, that he was to be found in those parts, and when we inquired of the most competent native son, who was gding to chaperon us, whether there was any prospect, however faint, of killing a lava bear during our menth in the wilds he promptly and naturally answered, “ Youbetcher!” And meant it. Out there they have a way of saying what they mean and of meaning what they say. The lava bear has almost as many aliases as, in the old bunco-steering days, Paper Collar Joe used to have. In one part of his Oregon habitat he is the lava bear; in another he is the sand-lapper, which would appear to be more or less of a fanciful title, inasmuch as there is no authentic record of his having been detected in the act of lapping up sand. Over across the Idaho line in the Seven Devils Range he is known as the dwarf grizzly. Personally I prefer to entertain the theory that he is the North American sun bear, so called, which some of our faunal naturalists insist is an extinct breed. But he isn’t extinct, and he can prove it. January 1,192! The North American sun bear was never exactly numerous, and according to some of the best au- thorities he vanished entirely a good many years ago, even before the buffalo went, and the passenger pigeon and the celluloid cuff. But if the present writer is correct in his { amateurish and totally unscientific deductions, the sun bear did not totally disappear; he merely with- drew from society as civilization became more complex, and went far back into the lava beds where he might enjoy the privacy he craved. Nor do I believe he be- longs to the grizzly family, although on a microscopic scale he seems to have some of the temperamental characteristics which have tended to make the grizzly unpopular in certain quarters. A man who knows a good deal at first-hand about the mammals of this continent told me he felt sure the lava bear was a dis- tinct species rather than a sub- species, and for the life of him, he said, he could not understand why the cunning little secamp had es- caped being officially card indexed. Several years ago a wealthy sheep- man down near Klamath Falls in Oregon got hold of a lava bear which had been killed by one of his herders, and he skinned the animal and had the pelt stuffed and sent it up to The Dalles, where for some time it was on exhibition in a local collection. I have been told that somewhere in Washington the United States Biological Survey has another mounted specimen tucked away; yet seemingly none of our naturalists has taken pains accurately to classify this, perhaps the rarest of existing large quadru- peds on this continent. Chronic Local Pride S IT turned out, our quest forthe lava bear or the sand-lapper or the dwarf grizzly or the sun bear, or whatever he is, was complicated with a lot of other things—with the scenery, for one, and with the fishing and the deer hunting and the jack-rabbit shooting and the shade hound. The scenery was already there, patiently waiting for us to come and admire it; but the shade hound, if I may say so, was our own idea. Always, in Oregon, the scenery is there or thereabouts. If the stranger fails to notice it, any native will take pleasure in directing his attention to it. Nothing so greatly delights a resident Oregonian as to have a tourist give the scenery an un- solicited testimonial. On the eastern side of the Cascades the home folks take as much personal pride in their scenery as their neighbors across the divide, down on the other slope, take in their climate, and that is saying a good deal. In fact it is saying about all there is to say. I remember, the first time I went to the Pacific Coast, how deeply was I impressed by an attitude of mind ex- hibited daily and hourly by those who lived there. It had to do with local pride. When the directory man’s figures seemed to show that Los Angeles was about to go ahead of San Francisco in the matter of population, and would certainly go ahead of it just as soon as’ the next popular excursion train came in from lowa and Nebraska points, all Los Angeles took a day off to celebrate. The discovery that the average blood pressure was higher in San Diego than in some rival community gave great cheer to the hearts of all loyal and patriotic San Diegoans. And every- where the-climate beagles were baying both by day and by night. “Surely,” I said to myself, “surely local pride can go no farther than this.” And surely it cannot; at least it never has. But as a result of recent explorations extending a thousand miles or so northward from San Francisco I am constrained to concede that it goes just as far and is just as fervent and

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 7 just as sincere and just as honest in Oregon and Washing- ton as it is in the southern part of California. At any hour your true Oregonian coast dweller is prepared to stop whatever else he may be doing and give three rousing cheers for the climate, followed by a tiger for his town, his county and his state. On the eastern side of the Cascades the local booster and there every person capable of speaking the English language is a local booster— advertises to the world the incomparable beauties of the scenery. To him scenery is what climate is to his fellow across the mountains. Even so, he is not discounting his own particular variety of climate. He has not a harsh word to say for it, but with him scenery runs first and climate second in the recital of the natural advantages. The Gem of the Lower Cascades NY human being who is equipped even with the most rudimentary beginnings of a soul can enjoy scenery, but only one who has more confidence in his own powers of expression than good judgment will, with premeditation, undertake to set down on paper an accurate picture of it. Someone is forever trying to describe in print how the Grand Cajfion looks at sunset or how Naples smells on a hot day; but up until this time the percentage of those who have succeeded at these jobs is still quite small. So I shall not try to scratch out with my pen a word etching of that scenic wonderland which is called Central Oregon. I know that to my dying day I shall carry in my mind priceless recollections of the high desert and of the higher plateaus and the buttes and the cafions and the gorges and the forests and the mountains and the sky and all the rest of the glorious ensemble of it. But owing to the limitations of a deficient vocabulary I am debarred from sharing my treasured memories with others. They must go and see it for themselves, which, after all, is the only satisfactory way of enjoying scenery. But in passing I do crave tospeak a line or so for that crown jewel of the Lower Cascades, Crater Lake For its size, 1 am quite sure that Crater Lake is the most wonderful thing in this world. So far as I know, it is the only perfect example of the phenomenon which ensues when something crawls into a hole and pulls the hole in after it. In this instance the thing which crawled into the hole was a mighty mountain, and that which en- sued, after the hole had been pulled in, was Crater Lake. 3 _ - 1ONAL PAR BERVICE For Its Size, 1 Am Quite Sure That Crater Lake is the Most Wonderful Thing in This Worid Not so very long ago, as geologists chattily measure time, say eight or nine eons ago, perhaps the loftiest moun- tain in what subsequently became the United States stood here. It is estimated that its peak rose well above the sixteen-thousand-foot level. It was a volcanic mountain, as nearly all the important mountains in Oregon were and are, and that same volcanic force which formed it eventu- ally destroyed it—as a mountain. Its cone collapsed and vanished into the caldron of a hotter fire than human hands ever kindled, leaving behind a circular orifice which through the centuries filled with melted snow. The result, as we view it to-day, is Crater Lake. It has the greatest depth of any body of fresh water in America, and without fear of successful contradiction I dare affirm that it is the most gorgeously beautiful lake on this planet. About its shores, in places where the rock shelves come close to the surface, it is the greenest green that ever was, on land or sea; but where the bottom drops away with incredible abruptness to incredible depths it becomes a marvelous and indescribable blue—a purer, richer, more radiant blue than any other blue ever was. One has the feeling that a cup of it, dipped up, would reveal these tints—blue or green, depending on where one did one’s dipping. And from personal observation I am willing to state that on being splashed with a canoe paddle its spraying drops are not like water, but like jewels; like flawless emeralds and perfect sapphires. You stand on the rim, looking downward a thousand feet or so to where Crater Lake lies, an incomparable gem cupped in the hand of the Creator, and it seems to you that here natural beauty has attained its superlative expression. But when, following this, you descend the trail which zig- zags down the face of the guardian cliffs and come at length te the shores, you discern a gorgeousness which even exceeds the splendor of the spectacle as viewed from above. For now your vision includes details which before escaped you—the rock sides sheering up as steeply almost as perpendicular walls; the effect of the sky against the brim and the effect of the reflected sky in the water itself; curious formations, banking in a long perspective of spires and pinnacles. These last really are the nipples of dead voleamic flues, and because of their fancied resemblances to fabulous monsters and human figures and architectural forms they here have been given various names to distin- guish them. But this was a great mistake, because these objects do not look like anything else on earth. They look only like themselves. When the eye encounters an idio- syncrasy of Nature which overtops and surpasses the scope of man’s imagining, why, then the puny human intellect should be content to let weli enough alone. Distances are most deceiving at Crater Lake Indeed, all through the Far Western country distance is deceiving From your perch on the brink you guess that to the wate is perhaps a straight drop of two hundred feet. It i nearer a thousand. From the same point you look dowr ward and across to an island which juts up out of the lake and you hazard the that on an distance to the nearermost tip of the island is possibly three hundred yards. As a matter of fact, the spot at which you are looking is two and three Eventually the visitor begins to hedge on all his offhand reckonings of space. He knows that if he states his honest belief he will fall so far short of the actual figures as to make the calculations sound ridiculous. So, leaping to the other extreme, he multiplies what he thinks by two or three or four in an effort to reconcile his visual concept with the actual statistics. This, when persisted in, causes optical confusion and mental lapses. You see a human form seemingly near at hand, but for the life of you you cannot make up your mind whether it is a little boy two hundred feet away or an elderly gentleman in knicker- bockers a couple of miles off. You must draw nearer and scan him for whiskers before you can make sure statement airline the between miles from you A Future Tourist’'s Mecca NE of these days hundreds of thousands of Americans will visit Crater Lake every summer. This day will come when a railroad worms its way in through the gorges, or, better still, when there is an adequate automobile high way penetrating into Crater Lake Nationa! Park from Medford to the southwest, or from Bend to the northeast, or from Klamath Falls to the At present the roads, except within the very bad In the months between which consti tute the season for automobiling—they are ankle deep i: white dust, and under the dust lie deep and jolty ruts which shred away your tires and loosen your springs and make travel at almost any gait for the traveler. But poor going does not deter the native He is used to it. What the rural Oregonian regards as a fair road would be cursed as a bad road almost anywhere east of the Mississippi. When the gorgeous Oregon sum- mer comes those who live in the little towns and on the homesteads and on the ranches start out to see their own country. Mainly they move in family groups. The outfit may not be fancy looking, but it is adequate Into the tin Lizzie are loaded the bed rolls and the camp dunnage. The old man drives, wearing the oldest southeast park itself, are very, June and October a veritable endurance test (Continued on Page 49

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q ie must know that a spur of the Indus River runs through the Amir’s garden, and for part of the year there is much river and little garden, because the floods come down rom 1 grea indu usn range, an f the great Hindu Kus ge, and THE SATURDAY EVENING Al Story of the Bridge in the Amir’s Garden, as Told by Hiram Harish Singh, the Amir’s Secretary By Will Levington Comfort POST January 1,192! Oh, Hiram Singh, trusted and thrice- tested servant of our Prince, make haste tosend this excitement out of our princi- pality! Aye, return him now, with the garden unbridged and the river therein, lest he speak to the Prince himself in ” only the palace is not changed. All rELUVUSTRATEO Br HENRY J. SOUL E WN strange tongue and unaccustomed —— other objects ap- *‘*Stran ge pear as if sunken in tongue?” I said. cold chocolate | *,| Res ee Bein bie 2 Se eee ais “Be explicit!” Also, each year, / : he yest ame. ‘* Pe > ee ae Already he has the footings of the ‘ > Le e- OE Se ate ane oe au) See spoken to me of bridge ooze up on , ° “= > i Fras pe PRS io f the Amir as The a special day and : aad .s Spee-nort, which is the framework floats down to lodge against the palace walls. For many years this has been a per- formance of the s, and beating the bridge builders their rain upon bare backs availed Inthe first place, it is difficult to se eure for the making of a new bridge; and in has not laborers the second place, the Amir is dis turbed for three months of the twelve by the chis- els and mallets, when the laborers are brought and forced to make ready a fresh sac- rifice for the river Also, there is to consider the rest- lessness of the women of the se- raglio, occasioned by the traffic of construction on the river banks within the palace walls. Therefore, when the news camethat the Eng- lish, finishing their railroad at Far Remesch, had dis- charged one of their engineers be- he would only make the railroad to suit himself, the Amir dis- cussed with me the prudence of sending for the unbilleted one, said to be an American. These were the days in which there was mourning in the palace over the death of Medu'ullah, the Amir’s prime minister, whose wisdom had sheltered our Prince for many years. I, Hiram Harish Singh, secretary, spoke against the calling of this American. “He will be strange to our ways, Most Excellent, and remember that the English have not found him desirable.” But, as shall be seen, the Amir was bent upon having an iron bridge in his garden. After we had discussed for several days, old Maeeta, very sharp and privileged among the Amir’s women, gave testimony that the American would have time to reach the Eastern Sea and cross it to his country if we did not decide something. It was decided that the American was to be sent for; and from that moment things evil befell. Alas, it was the coming of Mr. Rufe Heckling to the Amir’s gardens that changed our world, even the face of Nature. Now it is ten days’ journey by caravan to Far Remesch, where the English world ends and the world of the Amir begins; but great mountains lie between, and in the high heart of the mountains there is a pass, very dangerous, because of robbers lying in wait there to pounce upon all aravans. On this account the Amir suggested that I write to his agent in Far Remesch to engage the American and send him to the capital without delay, providing suit- able escort of horses and camels and a bodyguard to make This message he cause safe the passage through the mountains ng x : “G - ’ 4 And I Saw the Tinge of Olive Come to the Face of Our Prince as He Saw Her Happiness intrusted to my servant, Haider Roorkh, who is learning to speak English. Also, Haider Roorkh was directed to act as mehmandar, or host, to the American on the return journey, dealing between him and the people. In due time the American's party arrived at the caravanserai of our city, the capital; and as was his custom, the Amir sent word that he was indisposed. It is well known that the liscomfort of the serai for two days will greatly increase a traveler’s delight in the palace, if he is given audience; also his humility. It was not so with the American. Haider Roorkh ran to me from the serai, and with hasty salaam pulled back his turban, permitting me to see the gray at his temples. Since I had not looked upon his uncovered head before, I could not be sure that he was not gray since his youth; but his eyes were like the eyes of a dangerous elephant who is also sick. Therefore, I told him to speak. “*Most Favored, Hiram Harish Singh,” he said, “as a servant of the state since my beginnings as a small male child I have tried to be a true servant in the household of our Prince; and alas, to think that I should be the chosen agent to bring disaster unto the same!” “To think!” I said, bowing, and bade him speak on. “Disaster, in the form of this white man, who is not as other men, with whom even his own people, the whites, could not build their railroad in peace, whose eye sees all things and whose voice commands the camels to fear him. not English of the academy, nor us- age in the speech of courts. Dayand night there is no restwithhim. The laugh of the man is a violence, and hiseyepeereth into all manner of strange places. Just now herefuses to remain in the quarters I have given him, but twice he has come to the gate of the walls, seeking ad- mittance to the garden. I told him that all must be made ready; that the Amir was in- disposed; and oh, Hiram Harish Singh, favored one in the house of our Prince, when he came to the gate the first time he told me that he didn’t have all summer to hang round a stinking serai!”’ “And what did he say the second time?’’ I asked without hope. ‘*He spoke in symbols which you must interpret, Excellent and Un- failing.” “Give them to me.” “T am a poor man and ignorant,” said Haider Roorkh, “and I pray that I fail not. It was a bird that he spoke of first, and of a perch in the second place, saying that a certain bird had better come down off a certain perch if he wants a bridge built.” ““Go back to your gate, Miserable,” I said, “‘and leave me to ponder these things. But, stay!”’ I called. “‘What is the nature of the man’s appearance?” “He is tall,” said Haider Roorkh—‘“tall, like our tall men, but thicker than any of us, with a thickness that is throughout. He laughs loudly when his eyes are innocent, but softly when the danger creeps into them. There is hair on his hands, Sweet Friend of Authority, and he wears a hat that comes off without unfolding.” “What is the color of the hair?” I said severely. “It is the color of apples stewed in many spices.” I passed an evil night, and the next afternoon, when the Amir expressed a wish for my presence, I advised that we put off the audience no longer. Word was accordingly sent to the serai, but the messenger came back running with the report that the white man had put on his hat and started at once. I glanced in fright at our Prince, whose eyeballs were uncovered in anxiety. “How was he dressed?”’ I demanded of the messenger. “As the English when they hunt in the forest, and a wide gray hat, very dusty - ay The Amir, holding one hand in the other in his delicate way, shook his head, saying, “I must have a bridge in my garden.”

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I rose then and hastened to the gate, where the white stranger from Far Remesch stood leaning against the stones. He looked me up and down as he filled a paper with tobacco out of a cloth bag. “Hello,” he said, “‘and what office do you hold?” “I am Hiram Harish Singh, secretary to His Royal Highness, the Amir.” “All right, Hi, maybe you can tell me what’s the hold-up now?” “It is the matter of your evening wear, Mr. Heckling.” “My what?” “Your dress suit—you did not put it on.’ “Why, that’s a fact,”’ he said, laughing softly, at which I remembered the words of Haider Roorkh regarding danger. “It is not too late, Mr. Heckling.” “Well, now, that’s lucky,’’ he answered; “and how could I have been so careless? Why, Hiram, I’ve been just simple enough to think I came here to build a bridge, not to go to the Amir’s party.” “It is not a party. It isa custom in all countries among those to whom a monarch gives audience.” “Isit now? I want to know. Well, Hiram, you just run over and tell the Amir that I'll give him audience at the serai!” ““No—no!”’ I cried. “‘We are waiting for you at the palace. Hasten now to your quarters and make the change!” “*My son,” he said, “I haven’t got any more dress suit than a centipede.”’ “But we—we will make you one. One day—two days ad “I was just going to add that I wouldn’t put it on if I had one. Why, Hiram, I expect to see a whole lot of your caliph, and I’m sure not going to bob in and out of a dress suit.” With heavy heart I returned to the Amir, and in a con- trolled voice I told him what had befallen. “Rise, Indispensable,”’ he said. ‘Take my closed car- riage to the serai. Have the curtains of the carriage tightly drawn, so that the women may not see how he comes. Yes, at once, bring him as he is, for I must have a bridge for my garden.” ’ “T-could make a life job of it, Isuppose; but I don’t care enough about your climate. Come on out in the yard and show me what you want done.” “Owing to the death of my prime minister, my secretary will accompany you and explain *, “Nothing like that! I’m building this bridge for you!” I, Hiram Singh, broke in to explain: “The Amir does not attend to these affairs personally.” “Now, Hiram, you be good and let me talk straight to the little round chief.” Then I turned to the Amir and found him looking at me with a relaxed look, which always comes when he is thinking out a way to punish an offender. “Do not break in, Hiram Singh!”’ he said. Alas, I would have saved him, but now I interpreted the words solely. “He says he is building this bridge for you, not for your prime minister or your secretary.” Now a strange light dawned in the eyes of the Amir, and his hands lifted delicately and came together. “Tell him it is true,”’ he said softly. “Sure it’s true!”’ said Mr. Heckling. “It’s your garden, isn’t it?” “Yes, yes “Then come along and show me what you want done.” The light brightened in the eyes of the Amir, as one called to a great heroism. “Yes, I will go,”’ he said-presently. “But quit petting your hands like that, Amir. It ain’t decent to nurse one in the other that way.” “Tell him I shall try to remember,” the Amir said. “Have them bring me my cane and parasol, Hiram Singh.” “You will walk, Most Glorious?” I asked with difficulty, for my mouth would not shut in amazement. “‘And my shawl,” said the Amir, nodding. Thus was the Red Handed shown the nature of the thing he had come to do by the Amir himself; shown the place where the old bridges of bamboo had been, and the bridges of teak; where the footings had oozed out, even the place against the wall where the river lodged the frame- works in the rains. And all the time, from the Amir’s THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 9 seraglio, I could see the close-drawn curtains slightly mov- ing at the edges, and I knew that the women were watch ing, and knew the restlessness of their hearts. Walking back in the cool of the day the Red Handed said, his hand on the arm of the Amir: ‘Tell him he can have his bridge, Hiram. A mechanic could do it, much less an engineer. We'll need some steel and concrete, that’s all I'll get up the specifications. The only drag is the time that it will take to get the stuff here.”’ “We shall be patient,” said the Amir. “That patience stuff is all right for a while, but I wouldn’t go on promoting it if I were you. And listen here; I'm not through. I'm going to build this bridge my way.” “Yes, that will suit. We have spoken of that,” said the Amir hastily. “When we sit down I want to tell you something, mister.” “Yes,” said the Amir with quickened step. “Now it’s like this,”” the Red Handed began as soon as the cushions and rugs were laid. “Will you not wait until refreshment is brought?” said the Amir. “Go ahead yourself and drink,” said the American “When I drink I don’t do anything else. It’s this way You people up here don’t pay wages for labor. Evidently you’ve got an idea that it’s an honor for the laboring man to work for you. He'll tell you so too—to your face, but it isn’t honest, party. Excuse me, but I couldn’t help studying out—the way you had me brought in here. You gave your agent in Far Remesch enough to bring me in style. Your agent sent me through with less camels and a smaller outfit than you ordered, and took about five hun dred rupees for his share. Your mehmandar underpaid the sergeant of the bodyguard, and went short on food and blankets to get kis. Your sergeant got along with less men and pocketed part of their wages. We looked so hungry and sad that the robbers let us pass without a strike. Not only that, but your camel drivers sold the forage from their beasts for their cash, and the camels ate crackle grass instead of grain. The system is rotten, Amir, and I’m not going to build a bridge that way.” ‘*What would you do?” said the So it was that the Red Handed came into the pres- ence of our Maj- esty, smelling of leather dressing which he had re- cently put upon his boots and belt. “Hello, Prince,” hesaid. “A whole lot of folks look after you, don’t they? Do you like it?” I placed the English into our statelier language. The Amir bowed eagerly. “Tell him I am accustomed.” “But you’re not well, mister. It isn’t fair to you to be cooped up here.” Now the Red Handed actually touched a fold of the Amir’s chin and the place of his obesity, add- ing, ‘“‘You need exercise.” With flaming face I placed these words to our Prince, who an- swered: “Tell him it is true. I am too soft.” Now, though it is with shame, I place down part of their talk, as if I had not been be- tween them, inter- preting: ‘“*And so you want a little old iron bridge?”’ La WN agagtitli ¢ 1 Sete Amir when I had made this plain “| want money to work with—to buy supplies with, and to pay off the men by the week Also, my own charge,which I will figure out and hand you.’ 1 looked at the Amir as one who had seen his coun- try’s ruin. His eyes came to me I saw the struggle in them, but also the firm look whict said to me as plainly as words, ‘*I must have a bridge in my gar- den.” His lips moved, and to me it was the worst that he said, “It shall be as you say, Bridge Builder of the Elect.” Inthedays while the Red Handed wrote up his spec- ifications the Amir sat each afternoon looking from the window at the place where the bridge was to be built; and when the specification came a vast and complicated out- lay wa et forth, but the Amir bare] waited for them to be put into the figures of ou peech betore hi anction wa placed (Continued on ‘*Yes,inmy garden.” “You Haven't Been Doing What I Totd You, Chief. I'm Going to Punish You Toc" Page 40)

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10 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 1,192/ THE MOTHER AND HER BOY HI longer I consider the question of how far a mother is capable of shaping a son’s dlestiny or molding his life, the surer I am that the only person who can really write with authority on thi ibject is the celibate parent of an imaginary child This person ho raise large families of children of his, or usually her, fancy flower knows the exact formulas that will cover all situation [am the surer of thi nee ona recent afternoon I aired certain views that I have embodied in this paper to a mixed group of bachelors and spinsters I was assured that I was all wrong \ young bac helor of Gallic gesture and nice precision of spee« h took violent exception It was the father, he declared, who influenced the child. A social-science student in shell glasses spoke scornfully of to everything mothers as a class, they were ‘nuerile’’ her very word and declared the state should take the child away from her and stand ardize him; a cozy little spinster assured me that heredity was out anyhow —that a mother could make what she pleased of her child The air buzzed as with a swarm of infuriate bees — theories, argu ments, creeds, crisscrossing. I sat humbly listening to this shower of talk, realizing how very little I knew about rearing children it is with this spirit still at work in me that I set down the follow ing paragraph I am but the humble, Inexpenenced parent of one small, agile, normal human boy Necessarily my the hall mark of the amateur, the ideas bear heer experimenter «n a scarcely opened field. The all humility but with all sincerits are offered in They are the best I can do. [Lam comforted by the thought taat I probably know more about it now than I shall later on A favorite bit of fiction that pleases my little Sonny very much is the story of the tidings of his coming to me By a letter of a unique kind The letter I got so unexpectedly on the afternoon the very special magazine arrived. The magazine was so very special because it contained my first printed story, and I naturally took it with me on my afternoon climb to a favorite hillside seat above the dreamy August hush And here, as I sat under a tree, proudly admiring the neat rows of printed letters —great quantities of alphabets all mixed together but standing and the beautiful pictures the illus trator had drawn, which, however, like all of those pic tures, did not resemble anything in my story Well, as I was doing this, I got the letter *What kind of letter? of the little town below up at present arms * Sonny is supposed to ask here Beginning a Little-Boy Career WAS, of course, the letter written on the maple leaf which Oz, the fat robin messenger, brought me. He flew right down from the tree overhead and laid the maple leaf on my knee. Now, of course I should explain here that if you ever receive a message by maple leaf you'll know it at once All these leaves have very fine writing on the back which as a rule you cannot understand. But when you are able to read it, it is, of course, a letter. This one said clearly “A little boy is My surprise at this point overpowers me dramatically, coming to live with you, madam.” and Sonny must prod me “Go on,” he orders sharply I should explain that at this period Sonny is eight years old. He has a small well-shaped head, glossy as a beech- nut; full pink cheeks so closely resembling peaches I would not dare take him near a beehive; a wide friendly smile with two black holes in it; a pair of stand-out ears, referred to in facetious moments as wings, flaps, oyster shells; two large blue eves, dubbed similarly The rest of him pointing sapphires, sparklers, blueberries DECORATION Br L. HH. By Mary Brecht Pulver CALDWELL meet Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer and Sir Gala- had and Long John Silver. He would grow some teeth and eyebrows presently, and get to wearing trousers and go to the circus and to school, where his teachers would praise him. He was to be strong downward is brown corduroy, a necktie slightly to one side, a pair of wiry legs, and a brace of restless hands, not sunburn. 9 usually dabbled a rich brown “Go on,” he orders sternly. “What next By this time the dramatic effect of the letter has a little worn off, but I am still terribly surprised, even frightened, because it complicates things. I have just begun a writing career when the letter arrives, and to think of adding a little-boy career right from the beginning point! Any average brave person might attempt the former, but the latter everyone concedes is a great responsibility. “Still, you had to take me,” Sonny gloats grimly. “ After the robin gave you the letter you had to be satisfied. And I wasn’t a girl either.” “IT should have fed a girl to the crocodiles,” I rejoin with an orthodox shudder of horror. This is a little rough on certain young parties but obtains in our family. The next step, of course, in our comedy is the filling of the blank supplied me by Oz, with the specifications for the exact sort of boy desired. It is here that Sonny feels an eternal joke was played on me “Why didn’t you say I was to like soap on my face? And you didn’t say a word about my collecting different things—or that I was going to be a motorcycle cop when I grow up. They just gave you anything at all.” Certainly they gave me a great many unexpected extras. As I look at the small figure placidly rocking back and forth on the natural autematic foundation provided for such operations, his cowlick thrusting upward, his piebald hands linked about his knees, I am aghast at the con- fidence and temerity with which — my correspondence with Oz being presently completed—I took charge of him on his arrival from There to Here. I recall that as the presiding deity in starched blue-and- white offered him to me in a furled blanket with some trite remark about another presidential candidate, I felt no doubt whatever as to our relationship. This was my little boy —a good little boy, of course, being mine—the typical little lamb. He was to have all sorts of things in his life which, principally, I meant to put there. He was to have roller skates and-sleds and drums and a velocipede and ” and healthy, avoid whooping cough and measles and never tell any lies—if possible. I think this is as far as most mothers go consciously. I am sure they never contemplate a son in the presi- dential chair—indeed merely to watch the necessary progression of kissed babies and milked cows leading thither would quell their ambition. I donot think a mother considers her son in terms of adult life at all or looks at him as a finished product, the grown man. Certainly not as a gray- beard grandfather, a postgradu- ate in experience. He is to her in terms of sonship, the child always. There is a sound biological basis for this. Mother and Son E IS hers peculiarly and in- timately, an extension of her ego—as a daughter is not — being the unconsciously expressed mas- culine obverse of her conscious femininity, and therefore dear and close to her as nothing else in the world is; but he is also hers only temporarily. It is the law of life that his personality must diverge from hers, that he will presently emancipate himself, if he is nor- ma!, bud off from this matrix which formed him. He will do this when he enters adult life sometimes even earlier; and it is the unconscious realization of this impending loss which limits her thought of him to terms of boyhood or childhood, that pe- riod when she still plays a domi- nating part with him, the heyday of such power as she possesses to fix certain ideas and ideals in him. It is the period of her actual reign over him—after that she will be deposed by life, by a sense of expanding horizon, a natural masculine reaction against her sex. Women are quick to say they lose their sons at marriage While this is true, or should be true, it is a fact that a normally developed young man without any extraneous influence presently relegates his mother to the position of a highly prized but rather useless piece of mantel bric-a- brac. This is not because he or she is a failure in love or duty, but because they are of different generations, each with its own psychology. Occasionally a rare mother with an elastic type of mind can psychologize along with her boy into his adult life—but it is not usual. Life is going to offer him an entirely new set of customs and standards, adjustments she has never been called on to make, to say nothing of a sex psychology which is different from her type. She cannot possibly keep him with her after his virility is established. It is up to her to make hay while the sun shines, do with him what she can, and presently, like a good sport, cut her losses. Not long ago while I was sitting in a train for New York a wedding party came down the platform. This is an industrial community and these people were mani- festly of the alarm-clock-and-whistle class—it was stamped on their hands, in their vernacular. The bride and groom were frankly reveling in their hideously proclaimed status and the attentions their congratulatory tormentors offered of confetti, rice, paper streamers and tin horns. The bride was a rosebud peasant type, the groom a button-nosed, sway-jawed, horny-handed youth of twenty-three or so, with hair like frost-kissed buckwheat stubble. In the noisy maelstrom were two not actively participat- ing matrons. And you could tell t’other from which in- stantly: the bride’s mother by theslight look of complacence the industrial mother wears at a daughter’s wedding “Mabel is a grand girl, but living’s so high, and Peter has a grand job, and, anyway, she'll be back and tell me everything.” (Continued on Page 117)

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FTER she was ninety, Grandma Witt lived in a dream world of people who had long vanished from the Worthington hillsides. When she talked it was of her childhood and school days, her marriage, and the boys going away to the Civil War. Grandma Witt fell asleep before 1914. Sometimes her recollections seemed to bear upon nothing in particular- then. But to-day they are quite timely and significant. All the bright Worthington boys, said Grandma Witt, went into the Union Army, led by Russell Conwell, one of the brightest. In those times Worthington was a general-farming section, raising grain and meat for Eastern cities, and even flax and wool for homespun. But when the bright boys came home from the war New England could no longer hold them. They went on into the West, taking up land, building railroads and cities, and the hill- sides ceased feeding the towns and then the people who were left. The bright boys went away, and the bright girls stayed behind, marrying the boys who lacked git-up-and- git. And thus Worthington was no longer what it used to be, according to her way of thinking. Probably she had never heard of the Southern cracker—certainly never of a New England cracker. Yet the type is as definite in the hills of Massachusetts as in those of Tennessee. Now the bright boys who went away to the World War are adrift to-day. The attraction is different. In 18665 it was the free land of the West, while in 1920 it is industrial opportunity in our cities. But the bright girls of 1920 are not being left behind. On the contrary, they also are drifting to the city, adventuring for opportunity, seeking excitement, pretty clothes, broader knowledge of the world and of life, and shaping the surroundings in which to settle down when marriage halts the drifting lark. Long before the Civil War, New England had its factory girls, and Charles Dickens was astonished to find them wearing good cloaks and serviceable hats instead of the shawl and calico shift of the Lancashire mill operative. Still, the field of opportunity for girls in the sixties was limited largely to marriage, teaching, dressmaking, domestic service Marriage is Still Popular O-DAY some of our serious thinkers fear that the nation, not to say the race, is menaced by marriage, home life and children becoming obsolete. Marriage is not going out of fashion, however. It has simply been moved back a peg or two. Girls reach it through other things that seem more interesting for the time being. Any employment manager will testify that the whole cycle followed by girl workers is different from that of the boys who drift to the city. The factory, store, office and bank hire and train girls for a working career that averages about five years. Then the girls marry and must be replaced. A certain percentage of girls stick to work, unmarried, corresponding to,the old maids of other days, but now living the more active and DECORATION BY DOUGLAS By James H. Collins RYAN see more of men as they are, understand their daily inter- ests and difficulties, and choose a mate with eyes wider opened. Women working in factories now outnumber those on the farms, and perhaps exceed the two million in domestic service. The latest census figures at hand are ten years old, and those of 1920 will probably show great changes. Upward of one million women are office workers in business houses, railway offices and Federal, state and municipal civil service. Saleswomen and clerks in stores, banks and commerce generally number more than five hundred thousand. Teaching still employs nearly five hundred thousand women, but is now supplemented by comparatively new feminine occupations like telephone operating, manicuring, stewardships in hotels and restau- rants, nursing, medicine, acting, music, art, authorship and the professions generally. Fifteen leading industrial states employ more than half the women workers enumer- ated in the last census, clearly indicating the feminine drift toward business and industry. The girls were drifting before the war—drifting from lonely countrysides, dull villages and towns, drab homes, large families—drifting into factories, offices, stores, tele- phone exchanges, hospitals, institutions. But the war greatly accelerated the drift and changed conditions for the working woman. For example, what war did to Stella and Katie O’Brien: One emergency above all others is dreaded by the man- ager of a telephone exchange—fire. Not that there is much to burn in a modern fireproof telephone plant; but fire may bring the firemen, and if they use water, that will cause far more damage than fire itself to delicate insulation and switchboard wiring. When the new Branchley ex- change was opened on the West Side its manager invited Lieut. Pat O’Brien from the nearest fire house to look the plant over and study it from the standpoint of extinguish- ing a possible fire with the least damage, using sand, tar- paulins and fire-smothering gas instead of water. Stella O’Brien was eager to work after leaving high school at nineteen, but her father objected. He didn’t like the idea of factory work— it didn’t seem to be the thing for a nice girl like Stella. Nor would he let her procure a department-store position, jumping at the beck and call of overbearing shoppers. Pat O’Brien was proud of his home and his girls and his ability to keep his family in comfort. Telephone operating was something new, however. He had lunched with the operators on duty after his inspec- tion, saw them working at switchboard positions, found them girls pretty much like his own, with clean employ- ment, detached from shoppers and the foreign element in local factories, and with a service spirit as definite as that THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 11 of the fire department. Pat not only told Stella about it, but gave her permission to apply for a telephone job. She qualified, was sent to an operating school and in a few weeks assigned to Branchley, the exchange nearest her home. It was girls just like Stella that the telephone service then drew upon for operating recruits In city neighborhoods, as well as towns and villages, the only girl who had no need to work through necessity, and did not find a factory or store job congenial, was delighted with telephone operating, living near the exchange, with its advantages to the service as well as herself. For again and again, in emergencies, operators off duty would rally to meet sudden service pressure. A big fire, an accident or any occurrence almost invariably sends people to the telephones. At such times, instead of one or two switcl board lights twinkling up every minute, as in normal traffic, the whole switchboard blazes with signals by people calling simultaneously. Some of them are curious, others anxious about relatives. Somewhere in the maze of lights may be a half-dozen vital calls for ambulances, the police, the firemen or doctors. No matter what goes wrong or what the hour, day or night, off-duty operators speed to the telephone exchange instinctively, by trolley, motor, afoot—anything to get there and begin untangling the traffic and singling out those vital half-dozen calls which may mean the saving of life or property. Wartime Growth of Telephone Needs AR affected the telephone operator in several ways. It was soon necessary to break home ties and send her traveling. During the nineteen months we were at war Washington's telephone needs grew beyond all precedent The War Department alone had a separate installation adequate for the business needs of a city of a hundred thousand, with its separate telephone directory. Other government departments needed ever-increasing facilities, and so did the Washington branches of business concerns carrying out war contracts, and the growing population of the capital. Long-distance traffic from Washington to industrial centers and camps increased correspondingly This was not only abnormal growth in plant and traffic, but growth in a frantic new community of strangers where only the most skillful service could meet its requirements So exceptionally skillful girls were recruited among the seasoned operators of other cities and transferred to Wash- ington. More of them were needed at munitions plants, shipyards and other war industries, and a little later the topnotchers of the service were sent to the Army in France. Girls with the two or three years’ experience that makes a seasoned operator were withdrawn from the home-circle organization of the telephone exchange every- where. At the same time factories diverted the home girls who normally furnished new operating recruits. Factory wages rose above telephone wages under the stimulus of war production. More than that; war suddeniy made the hardest fac tory work credit interesting life of the business woman and bach- elor girl. There is also a certain pro- portion of women who return after marriage, chiefly widows who go to work again to sup- port a family, a most capable class of employees, de- veloping supervis- ing ability and rising to well-paid positions as fore- women, superin- tendents and man- agers. But the great majority work four or five years, learn to be self-supporting, acquire a knowl- edge of business that is useful in the management of a home, and have a wider choice in marry- ing than was af- forded by the old able, even desir able, because girls felt that they were directly producing entials in war @¢s such employment Fastidiousness and social misgiv ing disappeared No girl was too nice to make war ] Suppies a muni tions job was either service or a lark or both Stella was trans ferred to Wash- ington, and after three months’ general operating promoted to su pervisor. Then tangles arose in the new te lephor e installation for a munitions town ington, and she was ent there with a squad of girls who had dem onstrated ability (Continued on Page 108 social order—they

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HEY called him the Old Man One sporting editor won his death- less gratitude by referring to him as the Grand Old Man. When Cal setegeuvswTaeese# TSB O Benton read, with labored pre- cision, this grand-old-man phrase— it occurred twice in the half-column story of his retire- ment from the ring—it thrilled him as had no other of his various high titles; not even his hard won and harder-held title of light heavyweight champion of the East The Grand Old Man's years, at this time, were precisely two months short of thirty-six. Senility dawns earlier in the prize ring than almost anywhere else on earth, and the term “old man” is the affectionately admiring de- age when such age is girt round with honors John L. Sullivan retired feet foremost from the ring at thirty four, after twelve years of cham gree hestowed on fistix pionship, and was deemed ripe for the chimney corner Job Fitzsimmons, in the mid-thirties, cajoled reporters with much flat tery and many cigars to name him the Grand Old Man of the ring. Jim Corbett had barely passed thirty-five when he turned his back on youth and activity and took up the senescent voca- tion of actor-—and so on down the line Thus there seemed nothing ironical to Ca! Benton or to his raucous adorers when he became a Grand Old Man ata most workers are still in the full heyday of maturing youth. Yet nd the bulk of the sporting public, resented Cal's retirement {rom the ring. They pointed out, with entire truth, that he still carried a phe- nomenal punch in both hands hard to hurt as a rhi- noceros: and that despite his nage when these same adorers, a and was as crushing load of years, he was as agile as a cat—-a bearcat, at that, the bearcat being a mythical hy brid devised by latter-day orthol- ogists in order to add a verbal mansard roof to the superlative degree Example: positive, com- parative, superlative, bearcat THE SATURDAY EVENING POST OLD By Albert Payson Terhune HAROLD January 1,192! the very top of the Pitvale ladder when the time should come; and that a lot of folks had a way of looking leery at a lad whose father slugged for a living. Cal rented the big second floor of the Gill Building and spent a LuwN D plump slice of his earnings in fit- ting it up to suit Mildred’s taste. Mildred even went so far as to make pilgrimages to New York and to Philadelphia, just to visit successful studios of the sort and to bring home mental pictures of their most desirable points. Cal assented meekly to all her suggestions, gagging only a little at her dictum that he must hire a less battered and hideous as- sistant than poor Bud Kelleher. So Bud was shunted to the job of rubber and roustabout and in- structor of the semiweekly class recruited from the other side of the tracks, and Ira Mack was /»- stalled as the professor’s regular assistant. In every way—in looks and manners most of all— Mack was a vast improvement on the rough- necked Bud Kelleher. Like Cal, he was a Pitvale product. He was handsome, pleasant of man- ner, a high-school graduate and a former soda clerk in the Cody & Spogg drug store. At twenty he had sought to capitalize his Y. M. C. A. gymnasium boxing and his elastic young strength and phenomenal reach. Where- fore he had come to Cal Benton for aid and counsel. Cal gave him both. He did more. In the intervals of his own training he took the youth under his wing, shaping him up and guiding him across the wide and treacherous No Man’s Land which divides the very cleverest amateur from the most mediocre professional. Under Benton’s tutelage Ira Mack had burgeoned forth into a genuine comer. Cal had got him a minor fight or two, and had coached him to victory. But, except in novels and movies, the aspiring young athlete does not become a champion, or even an established fighter, without long and weary waiting. Mack still had much to learn. Cal Benton knew better than anyone else that he had years of superlative fighting left in his wiry system. Also that a rigidly clean life and a brain which actually functioned were assets that made him the peer of many a far younger pugilist. He did not want to retire. He was doing splendidly in his profession. He was making good money at it He was saving great chunks of his cash, and he had a shamefaced pride in his own stark squareness and in the renown it had brought him But Mildred wanted him to retire. She had kept at him for months about it. Mildred was the wife Cal had mar- ried on his twenty-first birthday. She was his sole man- ager and mentor. She was a roomy, capable woman, easy-going and a grand pal. But now and then she had a way of making up her mind, and at such rare times she scored a clean job of it by making up Cal’s mind too. This was one of those rare times. It began when Mrs. Cody, wife of the senior partner of the prominent retail drug house of Cody & Spogg, refused to let her pigtailed daughter, Almeria, go to the dancing- school reception with twelve-year-old Orville Benton on the ground that she didn't want her priceless offspring to be seen in public with the son of a common prize fighter. No less than five eager neighbors brought this gossip trophy to the Benton house on McKinley Road within the hour, and laid it avidly at Mrs. Benton’s spacious feet. That day marked the opening of Mildred’s campaign against her spouse’s profession. It was not a question of quarrels or of nagging or of tears. None of those unsportsmanly weapons had place in or bearcatic Mack Came Back to His Home Town Every Month or So to See His Parents and to Call on The Girt Mildred’s arsenal. She merely repeated to Cal what Mrs. Cody had said. She pointed out that Orville was growing up, that this was his home town, that the people who liked him now were going to be his friends in later years, and that the children who were taught to shun him now would grow up with an idea that he was some sort of out- cast. She said she didn’t want her wonderful boy to be barred out of Pitvale’s social life on account of his sire’s line of work. She asked Cal if he wanted to handicap the boy that way. Then she bade him think it over, which Cal did. A week or so afterward Mildred read her husband a dozen lines of reprint on an inside page of the Pitvale Chronicle, telling of the good money earned by retired fighters who had set up physical-culture studios, capitaliz- ing their fame and their training knowledge by whipping paunchy business men into shape and teaching glove work and wrestling to young amachoor warriors. This, she opined, was a vocation no man need be ashamed of, carry- ing, as it did, the shimmering title of ‘‘ Professor’’ and a daily association with rich folks. She added as an after- thought that the second floor of the Gill Building was for rent, and that it would make a lovely studio. Yet so tenderly did Mildred amputate that at the last Cal was more than half certain he had cut loose from the ring of his own unaided volition. He explained to Bud Kelleher, his dumbly worshiping sparring partner and handy man, that he wanted little Ortié-to take his place at It occurred to him that he could capitalize this period of waiting by accepting Cal’s offer of an assistantship in the new studio. There, under the Grand Old Man’s own wise tutelage, he could perfect himself in the fight game, could keep in increasingly good condition, could make useful acquaintances, and could receive fair pay for doing it all. From the outset Cal Benton’s physical-culture studio was a success. The trackside youths paid his stiff fees with eagerness, and got double value for their money. More and more men from the business district took to dropping in at the studio on the way home or at noon for half an hour’s congenial labor at meridian reducing and insomnia smashing. Even the people on the Hill made a fad of physical culture, and welcomed this chance to come face to face with a redoubtable prize fighter without loss of prestige. Soon also there were triweekly classes for women. Mildred expanded joyously over the triumph of the new venture. No longer did Mrs. Cody and others of her ultra- exclusive set refuse to let their daughters dance with Orville, the only son of Professor Calvin Benton. Cal noted his wife’s bliss, and he tried to make it atone to him for the dull routine of his professorial work. Some- times, as he tried patiently to teach some gilded scion of the Hill not to leave his face and body wide open to the slowest cross counter, his disloyal memory would slip back to the white swirl of arc lights, the grip and slip of rosined soles on a gritty canvas floor, the roar and jumble of thousands of sweating spectators and the pad-pad-pad of wet gloves on hot flesh in his own tiger rush at a shiftily deadly ring opponent. But dutifully he pushed away such glowingly red recollections, and tried to think only of

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we SS Mildred’s delight in his new occupation and in the social future he was building up for husky little Orville. On the whole, Cal was content. So is a broken-legged old setter as he cuddles to the hearth on a frosty morning and hears the younger dogs sweeping fieldward. Then, too, between times there was genuine joy in working over Ira Mack, and in building up the promising lad into something of what he himself once had been. Into this task Cal threw himself with all the rapture of a creator, and finely did Mack respond to the coaching; so well, indeed, that within a year the young disciple was ready to go forth into the ring world. Cal bade him godspeed, and trained him for his first big fight—a fight arranged for him through Benton’s influ- ence. He crouched in Ira’s corner and guided him to a victory so sensational as to stamp Mack’s obscure name on the minds of a thousand fight fans and a dozen sporting editors. The rest was easy. Mack went from fight to fight, from win to win. With all the glorious impetus of youth and perfect condition he hammered on, and from a distance wily old Cal did the guiding. Presently even this long- distance guiding was no longer needed. Ira Mack had struck his own gait. He was boring through the light- heavyweight division at top speed, and Cal read and reread each and every newspaper account of his protégé’s battles. He was glad clear through. No longer in weak moments did he mourn his own retirement. No longer was he haunted by ring pictures wherein he faced and downed the best man who could be pitted against him. Ira Mack had taken up the work where Cal had left it off, and was carrying it on in dandy shape—which comforted Benton to the very soul of him. And it made up for his own sacrifice. A year or so later the sporting world of Pitvale was re- joiced at word that its drug clerk emeritus had reached the point where he could and did challenge Con Fitzroy, the holder of the East’s light-heavyweight title, and forced that reluctant paladin to sign up with him for a fight. The Pitvale Elks held their annual outdoor carnival during the latter part of the month in which Mack was training for his championship battle, and the entertain- ment committee hit on a happy idea. They induced Ira to make the forty-mile trip from his training quarters to Pitvale, there to box a friendly three-round exhibition bout for the delectation of his fellow townsmen. As an added stroke of genius, the committee persuaded Cal Benton, the Grand Old Man of nearly thirty-eight, to be Mack’s opponent in the amicable contest. The prospect of seeing Pitvale’s newest idol and its perpetual idol in the ring together, even for three exhibition to go into the ring first, and thus give Mack a chance for true championship entrance. Cal’s heart was big with pride and delight as he slipped modestly through the ropes. Everybody was applauding him. But his joy was not bred of these plaudits. Indeed, beyond a perfunctory nod and grin, he scarce heeded them. This crowd was due to see and give homage to his beloved and mighty successor, the athlete he had molded and trained, and to honor Mack’s prowess. Cal reveled in the prospect. His pride was all vicarious. Then, moving with graceful condescension, Ira Mack strode forth from the dressing rooms and made his way toward the ring, and again the applause roared skyward. But with a little frown of perplexed annoyance Cal noted that its volume and spontaneity were decidedly less than in the greeting he himself had received. He could not understand. He was an old has-been, a cheap teacher of physical culture, a third-rater they saw every day, and Mack was the coming light-heavyweight champion of the East. Ira should have had ten times the welcome that the crowd accorded to his back-number opponent. With no conception at all of his boundless popularity among his townsmen, Cal was honestly bewildered. Nor did the wide smiles of Mildred and Orville, in a ringside box, comfort him for this slur on his friend. He glanced across at Ira’s corner in shy apology. Yes, Mack, too, had noticed the difference in his welcome and in Benton's. Anyone could see that. He was scowling, and it was not a professional ring scowl, but the real thing. Mack was jarred, as no jaw punch had ever jarred him. He was the town celebrity. Cal was confessedly a dead one. Yet there had been a warmth of real affection, as well as a deafening volume, in the salute accorded to the old-timer, which had not marked the younger man’s meed of applause. The thing was impossible at first glance. Yet as his handlers coaxed the gloves on his lean hands Mack began to seek the answer, and presently, to his own satis- faction, he found it. These home-town dubs remembered Cal’s long line of conquests, and that he had left the ring unbeaten. Thus to their silly notion he was still the peerless champion of his class. Always he would remain so to them, to the ex- clusion of younger and better men. Always Mack must content himself with second honors—must let The Girl hear folk praise another local celebrity above him, must let his parents and his kid brother and everybody look on him as the inferior of past-worthy old Benton. Always! Unless— unless — And into Mack’s agile brain flashed the instant and complete remedy. In his savage frame of mind he greeted THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 13 the new thought as a genuine inspiration. The more he rolled it round in his brain the more he knew it for the one thing to do. Old Cal, in his own corner, saw the glower on Ira’s tanned face merge into a grim resolution. He gave mental credit to his disciple for sportsmanliness in banish ing discontent at his lesser welcome and in making up his mind to do his level best to win the approval of the crowd He grinned encouragement across to Ira, but failed to catch the hero's eye As the men discarded their bath robes and stood forth for the mimic battle Cal nodded approval at the perfect condition of his chum; a condition easily visible through the jersey shirt and long trunks which the carnival com- mittee had imposed; and Benton glanced ruefully down at the almost imperceptible stratum of flesh that was be ginning to adorn his own waistline. He was glad, though, that the crowd could see the contrast, and he thanked his stars he was not in his one-time battleship form. For the first two rounds of the three the men boxed with spectacular briskness, hitting lightly and doing much showy footwork. Cal stuck to the defensive, for he knew that nineteen-twentieths of the spectators were rank novices in such matters, and that to the novice the ag gressor in a boxing bout seems always to be having much the better of it. So he let Mack do the attacking, and more than once he let showy blows break through his own guard by way of exploiting Ira’s skill. Cal was well satisfied with his-pupil’s fine exhibition and at the approval it began to evoke. He was happier than he had been since his own retirement. Midway through the third round Mack feinted for the jaw with his left, changing adroitly the direction of the punch to drive it into the wind. Cal grinned in pleased reminiscence. He knew this maneuver and had taught it to Mack. The change of direction was planned to be swift and skillful, yet not quite enough so to deceive a wary opponent. Such an opponent was scheduled to see the change barely in time to cover the wind. Thereby, if the thing was done quickly enouzh and if the opponent played true to average mental form, the sharp effort to protect the wind would leave the jaw momentarily exposed to the right hook which was the climax of the stunt. Having taught the trick to Mack, Cal could have blocked it with both eyes shut. But it was a pretty bit of work. And as both he and Ira were hitting at quarter steam, he was minded to let the hook get past his guard It was good for a round of shouts, especially if Cal should stagger back dazedly from the noisily mild impact With scrambling haste Benton protected his wind, low ering both hands—and Mack’s right hook crashed home, Cal did not fol low out his plan of rounds, set the | sporting element of the town astir with anticipation. The newspapers painted the picture in such dazzling colors that Mildred herself was brought to understand that this bloodless ap- pearance of her re- formed husband in the ring would not mar in any way his lofty social standing, but would add to his studio’s renown. Mack had made Pitvale his occa- sional headquar- ters during his many months of ring advancement. The sight of him on the streets was no novelty. He came back to his home town every month or so to see his parents and to call, in resplendent raiment, on The Girl. His parents and hisbumpy-muscled kid brother, Byron, were in the audito- rium for the three- round bout at the Elks’ carnival. So was The Girl. So was most of Pit- vale. Obligingly Cal Benton offered “In the Fifth Round You'll Get it, Iry. This is Your Last Fight, Son" reeling back to the ropes and of steadying himself against ther as if by much difficulty. Instead his body stood quite still, while his head snapped back. Then in a most un- spectacular way he slumped at the knees and toppled forward on his face. The crowd went wild. Not one spectator in a hun dred had the box ing lore to know that a stricken fighter who falls face forward to ward his opponent is tenfold worse damaged by the blow thanis he who is merely knocked over on his back The latter fall may spell nothing more than harmless im- petus. The former means uncon- SCLlOuUsn ess Yet there was something about the murderous force of the blow and of the wild- beast glint in the striker’s eye and * ‘ee. 2a | in the utterness of ’ Benton's collapse that raked to light (Continued on Page 101)

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14 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Foodstuffs amd if By CHARLES MOREAU HARGER OWN on the [) weiter edge of the Middle West Wheat Belt late last fal! occurred an unprece dented incident A heavily loaded trucl was purring along the | dirt road when three men stepped into the highway and halted the driver “Where are you going with that wheat?” ‘To the elevator wheat’s up six cents to day.” “Yes, and you get a dollar a bushel less than it cost to raise it.’ “But this is the onl: market, and the price is down nearly a dollar since July.” “If you and the rest of us will hold our grain it willgoupagain. Take it back home and wait a while After a discussion the truck was turned and went back to the own- er’s granary Other trucks and wagons, also bound for the shipping tation, were stopped by the picketers, generally with the same result Sometimes the argu ment was presented “I t must have some mone for my family,” and the driver proceeded In itself the picketing was not important, but it was a symptom of a movement that in the last months of the year caused thousands of country merchants sleepless nights and was discussed in long sessions of bank director- ates. Popularly it was known as the “farmers’ strike”; actually it was the outgrowth of meditation over the effect of the transportation breakdown earlier in the season. The farmer reasoned that since car shortage had kept high the price of his foodstuffs, the same effect would be accom- plished by a general withholding of his products from market. To a degree it was an organized movement; wheat growers’ associations, claiming 70,000 members who had pledged themselves to “abide by the regulations adopted by such organization for the purpose of regulating the marketing and price of our wheat after 1919.” Reso- lutions were adopted declaring that all members should refuse tosell any wheat after October 25, 1920, for less than three dollars a bushel at central points, meaning about $2.50 at the primary markets. Through October and No- vember meetings to secure members were held in hundreds of schoolhouses and court rooms Supply Overtakes Demand 7 Q! PPOSE,” Lasked one of the organizers, “ you are able WW to withhold enough grain from the market so that con- sumers are compelled to offer three dollars a bushel and you release your members. Naturally each will load up a truck or wagon and start for the nearest shipping point. What will happen?” “Why-—wheat will go down again,”’ was his reply. “Only by distribution of selling can a price be maintained. But this is our only way to get relief from selling below cost.” He fairly stated the problem. The producer was honest in his intent. It is unfair to accuse the farmer of being a a profiteer in his effort to secure what he considered a fair return for his labor. He planted the 1920 crop with high- priced labor; he harvested it at record expense for imple- ments and workers; he was ready to sell it in late summer and early autumn— but there were no cars. Then in late autumn, when the railroads began to catch up with the demand for freight transportation, he saw the market decline thirty per cent, and according to his figuring he was to obtain less for his product than it had cost him. He was aggrieved that he was the first to suffer from deflation, and took the only way he knew to protect himself The market for a few days responded slightly to the publicity given the “strike.” On October twenty-fifth, ITLGITACIGL January 1,192! ! Thrills ‘Don’t bother me!’ he exclaimed. ‘What have you got?’ I told him! | had four different styles of good sellers. ‘Ten dozen of each. Get out; don’t bother me. A lot of folks are waiting.’ To-day I could not sell him gloves with a gold bond premium thrown in for each pair.” The country mer- chant had been most generous with his cus- tomers. He had ex- tended credit liberally and had bought heavily because he understood that deliveries were un- certain and goods hard to get. Take the in- stance of an Oklahoma hardware dealer who was carrying a line of tractors. He received late in October twenty- two machines that should have been deliv- ered in August. The season was over and he must carry them until next spring — more than $22,000 in stock which may be worth less than he paid for it by next summer. Cheerful? Hardly. His banker wanted to know why he was loading up with Turkey Red Wheat, Growing Fifty Bushels to the Acre the date when it was to begin, cash wheat was worth in Kansas City $2.09 a bushel; on September first it had been $2.46. But by November fifteenth it was down to $1.80. Something else was happening. The export demand had decreased; foreign crops were reported better than the previous year; Canada had some 200,000,000 bushels to spare for import, duty free. Supply and demand were making their effect felt, though the producer insisted that the decline resulted from the grain-exchange transactions. Another thing: The organized farmers were but a small percentage in number compared with the total producers; and perhaps not all strictly carried out their pledges. At any rate, as the car shortage lessened, wheat shipments continued, in some primary markets increasing — the grow- ers evidently convinced that higher prices were not in sight or compelled by circumstances to sell. Many were firm. A type was the farmer out in Central Kansas who drove with a truckload of grain to market and when told the price refused to sell. He went over to his bank and asked a loan of $300 to pay his threshing bill, three months over- due and yet unsettled. “Why don’t you sell that wheat out there on the truck and get the money?” demanded the banker. “Can't get enough; I am going to hold it for three dollars.” “And you want me to finance your speculation? Noth- ing doing.” The loan was refused and the farmer took his wheat home. On the whole, receipts decreased materially. Important as has been the farmer’s problem, the effects reached much farther than his personal affairs. Over a dozen agricultural states the late fall and early winter are the merchants’ harvest day. Normally the foodstuffs raised during the season have been mostly marketed. Bank deposits increase, the preholiday trade becomes brisk. Stores blossom with full shelves and windows, dis- playing goods purchased six months before. Business feels the impetus of a spending fund scattered over every township. Last spring and summer the country merchant foresaw a repetition of this pleasing experience. Prices of foodstuffs were high; the crop outlook was promising; areal business revival, following the slump of late spring, was in prospect. So he bought heavily, encouraged by the reports of shortages of manufactured goods. “T could not get the merchants to take time to look at my samples,” said a glove salesman, telling of the condi- tions in the farm country. “One day I found a customer drawing gasoline for a tourist. He was grinding the pump handle and watching the gauge as I approached. such goods at that late date. In dry goods, clothing, shoes and fur- niture the same condition existed, and the holiday season came on with shelves prepared for customers. But the farmers were holding their foodstuffs, and their families had no ready money to spend. The truth is that the overstock exists all down the line, from manufacturer to jobber, from jobber to retailer, from retailer to customer. Buying has been liberal throughout the farm country. Most families can get along without purchasing more wearables for several months. In the last ten weeks of the year every country store was adorned with canvas signs, vivid in red, blue and black, announcing “readjustment,” “reduction” and “special” sales—an effort to move stocks and maintain trade activity . Mostly the attempt was only moderately successful. The customer buys when goods are going uj» and not when they are going down. In the latter instance he waits, hoping for a yet lower price level. Poverty Brought by Plenty O THE country merchant had during the closing months of the year a financial problem of his own. He had accounts on his books, notes given for goods and dis- counted at his bank. When he urged the debtors to sell something and meet the obligations he received a reply that it was a poor time to sell—products would be higher after a while. The banks wanted the merchant to take up the notes but the customer was not to be angered by legal proceedings, lest his trade be lost. The whole machinery of finance moved sluggishly. Out of the merchant’s reduced prices came, however, some weakening of the producer’s claim that he was the only sufferer from deflation. He could undoubtedly buy his winter’s supply of commodities cheaper than he had expected; others besides himself were taking a loss through the process of liquidation. Was it not fair, he was asked, that he should be willing to sell at least a part of his food- stuffs and allow the course of trade an uninterrupted flow? This country produced one of the greatest crop yields of its history —3,199,000,000 bushels of corn, 750,000,000 bushels of wheat, 1,444,000,000 bushels of oats, and small grains and fruits in profusion. It was logical to expect that this influx of basic wealth would have its effect in making the process of the after-war financial readjustment compara- tively easy. Yet corn has been burned in Nebraska and Iowa because it was cheaper than coal, hundreds of thou- sands of bushels of wheat have been heaped in great piles on the open prairie in Kansas for weeks at a time. An abnormal condition accompanied the bountifulness of Nature.

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“*A billion dollars in foodstuffs is stored in bins, stacks and granaries in the Tenth Federal Reserve Bank’s district,” said one of the bank’s officers in mid-November. “If every farmer would sell one-tenth of his holdings it would relieve the financial pressure and revive activity.” The country bankers shared with the merchants the effect of the withholding of grain. They had patiently renewed loans while the car shortage existed, and then when they expected relief came the new situation. Bank deposits dwindled—the customers were using more checks than deposit slips. The smaller banks rediscounted with the larger or borrowed on the banks’ own credit. The larger institutions went to the Federal Reserve system with such unanimity that the latter finally refused to extend further its loans. It pointed to the hundreds of millions borrowed by the agricultural and livestock sections and declared that safety demanded a halt. According to its report this is what it had done: Between January second and October first about 800 leading member banks from all sections of the country, which report their condition to the board weekly and which rep- resent approximately seventy per cent of member bank resources, increased their loans for agricultural, indus- trial and commercial purposes by an amount exceeding $1,800,000,000. This great increase in the credit extended to their customers was in the main made possible by the accommodation extended member banks by the Fed- eral Reserve banks. Money in Overseas Investments URING the same period the twelve Federal Reserve banks increased their holdings of agricultural and commercial paper by more than $500,000,000, and from January 23 to October 1, 1920, increased their issues of Federal Reserve notes by over $460,000,000. At the same time Federal Reserve banks having surplus funds ex- tended accommodation to Federal Reserve banks in agricultural and livestock districts by means of discounts, aggregating on October first over $225,000,000. State banking boards tried to reduce excess loans re- ported by country banks, with little avail. About the only thing possible was to help carry on and everybody refrain from rocking the boat. It is to the credit of the country bankers that in the closing months of the year they met the situation with courage and helpfulness, extending their credit to the last dollar and striving to maintain the finan- cial integrity of their customers and the communities they serve. What became of the withdrawn deposits? Why did they not reappear in the bank through the channels of local trade? “Left the country,’ one banker explained it. “The attraction of high interest rates has been one cause. Day after day we make for our customers purchases of bonds and preferred stocks of large business concerns. It is not likely that the man with $2000 deposited in our savings department, and drawing four per cent, is going to leave it there when he can buy high-grade tax-free bonds yielding six to eight per cent. So the deposit account is lessened by $2000 and the money is transferred down East. Another remarkable thing is the fondness for foreign bonds French, Belgian, Danish, Swiss, all yielding high interest. The investment in these goes overseas in one form or another. Every sort of luxury makes a drain—and when money leaves the farm country and goes to the in- dustrial centers it does not come back until it is paid for our foodstuffs. If we hold our foodstuffs permanently it will never come back, and just in that degree that the ship- ments are delayed does the effect reach into our home business.” Financial interests are deeply concerned about what the farm country is doing. Almost daily come to the leading bankers of the producing states telegrams and letters from Eastern manufacturers and business men asking what is the trend of trade and the outlook for production. The owner of a Massachusetts shoe factory watches the crop reports from Nebraska and Minnesota and Iowa; the grain exchange of Chicago in a quarter of an hour dropped the price of wheat seven cents a bushel on an unconfirmed report that the Kansas bankers would call their loans to farmers and compel marketing of the 1920 crop. The entire financial structure is sensitive to the doings of the vast army of producers, who are not only furnishing the staff of life but are a vast market for the output of industrial concerns. The “ buyers’ revolt,”’ of which so much was heard in the spring of 1920 and which again came into prominence late in autumn, causing cancellations of orders and dire distress to the manufacturers, had its origin in the producing country. It was not merely a revolt against high prices; it was also a revolt against low prices—for foodstuffs, the only thing the agricultural states had to sell. In a contest between consumer and producer the latter has the better of the argument—he can exist longer because he possesses the material commodity on which both must live. This advantage caused the upsetting of finances, and upon it the producer bases his hope for positive results. He may not have taken the best way, but he believes it the only way in which he can obtain justice in the disposition of his year’s return. To accomplish his financial advantage the producer has entered on an era of organization of which the business world as a whole is scarcely aware. Beginning modestly, THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 15 and sometimes unsuccessfully, by forming coéperative companies for selling grain or livestock, merchandising has been added. Early attempts were crude; the manager was usually some farmer who had shown a little initiative but who was in nosense a merchant or dealer. Failure often followed. To-day the process is more scientifie. Coépera- tive companies hire expert managers; they adopt accepted business methods; with a clientéle loyal and sharing in the profits, if any, and with the stock scattered widely, every advantage is given for successful trading. Hundreds of codéperative stores are prospering in the agricultural states; thousands of grain and livestock companies are busy; co- operative buying and selling is an established fact; codperative selling of products is the next step anticipated, provided the organizing of the producers can be carried to perfection. The gathering of producers into granges, unions and societies has reached vast proportions. They have their special publications, which set forth the profits possible if they can act as a unit. The dream of complete control of products of field, orchard and ranch is most attractive, but it demands an organization of more com pactness and capital than has yet been evolved, to control a nation’s products. The Failure to Pull Together T HAS been found that though the producer is willing to join and pay his dues he is likely to resent positive orders from those in official positions, and to act on his own initia- tive. .This it is that has prevented the farmer from securing all the benefits from the market that he felt due him and has kept him from accomplishments in politics. Farming districts usually send lawyers instead of business men to Congress and to the legislature, then wonder why there is not devotion to their especial needs. With the power fully in their hands they fail so to unite their strength that they can have a speaking part in the drama of government. Naturally you find, even in the farm country, those who see another side to the farmer's wheat profits. Taken as a whole, it is estimated by producers that in the past three years wheat has cost from seeding to marketing $2.75 a bushel. But I was talking to a hard-headed country banker located in the very heart of the wheat country. “It depends on the farmer,”’ said he. ‘ There is the case of one of my customers—he and his fifteen-year-old boy with tractors put in their wheat and did most of the harvesting. He has six thousand bushels all in his bins. It certainly did not cost him, even counting high day wages, $16,500 to raise it. “He remarked the other day, ‘I haven't made a dollar on my farm for three years.’ (Continued on Page 125) 3 es Ot abe ee RS In the Wheat Fietds of Saskatchewan

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) RING the peace conference in Paris it was possible to stay in a good hotel, without financial ruin, only if one happened to be a diplomat, the private secretary of a diplomat, the typist of the private secretary of a diplomat, a newspaper correspondent ILLUSTRATED 16 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST The Lieutenant of the By SIR PHILIP GIBBS PRESTOWN Br JAMES mM. January 1,192! As I came upstairs toward the door of their apartment, which was wide open, the boy Charles was clasping his mother’s dress and imploring her to go out with him. “Maman, maman!”’ cried the boy. “T want to see Papa Joffre and Mar- with unlimited expenses, or a million lire Being at the moment none of those things, but only an unattached onlooker of the greatest drama in the world, I sitting-room In the Rue de la Pompe at Passy, and well as comfortable. It at a time when expensive to fantastic with the feverish after acrifice, went a lit- LOOK @a bed was lucky as was cheap and quiet, Paris wa heights and noisy excitement of a people who, years of frightful tle mad with the joy of victory and believed — before the time of disillu- ionment—that from the peace table at Versailles would come compensa- tion for their ruin “Germany will be made to pay!” was the confession of faith in Paris, and that false belief in Germany's the entire costs of capacity to pay war—apart from the raising of the innumerable dead — was boistered up by the government and the press. So Paris gave itself up to dancing and singing in the streets; toa pagan riot of love and ecstasy, except where in quiet rooms women wept a little be- cause the end of war and great victory would not bring back their men In one of the rooms where I stayed there was a woman who wept a little, and I guessed it was for the same rea- son. She was the mother of a small hoy aged seven or eight, by the look of him, with whom I had made friends as he played about on the staircase He was a beautiful boy, rather Eng- lish in color and features to be the son of a French mother. He had a mop of flaxen hair cut straight round the neck in the bobbed style of grown- up girls, and blue eyes. He seemed to me a lonely youngster, playing so much by himself on the staircase, with toy engines and the little lead soldiers beloved of all French children; but he was not unhappy, and answered brightly and merrily when I spoke to him “Fine soldiers!"’ I said when we first met. “Are they all Frenchmen?” ‘Nearly all,”’ he answered in quick, childish French. “‘ Here is Papa Joffre and Foch and Petain and Guynemer the ace. But I have some English too, Six of them. They cost six sous apiece,and I cannot buy more because my maman is too poor.” “How about the enemy?” He called them “sacrés boches,”’ and told me that they were not sold intheshops. He had toimagine them, and he killed hundreds of them every day. “During the war maman always asked me how many boches I had killed, and when I said ‘One hundred shal Foch! I want to see the flags passing, and all the soldiers!” “The crowds are too big, my son,”’ said the young mother. “Let us stay quietly at home, and I will buy you some bonbons.”’ “T don’t want shouted the boy. victory march!” He raged at her with a sudden childish fury. “T will go out!” he stormed ina desperate way. “You are not good if you do not take me!” Madame de Thilloy spoke to him sharply and slapped his hands, which were clinging to her. “Silence! You are behaving likea little boche. I will shut you up alone if you are so ill-mannered.”’ It seemed to me a harsh thing to say, though the child had lost his temper in a sudden passion of rage and disappointment. But then this French girl, who was so young a mother, bent down and put her arms about the boy and kissed his flaxen hair. “My little son,” she cried in a piti- ful way, ‘“‘do not ask me togoout! I have not the courage! I am a little sad to-day!” The boy jerked himself away from her embrace and stood breathing hard, with a mutinous look; and it was then that I passed, having heard what had happened as | stood a mo- ment on the landing. “Forgive me,” I said to the girl— even now she was hardly more than that; “‘will you let me take your boy out to see the victory procession? It’s a historic day and he ought not to miss it. As a French boy he hasa right to see it.” The girl looked at me in a startled way, not having seen my approach, and then, I am sure, she was going to say something which was almost on her lips before she checked the words. It was something enormously tragic, as I now know, but after that hesita- tion in which our eyes met she spoke ordinary words of thanks. “You are very kind. It would be a great disappointment to my boy not to go, and I am too unwell to-day to take him. If it would not be asking too much ——”’ “T shall be delighted,” I said. That was indeed the truth, and I had a fine day with Charles de Thilloy, whose rapture and en- thusiasm at the sight of the French generals and colors and troops helped me to face the ghosts of great armies of dead youth who marched beside these living men, and the thought of any bonbons!” “T want to see the this morning,’ she used to say ‘That is not enough!’ Sothen I said ‘Two hundred,’ and she said again ‘That is not enough!’ Some- times I would say ‘A thousand,’ and she would smile and say ‘That is better!’ She was very pleased when I said *A hundred thousand.’ ‘Soon we will win the war,’ she said, ‘if you go on killing them like that.’”’ I believe this child was convinced in his imaginative way that he had helped to win the war by so great a slaughter of the enemy, and I could not help shivering a little at the gruesomeness of his game, which acquired a kind of reality because of his mother’s greed for more dead. Yet she was not a grim-looking woman. Indeed, I thought—and still think—that she had a pretty and seductive face, in spite of being a little too thin and fragile. She was quite young. She could not have been more than a girl when this boy was born before the war; and that she was a lady of good birth and refinement was “It's a Pity He Was Born,’ He Growted. obvious in every gesture she made and every word she spoke. Madame de Thilloy was her name, so the con- cierge told me, and her boy was Charles. “Her husband?” I asked, and the fat old woman who acted as concierge in a dirty little room on the ground floor of this house in the Rue de la Pompe mumbled something about the cruelty of war and the massacre of youth. I was not surprised therefore when, on the day of the peace celebrations, I noticed that Madame de Thilloy still wore her black dress and that her eyes were red with weeping at a time when the music of victory was passing down the streets and hundreds of thousands of young women were laughing and singing and throwing flowers at passing soldiers and kissing English and American officers and proclaiming to the high heaven their joy because life was good again after the years of death. “I’ve Said So a Thousand Times"* all the ruin that was left in Europe after a victory so hardly won. The boy seemed to me to embody the spirit of young France. The color that flushed his cheeks, the light of his eyes, the shrill cheers that broke from him when the heroes passed proved the ardor of his young heart, instinctive and inherited, for the glory of France as it was seen in the war and in God knows how many wars—by the supreme valor of her manhood. I could not deny that glory, having seen it in suffering as well as in valor; yet with this young boy by my side I hoped with a kind of prayer that the youth of his race who had been left alive, and these children of victory, would escape from such another massacre as that which had soaked their fields in blood, and would adopt some philosophy greater than the power of the sword. I took him to a little restaurant in some side street off the Avenue Victor Hugo, and we managed in spite of the crowd to get a table for two wedged in by the window.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 17 I remember how young French officers and their women- folk looked at the child as he sat opposite me on a chair made higher by some old bound copies of L’Illustration, and how they smiled at him with a kind of homage in their eyes because of his beauty of childhood. To all of them he symbolized, I think, the promise of the future, like a figure of Cupid, and to them as well as to me was young France personified. At least it was so to those who sat near enough to hear his prattle in French, though others took him for my son, with his fair hair and blue eyes, and said, “C'est un vrai petit Anglais’ —truly English. He tucked into a big meal, brandishing his knife and fork like a buccaneer, and taking great quaffs of lemonade and clapping his hands with delight when the waiter, at my order, brought him a coupe Jacques. He was old in manner for his years, and when I smoked cigarettes over coffee he sat with his hands clasped under his dimpled chin, chatting gravely and answering my questions with old-fashioned politeness. ‘*Do you remember what the world was like before the war?” was one thing I asked him, to keep the conversa- tion going; and he thought hard before he answered. “*Sometimes I think I do, monsieur, and sometimes I think I don’t. It’s like when one wakes up surprised with a dream. One doesn’t know if the dream has left off. N’est-ce pas?” “Yes, I understand. other kind of home?”’ ‘‘My mother says I don’t. She says I’m dreaming, or remembering a dream, when I tell her that I once lived in a big house with a clock in the hall as high as a man, and a winding staircase going up as high as the Eiffel Tower, and my father walking up and down a big room as wide as the Place de la Concorde, singing songs in a voice like the organ of the Madeleine.” I laughed at the child, and noticed the smiling faces of other people who were listening ‘That sounds very much like a dream!” ‘There is something else I remember,” ‘but maman says it is a dream too.” “What is that?”’ “T remember the first day of war, when all the people were going away and all the women were crying. Father went away too, and mother was crying. She came and cried by my bed before I went to sleep in the night. I stroked her hand and said ‘Little maman, when will my father come back?’ and she cried again so that my face But don’t you remember some said the boy, was wet when she touched it with her cheek, and she said, ‘Your father will never come back, my little son.’ then I cried too.” He spoke these words in a matter-of-fact way, without pathos or self-pity, which is not in the nature of children, And but I saw how they touched the hearts of people at the table close to us. There was a painted girl there with a young officer—not a very good girl, I should say, but her eyes filled with tears, and she spoke to the officer and said, “C'est triste, ca!” ““My mother is sometimes a little strange,”’ said the boy. “She does not like me to speak about my father, who was killed. When I ask her how many Germans he put to death before they shot him, she says ‘We will not talk about that,’ and if I ask too often she gets very white and angry.” I made him talk about other things, and for a time kept him interested by blowing smoke rings and making a funny face with orange peel. But a little later he spoke about his home life again. “Perhaps I'll have a new father soon. My maman can't always say no to the Lieutenant Méricourt, do you think?” “T don’t know the Lieutenant Méricourt. Who is he?” Young Charles de Thilloy was surprised by my ig- norance. ‘But he is very famous, the Lieutenant Méricourt! He has the croix de guerre and the Légion d'honneur, and was three times cited before the army for valor.”’ “T ought to have known,” I said humbly. “That was how he lost his arm. The croix de guerre is generally given for an arm ora leg oraneye. That seems to me a little silly, but it is the rule, I think.” ““T suppose the bravest men are most likely to lose their arms and legs,”’ I suggested. “Foch hasn't, and he is the bravest of them all!” said this patriotic child. Then he returned to the subject of Lieutenant Méricourt, who obviously came next to Foch in his list of heroes. ‘‘He wants maman and me to go and live with him. He loves maman more than anyone in the world, and after that he loves me. And I love him, so that it would be splendid to have him for a father.” “T hope it will happen,” I said. ““Madame Bertrand says the Lieutenant Méricourt will never marry my mother, and when I told her she was a lying old cow she beat me over the back with a broom.” “Tt was rather naughty to call her that,” I remarked, for the sake of discipline and high morality. ‘“ But who is this Madame Bertrand?” “But surely you know Madame Bertrand! concierge. She is as fat as the full moon.” It was true. I remembered the name of the old woman who always slept too soundly to pull the cord of the out- side door at night until I had rung the bell to the limit of patience. We met her when we went home handin hand. Madame Bertrand was with her husband, and both of them were She is our intoxicated by this day of victory, though neither of them, I am certain, owed any of their elation to alcoholic drink The old woman’s bonnet was askew and her face was as red as the rag of revolution, though beaming with patriotic joy. Monsieur Bertrand, a little wizened man, was hold ing his wife’s hand as though they two were a lover and his I am sure they had been dancing through the street of Paris, like so many others we had passed. They were out of breath when they came up to the courtyard of the , tall house in the Rue de la Pompe of which they were the guardians. “A glorious procession!’’ I said by way of greeting. “The day of victory, monsieur! The spirit of France triumphant!” So said the old man, taking off his hat and wiping his forehead with a big handkerchief that he drew from the tail of his coat. “I hope the music of our bands reached as far as Ber lin,”’ said the old woman. ‘“‘ Those sacrés boches know they are defeated now. I wish every one of them were dead, and all their race, for what they made us suffer.” “T killed a hundred thousand of them!” said the boy whose hand I held. Madame Bertrand cackled with laughter at this state- ment of imaginary slaughter, and then suddenly she drew the boy to her bosom—he was lost for a moment in: her capaciousness—and spoke over his head in a solemn way ‘*May the good Jesus have mercy on the mother of thi child, and all poor mothers like her!”’ Old Bertrand stared at the boy in a curious, shamefaced way “It’s a pity he was born,” he growled. thousand times.” “Name of God, a child is a child, war or no war!” cried Madame Bertrand, releasing young Charles from her clasp and stroking his hair. She turned to me in an explanatory way and added, “We weren't blessed with a little one, monsieur.”’ “He'd have been killed in the shambles, like all the others,”’ said the old man “Yes, but a hero of France, mon vieur! who won the victory! Ah, what honor!” ** All the same,"’ mumbled the old man, “I didn’t want young blood to save my old hairs.’ The boy was holding my hand again, and staring with pondering eyes at Madame Bertrand and the old man Whether he understood more of their talk than I did I know not, but when he tugged at my hand and led the way up the grand escalier—a dark and narrow staircase— he made an impatient remark which startled me “Those people are like my maman! They're sorry I was lass “T’ve said so a One of those born!” Continued on Page 91) “My Mother is Sometimes a Little Strange,"" Said the Boy. “‘She Does Not Like Me to Speak About My Father, Who Was Killed"’

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18 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE WRONG TWIN January 1,192! “He's Been Going to That Low Dive for Weeks and Weeks. By Harry Leon Wilson GRUGER CHAPTER XI INONA hoped that some trace of the day's new elegance would survive into Wilbur's professional life, but in this she suffered disappointment. He refused to wear, save on state occasions, any of the beauti- ful new garments, and again went forth in the cap and dingy sneakers, the trousers without character and the inde- terminate sweater which would persist in looking soiled even after relentless washing Not even for golf with Patricia Whipple would he sound a higher note in apparel. Patricia came to the course, accompanied by the dark girl, who said she was mad about golf, and over the eighteen holes each strove for his exclu- sive attention. They bored him vastly. He became mad about golf himself, because they talked noisily of other subjects and forgot his directions, especially the dark girl, who was mad about a great many things. She proved to be a trial. She was still so hopeless at the sport that at each shot she had to have her hands placed for her in the correct grip. The two others were glad when she was called home, so that Patricia could enjoy the undivided attention of the coach. The coach was glad, but only because his boredom was diminished by half; and Patricia, after two mornings alone with him, decided that she knew all of golf that was desirable The coach was too stubbornly businesslike; regarded her, she detected, merely as someone who had a lot to learn about the game. And the going of her little friend had taken a zest from the pursuit of this determinedly golfing and unresponsive male. He was relieved when she abandoned the sport and when he knew she had gone back to school. Sometimes on the course when he watched her wild swings a trick of memory brought her back to him as the bony little girl in his own clothes—she was still bony, though longer—with her chopped-off hair and boyish swagger. Then for a moment he would feel friendly, and smile at her in comradeship, but she always spoiled this when she spoke in her grand new manner of a grown-up lady. Only Winona grieved when these golf sessions were no more. She wondered if Patricia had not been shocked by some unguarded expression from Wilbur. She had heard that speech becomes regrettably loose in the heat of this sport. He sought to reassure her. rLELCVU STRATE DO ar FP. R. “T never said the least wrong thing,”’ he insisted. “ But she did, you bet! Darn and gosh and everything like that, and you ought to have heard her once when she missed an éasy putt. She said worse than ‘darn!’ She blazed out and said “Don't tell me!” protested shuddering Winona. She wondered if Patricia’s people shouldn't be warned. She was now persuaded that golf endangered the morals of the young. It had been bad enough when it seemed merely to encourage the wearins of nondescript clothes. But if it led to language Yet she was fated to discover that the world offered worse than golf, for Wilbur Cowan had not yet completed, in the process of his desultory education, the out-of-doors curriculum offered by even the littke world of Newbern. Ile was to take up an entirely new study, with the whole- hearted enthusiasm that had made him an adept at lino- types, gas engines and the sport of kings. Not yet, in Winona’s view, had he actually gone down into the depths of social obliquity; but she soon knew he had made the joyous descent. The dreadful secret was revealed when he appeared for his supper one evening with a black eye. That is, it would have been known technically as a black eye—even Winona knew what to call it. Actually it was an eye of many colors, shading delicately from pale yellow at the edges to richest variegated purple at the center. The eye itself it was the right—was all but closed by the gorgeously puffed tissue surrounding it, and of no practical use to its owner. The still capable left eye, instead of revealing concern for this ignominy, gleamed a lively pride in its overwhelming completeness. The malign eye was worn proudly as a badge of honor, so proudly that the wearer, after Winona’s first outery of horror, bubbled vainglori- ously of how he had achieved the stigma by stepping into one of Spike Brennon’s straight lefts. Nothing less than that! Winona, conceiving that this talk was meant to describe an accident of the most innocent character, demanded Think of the Debasing Associations!" further details; wishing to be told what a straight left was; why a person named Spike Brennon kept such things about; and how Wilbur had been so careless as to step into one. She instinctively pictured a straight left to be something like an open door into which the victim had stepped in the dark. Her enlightenment was appalling. When the boy had zestfully pictured with pantomime of the most informing sort she not only knew what a straight left was, but she knew that Wilbur Cowan, in stepping into one—in placing himself where by any chance he could step into one—had flung off the ultimate restraint of decency. It amounted to nothing less, she gathered, than that her charge had formed a sinister alliance with a degraded prize fighter, a low bully who for hire and amid the foulest sur- roundings pandered to the basest instincts of his fellow men by disgusting exhibitions of brute force. As if that were not enough, this low creature had fallen lower in the social scale, if that were possible, by tending bar in the un- speakable den of Pegleg McCarron. It was of no use for Wilbur to explain to her that his new hero chose this humble avocation because it afforded him leisure for train- ing between his fights; that he didn’t drink or smoke, but kept himself in good condition; that it was a fine chance to learn how to box, because Spike needed sparring part- ners. “Oh, it’s terrible!” cried Winona. like that!” “You ought to see him stripped!” rejoined the boy in quick pride. This closed the interview. Later she refused more than a swift glance of dismay at the photograph of the bully proudly displayed to her by the recipient. With one eye widened in admiration, he thrust it without warning full into her gaze, whereupon she had gaspingly fled, not even noting the inscription of which the boy was especially proud: “To my friend, Mr. Wilbur Cowan, from his friend, Eddie—Spike—Brennon, 133 Ibs. ringside.” It was a spirited likeness of the hero, though taken some years before, when he was in the prime of a ring career now, alas, tapering to obscurity. , Spike stood with the left shoulder slightly raised, the feft foot advanced, the slightly bent left arm with its “A debased creature

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clenched fist suggestively extended. His head was slanted to bring his chin down and in. The right shoulder was de- pressed and the praiseworthy right arm lay in watchful repose across his chest. The tense gaze expressed absolute singleness of purpose—a hostile purpose. These details were lost upon Winona. She had noted only that the creature’s costume consisted of the flags of the United States and Ireland tastefully combined to form a simple loin cloth. Had she raised the boy for this? au HE deplored intimacy had begun on a morning when Wi'bur was early abroad salvaging golf balls from certain obscure nooks of the course where Newbern’s minor players were too likely to abandon the search for them on account of tall grass, snakes, poison ivy and other deterrents. Along the course at a brisk trot had come a sweatered figure, with cap pulled low, a man of lined and battered visage, who seemed to trot with a purpose, and yet with a purpose not to be discerned, for none pursued him and he appeared to pursue no one. He had stopped amiably to chat with the boy. He was sweating profusely, and chewed gum. It may be said that he was not the proud young Spike Brennon of the photo- graph. He was all of twenty-five, and his later years had told. Where once had been the bridge of his nose was now a sharp indentation. One ear was weirdly enlarged; and his mouth, though he spoke through narrowly opened lips, glittered in the morning sun with the sheen of purest gold. Wilbur Cowan was instantly enmeshed by this new personality. The runner wished to know what he was looking for. Being told golf balls, he demanded ‘‘What for?” It seemed never to have occurred to him that there would be an object in looking for golf balls. He curiously handled and weighed a ball in his brown and hairy hand. “So that’s the little joker, is it? I often seen ’em knockin’ up flies with it, but I ain’t never been close to one. Say, that pill could hurt you if it come right!” He was instructed briefly in the capacity of moving balls to inflict pain, and more particularly as to their market value. As the boy talked the sweating man looked him over with shrewd, half-shut eyes. “Ever had the gloves on, kid?’’ he demanded at last. It appeared in a moment that he meant boxing gloves, not gloves in which to play golf. “No, sir,” said Wilbur. “You look good. Come down to the store at three o'clock. Mebbe you can give me a work-out.” Quite astonishingly it appeared then that when he said the store he was meaning the low saloon of Pegleg McCar- ron; that he did road work every morning and wanted quick young lads to give him a work-out with the gloves in the afternoon, because even dubs was better than shadow boxing or just punching the bag all the time. If they couldn't box-fight they could wrastle. So Wilbur had gone to the store that afternoon, and for many succeeding afternoons, to learn the fascinating new game in a shed that served Pegleg McCarron as store- room. The new hero had here certain paraphernalia of his delightful calling—a punching bag, small dumb-bells, a skipping rope, boxing gloves. Here the neophyte had been taught the niceties of feint and guard and lead, of the right cross, the uppercut, the straight left, to duck, to side-step, to shift lightly on his feet, to stop protruding his jaw in cordial invitation, to keep his stomach covered. He proved attentive and willing and quick. He was soon chewing gum as Spike Brennon chewed it, and had his hair clipped in Brennon manner. He lived his days and his nights in dreams of delivering or evading blows. Often while dressing of a morning he would stop to punish an invisible opponent, doing an elaborate dance the while. It was better than linotypes or motor busses. In the early days of this new study he had been fearful of hurting Spike Brennon. He felt that his blows were too powerful, especially that from the right fist when it should curve over Spike’s left shoulder to stop on his jaw. But he learned that when his glove reached the right place Spike’s jaw had for some time not been there. Spike scorned his efforts. “Stop it, kid! You might as well send me a pitcher post card that it’s comin’. You got to hit from where you are— you can’t stop to draw back. Use your left more. G’wan now, mix it! Mix it!’ They would mix it until the boy was panting. Then while he sat on a beer keg until he should be in breath again the unwinded Spike would skip the rope—a girl’s skipping rope—or shadow box about the room with THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 19 intricate dance steps, raining quick blows upon a ghostly boxer who was invariably beaten; or with smaller gloves he would cause the inflated bag to play lively tunes upon the ceiling of its support. After an hour of this, when both were sweating, they would go to a sheltered spot beyond the shed to play cold water upon each other's soaped forms. There had been six weeks of this before the boy’s dread ful secret was revealed to Winona; six weeks before he appeared to startle her with one eye radiating the rich hue of a ripened eggplant. It had been simple enough. He had seen his chance to step in and punish Spike, and he had stepped—and Spike's straight left had been there. “You handed yourself that one, kid,"” Spike had said applying raw beef to it after their rubdown. Wilbur had removed the beef after leaving the store He didn’t want the thing to go down too soon. It was an honorable mark, wasn't it? Nothing to make the fuss about that Winona had made. Of course you had to go to Pegleg McCarron’s to do the boxing, but Spike had warned him never to drink if he expected to get anywhere in this particular trade; not even to smoke. That he had en tirely abandoned the use of tobacco at Spike’s command should—he considered—have commended his hero to Wi nona’s favorable notice. He wore the eye proudly in the public gaze; regretted its passing as it began to pale into merely rainbow tints. But Winona took steps. She was not going to see him die, perish morally, without an effort to save him. She decided that Sharon Whipple would be the one to consult Sharon liked the boy—had taken an interest in him. Per- haps words in time from him might avert the calamity, especially after her father had refused to be concerned “Prize fighting !’’ said the judge scornfully. “ What’'ll he be doing next? Never settles down to anything. Jack-of- all-trades and good at none.” It was no use hoping for help from a man who thought fighting was foolish for the boy merely because he would not earnestly apply himself to it. She went to Sharon Whipple, and Sharon listened even more sympathetically than she had hoped he would. He seemed genuinely shocked that such things had been secretly going on in the life of his young friend. He clicked (Continued on Page 68) He Had Achieved the Stigma by Stepping Into One of Spike Brennon's Straight Lefts. Nothing Less Than That!

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iv pODNEY SANDS called Sophie on the telephone ‘I’m glad,"’ Sophie said. “‘And may I come and see a* the next evening to say he had got the job 0 or 4 oor he asked “T shall be glad you,”” Sophie said primly. But he did not come. Sophie had a week in which to adjust her ideas of him. He was such an utter child, and yet she liked him She couldn’t help liking him. He was so different from any other human being sne had ever known. He was fron o different a world She told Gertrude all about him during their walk up the Palisades Gertrude said he was a fool, and probably a liar ‘I'm sure he was telling the truth,” Sophie said He didn’t look as if he were lying.”’ hat simply means he believes his owr ‘ ’ Gertrude observed I liked him,”’*Sophie said so | aee,”” Gertrude answered But Sophie would not quarrel again with Gertrude if she could help it She did not answer the remar Indeed he avoided mentioning Rodney Sand to Gertrude Or he watched the Evening Transcript for Rodney Sand wort There was nothing the first three da and then she iw some sketches of the cireus at Madison Square Garden Sophie thought they were terribly clever She hoped he would call up so that she could tell him how much she liked his drawing One evening she found him sitting on her front steps when she got home from Millman’ He looked infinitely dejected. Hi mile was pathetic Well,” he said, “I'm fired agai: 7 W hat for 4 He drew a crumpled bit of newsprint from his pocket and smoothed it out “For that Sophie saw some drawings of a gymkhana at Piping Rock Why,” she said, “1 think they're good!"’ She laid her finger on a draw ing of a woman on horseback, a draw ing that employed blacks and white n the boldest manner. ‘“ Lookatthat!"’ ahe cried ‘That's ie She hesitated, searching for an ad pective That's what did it,” said Rodney Sand You will see that the womar is not pretty She's ugly—in a really interesting way. | wanted todo her the moment I saw her.”’ ‘Il don’t understand,” said Sophie ‘Don't they know how good it is?” ‘Oh, they liked it well enough—as a drawing. But she happened to be the aunt of the man who owns the Tran ript, and she didn't like it as a por trait of herself not a bit.” Didn't you know who she was?” Of course | knew who she was But I didn’t think she’d mind, and she was such a lovely shape I didn’t care I thought I'd take a chance The make-up man slammed it in in a hurry you know how they are on afternoon paper and there we were They killed it in the next edition. But she saw it, and— off with my head.” ‘You poor hov!"’ for him, Sophie could have wept for him. She wished sudden that she could feed him. He looked as if he needed food Have you had your dinner?” she asked. No,” said Rodney Sands; “hadn’t thought of it.” Let goto dinner together,” sald Sophie, “and be jolly and forget all about thi couldn't vou?” Could 1? aid Rodney Sand Ihe went to Pettipas’ I'm hungry Rodney said as the at dow eat lunch to-da ‘ Forgot!"’ Sophie cried H nit his brow Mon't believe 1 had any breakfast either,” since lunch yesterda) “In fact, | don't believe I've eater “I forgot he hay t she said. Sophie felt awfully sorry added THE SATURDAY EVENING POST WITH By LUCIAN CARY BENSON ILLUSTRATED BY LESLIE L. She Stipped Quietly Through the Gorse and Sat Down Beside Him Without Speaking “Don’t you know?” Sophie asked. Rodney Sands looked at her blankly for a moment, and then suddenly they both laughed. “| suppose it does seem funny,” he said. They went afterward to the Park Theater to hear Pina- fore, which was then being revived. Sophie enjoyed it whole-heartedly It was one of those things she had dreamed of seeing, back in Belleville; but she had never quite dared to dream of seeing them with a man like Rod- ney Sands. Such things didn't happen. As they made their way through the crowd in the lobby of the theater Rodney Sands took her arm. He was humming under his breath: * Farewell, my own, light of my life, farewell.’’ 4 had happened. January 1,192! WOMEN Sophie glanced up at him and smiled. Sophie felt that life was good. He insisted on taking an open victoria that he saw standing beside the park. “I’m just sentimental enough to love this,” he said as he sat down beside her and leaned back against the cushions. “To roll gently down Fifth Avenue of a spring night when one hasn’t a care or responsibility in the world—I suppose it’s quite com- monplace—but I love it.’”’ Sophie didn’t think it was common- place. Sophie thought it was perfect, even if one had cares and responsibili- ties. But she did not want to say as much. Rodney Sands fell silent. Sophie stole a look at him. She could not see his expression clearly. Sophie leaned back and tried to enjoy the moment. Coming out of the theater she had felt that they were oldfriends. She was sure he had liked her. But now she wondered pensively if he did. He must have met many women, hundreds of women women who were beautiful, women who were clever and charming. How could she—little Sophie Adams, of Belleville—expect to interest him, to fathom his moods? Perhaps he was bored. Sophie felt that she must say some- thing. The victoria turned into Thir- teenth Street. Sophie saw his face in the light of the street lamp. He looked utterly remote. “T hoped,” she said timidly—“I hoped you'd forget all about being fired, for one evening.” “Oh, that!” he said. Sophie felt breathless. She felt as if her heart were beating faster than it should. So he was bored! The victoria crossed Sixth Avenue under a roaring elevated train. “It’s something much worse,” hesaid. Sophie felt her heart pounding—for no reason at all. “You see, Sophie’’—it was the first time he had called her Sophie—‘‘I can probably get another job. And even if I couldn’t, I could get along somehow. I always have. Only now—I've fallen in love with you.” Sophie bent her head. Sophie had never been kissed, or wanted to be— be- fore. She waited for his kiss—so that she might kiss him. She was too shy to say, in so many words, “I love you too.” But Rodney Sands did not kiss her. He sat beside her without moving or speaking. The victoria drew up in front of Sophie’s flat. Rodney Sands handed her out and paid the cabman largely. Then he turned back to her and said formally, “I have to thank you fora lovely evening—the loveliest I’ve ever known.” He held out his hand and Sophie took it. She could not look at him. She re- leased his hand. “And forgive me,” he begged. “I hadn’t any business to say it, of course. But don’t be angry. I—I ——” “Angry!” Sophie said. “I ——” And suddenly she felt she was going to weep violently. She turned in panic and ran up the steps. She tried to call good night and She could only wave her hand. “Good night,” said Rodney Sands. Vv OPHIE cried herself to sleep. It was only when she woke in the morning that she was able to analyze what It was really very simple. Rodney Sands did love her. But he couldn’t ask her to marry him when he couldn’t earn a living. If she had only shown by the smallest sign that she loved him he would have asked her; he would have asked her even if he had just lost his job. He would have asked her to wait for him. But she had been so sure that he didn’t care. And when he had told her that he had fallen in love with her—she just couldn’t for the moment believe it. He had taken it for granted she was

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 21 trying to say she didn’t love him when she was trying to say she did! He was almost as shy as she was, really, in spite of his insouciant attitude toward life. Now Sophie saw, with sudden insight, that his attitude wasn’t in the least insouciant. He seemed like a person with no sense of responsibility. Gertrude would say he couldn’t be trusted. But Gertrude couldn’t understand a man like Rodney Sands. The secret was that he had an exaggerated notion of what the world expected of a young man of twenty-eight, and no notion at all of his own capacity. Most young men would be proud to have had his success as a cartoonist. But Rodney Sands wasn’t proud. Rodney Sands was ashamed. He needed reassur- ance. He needed to take himself and his work at a higher valuation. He needed someone to guard him and encour age him and reward him. In a word, he needed an ap- preciative and devoted wife. Alone he might drift into vagabondage. He might actually become a tramp. But how responsive he had been to Sophie’s suggestion that he try fora job! The right girl could save him. Sophie had been sincere in thinking that she never wanted to marry. The examples of marriage she had known had failed to inspire her. Her father and mother hadn't been unhappy. But her father had been one of those exceptional men who seem to fail by their good qualities rather than by their bad. He had been a country lawyer, always on the verge of poverty. Everybody liked him, and nobody trusted him to wring the last dollar from a delin- quent debtor. He was a Democrat in a Republican com- munity. And though on three different occasions he had defended men charged with murder and proved them inno- cent in the face of the most overwhelming circumstantial evidence, only one of these had ever paid him a fee. Sophie’s mother had been one of those patient women who take it for granted that their husbands will attain no great success in life. She had been devoted to Sophie’ father, but she had never helped him to find himself. She didn't know how But it is more than possible that Sophie had acquired very early, or earlier than most girls, the idea that a woman could help a man as his wife, if only, like her father, he were worth helping in the first place. She had looked with rather a scornful eye on the young men of Belleville. None of them met that essential condition None of them was half as much of a person as her father had been—or ever would be. The chance to go to New York, to be head of a depart- ment at Millman’s, with its immense appeal to her ambi- tion, had come at a time when she had adjusted herself to the idea of living all her life in Belleville, of being an old maid. Sophie had quite definitely pictured herself as grow- ing steadily more competent as a librarian, as becoming each year a little more industrious and a little grimmer, like Miss Mimms, the principal of the Belleville High School. She would fight hard to get larger and larger appropriations for books In twenty years she would make the Belleville Public Library the kind of public library a self-respecting community ought to have. Such a life would not, she knew, satisfy her girlish dreams There would be no adventure in it, but at least it would be useful It was precisely the adventure of going to New York, of taking a job for which she had neither the training nor the experience, that captured her. It didn’t occur to her that New York might offer the great adventure—the adventure of falling in love. She had gone to Millman’s as hundreds of young men go every year from small towns all over the United States to New York—frightened of the metropolis, but with that intense will to succeed that carries so many of them on Sophie had thrown her whole self into her job. And Ger trude Fuller had stood by her during the critical months when for all her intelligence and all her energy she was in hourly danger of failure simply because she didn’t know the ways of a great department store Gertrude was a thoroughly trained expert, and, what was more, she could tell what she knew. She could answer Sophie's questions surely and completely. To have Gertrude’s help was for Sophie like having a reference library covering the details of Millman’s business and the personalities of Millman’s organization, a library in which the necessary information was available instantly, without even hunting through a card catalogue Sophie had grown to admire Gertrude intensely. And as they became more intimate Sophie had gradually absorbed Gertrude’s philosophy—the philosophy by which the business woman of the period glorifies a life in whic neither men nor children enter. It regarded husbands as the only serious obstacles in the careers of women The hardest thing that Gertrude could say about a former colleague was, “She had ability, but she fell for a man, and of course that was the end of her.” In her lighter moments Gertrude amused herself by con structing epigrams, graceless but crudely forceful, such a “Marriage is the cemetery of hope.” To Gertrude the tragedy of modern life was embodied in the spectacle of a woman washing dishes and cooking food and mending clothes for her husband and children. If the woman was happy —why, that gave the tragedy its final bitterness “Don’t you see?” she would ask with her fierce eager ness. ‘That woman has given up everything life has to offer —and she doesn’t even know it! Sophie had in the main accepted Gertrude’s version of marriage. In the abstract, marriage had meant giving up everything that life had so far offered Sophie. But Rod ney Sands His helplessness made an irresistible appeal to her. She ached to give his life meaning and direction, to ¢« i that was fine in him. If she could make him happy and se¢ his talent grow splendid with the years! But that was a dream; the business was immediate. She must come dow: to the plain facts. The first fact was that she had a job and the second fact was that he hadn't a job That afternoon Sophie went to see the manager of Mill man’s. Sophie was no longer afraid of Mr. Blodgett. She knew he valued her work, and she approached him with confidence “ How’ everything in the book department Mi Adams?”’ he asked It was his invariable question, and Sophie paused on! to give it a formal answer. Mr. Blodgett knew that every thing was well with the book department. He had cor gratulated Sophie on her management of it within th last week ‘I came to ask you a hypothetical question, Mr. Blod gett,”’ she said “Yes?” said Mr. Blodgett He leaned back in his chair and put his har the finger tips touching, and smiled suddenly realized that when Mr. Blodgett heard the ques tion she was about to ask he would not regard it as hypo together sophie Sophie thetical. He would regard it as an announcement. But that couldn’t be helped. She had to know the answer ‘I want to know,” said Sophie, “if Millman’s would consider marriage a disqualification for my job?” Mr Blodgett smiled broadly Sophie sat a little tense She hoped Mr. Blodgett wouldn't ask for any of the detail Continued on Page 80 ‘79m Still a Little Sore Because I Wasn't Born to be Another Et Greco"

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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 From All Newsdealers. By Subscription: —$2.5¢ the Year. Remittances from outside the United States proper to be by U. 5 Money Order or Dratt, payable in U.S. funds, on « bank in the U. 5 To Caneda—By Subscription, $1.75 the Year. Single Copies, Ten Cents Foreign Subscriptions: For Countries in the Postal Union. Subscriptions $6.00 the Year. Remittances to be by Draft on a bank in the U. S., payable in U.S. funds PHILADELPHIA, JANUARY 1, 1921 Poison Ivy Promotions ART and parcel of the general! thrift movement that eos into full stride during the Liberty Bond drives is an auxiliary campaign that has for its object the extermi- nation of the financial cooties that fatten on small and gullible investors. As it is the way of human vanity to boast of gains and conceal losses, it is hard to arrive at exactefigures, but it seems likely that the operations of fraudulent stock pro- moters are costing the country not less than a quarter of a billion dollars a year. At a time when well-established industries and mercantile houses of the highest credit have to pay eight per cent for working capital such losses are doubly galling. They not only deprive honest business of sorely needed funds but they discourage thrift and pro- mote extravagance, for the wiping out of savings put into worthless securities makes frugality and self-denial seem vain and futile. The future urge is to spend and enjoy rather than to pinch and lose. There is scarcely a state in the Union in which serious is not thought being given to the protection of small investors. The measures commonly adopted are of two sorts—repressive and educational. The former, which finds expression in blue-sky legislation, is aimed directly at fraudulent promoters. The latter seeks to spread such convincing warnings and to instill such sound financial instruction into potential victims as to make them too wary to succumb to the blandishments of high-voltage stock salesmen. Blue-sky laws are comparable to an attempt to root out, keep out and prohibit financial poison ivy. Educational publicity methods aim to teach the simple to know the noxious plant by sight as far as they can see it, so that no matter how much of it may be about, it will be recognized and shunned. It is most unlikely, however, that any pro- tective systems the human brain can devise can be so effetive as to keep every fool and his money in the same suit of clothes In the meantime some really constructive work is being done along these lines, and well-considered educational methods are being tried out. The Better Business Com- mission of the Cleveland Advertising Club appears to have made a significant contribution to the practical tech- nic of dealing with the stock-swindling evil. This organiza- tion, though heartily approving the familiar injunction to investors to seek the advice of their bankers or brokers before buying stocks or bonds, pointed out the fact that this counsel is far too narrow in its practical application, for those who most need such warnings have no banker; neither have they a broker; and natural shyness usually prevents them from entering the offices where the stock- wise and bond-wise do business. Having arrived at this sound conclusion, the Better Business Commission determined to begin protecting the pay envelope at its source, and to that end it appointed as its representatives executives who were employed in the various industrial plants throughout the city. It was the business of these men, with the assistance of the commis- sion’s experts, to act as financial advisers to the employees of their respective plants. This service was brought directly to lathe and drill press, and it had the unusual merit of being rendered by men who were personally known to those who sought their counsel. These key men, through the commission, made it their business to analyze and report upon any security offered by stock salesmen to fellow employees. The commission’s advisers built their educational super- tructure upon the basic principle: Before you invest, investigate. They stressed the idea that investigation does not mean passive absorption of the tales of slick sales- men who have memorized their patter word for word from the boss’ lesson sheets. They require salesmen to answer in writing fifteen or twenty printed questions of the most searching character for the inspection of the commission’s analysts. Many a salesman had the surprise of his life when the official question blank was thrust in his face and he was invited to reply in writing, over his own signature, to a long list of embarrassing inquiries. Simple, snappy lessons in security buying, inclosed in pay envelopes, and posters prominently displayed, helped the good work along. A lively and growing interest in sound investment stocks approved by the experts of the commission was only one of the gratifying results of the campaign. It seems reasonable to believe that the plan that worked so well in Cleveland might succeed in other industrial centers; but no forethought, no education, no protective legislation can utterly eliminate loss of savings. The pru- dent desire for safety of principal must continually fight its reckless twin who loves to take a chance, who feels the ancient urge to play the long shot. When Knighthood Was in Flower HERE are persons who exert themselves in the conflict to get money and, being defeated or being awarded a prize not in keeping with their expectations, ease their hurts by scolding about the rules, and reflect sadly that this is a commercial and heartless age. Others, blessed with fortune but addicted to dreaming, reach a similar conclusion by casual study of an earlier age glorified by poets and novelists—an age in which there was nothing of the sordid desire for money, but only prancing horses, the swish of silk, side arms, duels and affairs of the heart. There has not been an age innocent of greed. There was once an age in which the characters who held the center of the stage did not soil their hands or tire their wits to get money. A hard system, devised by themselves, gave them a living at the expense of less fortunate men. They wore fine clothes and lived in fire houses, owned good horses and followed good hounds, and danced and gamed through- out their days. But then, as now, production required sweat, and many men toiled many hours to earn the wealth that a satin-clad dandy lost in an evening's play. The class that provided the atmosphere of romance was a class of loafers—a class of prodigal consumers utterly worthless in the business of production. This sordid commercial age is an age of service. The rich man does not loll at ease while serfs follow plows to If he loafs on the job a competitor takes the field and he wakes in the morning to discover that earn his bread. his wealth has been annexed by a more worthy servant. He does not take without giving. He could not if he would. He serves, and the world gives him the reward that is his due. January 1,192! When one builds a factory and manufactures shoes, striving always to make a better shoe at a lower price in order to win patronage from his competitors, he is ani- mated by the commercial spirit that characterizes the age. He is looking out for the first person singular, but sound business sense convinces him that he best serves himself by serving the public better. In the effort to make good he does good. In an earlier age the same spirit of selfishness would have led him headlong into the merry game of spending, with never a thought for the morrow and never a desire to serve. The milling thousands on city streets, the artisans in factories, the men in field and forest—all are bending their energies to get more money in order that they may buy more comforts and more pleasures for themselves and for their families. This is the commercial spirit. Is it sordid? The romantic age produced glittering ornaments, but it took toll of the race by keeping its workers on a level with the ox to pay for the glitter. The commercial age may show a sad lack of technic in the art of staging a frolic, but it shows a wholesome appreciation of the fact that a dollar If the desire to do more and better work than the other fellow can do in order belongs to the man who can earn it. to earn more money than he is earning constitutes sordid commercialism, the world can survive a long siege of it. Indeed humanity might with profit teach this sordid thing in the schools and endeavor to make it universal. Getting and Giving HERE are more fixed charges and moral liens on the f ipso long-established fortune than there are barna- cles on the bottom of an ancient hulk. No right-thinking young man who comes into a large patrimony cares to cut off his father’s old pensioners or to discontinue his regular subscriptions to the score of charities that for a generation or more his family has helped to support. He will recog- nize these claims as the just obligations of wealth, and he will try to honor them as a voluntary tax upon his pros- perity, or as a thank offering for his abundance. One of the far-reaching effects of the World War is that thousands of rich men have become poor and tens of thou- sands of poor men have become rich. While these shifts of fortune were taking place, other war-born forces were let loose which afflicted virtually-all Europe with more misery of every conceivable sort than it has had to bear at any time since the Dark Ages; and even in those eras of oppres- sion, famine and pestilence no such vast populations were affected as are to-day plunged in woe and wretchedness. At the same time, organized charity, the established machinery for relieving public distress, has had to face vastly increased expenses; for the high cost of charity is part and parcel of the high cost of living. More service, at increased cost, means greatly multiplied outlay; but the most vital demand for funds comes at a time when the habitual supporters of organized charity are least able to respond to it. Thousands of old fortunes have dwindled. Basic conditions have sapped the principal, and the butcher, the baker and the taxgatherer have taken the interest. It is a logical consequence that the trustees of nearly every charitable institution in the land are at their wits’ end to know how to keep going. Speaking by and large, the old rich are, for the time being, down and out and the new rich have not stepped into the breach. American charities, therefore, are at a critical pass. The habitually benevolent men and women who have been their mainstay have become impoverished. Many of them are not only unable to increase their subscriptions propor- tionably to rising costs but find it impossible to con- tribute more than a third or a fourth of what they gave in former years. The owners of young fortunes will some day learn the divine lesson that it is more blessed to give than to receive; but what may not happen to humanity in the meantime! The holiday season is a fitting time to think of such mat- ters; and the first days of a new year may, in the long run, be just as profitably employed in planning for more liberal and self-denying giving a3 for more intensive and effective getting.

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—— = = LVARO OBREGON in the character of a statesman may aptly be described as the incarnation of a moral force directed by a discerning but imperfectly informed intelligence to a politico-social purpose which is higher far than any merely national aim; for he is wont to visualize his country as an organ of humanity intrusted with certain functions which it has hitherto failed to per- form, and one of his foremost aims is to link its destinies with those of the progressive section of the human race. During his own remarkable evolution his personality so grew and expanded in rhythm with the march of national and even world events that to-day, in his own country, he is considerably before his time, and among his own people he is in some respects a superman. The president of the Mexican Republic never yearned nor prepared for a political any more than for a military career. Indeed he always regarded and still regards pro- fessional polities and diplomacy with unalloyed disgust. He once said to me: “Ever since events forced me to inquire into the political causes of our lamentable situation and to compare our recent past with that of such foreign states as I know any- thing about, I have felt strongly that the first step which Mexico must take in order to recover lost ground and get into line with cultural nations is to substitute morality for politics and diplomacy. Politics, together with its insep- arable adjuncts, inordinate ambitions, turgid rhetoric, delusive promises and insidious intrigues, has wrought Wenooncs SECURITIES (| TH g PROFITEERS - t | INC. —— ee havoc among many peoples, and nowhere more thoroughly than among our own. It is our interest and our duty, therefore, to emancipate ourselves from its yoke, now that fortune has given us the opportunity.” Obreg6n received a proposal to enter parliament and devote himself to politics soon after he had taken up arms against the fomenters of civil war; but he rejected it. “Tt is not by laws which are not enforced nor by talk which stands for no constructive ideas,” he said, “‘that the evils which crush our people can be remedied. Some laws foment crime in lieu of suppressing it. We must put the ax to the roots, and these lie in the region of the ethical.” His first initiation into practical politics took place when his former military chief, Victoriano Huerta, kicked over the traces and arrested President Madero. Obregén was then, as we saw, a fairly well-to-do farmer who had there- tofore had no inclination to forsake his avocation for a life of adventure, political or military. But he ‘elt intensely that he must lend a hand at all costs in putting an end to the long sequence of disorders which rendered life in the republic a burden. “T felt irresistibly impelled to go,” he told me, “and I paid no heed to the possible consequences of my resolve either to myself or to my kindred.” To admit that during his military career, which thus opened as a moral call, he sometimes wandered beyond the bounds of ethics is not to disparage the inspiration or response it evoked, but merely to record the fact that in SATURDAY EVENING POST 23 EGON? By Dr. E. J. Diillllom the heat of the struggle he, like most war leaders, subordi nated to the exigencies of the campaign many considera tions which claim and deserve profound respect. But unlike most generals in Mexico and abroad, he frankly confesses that war, unless imposed by self-defense, is essentially immoral. Only by quibbles and fallacies, therefore, can the excesses committed during that long drawn-out struggle be glozed over or extenuated. They stand on record, must be included in the general account and entered on the debit side of their author Obrggén’s next confrontation with political issues took place in the year 1914, and it disillusioned him painfully. At that time the schism in the militant revolutionary party which subsequently well-nigh ruined the republic was beginning to take shape in the mind of Villa. This general had already made several attempts to win over Obregén, get him to play for his own hand and leave Carranza to his own resources. But he failed utterly. Obregén was not to be seduced from allegiance to the cause which he set above personal interests, and he firmly believed that Carranza was to the full as devoted and unselfish as himself. Accord- ingly he sought to reconcile Villa with Carranza and to effect the consolidation of the party by every legitimate means available. One of these necessarily took the shape of a concession to Villa, who hated and distrusted Car- ranza and was ready to make any sacrifice, even that of his country, to oust him from power (Continued on Page 34) ~ DIWORCE ~ } ; | ; DAUGHTER =| Son DECREE -° ~~ Blood Will Tell

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST v January /, 192i By CORRA HARRIS rFELUSTRATE DO a8 YF ERNEST F UHR N. THE ng whet! Peter went put » meet qorrye er iwement came tthe ety mfortable ! er your elder ehildren have ifter they have itgrown the ving feather ol yur nearer love ind care So on the night when he had gone to pa that mysteriou call | made a sort f maternal illu mination of my waiting wakefu ness by turning or the light ! the parlor sul when he came ir it eleven o'cloct he paused at the oni open door ong enoug! to * Still mother?’’ went directly nl room It is only when au wife or a maid to be ce by a lover hat any man can deceive a womar it all. They are ingularly appar ent to the search hg ng feminine eve If one of them “Mrs. Sangster told me,”’shewent on, “in strictest confidence. She is very mucl upset, poor thing and had to tel somebody. I did not intend tc mention it, but I was in to see the Sangsters last night. Isobel is not conducting herself as a mar- ried woman should.” There was a lit- tle silence such as women use when they mean more than it is prudent to say. The one thought I held was that Peter had been out the evening before, and it was not prayer-meeting night. Mrs. Buckhart had risen to take her leave before I could gather my wits. “Do you know what is going to happen?”’ she de- manded. I implied that I did not, without saying so. “Well, for the next ten years these marriages for the duration of the war are going to split the morals of this me doing legal believe Is Knows he Is what his right and proper he is the most but lacking that approval he be womankind andid of all creatures, comes the most evasive and secret. It is the one universal form of masculine cowardice, which goes under the pro himself of not wishing to is not your business but his own This is why conscience’ fession every man makes to disturb you about what private personal busine anxious elderly obliged for sake to the inalienable rights of their mothers are frequently watch and meddle wit} bachelor sons And as I have too particular if your son i Peter had passed the youthful period of celibacy when a oung man instinctively guards his liberty and rarely marries without being overhauled by the strength of his emotions, and he had reached the stage when a bachelor ometimes faces about and makes up his mind deliber ately to take a 1 thought something like that was going on. And I feared even more that some lady-doll aint in Peter's church might be arranging for an innocent flirtation with her I hoped the Lord would lead me in the matter, and I made up my mind to be led on the slightest provocation It is the little things out of which jokes on the funny page of a Sunday newspaper are made that are frequently the most serious things in the actual experience of living A cartoonist might have found excellent material for such aricaturing in our home during the next few days. Peter himself; he was his other self, reserved but ecretly animated. I was not myself either. I felt like an old gray-haired key that could not turn in the lock of the Peter said I was not looking well and suggested that I should go to a quiet place in the country for a good long rest. I told him that I preferred to stay ind look after him “It will be time enough, Peter,”’ I added, “for me to get thatrest when you marry some good Christian woman who can take care of you.” This description of his future wife seemed to widen the His relations to me took on the ele- of filial diplomacy aid many times before, you cannot be also a preacher wile pastor not was ounger, dearer life of my son right there breach between us gance “Married! Pid You Say She is Married?" I Exctaimed. “‘No; I Said She Was Married" I always answer the phone to save him from that class of people who use it as a highwayman does his gun, to hold up a busy man or a tired one and rob him of his time or his rest. But now when the phone rang I could never get to it before he was already there. If he was in the midst of preparation for his Sabbath service he could hear it if the thing barely clicked, and he would be out of his study like a shot. Sometime during the evening he invariably re- ceived the call he expected, if he was not out calling in person One day Mrs. Buckhart came in from Drumhead. She talked for an hour, but I knew that she had not said the thing she came to tell. She had the morally inflated look a maliciously good woman has when her mind is full of something which is not good. “ Did you see the announcement in the paper this morn- ing Isobel Sangster?”’ she asked casually as she was going I had not seen it, I told her; but suddenly I realized that this was something I had been expecting for a week. “She had an interview about her work in France. I can't think how she dared to do it,” she went on “Why?” I asked “Well, she was in France only a short time, when she first went over. She has been in London for a year. She was married there.” “Married! Did you say she is married?” I exclaimed. “No; I said she was married, to Captain Gleate, a British army officer. That is what I mean. She is back here representing herself still as Isobel Sangster.’ “Where is her husband?” I asked, trying not to show what was going on in my mind “He has left her. That is why she came home. She cannot find anything of her husband but his lawyer. And this lawyer has cut off her allowance, according to instruc- tions he received from the invisible Captain Gleate, on account of Isobel’s doubtful conduct.” She took out her handkerchief and patted her powdered face, which was perspiring. about country. These pro tem brides will be popping up, and these modern Enoch Arden hus- bands will be drifting in from the ends of the earth to press their haggard faces against the windows of innocent peo- ple’s domesticity.” She went down the steps to the street, waving her hand at my parlor window, which was very suggestive. That night when the phone rang I was sitting before it with the recetver to my ear when Peter came down the hall from his study. “That must be for me, mother; I will answer,” he said. “No; this call is for me, my son, and I am answering. It will take only a minute,” I said in an aside to him. “Yes,”’ I went on over the phone, “this is Main two- six-seven. Yes, he is here.’’ I heard Peter make a quick step forward. “This is Mrs. Thompson speaking. Can I take the message? No, not unless you give your name. Yes, I remember you when you were Miss Sangster. I only heard of your marriage this morning, Mrs. Gleate. I am sure my son does not know of it at all. I will tell him who is calling. Hold the line please. . . . No? Very well then. Good night.” I hung up the receiver and looked at Peter. “T had to do it, my son. You will forgive me pres- ently,” I said. Then I told him what I had heard. “And you see she does not deny it!’’ I added. He was pale, no doubt with anger. A man can be as mad with the woman who saves him from making a fool of himself as he is with the other one, who is ready toe betray him. I had the guilty feeling of having done my duty as I watched Peter, who had not said a word, walk back up the hall to his study and close the door. This affair was never mentioned between us again. But I often wondered who was responsible for the announce- ment of the Sangster girl’s marriage, which appeared in the afternoon paper the next day, but not among the social news items. It was as scathingly brief as a warning, and headed that column in the advertising page which con- tains “‘ Notices to the Public.” (Centinued on Page 26

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ew Soe or: ogee et a : grates 4 =e Se et ‘* - a a Fi ty oS SS eee oS ee <= . == ak tt eo ee ** New Year new cheer Good tidings far and near *Good soup good health’ So rings the message clear” “It rings true!” A simple and matter-of-fact message — this Campbell’s New Year greeting—but it is plain truth and founded on the clear gospel of health. ‘Eat good soup every day in the year.” The bells cannot ring a message of more practical value to you. Your entire well-being, both bodily and mental, depends on health. And _ health depends mainly on good digestion. You not only find more enjoyment and zest in a meal that begins with Campbell's Tomato Soup but the entire meal is more easily digested and more beneficial. Made from one of nature’s most tempting and wholesome products this delicious soup should bring added delight to your home table all through the year. 21 kinds 15c a can

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

_ » A OT ES SS a kn a

TOMAT U %OUP. J NY rf OSEPH GAMPBELI GOMP A CAMDEN. N ae

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (Continued from Page 24 I do not say that the women sent to France during the ora great ser most of them rendered wit} hould not have married ; that so small a number you consider how easy it must ler the circumstances to choose a husband k the last one of them who came home should required to stand a civil-service examination as her matrimonial qualifications before being allowed to And if the military authorities had a roster of the men who married abroad this revented confusion In that who took a brief course in French ild not have married so glibly when they the yuntry much case oldiers William and I had in the itinerancy were We could poverty.” Or ird times They were intelligible and personal to us “This is sent to a poor appointment when he deserved worst thing that ever happened to us a revival and preached and prayed in iders would not be reclaimed and sin would not confe He passed through a od of depre ion at such times, but he invariably came of it strengthened in his faith If things looked bad for us he ir fingers on it and say im Wa one The held . because back better as when he and believe Sometimes we had a panic or a presi- but we were so safely and scripturally or misfortune dential election poor that financial osc.iations of securities and bonds in the markets did not affect us or the people whom we served. My national sense of things was very vague, and the only international sense I had was strictly missionary and had to do with the heathen for whom we prayed and took up collections without ceasing. If you think in the lateral terms of this present world, such an existence was narrow; but if you are accustomed to think in the terms of faith, it was high. There was all the length and breadth of the spaces between the stars in our thoughts. I seemed now to have passed entirely out of that exist- ence. I heard so much bad news and saw so much that was not good that I could not keep my thoughts fixed on things above. Sometimes I used to go about attending to my household duties and saying over to myself, “‘ For the kingdom of heaven is within you!”’ But it was not there. I had lost that sublime effulgence of faith. I began to tremble in my earthly shoes. For the first time in my life I was mightily concerned for just the carnal safety of mankind. No matter how earnestly you may desire to fix your thoughts upon higher things, it distracts your atten- tion to see all the familiar landmarks of your merely human existence flying round like feathers in a tempest. January 1,192! seemed to have forgotten the nation. They engaged in a free-for-all fight, apparently on the peace treaty, but really it was a political wrestling match in the interest of their own affairs. I have sometimes wondered that the worst shrinkage in the securities of this nation has not occurred in the char- acter, honor or judgment of her statesmen. William always said that a man who cared more about the doc- trines that distinguished his denomination from another than he did about the salvation of souls was a sort of mean Christian, if he was a Christian at all. And it does seem to me that our leading statesmen care more for the fortunes of the political parties they represent than they do for the safety of this country. I suffered spiritually for the first time in my life from the miasma of political news. I was very uneasy about my country; no less because now at last it seemed highly probable that women would obtain the ballot. I am not a parading suffragist, but I have always been one for con- science’ sake. There is no possible doubt that women can clean up this country and make it safer for men as well as women and children to live in. But the question is whether they will do it, or add confusion worse confounded to that which we already have. They are born politicians. They practiced politics long before men practiced anything but brute force to obtain their rights. They have been obliged always to would remind me of that Scripture hich says the kingdom of heaven 4 thin vou He derived comfort from this hi native countr round great idea of carrying with ife from the him, removed and trials and vicissitudes of our mortal existence Sitting here in this fine city par onage with nothing much in reas of me to do in the Lord’ about me un sname, but with all the world ttled and di and Car of UB AS WE turbed by bitterness violence strange doctrines, | were then and a the world was then, comparatively afe and peaceful, two tired travel ers on the road somewhere between William's dingy and with very little serip ir but having still the of heaven within us ehure hes, and dusty uur pocket kingdon The tears will come when I thin! f them now, those plain sweet day | remember little stretches of the road where the shadows lay cool as blessings in the hot summer day I can recall the sheep pas tured behind Redwine church, and that will tumbled gravestones of the lamb strayed at among the the churchyard. I can see the face of so many men and women whom then, and the thought of them, either as the ol« children of God or the di obedient but always me of them, his children we knew way we lient ever) And all the time I am really looking down iy street, filled with the tir and bustle of traffic the hurrying feet of men who seem ones, mon this city and with o far removed from being obedient or even disobedient to God I have said my prayers and tried to do my duty, but I shall never be wain as good a woman as 1 was then, keeping up with William wher he ascended his mountains, com resort to persuasion and policies to get what they wanted even in the small one-woman relation to one man. Now that they have won the opportunity to exercise these well- developed gifts in national affairs nobody knows what will happen. My own suspicion is that the great majority of them will not exercise it at all, but they will still devote themselves to getting elected to and by the one man, for the same old office of love and sacrifice which they have always held. But the thing that troubles me is this: So far, men, rightly or wrongly, have borne the chief reputation for guilt in the world. They have done the cheating and swindling in the pub- lic eye while the petty pilferings of vain women, who are mere orna- ments, have been concealed good- naturedly by their mankind. The men have shared their sex’s repu- tation for not being moral with a grin of secret satisfaction even when they were quite moral. They have conducted the business and elec- tions of this nation with successful unscrupulousness or any other way they pleased. And it is hard to em- barrass them about their deeds done in the body. They take a maraud- ing satisfaction in these bodies. But now the woman citizen will! be subject to all the rigors of ad- verse publicity. What women really are in secret will be known in the open for the first time since their gender and gentleness made them sacred to just men. They will not be sacred. Maybe they are not entirely so, anyway, but it is sometimes more dangerous to destroy an illusion than a civiliza- tion. What would happen to us if we suddenly discovered that men really are not brave? It would be a terrific loss. What will happen if for bc ee forting him when he passed through valley of defeat, f that kingdom of heaven within him, not worrying be I had no sucl deep personal sense of it end of hi memory failed strength, he to forget himself and this text to the Even if he promised me to preach some always sure cause myself Toward the ong with hi ministry, when his used preach twice in succession from same mngregation other sermon and actually did start off the next Sunday with a different text he would invariably return to his kingdom of heaven geography and devote the remainder f his discourse to telling off the blessings of this fair country. It was net until his memory failed and he could not find his thoughts on this subject that his faith failed and he took up with Job in the Scriptures During all these years there were no world problems in our lives, only those connected with life in the world to I formed the habit of sharing William’s anxiety If the morals of a community The futility of changing men’s lives by any other means never come about the saving of souls were not good he preached repentance and faith. oceurred to him. The mind we had was far beyond fortune Now All et Once as I Sat There Before My Desk I Fett That Same Singing Power of Words I continued to read my Bible and the Christian Advo- cate, both of which seemed to give foreign news of a world that had passed out of sight; but I also read the secular papers, those daily serials of our civilization. And they read like so many chapters of a doubtful dime novel. Nothing good seemed to be going on in the world. We had spent more money for war expenses than there was in the world. One kind of ruin or another stared us in the face every morning in the headlines of these papers. The cost of living continued to rise. And labor was still running round like a chicken with its head off, increasing capital by every kind of thriftless extravagance, and fighting capital at the same time with a sort of senseless malignancy. That inner law which binds men to God and a good con- science was laid aside, and the whole nation waited for Congress to pass other laws, which would protect us against ourselves and our neighbors and especially the prof- iteers. But the two great political parties at Washington women are dismantled and picked to pieces in the shambles of politi- cal life? Even if they do not deserve it this will happen Besides, somebody must be meek and long-suffering. Wit all their follies and vanities and limitations it has been the women who have always practiced this negative but essen- tial virtue. I may be mistaken, but it seemed to me that the very rumor of suffrage has upset the dependable pa- tience of my sex. A few years ago the women belonging to the missionary societies in our church owned and admin- istered some millions of dollars’ worth of property and funds. At a certain General Conference they allowed the bishops to take it away from them without a murmur. Quite recently these same women have stewed and stirred things until they have obtained, in spite of these bishops, a kind of suffrage in church affairs under the name of “laity rights.” I mention this instance not to condemn it but to indicate that the bonds which formerly held women no longer bind them anywhere. It is not the growth of the divorce evil in this country that is so significant now as the kind of women who are (Continued on Page 28)

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CN TA et —— sae ak ae THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Constancy—the Greatest Quality of a Great Car There is one thought in the minds of people the world over which is responsible for the intense admiration they accord the Cadillac. They may express that admiration in a thousand different ways, every day, but the basic and underlying thought is ever and always the same. That thought was uppermost in the minds of the military and motor experts of the old world, who marvelled at the achievements of the Cadillac on the battle fronts of France. It was the deciding factor in the choice of the Cadillac as the official car of the United Otates army. Consciously, or otherwise, it isthe motivating influence in the purchase of every Cadillac that is sold in any and every part of the world. People are influenced, to be sure, by the beauty of the Cadillac, by its recognized social standing, by the beautiful steadiness of its flow of power, by its exquisite riding ease, by what they know of its wonderful wo. kmanship. But when all is said and done, these are lesser appeals — subordinate to the deep, un derlying reason which is at the back of the mindofevery man and woman who considers the Cadillac the greatest car in the world. Men and women, the world over, are irre sistibly attracted to the Cadillac, first, last, and most of all, because of its everlasting and unvarying dependability. That is the determining Cadillac thought the thought, which is likewise a certainty and a convic tion, that there is nothing thes can ever ask of the Cadillac which it will not render them. The delight and the deep satisfaction of this one car is that every tour, every test, every day-in-day-out demand, merely demonstrates anew its changeless readiness and reliability. The more closely you study your: own thoughts about the Cadillac, and analyze its wonderful hold on public approval, the more clearly you will see that when people call the Cadillac the greatest car in the world, they actually mean that it is the most trustworthy, the most constant, and the most dependable car in the world CADILLAC MOTOR CAR COMPANY? DETROIT, MICHIGAN ie: fe ee

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (Continued from Page 26) demanding div As a rule your divorcee has been married only a few years or she is of the sporting class who but it is not unusual now to read orces narries for alimony only; yunt of some old gray-haired wife who sails into the and demands a divorce from the husband with whom he has lived for thirty or forty years. And she will ask for t on the same grounds she has endured with meekness all years. I do not say she ought not have it. What I claim isthat something awful is going on when women of that age can rise up and swear themselves out of wedlock. The activities of the church were never so well adver- but the spiritual experiences of If there could be or ever is now the acc vurt those tised as they are to-day; Christian men are not uch a thing as an old-fashioned love feast where somebody besides dingy, forlorn preachers at an Annual Conference praise the Lord for his blessings, there would be no sign of it the next morning on the streets or in the world’s places If a very rich and prominent man should rise up in an experience meeting and tell what the Lord had done for him, and maybe let go enough to move about haking hands with the brethren, I reckon this ought to be regarded as sensational news, because it so rarely happens. Your rich man may be generous, but you almost never see him prance in the spirit. I doubt if a man can with his pockets full of money. Still, if it did happen the papers that mention everything else he does would suppress this. I do not know why, unless the witness of public opinion, which is far more drastic than the witness of the Spirit, might test his professions to the point of bankruptcy according to that Scripture which says: ‘Sell all that thou hast, and distribute unto the poor.’ I reckon that verse in the Bible has kept many an old rich man from going too far under the stress of spiritual emotions. But what happens in the world reports itself like a ticker in the The trend of the times comes in with the congre- gation and sits bolt upright during prayers, looking round when it should be on its knees Peter had barely collected for the Centenary Fund the hundred thousand dollars which had been assessed on his church when Mr. Cathcart, who contributed most liberally to it, beeame involved in a scandal. This was a well-staged blackmail performance shockingly personal to Mr. Cath- cart, not to go into the details. He was innocent. The papers insisted that he was, but they published every scrap of this Catheart. Everybody said he was innocent, but very few believed that he was entirely so I suppose this was because it is very difficult for a man to be entirely innocent of anything now, what happened in the world began to Peter and the press and the promi- of business church news about Straight on, happen in that church nent members had scarcely got Cathcart out of his diffi- culties more dead than alive and his pastel-colored clothes and-salt tones more becoming to a Hunk became insanely jealous This was one of which occurs fre- publie attention. changed to the pepper man of his age when Mrs of Mr. Hunk, and we all heard about it those cases of matrimonial biackmail quently without attracting so much Many a husband lives and dies in an atmosphere of dis- trust created by his wife, meanness. And there are so many women whose married lives are long penal sentences served beneath the ground- whom no one else suspects of this uspicions of their husbands! Mr. Hunk and his wife are members of Peter’s church. He is one of those dull men who succeed in business by stick- ing to it, admirable, decent and distressingly homely. His large nose sits a trifle sidewise on his face, as if it perpetu ally dodged the thought you aimed at it. He has a double chin but not much of a real chin. His large blue eyes are bloodshot, always suffused with a sort of physical tear- fulness Mrs. Hunk is a dark, elderly woman with a wrinkled kin and a snap in her black eyes. She suggests still the piteful prettiness of her youth. But now she dresses like a virtue, which is never a becoming way for any woman to She wears her skirts longer less He is meekly prominent there, she is excessively SO. dress, but always accusative and wider than the fashion is, her waist tighter and but toned up. She walks with a swish, and pops her heels on the floor as if authority was vested in these heels. It was not that she always preceded Mr. Hunk down the aisle of the church on Sunday morning, it was the subdued way he followed her that was significant One hot afternoon when everything was going from bad to worse in this turgid city Mr. Hunk called on Peter They went into the study together. From where | sat in the parlor I saw Mr. Hunk go back and close the door of the study, which meant, of course, that he had something very private to say They were in there a long time. I could hear the rumble of Hunk’'s voice, but nothing at all in reply from Peter. Silences fell, then the same voice would begin again in broken sentences like that of a man overtaken in prayer by the stress of his emotions I endeavored to fix my attention on the trimming I was crocheting for a pair of pillow cases, but it is very difficult to do that at my age when something is going on in the next room and you do not know what is going on Finally they came out in the hall. I heard Mr. Hunk blow his nose, though it was summer weather, when people rarely have occasion to blow their noses. He said some- thing in the raucous voice of a man whose very words ache with grief, and Peter answered soothingly, as he took leave of him, that he did not think it was serious and that it would soon pass away. This sounded like a boil, but I knew it could not be a boil. Then Peter came in and sat down. He had the mystified look a young doctor must sometimes wear when he is called to attend a patient whose complaint is one in which he did not graduate as a medical student. “ Mother,” he said presently, “I wish you would call on Mrs. Hunk.” I regarded him inquiringly. “Tt is a case I cannot handle,” he went on. “What is the matter with Mrs. Hunk?” I asked. “She is insanely jealous of her husband,”’ he answered with a slow grin, probably at the expense of Hunk’s ludi- crous unattractiveness. “He was in here a while ago to see me about this. Mrs. Hunk has become a crisis. He is all broken up, humiliated. Never given her the slightest cause. They have been mar- ried nearly thirty years, and this is a new development, though he admits that she has always been inclined to well, keep an eye on him,” he concluded dryly. I told Peter that I was willing to do my Christian duty, but that the Spirit had never led me to the folly of trying to restore the confidence of another woman in her own husband. I said that jealousy was a disease, a form of hysteria, and in Mrs. Hunk’s case I thought it was prob- ably a virulent form of malicious hysteria. “But something must be done. He says he can’t stand the inferno of her suspicions,”’ Peter insisted. “Well, that is the remedy,” I answered. “If he is inno- cent she knows it. So soon as she discovers that he will not endure her persecution she will stop it. Tell him to show his teeth at Mrs. Hunk!” I advised. Peter laughed. “All women are instinctively afraid of men,” I ex- plained. “If Mr. Hunk went home this evening, roared in his strictly masculine voice, found fault with the dinner, kicked a chair across the room, and growled a look at his wife, she would be a changed woman. She would forget her jealousy in this real emergency of soothing a savage beast.” Peter laughed again. He said he had no idea I could think up such a fiercely unchristian doctrine. I told him there was much in human relations that did not come under the head of Christian doctrines. “The trouble is poor old Hunk is not a savage beast,” he said. “And he is a good man,” I added, “‘else he would have found out long ago how to manage Mrs. Hunk. That is frequently the reason why bad men keep their domestic relations in order. They create a diversion by being so disagreeable at home that they achieve meekness instead of suspicion in their wives.” Peter said that as Mr. Hunk’s pastor he doubted the wisdom of giving this kind of advice. I went on crocheting and thinking after he had gone back to his study. This affair of the Hunks, I decided, was another case of the general insolvency of faith that had existed and that no longer existed between these two people. Not to believe had become the habit of men and women. On the previous evening Peter had four young men in to dine with us. They were members of his church and prominent in business and professional circles. After dinner the conversation did what it frequently does in my house. It drifted out in a discussion of conditions in the world at large, and left me sitting in my silence, merely listening. I was greatly entertained for a time, as an elder person is with the more or less declamatory opinions of young people. Then I had a queer experience. Seth Wilkes, who is a banker, was talking when I suddenly discovered that no one in the parlor except Peter believed a single word Wilkes was saying. I was indignant. I felt sorry for this earnest young man. Presently Mr. Hickson, who is a lawyer, had the floor, and I was astonished to realize that no one believed what he said, or even in his sincerity, except my son Peter, who sat with his legs crossed, his excellent countenance lifted and lighted with the anima- tion of perfect faith in everybody’s sincerity. This is why I say Peter is a good man. He can so cheerfully and easily believe in anybody and everybody. He was far from sus- pecting the fact that on this evening it was his own radiant confidence which inspired his guests to talk so freely; but I laid down my work and witnessed a strange thing, as if I had been behind the scenes of these men’s inner minds, and i knew before the evening was over that not one of them had any confidence in the sincerity of the others. They were trained to doubt. They could not have believed just the simple word of a man unless it was indorsed, with enough collateral put up to make and keep it good. Now you may restore confidence in the markets of the world that way, with just capital, but you cannot restore the confidence of man in man with anything but the January /,192i renewal of faith in the honor and integrity of men. Re- ligion is not the only faith by which we live. All human relations must be based upon belief. This is the ruin that we face, more disastrous than war or famine. It is a pesti- lence that attacks the very soul of mankind. Wisdom is becoming cynicism. And all the news of the world is bad. Nobody ever marries and lives happily ever after in the morning paper, but they are divorced. I wondered what would happen, if we read a press dispatch some morning that a lady had just died after living forty years with a cantankerous and unworthy husband, that she had per- formed her love and duties faithfully and patiently, had brought up a large family of excellent sons and daughters, who were doing well and honorably in the world. Well, it would not be regarded as news. The universal suspicion would be that a little old Christian obituary had crept across the wires by mistake. But if a woman had murdered her husband and flung her innocent babes in a manhole of a sewer it would be news, telegraphed to every paper in the country. I mentioned this to Peter that evening at dinner. I wanted to know why there was so much bad news and no news of goodness. He said a queer thing: “*Goodness, mother, is sacred, and it is not talked about much. Our virtues are private; but the evil that we do concerns the safety of society and is handled by the public.” Peter sometimes mentions the subconscious mind in his sermons when he is digging his congregation. I thought when he offered this explanation he had stated one of the subconscious truths of human experience. And I had not more than thought it before he offered the conscious truth and the real reason for the popular currency of sensational news, which it seems our virtues never produce. “ Besides,”” he went on, “the people demand it. they will have it.” I retorted that giving the people what they wanted was not giving them what they ought to have. I was tempted to add that this was the trouble with the ministry, as well Preachers were And as with the gossips and the newspapers. softening the gospel so that it would not waken a man dead in his trespasses and sins. But I try never to hurt Peter’s feelings or to discourage him, so I did not say it. In return for this alms which I gave my son in secret I reckon the Lord blessed me with an idea, for I had one, like a shot, from somewhere. I asked Peter why goodness could not be featured “like, well, the posters we had to advertise the Centenary campaign,” I concluded. He turned the point of this question, as he frequently did when I had him cornered, by offering me a compliment He said I was one fine large feature of goodness myself and all I had to do was to go on living. I retired early that night, but not to bed. I had a bee in my bonnet. Why shouldn’t someone start a propaganda campaign advertising that which was good in men and women? I sat in my room and thought about it. Then I put on my spectacles and turned on the light above my desk, took out some paper and sharpened a pencil. I was never able to feel the assurance of having a mes- sage for the world. The few people I have known afflicted this way labored under an absurdly egotistical illusion. Rather, I felt now like an old woman who is about to write a letter from a far country to my whole dear human family, just a letter giving them the news of goodness, and nothing else. The extent of my literary labors so far had been the book which I wrote years ago about William. This was not, strictly speaking, an act of letters, it was the way I had of putting a crown on William's head that could never be removed by the elders and bishops. This book was not published on account of its literary merit, but because it recorded the life and the merits of a singularly good man. It appeared anonymously, and the authorship was at once claimed by so many different women that if I had not been William’s only wife I might have doubted my own identity as the real author, especially since I could never write the same way afterward. But now all at once as I sat there before my desk I felt that same singing power of words, and I began to set down the thoughts that came to me. | do not claim that it was well or smartly done, but the matter was excellent— paragraph pictures of the good people I had known, with no more connection than there was between the divorce notices in the morning paper. I wrote a sketch of John and Sarah Hightower. * John Hightower was the meanest man I ever knew. He was ill- tempered in his home. He was so stingy that Mrs. High- tower was reduced to picking up the faulty apples in their orchard and selling them to get the money for her mission- ery dues. The only variation she ever had in the hard monotony of her life was when he was drunk and behaved worse than usual. She could have had a divorce for the asking, any time, but she never complained. She stood by him and their children. She had a curious happiness in these children. She was their secret providence. After a while, when his sons and daughters had grown up and married, old Hightower’s temper seemed to wear out. He loosened up a bit. And Mrs. Hightower had a few things (Continued on Page 44

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——s THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Congoleum Art-Rug No. 367. The 77. x9 foot size retails at $11.85 A Sanitary Playground— © matter how hard you beat woven rugs and carpets, nor how many times you sweep them they will never be free of dirt. There is always danger of the children breath- ing dust and germs. Thousands of mothers are finding Congo- leum the ideal floor-covering. Not only is it sanitary — waterproof —easy to clean — but it is beautiful in its artistic patterns and rich colorings. And Congoleum is economical! It costs much less than you would have to pay for an ordi- nary woven rug—and yet wears wonderfully. Gop SEAL Be this Gold Seal when you buy nae aS a ~~ > cs “ ¥ ‘ rotate ke — i ok for SATISFACTION GUARANTEED OR YOUR MONEY BACK REMOVE SEAL WITH DAMP CLOTH It’s a great satisfaction to know that your Congoleum Rug will lie flat on the floor- without curled or kicked up edges to trip the feet of the little ones. For Every Room in the House There is a variety of attractive patterns to he had in the following sizes, for every room in the house. Note the low prices, 114x3 feet $ .80 6 x 9 feet $ 9.75 3 e3 feet 1.60 “c F fect 11.85 3 x 41, t 2.40 } x 10 teet 16.60 3 x tee 3.90 7) x 12 feet 19.00 Prices in the Far West and South average higher than those quoted Canada prices average 25 h Vl! price ubject lo change without notiwe Be Sure to Look for the Gold Seal When you go to buy a Gold-Seal ¢ Art-Rug be e ¢ goleum bearing the Gold-Seal Guar reading “ Satisfaction Guara? 1 or Your Money Back” The Gold Seal is pasted on the face of every genuine Cong im Art-Rug as a pro tection against inferior and unsatisfactory imitations of Congoleum. We mean ever word of this guarantee and will positively stand behind : Congoleum Company = U PHILADELPHIA NEWYORK CHICAGO ROSTON DALLAS CLEVELAND SAN FRANCISCO MINNEAPOLIS ATLANTA KANSAS CITY MONTREAI y)

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30 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 1, 1921 It All Depends on the Motor All the forces that exist in nature await the development of man-made devices which will translate their fundamental energy into useful, available power. Chief among today’s instruments for this purpose is the elec- tric motor. Whether it is doing the work of a dozen men, or lightening the labor of thousands of women, the satisfactory op- eration of countless modern methods depends upon the faultless behavior of the motor, alike in industry and in the home. This is why it is vital to have Westinghouse Motors on motor-driven devices of every kind, for the quality of the motor determines the usefulness of the machine. And the quality of Westinghouse Motors, small and large, is the solid foundation upon which manufacturers of many kinds of useful appliances have built for success. It all depends on the Motor. Look for the Westinghouse mark. WESTINGHOUSE ELECTRIC & MANUFACTURING COMPANY SMALL MOTORS Stinghouse

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Benefits of Standardization UR investigations of wasteful methods during the war pointed out strikingly the great de- sirability of standardizing hundreds of kinds of practices and THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ‘S BUSINES By Floyd W. Parsons SS &¢&@ 8A FTseeowr vs BY J. EASLEY the electrical fixtures hanging from the ceiling o1 attached to the wails are fastened as solidly in their positions as are the radiators, doors and bathtubs in the house. No idea could be more absurd than that of soldering the joints and making a mess of the wires under materials. “As a result of the close attention that was necessarily given to the problem considerable prog- ress was made in many industries toward the simplification of designs of manufactured products and the establishment of uniform methods. Since the war ended we have re- laxed our efforts to standardize industrial products and practices; however, some of the seed that was planted during the time of the na- tion’s great need took root, and al- ready there is promise of important results which will be of wide benefit. Not only the United States but the whole world is awake to the losses resulting from the employ- ment of so many different working methods foraccomplishing identical results. One efficient plan univer- sally followed is always far supericr toa multitude of practices to attain the same end, for, in the latter case, many of the methods used must necessarily foster waste. Out of a dozen ways of doing a thing it is certain that one plan is best; or at least that one scheme can be devised that will include the chief merits of all the others. When things are not standard- ized the result is confusion. For ex- ample, take the simple case of the many perplexing situations arising from the use of fiscal years which differ both from the calendar year and from one another. Not only many corporations but some of our states have adopted fiscal years that end in March, June or Sep- tember. Statisticians who try to compile production figures for vari- ous commodities are freyuently be- wildered by such a mixing of dates. About twenty of our states report the production of coal for the cal- endar year, while the remaining states that produce this commodity base their totals for annual output on a year which includes so many months of the current year and a certain number of months of the the canopies of these fixtures Why should we not standardize the fixture-hanging outlets? Then we could hang a fixture as we now hang a picture. Why not buiid houses with standardized quick- attachable ceiling and bracket out- lets, so that the housewife will be able to change her electrical fix- tures as often as she changes her tastes or herfurniture? At the pres- ent time, when a tenant moves into a house he must be satisfied with the fixtures that are already there, no matter whether or not they harmonize with his furniture de- signs. When asingle satisfactory fixture- hanging outlet is placed in all houses it will be possible for the housewife when she moves to take her favorite fixtures with her to the new house, along with the family beds and bureaus. This would take the lighting dealer’s wares out of the class of fix- tures and make of them what might be termed lighting furniture. If a standard outlet receptacle is a good thing in the baseboards of a house, to make portable lamps easy to connect, why is it not a good thing to have standard push-plug receptacles in the side walls and ceilings, so that lighting furniture can be put into place as easily and quickly as a picture is hung, and changed at will to harmonize with the rest of the furniture and deco- rations in the rooms? There is no more reason why a landlord should select his tenants’ electrical fixtures than there is for his selecting a divan for the living room or a table for the library. Standardization saves, simplifies and satisfies. The Progress of Invention HERE never was a time when civilization moved with such previous year. Such a situation needs no argument to prove its folly. The Imperial Statistical Conference of Great Britain took a wise step forward when it reached a practical agree- ment for making the calendar year the commercial statisti- cal year throughout the British Empire. In years past some of the British colonies had a fiscal year ending March thirty-first, others a fiscal year ending June thirtieth, while in the cases of a few colonies the fiscal year has been coinci- dent with the calendar year. After the Britishers have straightened out this jumble and made their fiscal year identical with the calendar year, it will be up to the United States Government to fall in line with a movement that is perfectly sane, and change Uncle Sam’s fiscal year, which now ends June thirtieth, to correspond with the calendar year. Several years ago the Interstate Commerce Com- mission changed its compilation of the railway statistics of the United States from the Government’s fiscal year to the calendar year, and enormously increased their value. Unless the governments of the world get together on a common basis we need not anticipate that private com- panies will all see the wisdom of keeping their accounts and publishing their reports on the basis of the calendar year. It is not my intention to deal at length with the problem of standardization, for volumes could be written on the possibilities of a universal development of the subject. However, it is likely that brief reference to one or two con- crete examples will stimulate interest in the question, and perhaps suggest other fields for the practical development of the idea. First, let us take the multitude of containers of different shapes and sizes now used in the marketing of fruits and vegetables. Experts tell us that much of the confusion resulting from the use of these containers would be elimi- nated through the establishment of a universal unit of measurement. The United States Department of Agricul- ture has recognized the deficiencies of the situation and recommended the adoption of the Winchester bushel, of 2150.42 cubic inches, as the standard unit of bushel meas- urement. With this container there is no difficulty in determining whether the measure is short, as it is required to be level full. It is a unit of sufficient size to permit the buyer readily to distinguish the multiples that are practicable for use in the sale and shipment of fruits and vegetables. Further- more, the establishment of this unit of measurement for containers of fruits or vegetables sold by volume would constitute an important step toward formulating a con- sistent policy of standardization which could be applied to practically all types of packages. The Government's specialists also believe that all weight-per-bushel laws re- lating to fruits and vegetables should be repealed, for the reason that there is no definite relation between dry measure and weight. For example, a basket that contains fifty pounds of small apples may not hold more than forty- five pounds of large ones. Containers are used inter- changeably, and a box constructed to hold fifty pounds of apples often becomes a twenty-five-pound box when filled with snap beans. Let me next jump from the agricultural field to the electrical industry. Here we have ever so many oppor- tunities to simplify methods, but a single example will drive the thought home. At the present time practically all speed and the developments were so important as during the past few years. War is always a curse and a waster, but at the same time it is a stimulator of thought and invention. The economic, political and industria] character of the world practically has been remade during the past thirty-six months. Mighty monarchies have given way to strange new experiments in government; intoxicants have been outlawed by the earth’s greatest democracy; the enfran- chisement of women has become a fact; and a movement is under way to banish war forever these epochal changes have come equally important ad- vances in science. Even the records of the United States Patent Office verify the belief that human ingenuity has lately been stimulated, for in the past fiscal year there were Simultaneously with eighty-one thousand nine hundred forty-eight application for patent rights on inventions filed in this country, as compared with sixty-two thousand seven hundred fift five during the previous vear In the olden times, before the peoples of the earth were united into one large family by the wireless and the tel graph, the news of great discoveries traveled slowly from country to country; often pass before widely separated nations would benefit from new scientific ideas. This is no longer true, for the man in Tokio will read to-morrow the details of an inven tion made public in Chicago or St. Louis to-day. Thus the whole world quickly profits and civilization is swept for ward at ever-increasing speed by the added impetus o each new discovery. Most inventions, of course, are the outcome of neces sity. Not long ago the world faced a sugar shortage, and dozens of scientists turned their attention to developing and as a consequence years would

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32 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ome practical substitute for the sweet stuff. One of the vestigator tarted to experiment with sawdust, and found that an important sugar can be pre pared from tris material by hydré s with acid. This sugar, prepared f wood, juite different from the sugar of the breal fast table it 1ext e or glucose and is identical with the igar obtained | the acid treatment of starch. Like tne glucose alrea manufactured, the wood Sugar may eventually come to have a wide use commercially. Since t has a dist t nutritive value, it might be employed as an mportant component of various sirups. The experiments howed that different species of trees produce different f sugar Scientifical peaking, however, it is in- rect to spe f any kind of glucose as sugar, for the teri war should be used only t » refer to sucrose, or cane During the war the difficulties of ocean transportation earcity in wool in many parts of the ile a se 1 world, and this was nowhere felt more keenly than in Great Britair Investigations were undertaken to develop a remedy for the trouble, and it was not long until a good artifi al wool was produced. The next step presented even but these were largely overcome when nning artificial wool into yreater diffic iltic experiments showed a wa of fabric with as much success as had been attained in spinning the real wool Then came the crisis in the matter of a sufficient supply of paper and here agall science tarted experiment 3 which have already proved that bamboo and various tree- like plants and shrubby grasses of the same genus can be made into satisfactory grades of paper An important disco ve that will affect the glass mar- kets of the world was that of large deposits of granulite in Devonshire, England, in the district made famous by ¥ Blackmore’s Lorna Doone. This material contains not only silica but potash, soda and alumina, all of which are necessary in glassmaking. This granulite was known to exist in practically unlimited quantities, but it required eentih research to reveal that the used on a large scale to make what will probably be the ibstance could be cheapest glass in the world. Even the waste heaps result ing from the operations of a small company that quarried the material for use ir enameling porcelain can be turned to account, for the bla tone which was formerly con idered suitable only for road metal can now be used for making a fine grade of beer bottles. The granulite will now be used not onl in the manufacture of dressed-glass articles and window glass, but it will also be employed in the manufacture of enameled metal ware and electrical nonconducting articl Here in the United States we are rapidly adapting many Engineers of the United States Army helped to perfect a French invention that was used by the Allies to detect, through the earth, of the war inventions to industrial use the upping and underground mining operations of the enemy nee the war ended other American engineers, espe cially those of the Federal Bureau of Mines, commenced experiments with this little device called a geophone and have applied it to rescue work in our mines. The in- trument, though small, is essentially a sei mograph, since it worl on the same principle as the ponderous ap- paratus by which earthquake tremors are recorded. If the instrument is placed on the ground and anyone is pound ing or digging in the vicinity, energy is transmitted in wave motion through the earth, and the ground waves shake the geophone case. The wave vibrations are transmitted to ' the eardrum of the observer and, like other rapid air wave produ e sound effect As a general rule two instruments are used, each being ittached to an ear It has been found that the sound i apparently louder from the instrument nearer the source of the sound, even though the geophones are placed not more than two feet apart It is possible, by moving the instruments about, to cate a point where the ound will be of the ame apparent ntensity in both ear [he direction of the point of origin of the sound is then on a perpendicular to tie line connect- ing the centers of the two instruments, either in front of or behind the observer. Further observations will show which side. When men entombed in coal or metal mines are pounding in the hope that they may be located by means of the geophones, they should strike heavy, slow blows upon the coal or rock. In regard to the distances that sounds can be detected through the earth, one investigator states that sledge pounding can be heard in a worked-out area of a coal mine at least fifteen hundred feet, through the solid coal two thousand feet, and through solid rock about one-half mile. Blows from a pick, tamping bar or heavy rock can be detected two-thirds as far. Nothing invented in recent years will likely be of as great value for rescue work in mines as the geophone. These devices should also prove of value in mine surveying for checking the positions of headings, raises, and so on. The instrument ‘is so delicate that through its use the words used in an ordinary con- versation can be understood fairly well through fifty feet of solid coal. Government engineers used the geophones successfully in locating leaks in the water mains of a big city in Penn- sylvania. The water circulating in the ordinary city main can be heard with the geophones when they are placed on the surface ten to twelve feet above the pipe. One leak was located in a few minutes, although the water depart- ment of the city had been trying to find it for two weeks. The leak could be heard from the surface from any point within a circle sixty feet in diameter. In another instance the geophones were also used successfully to locate a leak n a one-inch pipe serving a residence. } It is likely that the chemists of the world learned more about gases and their properties during the few years of war than was found out during all of the century that preceded it. Many of the more important discoveries were made after hostilities ceased, and it is fortunate for humanity that not all of the knowledge acquired was put to deadly use. Should there ever be another great con- flict of nations, and gas warfare be permitted, the results from this style of fighting would be so terrible that the It is far more pleasant to record the use of gas masks in fighting forest fires and in attempts to rescue lives and property from burning buildings than to tell of their effectiveness as world would be horrified by the consequences weapons of war. Now our engineers are working with harmless gases to save lives rather than with poisonous vapors to injure and kill. One interesting development is the use of an odorous gas or vapor to warn miners of impending danger. Most signaling devices appeal to the eye or the ear. In this new scheme the nose receives the warning. If the men working underground appear to be in danger, one-half to one pint of a strong-smelling liquid, preferably one with a vile odor, is injected into the main compressed-air line at the sur- face. The air current quickly vaporizes the stench liquid and carries it to all parts of the mine where compressed air is used. This constitutes a positive warning to the miners that they must come to the surface. The United States Bureau of Mines recommends ethyl mercaptan as a suit- able substance to use in providing stench warnings. It has a skunklike odor that will not go unnoticed. The cost of the substance is only two dollars twenty-five cents a pound, and but one and three-quarter pints of ethyl tan are re juired for each hundred thousand feet of mercal free air entering the mine a minute. In case the sub stance mentioned cannot be obtained, a good substitute is amyl acetate, or artificial banana oil. Stench warnings are not considered suitable for use in coal mines, as the stench must be introduced into the ventilating current, which travels at a much slower velocity than the compressed air used in operating drills in metal mines. Practical tests show that stench warnings bring quick action in metal mines. Experiments have proved that an entire mine can be saturated with an odor in from five to ten minutes, January 1,192! Since this is an age of electricity, it is only natural that electrical inventions should predominate. Now it is pos- sible to guide a ship into port during a fog and thereby save two or three thousand dollars a day, which is the loss incurred by a big liner when it must anchor outside the harbor and wait for a fog to clear away. In the scheme recently perfected a magnetized cable is laid from the sheltered waters within the harbor to a point outside. There is created about the cable an electromagnetic field, and into this the incoming vessel must sail. The person piloting the ship fits on a headpiece and listens to the clicking of a code word which grows louder or fainter as the vessel moves toward or away from the magnetized cable. It is estimated that the cost of equipping a ship with the necessary receiving coils and other essential ap- paratus would only be about twelve hundred dollars. The owners of a vessel could save this cost in a day. Newly developed devices will now calculate the electrical energy furnished by the beating of the human heart, while equally wonderful machines are able to reproduce a picture of the human voice and its vibrations on what is known as an oscillograph. Then there is the recently invented epidiascope, which magnifies inflections of the human voice and renders it likely that not only the emotions of people will soon be determined with ease but many of our hidden motives will be likewise revealed. When the epidiascope gets going good, liars and hypocrites will be dragged forth to public gaze. Only the deaf and dumb will be able to keep secrets. Another invention that promises well enables the blind to read by ear. This device is based on a sound alphabet, similar to the Morse code, only the dash is eliminated and the dot is used in various combinations. The story or talk is recorded on a phonograph record, and the blind person, after becoming familiar with the code, is able to read by ear rather than by the fingers as with embossed alpha- bets. This latter system is difficult to master, while a sound code can be learned in a few weeks. The text of a two-hundred-page book can be transferred to a phono- graph record six inches in diameter. The same book reproduced in embossed code vould require one thousand pages. If ordinary words were used instead of the sound alphabet, it would take four hundred phonograph records to reproduce what can be recorded on one six-inch record. The entire works of Dickens and Shakspere reproduced on records by this sound-code method could be placed in a cylindrical box six inches high and six inches in diameter. The cost of the Bible em- bossed for the blind amounts to a large sum, for the text requires several volumes. Reproduced on a record by the method described, the total cost would be less than fifty cents. Mechanical ingenuity has even come to the aid of the lonely lighthouse keepers who spend the greater part of their days isolated from all that is supposed to make life worth while. In certain parts of the world existence in a lighthouse is neither healthful nor agreeable. As a result we now have a system of unattended lights. Acetylene dissolved in acetone at ten atmospheres pressure is used, ind there are ten cylinders, each containing one hundred seventeen cubic feet, all coupled together. They are only changed once a year. The light is turned on and off by a sun valve which is so delicate that the light has been seen to come into operation during a rainstorm. A pilot flame is always burning. The first cost of the automatic light- house compares favorably with that of a manned light, and the running cost is only about one-twentieth. The unattended lights have a visibility of thirteen miles, and the few already put into operation have given absolutely no trouble. The foregoing are but a few of the many comparatively recent scientific developments that are being adapted to the service of mankind. The list might be extended in- definitely. However, the purpose of the story is only to indicate the trend of invention and create in the minds of readers an imaginative picture of the marvels civiliza- tion will surely reveal in the wonderful era of machine supremacy we are now entering. ad che i, Re

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 1,192! ALVARO OBREGON: AS CABINET MINISTER (Continued from Page 23) In order to keep Villa faithful, or at least helpful to the cause, Obreg6n agreed to join him in making a proposal] to the First Chief, of which the gist was that Carranza was to be provisional president; that the elections were to be held as all the requisite preliminary measures had been adopted, and that neither gov- ernors of states nor any provisional digni- tary should be eligible for the presidency of the republic That compromise would, in Obregén’'s judgment, have sufficed to keep the revo- lutionary phalanx from being rent in two, and might have spared the country from years of bloodshed. Hence it seemed worth adopting, even at a sacrifice. But it had fatal flaw in the eyes of the man to whom it was addressed: It disqualified Carranza from soliciting or accepting the office of constitutional president and, as it happened, his ambition began just at the point where it should have ended—he was a fair provisional chief but one of the worst constitutional presidents. His reply to the proposal was so char- acteristic that it definitely fixed Obregén’s idea of the man and of his specific worth. Having approved the clause which recog- nized himself as provisional president, Carranza laid it down that the other provi- sions, “ being of transcendental importance, ought not be referred to the judgment of three or four persons, but should be dis- cussed and approved by an assembly in which the country is duly represented.” It thus became obvious that the substance of Carranza’s plan for saving his native land was that he himself should play the exclusive part of savior, He was to be considered a being apart, much as the look upon their queen, for his conception of equality was applicable only to others. But this painful discovery made no altera- tion in Obregén’s attitude. Although his estimate of his chief was no + ger doubt- ful, he was the last man to be deterred from prosecuting a life aim by mere per- sonal cross currents. What he was working for was the abolition of anarchy and the establishment of peace and prosperity in Mexico, and this could be achieved only by the preservation of concord and the prac- tice of perseverance. If he were to withdraw his support from Carranza a schism would necessarily result which would entail the collapse of the revolutionary movement. Hence he stood firmly by a chief who mistook his own as- cendancy for the welfare of his country, because that chief was for the moment the center and rallying point for all the forces that were marshaled against civil war and anarchy, It was for like reasons that later on the convention of Aguascalientes de- cided that Carranza should be asked to retire from the chiefship in favor of Gen. Eulalio Gutierrez, on condition that Villa also resigned his command. Now Obregén, who was a member of thai convention, had pledge -d himself to the resolution, and when Carranza evinced displeasure and unwill- ingness to submit, Obregén said to him: ‘Don Venustiano, I must and will support Gutierrez as president if Villa carries out his part of the compact; and the mainte- nance of a united front is my only motive.” as soon one bees A Human Object Lesson Villa preferred to and the But as it turned out, remain in his element of turmoil, civil war followed its course. In that way it came about that for a considerable while Carranza was the man who served Obregén as an object lesson in Mexican politics. Powerfully built, with a venerable countenance to which a patri- archal beard and huge spectacles imparted a touch of the Oriental mystic, he was al- wavs a respectable, never a popular figure; for he lacked not only the personal magnet- ism which draws and captivates the mul- titude, but also the straightforwardness, trust and affability of address which form the cement of ordinary social relations. In his later years he was eminently ungenial. He possessed flatterers, favorites and self-seeking helpers, but no disinterested friends. He trusted none and acted though he suspected all. Advice, whenceso- ever it might come, appeared to him to be the beginning of a plot or the symptom of an incipient rebellion, and was resented accordingly. He never permitted his own plans to be criticized nor the suggestions of others to be advocated. In order to get a hearing for a project one had to piece it together from views which he himself had expressed or hinted at in casual conversa- tions, and the only man possessed of the materials for devising such schemes and of the qualities and defects indispensable and adequate to this rdle of adroit intellectual accoucheur was Luis Cabrera, one of the best read, most versatile and plausible writers in the republic. The indirect in- fluence of this remarkable man upon Car- ranza, and through him upon the course of Mexican affairs, is writ large in the con- temporary annals of that ill-starred country. That Carranza looked upon his own un- questioned ascendancy as at once the cause and the mainstay of public order and national prosperity is notorious. This con- ceit was blameworthy only because it was delusive. So common is it in publie life, however, that it would be a blessing if the well-being of the community were the in- variable consequence of the attainment of office by the successful politician. As things are, if the man who aims at power be the one who i is able to wield it to the best purpose his ambition cannot reasonably be censured. If Don Venustiano had been a man of vision, grasp and moral rectitude, capable of guiding the unchained forces of the revolution, no serious objection could be taken to his striving. Unhappily he was the reverse of this. Stubbornness usurped the place of will power, and rustic shrewd- ness bordering upon cunning that of superior intelligence. He resembled most Mexican reformers in his set purpose so to better his country that he himself should be its lord and master, The First Chief's Methods But his defects were decorously con- cealed under an exterior which not merely inspired decent respect, but also impresse “d the average man with a belief in his wis- dom and resolution. He read much, but he knew the outside world and—one may add—a great part of his own country solely through books and reports containing only other people’s impressions, while the real- ity was a book of seven seals to him. His natural haughtiness and self-esteem grad- ually drew him into veiled antagonism to the cause of orderly government and public morality, and his shortsightedness pre- vented him from discerning this. It is no exaggeration to say that he was poorly equipped for any such great enterprise as that on which he embarked, and that he owed his elevation largely to Obreg6n and his long tenure of power to President Wilson. Those facts and inferences impressed themselves little by little on the mind of the general, who, however, kept his gaze riveted throughout on the goal toward which the country was imperceptibly ad- vancing. One marked instance of Carranza’s dis- trust and fear lest some popular leader should arise to dispute with him the su- preme power occurred in thesummer of 1913. Obregon was then making noteworthy headway against the usurper Huerta, and fast gaining a reputation for military in- vincibility which might awaken national enthusiasm if allowed to grow unchecked. Suddenly Carranza issued orders suspend- ing offensive operations in the north and depriving the victorious troops there of the wherewithal to attack the enemy. The munitions of war he caused to be sent to Matamoros to a general of his own crea- tion, Pablo Gonzdlez, who was expected to achieve the victories necessary to eclipse Obregén’s successes. This fatuous measure retarded the defeat of Huerta by some six months, and protracted the sufferings of the population correspondingly. It is but fair to say that however certain Obreg6n’s zealous friends and Carranza’s bitter enemies may feel that that ill-judged order was the outcome of mean jealousy and a desire to keep a commanding figure from rising above the dead level of medi- ocrity, the unbiased chronicler will have to add to the considerations which may pos- sibly have moved Carranza a reasonable fear warranted by Mexican history that any military chief who rose high in popular estimation would seek to overthrow the constitutional government at the risk of precipitating a fratricidal war. And the late First Chief is entitled to the benefit of the doubt. None the less, Obreg6n, who was burning with fierce impatience to drive Huerta from thedictatorial armchair, chafed under this clogging system of checks and counterchecks. He was all the more exasperated that Sefior Gonzdlez was making no perceptible headway, and indeed could hardly be ex- pected to make any; for by all accounts the troops commanded by that general were among the most undisciplined and ruth- less bodies of men that even Mexico had seen. They delighted in destruction for its own sake; destruction of everything but the enemy’s forces. And yet General Gonz4lez enjoyed the services of a highly paid staff which had no equal in military history—in point of numbers. It consisted of some four hundred and sixty members, and included a large element of female ad- venturers rebellious to rudimentary con- ventionality and avid of pelf. Many of these hetere had received military rank for their favors, some being colonels, others captains and lieutenants—and all of them drew corresponding pay. That a.man of Carranza’s ambition and inborn shrewdness should have expected any military success from an army such as that is hardly conceivable. And yet it remains on record that he jeopardized the triumph of the revolutionary movement by withdrawing munitions from Obregén’s army, consigning them to General Gon- zalez, and suspending the only operations of which the enemy stood in dread. He also squandered the substance of the nation, paying, feeding and clothing those dregs and scourges of the community. It is note- worthy that General GonzAlez himself re- ceived, over and above his pay and all the expenses of his motley staff and of the rank and file, one thousand pesos daily for his personal needs or caprices. No less curious and characteristic is the fact, convincing proofs of which are still available, that later on, at the very time indeed that Obreg6én was fighting and re- pulsing Villa, the First Chief, whom he was thus elevating to the highest place in the republic, had sent secret agents to the United States with instructions to get a section of the press there to insert articles against Obregénism on the ground that Obreg6n was a wild socialist, and if he played the game of politics would be a grave danger to order and tranquillity. Carranza’s Fear of Rivatry This bent toward underhand maneuvers and insidious double dealing is a persistent trait in Mexican politics. In a previous chapter we saw that at a most critical moment, when a split in the forces was im- minent, Obreg6én, intent on bridging the chasm between Carranza and Villa, had gone to Chihuahua, running the risk of being murdered by the latter. vn geen who was fully aware of his — $ pre- carious situation, rendered it quite I 10pe less by dispatching an angry ond humiliating telegram to Villa. That telegram was virtually tantamount to Obreg6n’s death warrant, and if the sen- tence was not executed it was owing solely to the remarkable series of lucky accidents already described. It requires therefore an unusual degree of Christian charity or mag- nanimity to ascribe this and similar actions of the First Chief to a motive which does not challenge the current estimate either of his moral standard or of his intellectual equipment. nature like Obregén’s, instinctively observant and superlatively impressible to the incongruous in life and action, gave their full value to those amazing facts. It was true then that a whirl of personal in- terests and unavoidable aims were impart- ing a wrong direction to the movement which he with indomitable spirit was toil- ing and moiling to bring to the one desirable goal. His mind was occasionally haunted by misgivings which events justified as to the changes that the vicissitudes of politics might eventually produce, even in many of those who were still the bearers of the new gospel. But these transient presenti- ments never caused him to falter or to hesitate. His is not a brooding soul. He is essen- tially a doer, in close sympathy with the onward march of the age and the hour, and irresistibly impelled to appeal to experience and to trust to it for guidance. But his faith in Carranza was shaken. Continued loyalty to the First Chief was thenceforth only loyalty to the cause, rooted in a desire to fructify the hard-won victory and consolidate such constructive forces as could still be gathered round the lost leader. Numerous instances might be given of Carranza’s irrational distrust of Obregén as the rival from whom he had most to fear. Over the relations of those two men fate from the very outset might be said to have flung its chilling shadow, of which they were both fitfully conscious. At the height of Carranza’s power the image of Obregén seems to have discharged the functions of the skeleton at the feast, acting as a sort of memento mori. At times the First Chief appeared to be haunted by a superstitious dread of his military associate, inexplicable by anything that had passed between them, and yet so strong that he found it difficult to master and impossible to conceal. A mere coinci- dence, interesting to a child but of no sig- nificance to a man of action, would appeal to the mystical side of his nature, evoke disturbing thoughts and leave a profound impress. Forexample, Carranza, describing the emotion which the sudden arrest of President Madero awakened within him, told this story: “T, who certainly am not given to pray, actually felt impelled to uplift my voice in earnest supplication to the saint of the day that he would save Madero’s life and have him set at liberty. And I asked an adjutant to find me the name of that saint. Now is it not curious, to say the least, that it chanced to be on the nineteenth of Feb- ruary that the evil tidings reached me and that that day is dedicated to Saint Alvaro, Obreg6n’s patron saint? It is very curious! Alvaro!” Calling Carranza’s Bluff How constantly on the alert Carranza was to keep Obreg6n in sight and as far as possible under his control may be illus- trated by another little story which also incidentally characterizes the circuitous methods of the one and the plain frank- heartedness of the other. One day in the city of Hermosillo, at the height of the campaign, Obregén’s orderly entered the room with a visiting card in his hand and announced that a gentleman wished to see him. When ushered in, the stranger presented a note of introduction from his friend Carranza. It set forth that the bearer was a friend and officer of great experience and trust who could make him- self extremely useful as chief of the gen- eral’s staff, and expressed the hope that Obreg6n would verify his fitness in the course of a friendly talk, and that if he found him qualified would give him the position. Obregon was annoyed less by the pro- posal, although that, too, seemed uncalled for and offensive, than by the artful way in which it was made. After a few friendly words with his visitor, he sought out Car- ranza, and holding up the letter inquired, “Is this an order? If so, I should like to have it in writing.” An order? Oh, no! mendation; It is only a recom- a friendly suggestion. Still I do earnestly request you to take it into consideration. X is an accomplished officer, conversant with the technic of the military art, which is a strong point, and therefore well fitted for the post.’ “The post is not vacant,” eral Obregon. “All posts on my staff are filled by young men who have my confidence and deserve it, and if this letter is not going to be transformed into a formal written com- mand they will all continue to occupy their present positions.” Carranza, like the cat that dearly loves the fish but shrinks from wetting its tail, hesitated to issue an order which might have grave consequences, so the matter ended there. But Don Venustiano, in his exertions to retain the supreme power unchailenged, did not confine himself to measures of super- vision, checks and kindred precautions. In- sapable of comprehending the motives to which Obregén was responsive, he tried him very guardedly with the usual methods which had proved so efficacious with a (Continued on Page 37) retorted Gen-

Page 37

U ee a > OE IES Ti tate ae ar tee P= Two Good Washers in One If the A BC Ekctric Laundress washed merely by lifting and dipping (1) the soiled fabrics in sudsy water, it would be a good washer. If it merely rocked and tossed (~) the fabrics, it would be a good washer. Inasmuch, however, as it does both ( # ),and also wrings by electricity, obwously it offers the advantages of two good washers in one for the price of one. Uniting, as it does so singularly, these leading electric washing methods, you are not compelled to decide between them. ‘This saves time and twice assures your satisfaction in the selection of an electric washer. Further, the soiled things are spared from injurious wash- board rubbing, from boiling, from strong chemicals, and a// dirt is gently though swiftly loosened, squeezed and thoroughly flushed out of the meshes of the fabrics, by the rapid alternation of these effective methods of washing inthe A BC Eketric Laundress. Without jar, without racket, without the washer shifting its position, an exclusive sprzug/ess mechanism produces this dual agitating action, smoothly and quietly. A pencil will stand on end upon the edge of the tub and not topple; the ear can detect only the soft plop of fabrics and the slosh of water; unmistakably this indicates a sturdy, simple construction that pledges long, untroubled service. Endorsed for years by legions of users. . . long approved by Good Housekeeping Institute . . . guaranteed by old, large and successful makers, pioneers in the industry . . recommended by experienced electrical appliance dealers noted for prompt and courteous service... this A BC Electric Laundress, with its doubly capable washing process, will transform each future washday into a mere few hours of relative ease. See it wash two ways at once; write for illustrated book, ‘The A BC of Washday,’’ with location of a dealer who will gladly demonstrate the A BC Efctric Laundress, refer you to its users, and name convenient terms. PEORIA, ILI NEW YORK - SAN PRANCISCO ALTORFER Bros. COMPANY Factories and Executive Offices - Peoria, Illinois Pioneer and leading makers of power washers THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Some electric washers lift and dip the soiled fabrics in a tub of sudsy water el Other electric washer rock and tess the soi The A BC Flectric Laundress nates these good m«¢ thods Electric fue we ”

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 1, 1921 ‘The Chocolates with the Wonderful Centers R ZL NaS ADF . hol BO ~ y= Set 4 as oo Yi os “Se Sa SP IP aE en ae on al ras tai misibie FUDGE SCOTCH 50:6) SH KAT SS 4 Cream fudge topped with Trench Dragees Fresh dairy butter, sugar, vanilla YS SM > a EXTRA PINEAPPLE AR oy, ~ a “Hawaiian pineapple in cream fondant g BRAZIL CREAM Brazil nut in cream fondant NOUGATINE ~~ AAA SEER ae aS a + % use am WY ‘Froney , 99, frut and nuts te ~ US; eC x RASPBERRY HEART ¥ a ee mM Ve AL SAIN x ae 5 - * * RAS A tender raspberry in cream fondant WAS > v ~~ > * sa _ ~x Mayet te walnut, rich cream, Vermont maple sugar : 1 We yt Sea & y — ¥ FILBERT SOUR CLUSTERS ORANGE ish b im dt tts ch a Turkis fi erts 1 iggett Aocolate cus Andel - true orange fruit

CR XK XANAX NK KX KX KH K kite ALMOND CARAMEL Alicante ”» ; \@ monds in real cream caramel » ho 1 every eat-—pure crisp nuts, a box that "9 The a ox alh Stores tion of 10, progress) v tail drug sto s, Canada and Great Britain,

» Canada

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peer aera —— (Continued from Page 34) number of the champions of democracy and public morality. Many Mexican generals and politicians were impressible to motives of a vulgar nature. Was this general an exception? He would ascertain. Accordingly one day he inquired of Obregén how the garbanzo crop looked in the north, and what were the prospects of a good harvest there. The reply was that there were hopes of a fair crop. Soon afterward Obregén, to his sur- prise, received from the First Chief an official pass authorizing him to have his produce conveyed over the frontier free of the export duty to which everybody else was subject. Obreg6n returned it forth- with, explaining that he saw no reason why he should be exempted from a tax which fell upon everybody else. “Everybody else has not rendered the same services to the state as you have.” “But I have been paid for them in full both by the state and by my conscience,” was the answer. “Well, but General Maytorena has ac- cepted a pass entitling him to export two thousand head of cattle duty free, so you see you will not be alone.” “In such cases examples go for nothing. I am not Maytorena, nor have we both a conscience in common.” The pass was returned to the First Chief and the export duty paid in full. Three years later, when Obregén had sent in his army accounts, they included certain debts which he had set down to be deducted irom the sum due to him. Carranza, however, in a lordly spirit, had the entire sum paid to him and canceled the debts. Obregé6n re- fused to accept the remission, and insisted on the liability being subtract “But I have done the same for General X,”’ was the justification offered. The answer, however, was an emphatic refusal to accept any such concessions. The only occasion on which Obreg6n con- sented to receive anything more than his pay was when a money recompense was voted to all the generals without excep- tion, as is done in Great Britain and some other countries, after the termination of a successful campaign. On the occasion of Obregén’s second marriage Carranza presented him as a wed- ding gift with a superb motor car fit for a prince. But the general, whose tastes are simple and who abhors show, continued to use his own plain automobile, and soon afterward had to sell them both. Carranza, having heard of the transaction, asked him reproachfully when they next met why he had disposed of the wedding present. “The truth is that I had certain liabili- ties to meet, and as I lacked ready money and could not disappoint my creditors, I sold not only the car which you so kindly gave me, but also my own.’ “Why ever did you not tell me?” asked the First Chief. ‘“‘I would have settled those bills at once. But it is not yet too late. Let me know the amount.” “It would be too late at any time, then or now, for anything but my sincere thanks for your kind offer,’ was Obregén’s cate- gorical response. The Three Chiefs There is little doubt that Don Venusti- ano misinterpreted those and other similar refusals, ascribing them to an intention on the general’s part to mortify him. The fact is, however, that he never understood— could not, in fact, understand—the man with whom he had to deal. Ethically as well as intellectually they were moving on different planes. Obregén on the other hand took the measure of the president’s mental and moral equipment with accu- racy, but judged him with a degree of leniency which falls little short of the ideal of Christian charity. None the less, his keen sense of humor was tickled by the futile efforts made by the president to reconcile theory with practice, duty with dereliction, democratic principles with dictatorial pro- pensity. When in this’ vein he one day remarked to Carranza, “One of the news- papers has published an interview which its represe ntativ e here had with you a short time ago. “Possibly—what did it say? Anything important or sensational?” “No, no! The correspondent merely stated that he had asked you who was Huerta, and that you had replied, ‘Chief of bandits.’ Next he inquired who Villa was, and you had answered, ‘Chief of the high- waymen.’ Finally he requested you to define your own position, and you told him that you were the Supreme Chief.” But the First Chief lacked the sense of humor, and merely frowned. Carranza’s fidus Achates was a lawyer named Luis Cabrera, one of the ablest men in the republic, as writer, conversation- alist, composer of diplomatic notes and deviser of expedients. He was a veritable prestidigitator of the chancellery, a past master in the vanishing art of weavin what the Italians term combinazioni ani devising etal answers to insoluble riddles. Self-possessed, good-humored, ver- satile and fluent, he could talk for hours and put forward amazi aradoxes with- out being tedious. pm A further pos- sessed what was a ame recommendation in Carranza’s eyes—the advantage of being contented to flourish like the violet in the shade. This retiring disposition had its advan- tages. It carried with it exemption from responsibility, and responsibility was a specter of which he had a mortal fear. Consequently he allowed his master to gather in whatever of praise or blame accrued to the author of the various shifts which usurped the place of a policy. Of him, therefore, as a possible rival, the presi- dent had no fear. Cabrera’s Adroitness During his connection with Carranza, which lasted until the latter’s death, he set his mark upon Mexican affairs and acquired for the republic a reputation abroad which it has not yet outlived. He owed such success as he achieved—and in particular his master’s undisturbed tenure of office— to his exalted foreign ally, President Wil- son, whose idealism in politics, like that of President Madero, might aptly be termed the virtue of inexperience. Sefior Cabrera had the valuable knack of presenting in literary or legal shape Carranza’s own dis- connected ideas or wishes, and of produc- ing a pleasant surprise in the president’s mind at the likeness between their modes of thinking. But the materials on which Cabrera worked were not human beings, but documents, and the information which he conveyed to his master consisted of his own impressions of other people’s concep- tions. Hence they both lived in an imaginary world until the month of May, 1920, when the reality, like a puff of fresh air blowing upon an old Egyptian papyrus, scattered it to dust on the ground. An instance of Sefior Cabrera’s adroit- ness occurred in Vera Cruz when Car- ranza’s policy had become so obnoxious even to members of his own cabinet, of whom Cabrera was one, that they could brook it no longer. The ministers met, dis- cussed the situation and unanimously de- cided to resign in a body by way of protest. Carranza accepted the resignations of all but Cabrera. Obreg6n’s forbearance during this long period of probation was exemplary. But neither by deed nor by word did he ever allow his attitude to be mistaken for con- nivance or his judgment to be construed as approbation. Whenever an opportunity arose to make his position clear he spoke out fearlessly. He accepted Carranza’s invitation to take over the Ministry of War, but solely because he persuaded Pood self that his refusal might have so weakened the government as to endanger its stability, and this he made clear to the president, not only in words, but also in significant acts. For example, it was part of his duty as War Minister to sign an order peri- odically in virtue of which General Gon- zAlez was wont to receive, over and above all other allowances and his pay as general, one thousand Mexican dollars per day for private expenses, of which he had to render no account. This for an advocate of equality and a champion of the lackalls was indeed a fall from grace, and the War Minister winced at it. Still the document was regularly laid before him for his signature—and this is what he wrote: ‘By special order of the First Chief.” “Why do you sign in that unusual way?” asked Carranza one day. ‘‘ Why not set your name under the order as you do in other cases?” “Because if I did my approval would be supposed to go with my signature. And as I strongly disapprove of making such an allowance to General Gonzélez, I have to state expressly whence the order ema- nates.”’ And he refused to desist. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Nor was it only to Carranza that Obre- gon bade defiance when defiance was prompted by respect for truth or fidelity to principle. He spoke out his mind bluntly and fully to parliament when that sacred body, in deference to the president’s whim, swerved from the straight course without a qualm, for with him there is no accepta- tion of persons or of assemblies. Truth does not become falsehood because it chances to be resented by those who deem themselves the spokesmen of the people. Obreg6n obeys no manifestations of force, however portentous, whether they proceed from above or below. The object of his solicitude is indeed the people; but the people are nowise identical with a socialistic and still less with a Bolshevist crowd. or even with large gatherings of benighted beings who, like their ancestors before the fali, lack the knowledge of good and evil and are still probationers awaiting ad- mission to the community of progressive humanity. This independence of judgment and boild- ness of action are among Obregén’s most valuable assets. It is furthermore fair to add that on the whole he has maintained his ground under the heaviest pressure put upon him by enemies invested with power and by circumstance apparently destined to pulverize him. An incident is worth noting here which brings out in sharp relief some of the less known traits of Obreg6n and Carranza. A hot controversy was raging in a historic assembly—the Constituent Congress of Querétaro—over the right of certain indi- viduals to take their seats there as depu- ties. Three years previously they had been members of a political party called the Renovators, and the crime which incapaci- tated them to represent the people was their notorious complicity in Huerta’s usurpation. It was they who had legalized the lawless act by which he had ousted Madero from the presidency and taken ion of his seat. Their conduct had been publicly characterized as treason and they themselves condemned to death by Carranza himself on two different occa- sions. Capital punishment thereforeawaited them But shortly before the Constituent Con- gress was elected the First Chief changed his mind for reasons of his own and eagerly advocated their admission. Nor was that all. He actually asserted that far from being traitors or the accomplices of trai- tors, they were first-class patriots, for if they remained in Huerta’s cabinet, aiding and abetting the usurper, they had done this solely in compliance with his own express but secret directions which he had given for the purpose of obstructing Huerta and his government. The Binding Link This was indeed a sensational statement, which definitely placed Carranza’s reputa- tion for honesty between the upper and the nether millstones. Thereupon, Obregén, who at that time was War Minister, indited a letter to the Constituent Congress at- tacking the attitude of the First Chief and of those who abetted him, appealing to the conscience of the nation and convicting Carranza of unveracity by his own solemn decrees. He informed the congress that no such secret instructions could have been given, because Carranza himself condemned those men to death after the commission of the acts laid to their charge. Moreover, if it were true that those men had indeed played the treacherous part ascribed to them, first collaborating with Huerta for half a year against Madero and then plot- ting against Huerta in virtue of secret instructions from Carranza, they were rec- reant betrayers of the nation, of Madero and also of Huerta. Their treason therefore was triple. “This,” he adds, “proves that those in- dividuals can be used to advantage as elements of treason, and their antecedents warrant us in assuming that at present they are merely feigning to be working with Sefior Carranza, but are really acting under instructions from other sources.” “Men,” he concluded, ‘“‘may be muti- lated and sacrificed for principles, but principles must not be mutilated or sacri- ficed for men.” The Turks have a saying which some- times holds good even beyond their fron- tiers, that if you are bent on speaking the truth you must first put your foot in the stirrup and be ready to bolt. In Mexico under Carranza’s rule that maxim was 37 sound. Obregdén accordingly expected that this letter would produce ‘such a breach between him and Carranza that he could no longer remain in office, and in anticipa- tion of the rupture had ready in his pocket his offer of resignation. But the president, to whom he communicated the fact, was apprehensive of the results of his secession and refused to let him go. The matter of the Renovators, however, was settled in the approved Cabrera-Carranza style. The president's son-in-law, Candido Aguilar, appeared in congress to announce the fate- ful tidings that the foreign invader was on Mexican soil, and to exhort the deputies not to waste precious time at such a critical conjuncture in wrangling over mere per- sonalities, but to unite patriotically with all citizens of good will, and much else to the same effect; whereupon the postulants were admitted by acclamation to take their seats. In the cabinet Obreg6n had considered himself as a binding link between honest citizens and the Carranza administration, and also as a moderating force within the latter. How slender was the part he played in this second capacity is obvious from what has already been written. That he continued to hold the triumphant revo- lutionaries together will not be denied, although the historian will probably not hesitate to award the principal credit or blame for the stability of Carranza’s gov- ernment to President Wilson's course of action and inaction. Obregén’'s High Influence Obregén now took a gloomy, or rather realistic, view of the situation. The fear of a party split was superseded by the danger of national gangrene. The administration lacked a program, a policy and a moral purpose, and seemed averse to adopting any. Abuses were growing one might say in direct ratio to the increase in the number and power of their beneficiaries, until in Carranza’s camp it had become impossible to discover any traces of the patriotic cause without making abstraction from the First Chief and his lieutenants, together with the rank and file, and then putting forth a vigorous effort of the imagination True, Obregén had noticed many backslid- ings and reprehensible practices when tak- ing office the year before; but he then had to choose, as he believed, between a gov- ernment still very imperfect but capable of discharging several of its functions, and downright anarchy. These alternatives having already disappeared, he turned a deaf ear to Carranza’s suasive entreaties and withdrew to his home in Sonora. Looking back upon Obregén’s activity during the intensely dramatic period which now came to an end with his retirement from public life, what especially strikes the unbiased onlooker is that the consistent motive of his various activities was a high moral purpose, sometimes a little difficult to recognize athwart the dust and gore and smoke of battles or the fog of politics, but ever present, working steadily if subtly, drawing him on to the final goal. In mat ters of right, veracity and justice he was the conscience of his country. In the practical sphere he strove to turn interest and enterprise into new and useful chan- nels. But despite his intentions, endeavors and unquestioned success, he now stood in the most trying of all the critical situations of his eventful life. His strong and attractive personality, quite apart from his brilliant success as the real chief of the revolutionary movement and from his less resonant labors as mod- erator in the cabinet, exercised a potent and moralizing effect on many of his con- temporaries, and more particularly on the younger generation. Happily this in- fluence, which is now more dominant than ever, fell in with the humanizing mood that has gradually come over some of the ac- credited spokesmen of various nations as a consequence of the moral exhaustion produced by the World War. A fervent and unflagging desire to harmonize right with fact, to infuse into private enterprise and public duty high social aims and moral meaning, and to combine remote interests now scattered throughout the world, con tributed the animating force of most of his activities. But those high-pitched preoccupations did not dull the keenness of his interest in the minor details of the everyday life of the community. What is noteworthy and re- freshing is the care with which he studied and the pains he took to remedy every

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38 abuse that was brought to his notice. A trivial instance of this—one of many and valuable only as a token of the bent of his disposition—may fitly find a place here. In the capital city furious driving was, as it still is, the cause of the death or mutila- tion of an appalling number of pedestrians and others who cannot be said to have con- tributed by negligence to bring about the mishap to which they fell victims. Nor is it possible to abate the crime—for crime it certainly isso long as the guardians of the law connive at the breaking of the law by officials and the wealthy, and fine those who strictly obey the traffic regulations. Now one day General Obreg6n, then War Minister, when driving in the principal thor- oughfare, was arrested by a rustic police- man and taken to the police station. The simple-minded Indian who apprehended him knew who he was, and apologized pro- fusely for his procedure, but pleaded strict orders recently issued and his fear of the consequences if he disobeyed them. The general's chauffeur protested, but was speedily silenced by his master, who went to the police station and waited patiently there for some twenty minutes among a crowd of delinquents in an evil-smelling room until his case could be heard. When it came before the official in charge, not only was the offense forthwith condoned, hut the wretched policeman who had ar- rested the minister was roundly abused and dismissed for failing to display the censid- eration due to a high official. Thereupon Obregén, who had thereto- fore played but a passive part in the pro- cee edings, said: This policeman has done his duty and deserves to be encouraged, not punished. You and your chief issued orders for the purpose of having them executed, and this man carried them out faithfully. I doubt whether you will find two per cent of his comrades bold enough to follow his ex- ample. Is he worthy of chastisement for this sc. upulous discharge of a distasteful duty? Is it fair to him or to the police force to teach them to discriminate be- tween privileged and unprivileged citizens instead of between lawbreakers and the law-abiding? Your words and acts are demoralizing, and I will see that they are dealt with as such. The policeman is a con- scientious official, and as his exemplary con- duct has brought him unmerited censure and threats, I give him this money as a token that the threats will not be executed and that the continued performance of his duty in the same spirit will lead to his promo- tion.” And he handed a gold piece of twenty pesos to the delighted Indian. The other trait in Obreg6n’s career dur- ing those stirring years is the leniency with which he judged and treated men who were unworthy of his support. In some cases, it is true, as in that of the First Chief, he was guided by extrinsic considerations. Besides, he was constrained to use such human ma- terials as were available, and this is one of those dire necessities which inspire one at times with misgivings for the future. Organizing the Farmers Doubtless Carranza at the outset played a useful rdle in the revolution as a rallying center. But gifted with just ability enough ‘o discharge this momentary part and make his exit decorously—as Obregén wished him to do—he was determined to remain on the stage until the curtain should fall on the last act of the drama. And he had his way, living to see most of his decrees fulfilled. As for the sequence of deeds and misdeeds which his partisans dignified with the name of policy, the historian will characterize it as a standing challenge or invitation to foreign intervention. For- tunately, however, for Carranza and for Mexico, President Wilson's idealism was too resonant to allow him to overhear either. His hopes abated by his discouraging experience and the presentiment that the First Chief was steering the state ship straight toward the rocks, General Obreg6n turned over in his mind his future plan of action. The considerations that weighed with him at first were these: If he should remain in the country, even though quiescent, he would be ex- pected to give at least his name and moral support to the chief for whose elevation he bore the moral responsibility; whereas if he were to make it known that he withheld this minimal degree of coépera.:on he would at once become an object of perse- cution. For Carranza’s maxim was “He who is not with me is against me,”’ and he THE SATURDAY would certainly not shrink from applying it to Obregon, whose neutrality woul everywhere be construed as merited cen- sure. Furthermore, the general, if a fateful crisis were precipitated while he was in the country, could not disregard the call of duty or abandon the cause of public order and morality. And as everybody knew this, his presence, in however private a capacity, would always be a stimulus to political friends and a menace to their ad- versaries. In a word, his stay in Mexico might lead to a renewal of the recent troubles, and as his country sorely needed peace, he was ready to make the painful sacrifice and emigrate. He finally decided to settle in South America, and began to shape his plans accordingly. This decision came as a stunning blow to Obregé6n’s supporters, who had given of their best to purchase stable peace and general betterment for their fellow citizens. They aut that until the new danger was removed the one man capable of exorcising it could not in conscience let the country face it alone. It was as much his duty to remain as it had been his duty to take up arms against Orozco. Obregén yielded to the force of argument, gave up his plan of voluntary exile and set himself to found a syndicate of farmers in the states of Sonora and Sinaloa. The object of this association was so to regulate the exportation of chick peas that the crisis which menaced the growers from the practice of carrying on the business through numerous separate channels might be permanently warded off. Visiting the United States That scheme, like all those which he con- ceived and handled, he wrought out to a very satisfactory issue, and in prosecuting it completed his knowledge, already ex- tensive, of the subsidiary branches of agri- cultural industry. It was during this period that he invented a seed-sowing machine which is still in use and demand, and which would, it is affirmed, have been dis- tributed over a much wider area had it not been for the strange turns given to the political kaleidoscope by Don Venustiano. Whatever undertaking Obregén set his hand to, the work seemed always to out- strip the workman. I have his authority for saying that his retirement into private life was intended to be final, and that among the arguments that moved him to renounce his scheme of emigrating, the prospect of being intrusted later on with the unenviable task of clean- ing the Augean stables of Mexican politics had no place. But circumstance is stronger than the will of man. The management of the farmers’ syndi- cate left him considerable free time, part of which he resolved to utilize for the pur- pose of becoming acquainted with the great North American republic, of which he had seen but a small section along the frontier states. This second visit marked an epoch in his life. The impressions he gathered during its all too brief duration were bracing, lasting and fruitful. Fortunately General Obregén, unlike the average traveler, is endowed with the right disposition for seeing a new country. His mind is a highly sensitive film. Both his theory of international converse and his powers of observation and assimilation make him an ideal traveler. He leaves his own and his country’s weights, measures and prejudices at the frontier and strives to see the foreign race as it is; to judge it by its own standards with no pretension to condemn, deride, or even pardon, but only to understand and learn. For him differences of language, religion, customs, possess no deciding significance, being the outcome of local conditions over which the inhabitants of a country have no control. He knows that a Slav becomes a patriotic German when bred and educated in Leipsic or Karlsruhe; a Christian girl lives and dies a fairly devout Moslem when kidnaped and brought to the pasha’s harem as a child; and he has had officers in his army who, although of European parentage, are thoroughly Mexican. The only differences among peoples and individuals that deserve to count are those revealed by the one true standard of human worth—moral character; and these are independent of political and geographical frontiers. All other distinctions are conventional, and on conventional themes ‘‘ There were never in the world,” as Montaigne puts it, “two opinions alike.” **My journey through the United States,” General Obreg6én remarked to me, “taught EVENING POST me much that was new and confirmed several conclusions which I had reached independently. It is impossible not to ad- mire the initiative and perseverance of the population, and not to feel keyed up by the marvelous fruits of its exertions. If we could but engraft those qualities on our people, the Mexico of the future would occupy a desirable position in the van of progressive nations. “One of the withering blights of civiliza- tion has its source in ple’s utter igno- rance of each other. They are constantly misjudging each other’s characters and misinterpreting each other’s acts, because they make to themselves caricatures in- stead of true pictures of foreign races. And out of this distorting medium spring the fierce hatred, the irrational fear, the con- stant distrust which estrange one from the other and ultimately bring about san- guinary conflicts. As an individual cannot be thoroughly understood apart from the community of which he is a member, neither can a nation be comprehended apart from the life of the whole human race “Now that source of misconceptions, jars and strife must be dried up as a condi- tion sine qua non of the establishment of genuine human intercourse. But who will undertake the task? Diplomatists? A diplomatist usually lives in a golden cage. He knows people, but ignores the people. Even statesmen are wont to make merely yartial surveys and to take short views. er many are there among them who pos- sess the courage—for even to think soundly requires courage—to visualize their own country as an integral part of the pro- gressive human race and to weigh its temporary interests against the larger and permanent duties? “Unhappily there are no special in«‘itu- tions anywhere intrusted with the task of disseminating correct ideas about foreign nations and generating feelings of brother- hood among them. Well, it is high time to found some such bodies. In the meanwhile, it is part of my plan to send the most promising youths in the republic to com- plete their education abroad, so that when they return they may become earnest apostles of this gospel of universal fellow- ship which should and will displace the pharisaical gratitude which so many of the world’s races and communities profess at not being like their neighbors. The money requisite for this work will be well spent. On the other hand, I hope to bring into the country a number of steady, hard-working foreigners who will serve as leaven for the backward masses of our people.” Troublous Questions “Formerly the unity of religious belief was appealed to as a means of drawing races and peeples together. You know as well as I do how short-lived was its success. To-day metaphysical ideas have no such hold on the masses. Neither have the in- volved clauses of treaties. Some people still profess to believe in their efficacy. But what is the use of a treaty of perpetual friendship between two peoples who hate each other or who ascribe nefarious designs one to the other? What would you think of a marriage between a youth and a girl whose mutual dislike was profound? Would the marriage service ~roduce a miraculous effect and make them iove each other until death? “What we need most of all is mutual acquaintanceship and the capacity to discern, under differences of languages, re- ligions, customs and traditions, those en- during spiritual energies and instincts that make us all brothers. If we accomplish this, justice and equity will one day govern a world. If we fail, militarism will get the upper hand and civilization go to the wall. In the latter contingency, Mexico’s lot would be calamitous. All my hopes and concrete plans are based on the assumption that justice, friendliness and morality will get the upper hand.” Here, as in most of his conceptions and schemes to realize them, Obreg6n displays a faculty which is neither reason only nor imagination, but might aptly be termed imaginative reason. Thus over and above the ordinary effect of foreign travel—the fuller appreciation and warmer love of one’s native land— there was another: He fell a-pondering on the causes which hindered his fellow coun- trymen from achievit.« any of the grandiose agricultural, commercial or industrial feats which stood to the credit of the citizens January 1,192! of the United States, despite the advan- tages—in many respects superior—which Nature has bestowed on Mexico. The ex- ternal hindrances needed no study, being patent to all. Unrest, insecurity, destruc- tiveness and moral exhaustion, the effects of protracted civil strife, furnished an ade- quate explanation of some of the obstacles to progress. But were there none others? Is there a sinister flaw deeply embedded in the soul of the Mexican people? And coming to concrete examples: The land in large districts of Chihuahua, Sonora, Sinaloa is in some cases identical with that of the most fertile districts of Cali- fornia, and in others it is superior, while conditions for reclaiming and cultivating it are the same. Whence then the enormous difference in the results? Again, how does it happen that Mexican agricultural laborers are employed in the United States and paid as much as four and five dollars a day to raise crops which their own country could produce in even greater abundance? Why are industrial firms in the United States able to manufac- ture out of Mexican raw materials goods which are then imported into Mexico and sold at a profit there? If Mexico possesses the crude stuffs, the workmen, the water power and can utilize all three more cheaply than the United States, how comes it that her people fail to utilize them and are contented to pay an immense tribute to their northern neighbors who grow rich while Mexicans remain poor? Diagnosing Mexico's Case If Mexico is blessed with natural wealth to an incalculable extent; produces min- erals valued at more than three million pesos a year; oil wells—actually ex- plored—whose potential capacity is esti- mated at more than half a billion barrels annually, while the unexplored wells are believed to contain thousands of times more; if its forests yield the finest timber in the world in vast quantities; if it is endowed with all climates; has vast tracts of the most fertile soil in the world; if its rivers abound in excellent fish and its orchards in luscious fruits; if it could read- ily support a population of two hundred millions, as many experts aver, whence comes the blight that has stricken most of its sixteen million inhabitants with the pinch of sempiternal hunger, squalor and disease? Why is it that such of its wealth as is liquid would have lain undeveloped had it not been explored and handled by onepens foreigners whose very presence was childishly resented by Carranza and his environment? Are the peoples of Mexico suffering from} lack of initiative or lack of perseverance or both? And when the diagnosis has been ascertained, is there a remedy available? Above all, can the peo- ple endure it? Those were some of the questions to which Obregén’s visit to the States im- parted painful urgency. He mused on them for long and discussed them with others. Finally he completed his diagnosis and thought out a remedy—the most efficacious remedy that a statesman and ruler who can deal only with actions, not with character, is competent to prescribe. Not the least of its advantages is that it treats the various evils as symptoms of a single malady, and the problem as one and indivisiole. The various aspects of the comprehensive reforms which he contem- plates have been unfolded to me by their author. In due time they are to be drafted as parliamentary bills and later on, one hopes, passed as state laws. Some of them are simple and mild, others heroic; but one and all they appear to me to. be exactly what the country needs and what alone can extricate it—if statute laws and a sound educational system can extricate it—from its present lamentable condition. On this matter I pro to dwell more fully in a subsequent chapter. Dur:ng that memorable journey to the United States General Obregén, when passing some of the numerous stations in which representatives of applied science were studying important agricultural, min- ing and other problems which will shortly confront his own country, might have re- flected that half a century previously Mex- ico possessed an agricultural department considerably superior to anything of which the United States at that time disposed. The general’s attention, however, was di- rected principally to industrial enterprises (Concluded on Page 40)

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THE SATURDAY

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EVENING POST

1918 City 2,760,043 square feet of Barrett Specification Roofs

87% of all buildings erected by Turner Construction Co. during 16 years are covered with Barrett Specification Roofs—

TURNER FOR CONCRETE TURNER CONSTRUCTION COMPANY 244 MADISON AVENUE wostom Oct. 10th, 1919. THE BARRETT COMPANY, New York. Herewith are the five composite drawings made to scale and showing truthfully all the reinforced concrete industrial buildings erected by our Company in the seven- teen ycars from 1902 to December 31st, 1918, both inclusive. It will interest you to know that the roofs of all these Five Hundred and Nineteen Buildings have a total area of 8,642,818 square feet, of which approximately 7,571,108 square feet, or 87.6 per cent., were covered with Barrett Specification Roofs. In reality, therefore, these Turner Cities, as these drawings are known, make most excellent Barrett Cities. The use of Barrett Specification roofing as you know has been practically a stundard with us for years. On these 519 buildings, the total cost of which would exceed Ninety Millions of Dollars, we have dealt with 94 prominent Architects and Engineers and 270 different Owners. These Cities are not only an excellent endorsement for “Turner for Concrete,” but they are, it seems to us, an exceptional indication of the general merit of Barrett Specification Roofs Very truly yours, ‘finy a JPHP_ ES

eureaco om weeny pr aoe. onte oe ceaeese New Yorn pirreeueen

F experience in constructing permanent build ings counts for anything, surely the great Turner Construction Company of New York, builders of the vast Concrete “Cities” pictured here, should kzow how to select a permanent roof. The figures quoted tell their own story. This great construction company, the 270 owners for whom they erected these 519 concrete build ings, and the 94 prominent architects and engi neers, united in choosing Barrett Specification Roofs for over 87% of the total roof area. Could there be more conclusive proof than this of the durability, economy and general superi- ority of these roofs? The Surety Bond Guarantee Yet the owner of a Barrett Specification Roof need not rely upon even this practically unanimous judgment of experts. He is absolutely insured against all roof trouble and upkeep expense by a Surety Bond of one of the strongest surety com panies in America—The U. S. Fidelity and Guaranty Company of Baltimore. Any Barrett Specification Roof of 50 squares or larger in size, in towns of 25,000 or more, and in many smaller places where our Ins spection Note that the 1918 City Paget at the top and almost doubled the Nine Year City. Service 1s available, may be so bonded for 20 or 10 years without cost to the owner. Our only stipulations are that the roofing contractor shall be approved by us and that The Barrett Specifi cation as revised April /5, 1920, shall be strictly followed. » Important Notice The Barrett Specification Type “AA” 20-Year Bonded Roof represents the most permanent roof covering it is possible to construct, and while we bond it for twenty years only, we can name many roofs of this type that have been in service over forty years and are still tn good condition Where the character of the building does not justify a roof of such extreme length of service, we recommend the Barrett Specification Type “A” Roof bonded for 10 years. Both roofs are built of the same high-grade ma terials, the only oe e being in the quantity used Full details regarding these Bonded Roofs and copies of The Barrett car a Na sent free on request. | egos y

New York Chicag Philad ston Cleveland Cincinnati i burg Birmingham Kansas City M , De Syracuse wat f t Salt Lake City Bangor Washington hnstown Youngstown Milwawker ri t Latrot Ret i t ' t Omaha H I 1HE BARRETT COMPANY, 1 Mort " ront t. John, N. B ‘Halifax, N

Nine Year City (1902-10 inclusive} feet of page e Five Year City

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40 (Concluded from Page 38) that interested the army, for the world was then hypnotized by the Great War. Had it been otherwise, he would have admired the steady, silent, efficacious work that is being accomplished at the various stations where untiring research and painstaking experiment are shaping the conditions for great industrial enterprise and far-reaching “He will not long be here. All that he does he does quickly,” said old Maeeta, whom I met in the garden. She was speak- ing of the American. “ He is lining his saddlebags with golden fleece while he stays,” said I, my speech taking a poetic turn. Maeeta laughed, and then I heard other soft laughter from the shadows behind the drawn curtains. The orders for steel, which had to be forged to fit the papers, would take at least one hundred days; but the order for cement, which could be filled at once in Far Remesch, would be back in three weeks. When I heard that the Red Handed had begun to look immediately for men I smiled, for always the peasants have been promised payment for labor in our coun- try, so that they do not hear ra any longer, but stay in their little fields. Of course they come rather than to be beaten; but surely, I thought, this white man can- not put himself in the place of the Amir, so there was hope for a halt in his purposes. Indeed, after a week's absence in the coun- try round the capital, the American came back with but six men, and they were in- firm with years, save one who was little better than a boy and had a running sore in his hand. To Maeeta, in the garden, I pointed out the five bent ones and the boy, toiling over the hole'in the ground where a pillar was to rise, saying: “Surely there will be swift changes in the garden, Maeeta, with such giants coming in from the country.” “Hah!” she answered. ‘‘ Men will come to his bidding, and not men alone.”” And again I heard the soft laughter from the shadows. Six days passed, and the old men and the boy iboned Then they were paid in silver money by the Red Handed and sent away for a day's rest to their own homes. When they came back each brought a young man with him, and the labor went on for six days more, and again they were paid and given a day's rest. When the cement came twenty men were there to handle it, and every day now others were applying to la- bor. Some were kept and some were sent away against the time that the steel girders should arrive; but the old men who came first were not sent away to save the Amir expense, but given lighter work in- stead; and the boy with the sore hand was given pencil and paper to make marks on for each hour that each man labored. The great abutments were laid on either side of the river, and from the window the Amir watched with shining eyes. Still there were many days left before the steelwork could possibly be delivered. Surely now, I thought, this devastator will disband the army that has come to devour us out of palace and grounds; but the Red Handed came to the Amir, saying: “They were hard to get together, chief—a good gang like this. Besides, they’re getting to understand me.” “What would you have?” asked. “Why, man, that serai of yours is a curse. I didn’t see the Augean stables, but they couldn't possibly have anything on your serai. I pretty near started to walk back to Far Remesch the night I landed and you put me up there.” “You should have been brought te the palace at once, but I was indisposed,” said the Amir “I'll forgive you for that, but we'll start in and clean it up. We'll carry the topsoil from the corral to your gardens—make ‘em blossom like the rose, as Hiram here would say. Also we'll put some nice big rock boxes underneath to keep the earth dry where the animals stand.” When this was finished there were still a number of weeks before the steelwork could come, and the Red Handed came into the presence of the Amir, saying: “You need to get outdoors more, Amir. That little car which the British sent you the Amir THE SATURDAY mercantile venture; in Ohio, by the staff of the oil station there; in Montana and Arizona, by specialists in copper mining; in Salt Lake City and San Francisco, by experts on silver and gold mining; in Minnesota, where the technical methods of treating iron are being studied; in Florida, where white phosphates are scientifically analyzed; and in Seattle, where skilled EVENING POST professors are busied perfecting hydro- electrical processes. But if he did not actually visit those laboratories and experimental workshops where science is being made tribu_ary to economic advancement, he heard of them, obtained an insight into their achievements and perceived that many of the urf nt problems with which his own country i THE RED HANDED (Continued from Page 9) for a present when they wanted to establish a toll station in the pass—it’s an all-right little red car. I’ve put it in shape, but you haven't any roads. You need a few miles and my men need the work.” So with broken stone they raised the road in and out of the capital to the garden walls—more than fifty men bending to the will of this one man; not to his will alone, but to the whim and slightest wish. The Amir marveled at the industry of his eople, thinking that their virtue had long Son concealed from him. And then the palace walls were to mend, but the white man was often away from his men these late days—out on the road to Far Remesch, trying one after another of the Amir’s hyber ponies, watching, always watching, for his caravan of steel. Then came the night when I saw a dark figure, to my eyes much like the figure of the Red Handed, standing among the thick trunks of the climbing roses that cover the verandas of the seraglio. From the window behind the leaves I heard the voice that could be no other than the Circassian girl, Mirsamee’s; tonesfrom her that I had never heard before, because her voice was always sorrowing. Then I could not be sure if it were a lizard I heard, or the chuckle of the Red Handed, though I should have learned all had it not been for old Maeeta raising a scream that I was spying on her women- folk. To stop her outcry I had to make off. When the hundred days had passed a messenger came in from Far Remesch say- ing that the steelwork could not start for another fortnight. It was then I saw the face of the Red Handed go white and long, and he did not leave his room for three days; but all the while the fifty men worked tirelessly, repairing the walls, like children preparing a great surprise for the return of their father. Once again, at the hour of the first darkness, I saw the tall figure standing in the shadows where the ancient rose vines climbed, but I could not go near because old Maeeta was abroad ready to scream at my approach. Such was the nature of the dark days which had befallen the palace of our Prince. A runner came at lest, saying that the shipment of steel pieces had been started, elephants carrying the heavy gird- ers and camels the lighter ones. Several days after that came the word that changed all our lives: that robbers had descended upon the caravan and despoiled it, running off the elephants and camels and leaving the iron pieces fallen to the road, many of them tossed over into the defiles. It was then that I heard the foreigner laugh softly when he came into audience. “Now don’t start wringing your hands,” he said to the Amir. “ You want a bridge, allright. SodolI. But we want the moun- tains cleaned out first. I need seventy rifles, twenty rounds each, and a whole lot of horses and camels. I'll fix those moun- tains so we can get our bolts and screws through when we order ‘em.”’ Within four hours the first of the Red Handed’s men filed out of the big gate His laborers were now seventy in numb« for the iron work to begin. Far out from the capital, in the mountains, the seventy were divided into several small caravans, the first of which was attacked by robbers in the throat of the pass. It appears that this first party made no resistance until the robbers were actually among them, Then with a great ery they drew out the rifles concealed in their packs and began to fire, at the same time fleeing back the way they had come. The robbers followed, but en- countered the second of the caravans—and the third— until the tide was turned against them. Then the drive into the mountains began—a drive that continued straight to the robbers’ stronghold. Still the Red Handed was not satisfied, but with explosives he broke in the caves where the mountaineers were hiding —until the few who survived came crawling out, bringing their treasure, which the American accepted, demanding also the elephants and the camels and the steel pieces. Some of the elephants had been sold into other captivity, but there were many camels other than those which had belonged to the steel caravan. Now the robbers were made to come forth and find the pieces of the Amir’s bridge. Sometimes it took a whole day to bring up one piece from the khud into which it had fallen, and many days passed before the beasts were finally loaded and the start made back to the Amir’s capital. ow it is true that the labor men re- turned with the whole bridge, save 0: 2 piece, a key piece—and into the p«:.-¢ grounds they came, singing, bringing ¢: treasures. The pieces of steel were carried to the river banks and placed in rows and counted and measured. Once more it was verified that the order was correctly filled, save the one missing key piece, a very big one. One day as I looked over the great frames, studying them, the Red Handed caught me by the shoulders, saying: “Hiram, what have we got lying round here in the way of steel?”’ “Nothing,” said I. “‘ There is nothing of ironwork in this country.” “If that’s true, we're haid up for a bridge, Hiram.” “Tt is true, sahib.” All the time he was figuring under his eyebrows and chewing his pencil and scratching the hair of his head above his ear. “Hiram, it ain’t healthy to be so cock- sure,” he said at last. “‘Come on, and we'll go and see the Old Man. Maybe he’s got a watch charm or a shoe buckle or something of the kind.” And thus, regardle:, of the hour which was the Amir’s for . »akfasting with his men children, the Red tianded led the way to the palace door, demanding audience. “You haven’t been good and dutiful to me lately, Prince,’’ he began with severe ace. “Ask him what I can do?” the Amir said quickly, when I had interpreted. Even as I spoke Mr. Heckling thumped the table with his bare fist. “You haven’t been doing what I told vou, chief. I’m going to punish you too, tear me?” “Ask him what I may quickly,”’ the Amir implored. “You haven't been getting outdoors enough!” “T will! Ob, I will!” “Here I got your little red buggy and made a road for you, and you won’t ride in it!” “TI will ——” “No, you won't! Because I’m going to melt up that little red buggy to get my key piece for the bridge!” “Oh, do, Eminent!” said the Amir. Then the furnace was made half under- ground, and the fires began filling the Amir’s garden with smoke. For a day and night we saw the Red Handed, naked to the waist, wielding a sledge too big for any of hismen. And the women from the windows of the seraglio watched him in the red firelight, the great sledge rising and falling. When the key piece was partly done, one end fashioned, the American ordeved the fires to be drawn, saying, “ And now, I will really be paid!”’ Straightway he left the furnace and the forge, telling his men to rest, and went to his quarters in the palace. ! was soon called for and told to announce to the Amir that Mr. Heckling desired audience as soon as he washed the smoke out of his eyes. From the soft laughter, as he scraped his chin, I knew there was danger; but little I knew of the nature or the extent of that danger and shame. “Oh, the bridge is all right,”” ie said to the Amir. “Two or three days + ore at the forge and I'll have that key made. After do—again January 1,192! soon have to cope are identical with those which its progressive neighbors have al- ready tackled and solved successfully. And he also knows—-the representatives of Texas, New Mexico and Arizona have assured him—that the results which cost them so much time, labor and money are entirely and gratuitously at the service of his country. - i | that it’s only a matter of assembly—that’s the fun of the show—all parts numbered and made to fit, Amir. Oh, yes, you'll be out in your bunnit and shawl to see the ieces lock into each other. 3ut, Amir, if should die right now, there isn’t a man in your principality that could make the bridge stand up.”’ I placed this to the Amir, begging him to be calm. “The Amir inquires for the state of your health, Mr. Heckling.”’ “It’s good,” the Red Handed said. “It’s good, but unreliable. I’m in a queer state here, little chief. You and I’ve got to get together on it.” And now the great red hand was on his heart, and I began to smell fire in the walls, as our saying is. These are his words and they are many: “Rufie’s been round a whole lot, Amir— yes, a whole lot; and so far he’s always walked alone. But the ways stretched out ahead don’t look any more like a bridle ath to me. They look like a regular road or span and yoke. It’s in vour house, Amir, she’s living now.” Interpreting, I saw the yellow cast come to the golden brown of the Amir’s rounded cheek; then the green tint of the fine oil of the olives. “Don’t take it hard, old man. You'll never miss her. It’s little Mirsamee.”’ He stopped and looked hard at the Amir, and then to my face, where I trust he met rebuke. “Say, you two look like cholera to me. I’ve only talked to her through the lattice, mister. That little white girl from the Black Sea—she’s lonely, Amir. She says you've been great to her, treated her just like a little girl, only she’s lonesome.” The Amir appeared to hear, but his tongue did not move. Still the shameless one talked on: “Of course, I hesitate to use any pres- sure, little chief. You and I’ve got on fairly well in this building project. We could go on a long time without a break— barring little Mirsamee. But that ought not to be hard. I’ve seen her and she’s seen me. It was one of those things that clip. I’ve told you before, I don’t like it here in your country. I don’t like the climate. I don’t like the politics. But that don’t matter now. I'll stay along and be your prime minister, if I have to—but I’m not going away without Mirsamee.” Mr. Heckling rolled a cigarette from his cloth bag while I made over his speech. “Try one, chief.” The Amir’s lips moved, but not with words. “All right. Everyone to his tastes, but don’t make a sound in your neck like that. Don’t start that now just as you get over nursing your hands.” Again we heard the soft laugh. “Think it over,”’ he said as he turned to go. “Only I’m not leaving the pal- ace grounds, remember; and about that bridge—I agreed to make it for you, but I didn’t agree to forge the key piece myself. I'll let the rest of that work wait till I hear from you.” There was long silence after he had gone. Then the Amir’s hands came together and he murmured, “And no one but him can build the bridge!” I bowed. “It is so—as you say, Illustrious.” “He has only talked with her through the lattice. She is nothing to me. She has only cried since she came to my household. I could make a gift of her without shame.” “Will the Prince hear his servant?” I said. “Speak, Ingenious!”’ “These laboring men are like an army to him, sire. They will obey him. They are fat and unafraid. They will further, at the word, his most unholy desire—even to be- coming prime minister.”’ “Speak more!”’ (Concluded on Page 43)

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£28 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 1 Domestic motors share th2 popularity of the numerous recognized home utilities on which they are standard equipment. Just as consistently as they supply the motive power for the Sweeper-Vac and other electric cleaners, do they operate the washing machines, dishwashers, and similar electric appliances which America looks upon as the leaders of their respective fields. Ud THE DOMESTIC ELECTRIC CO., CLEVELAND, 0. f/) FACTORIES AT CLEVELAND, O., AND NORWALK, O. . ove, a ra . . TRADE MARK REG.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ¢ Paar the baby ...a Plumb! The best axe amanever swung. It chops cleaner, faster and holds its edge longer than any other axe made. The old practice of pounding axes into shape by repeated trip hammer blows on a soft steel body and then trying to weld e small piece of hard steel on the end to form a cutting edge, is done away with in the Plumb Plants. Axes are forged into form from a single piece of alloy steel by powerful machines in the Plumb process the grain of the steel is not broken, no danger of soft spots or other imperfections . . . the finished Plumb Axe is full of life, holds its cutting edge and is altogether an axe for an expert woodsman. The “ bit” is part of the axe itself—it is the axe super-hardened and tempered for two full solid inches . . . the Plumb Axe can be ground and réground. No miswelds—so common in the old style axes. No battered heads or buckled eyes such as you get with the old soft body. Just a high grade stiff-bodied steel from bit to cutting edge. See the Plumb name is stamped on the axe, hammer, hatchet or sledge you buy . . . then you'll appreciate why expert workmen the world over say that ‘‘They’re worth more.”’ Sold by all hardware dealers throughout the world FAYETTE R. PLUMB, Inc., Philadelphia, U. S. A. Factories, Philadelphia and St. Louis and Svdney Wellington Jol urg Sao Paulo Established 1856 Melbourne Brisbane Manila Montevideo Santiago nos Aires fs oe a i: +: Pa ‘4 x e ee | Hammers Hatchets : Sledges and Axes January 1,192! A Leverage of 1100 Pounds With the short split of the claw in Plumb Nail Hammers, a leverage ratio of 22 to 1 is obtained. This means that if you apply 50 pounds at the end of the handle you get 1100 Ibs. pull on the nail. That’s one reason Plumb Nail Hammers can pull nail heads through 1%" planks. Price $2.00

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(Concluded from Page 40) “The woman is nothing to you—a white face that works with many tears. Make the gift as you, with such perspicacity, suggested. Command him to finish the bridge, encouraging as you alone can do, until the work is done. Then will come the departure, and you will supply the escort party to Far Remesch. As he goes over the pass to the outer world with this Mirsa- mee—alone, save for the escort you have chosen, having discharged all the laborers because their labors were finished ——- “It is worthy of Medu'ullah himself!” the Amir cried. ‘“‘Thou hast spoken well, Hiram, my Favored from a Child. I shall have the escort punish them both as they go over the pass—because at that time I shall already have the bridge in my garden.” So it came about that little Mirsamee was brought forth from the seraglio and given in wedlock to the Red Handed, whom she seemed to know like a child of her own, though it is true that they had only talked before this day with the darkness of eve- ning about them and the bars of the locked house of the women between their lips. And this was the Circassian girl who had known but one thing well since she came to the Amir; that one thing being to weep. And I saw the tinge of olive come to the face of our Prince as he saw her happiness, and that relaxed look that I knew so well as having to do with a plan to punish an offender. Then the great bridge came up as by magic, diminishing the palace; the final payments were made, the papers written out, and the escort was arranged for the out journey. It was my thought that my servant, Haider Roorkh, be made meh- mandar again, to deal between the Amer- ican and the people on the road to Far Remesch. The Amir assented, but after he had told the American that he was to go, Haider Roorkh returned to me in great trouble. “The white man laughed at me—but softly, Hiram Harish Singh,” he said. “It is true that he pulled my beard and spoke in symbols after this fashion _ “Tell me quickly,”’ I said. “He spoke of a cross,” said Haider Roorkh, “‘of a double cross, saying that I would double-cross my own father.” SMALL-TO By ROBERT QUILLEN Competition EW men have definite goals. The aver- age man has no more definite purpose than the desire to get a living. The business of getting a living brings him into com- petition with his fellows, and he discovers that in many instances a gain for himself means a loss for another, while his losses mean another’s profit. He discovers also that the world is intent upon the business of getting his money, and will bargain shrewdly before parting with money of its own. When he is guilty of stupidity he is penalized by a loss, and when he uses his wits he is rewarded with a profit. He plays a hard game in which the win- ners are a target and the losers soon for- gotten. If one would catch fish he goes to a place where fish abound. So the man who plays the game of getting money interests him- self in people who have money. If a man calls at your office and, finding you absent, calls again and yet again, you feel little uneasiness when informed of his visits, for experience has taught you that one so per- sistent in his attentions is not actuated by a desire to give you something, but is seeking a profit for himself. It is not snobbishness but rather an understanding of opportunity that prompts men to court the attention of men who have more than themselves and give little attention to those who have less. Will a prospector devote his days to pan- ning thankless sand when there is a vein of rich ore within his reach? When the man who has one thousand dollars is ap- proached by one who has but ten, he says to himself: ‘“‘This man has designs on my purse.”” When he is approached by one who has a million dollars, he says to himself: ‘This man is seeking to use me in some particular; I shall be on my guard and endeavor to make him pay a price.”” There is very little altruism outside of story books. Now each man plays a game according to his caliber. If he lacks confidence in himself and is filled with fear, he will envy more skillful players, and thus come to hate them. To even the score and salve his wounded vanity he will cultivate a feel- ing of contempt for less skillful players a contempt tinged with jealous fear and near akin to hate. An inferior race is often hated by mem- bers of a superior race who are nearest to its level. By expression of hate they seek to accentuate a contrast that might other- wise remain unobserved. Hate is frequently no more than a desperate effort to preserve self-respect. If a player is conscious of a high degree of skill he is conscious also of a fellowship of excellence that links him with a skillful opponent. His desire to beat an opponent is not lessened by this fellowship. It is rather intensified. But the respect he feels for himself, coupled with the knowledge that his opponent shares it, encourages the fair play men call! chivalry. He does not hate because he does not envy. He knows himself as good as the best. Nor does he hate those who have less skill; he does not hate because he does not fear. He has climbed to a high place and, being secure in his position, feels only a kindly interest in the welfare of those who attempt the ascent. One who has arrived—who has found himself and attained the poise that is the fruit of a reasonable self-confidence— may without affectation be amiable with kings or share the peasant’s burden without fear of losing caste. There is a righteous hate of unclean things, and this all clean men share. But the hate that is either fear or envy or an admixture of fear and envy is unknown to strong men who are confi. nt of ultimate victory or to men whose superior wit and prowess have gained them a place above the multitude. There is a contempt for filth and cow- ardice, and this all respectable men hold in common. But a contempt occasioned by another’s weakness, whether of purse or biceps, wit or will, is not a wholesome contempt, but a sop to vanity—an at- tempt to glorify oneself by exaggeration of another's misfortune. Loyalty jb quality of loyalty is not strained. One cannot, by force of will, make him- self loyal to a cause or a country, though he may, by force of will, preserve the appearance of loyalty and thus avoid the penalty earned by those who have the courage of their treachery. So one may pretend a love he does not feel and a righteousness to which he is stranger; but pretense is a veneer easily cracked by the stress of circumstance, and a disloyal heart will in time find a vent for the treason it nurtures. One cannot be a little loyal and a little disloyal. Loyalty demands the whole man. Love of country is not the sport of changing policies. If one is loyal to his country when its policies please him and disloyal when its policies do not meet with his approval, he does not love his country but only himself and his opinions. When a mother discovers faults in her child she accepts the duty of correcting them. But her love is not lessened by the faults. She does not turn her back on the child and encourage enemies who would oppress and destroy it. The love that prompts her to admonish it will as quickly prompt her to give her life for it. So one who loves his country will exert himself to establish a national ideal of jus- tice and liberty, and when thwarted by the greed or vice or folly of his fellows will THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “Be at peace! It is not a grievous in sult,’’ I told him; “and as to his pulling the beard, it was but an affection. The Amir has no beard, or it would be pulled. How- ever, there will be another mehmandar.” Then even the footboards were placed upon the bridge, and the Red Handed was given audience a last time. “IT knew you'd like the bridge, little chief,” he said. “Yes, sir, she’s a dandy; and the river will take the palace too if it takes her; and the new key piece shines up just as if she knew she was holding the whole thing together, and had been a gas buggy once. Hand tooled, she is, that key piece, and better stuff than they put in bridges as a rule, hey, Hiram? She’s my present, sultan—-present for the little key piece to the whole works, which I got from your boarding school for girls, little Mercy-me. Say, chief, I'll never get over your kindness in holding her till I got here. Yes, we’re going now—starting to-day. I never say good-by twice.” The Amir spoke and I interpreted. “He asked if you have everything for the journey, Mr. Heckling; if the bodyguard is sufficient and satisfactory.” fight for his conception of right, and still love his country. He will have his own way if he can; but he will not agree that treason is the one alternative. Each citizen of America has the inalien- able right to repeal any law on the statute books and pass any number of new ones if he can persuade a majority of his fellows to his way of thinking. Each alien in America has the inalienable right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness while he remembers that he is a guest and amenable to the rules of a household in which he has no voice Minorities have a right to their opinions. So, also, have aliens. But they sacrifice all other rights who seek by force to impose their opinions on a majority. A majority is the Government, and the Government is the voice of America. Temper HEN the male gorilla faces danger and realizes that he must go to the mat with another denizen of the jungle, he does not rush headlong to the fray, but prudently beats himself upon the chest to work up sufficient enthusiasm to insure getting the maximum of energy behind his punches. He realizes, in his primitive way, that a little temper neutralizes a great deal of cowardice. So two men who have found cause to quarrel will exchange hot words and yet be persuaded by caution to refrain from blows, until one or the other, having gained courage from the bellow of his own voice, gives rein to his temper and swings a fist Temper is inherent in man, but a hair- trigger temper is a product of lax disci- pline. When a small boy discovers that a dis- play of temper will serve to win the thing that has been denied him, he will cultivate temper as a useful servant. When crossed in any matter he will lie on the floor and kick up his heels and howl. This is not so much a display of temper as a display of intelligence. If adults could so easily gain their ends they would howl vhrough all their days. The boy is an efficiency expert He is getting results with the least waste of energy. Demonstrate to him that loss of temper pays no profit but insures unpleasant con- tact with the business end of a razor strop and he will find other means to attain his object. If a boy contrives unfailingly to have his way by the simple expedient of giving his temper rein, he will carry the practice with him into manhood. When opposed in any particular he will open the throttle a little and show a flashing eye and reddening cheek. If the opposition persists he will roar and clear the decks for action. If the case seems desperate he may go to the 43 “That reminds me, chief—one of the things I came to speak about. I'm not going to need that bodyguard, mister. You see, about fifty of my yay 4 men want to go on with me as far as Far Remesch. They hint that they won't be popular here when I’m gone. “T told ’em there was nothing to that, but they wouldn't hear of me and Mere going on alone. Say, how many times have I told you about stroking your hands that way? It ain't nice, Amir!’ We heard him calling good-by from the corridor. I saw the colors change in the face of the Amir—the pale gold, the green gold, the sickness. And I was thinking of his army that had destroyed the robbers, going with the Red Handed and the woman to Far Remesch. For me there was but one brightness, in that he had gone at last. And then I saw brightness returning to the eyes of the Prince, who rose and hurried with quickened steps to the window, look- ing out upon the great structure there which made the garden and the palace look small. “But, oh,” bridge?” LUFF length of warning his adversary that he has a terrible temper and cannot trust himself if driven too far. If the adversary is stubbornly bent on self-destruction the sequel will depend upon the measure of discretion possessed by the evil-tempered one. For here is a singular thing concerning tempers that are uncontrollable: The man who has a temper prone to take charge of the works on the slightest provocation will be easily offended by his children and will punish them for the slightest infraction of his law. As he beats them his temper wil! feed on the violence it has inspired and add blow to blow until physical exhaustion serves to cool his wrath. When his wife does or says anything to displease him his temper will slip its leash and threaten her with instant destruction. When a man smaller than himself dares to oppose him his temper will burst into flame and drive him almost to the point of madness. When he engages in conflict with a man of his own caliber and by the fortune of war gains to a point of vantage astride the other's abdo- men, his temper will burst all bounds and impel him to drive blow after blow to eye and nose and mouth while the driving is good. But when the one who opposes him has a reputation as a bad man in a ruction or stands a head above him or reaches for a lethal weapon, the uncontrollable temper crawls into a dark corner and falls asleep, nor will any method of persuasion prevail upon it to appear in public until the coast is clear. If a great hulk of a man comes seeking a quarrel, one possessed of temper may, by grave and unhurried speech, cool the great one’s wrath and thus avert disaster. Or if a man of one’s own size and degree of prowess comes seeking a quarrel, one may find need of fervid profanity to generate sufficient temper to steady his quivering knees. But when there is occasion to quar- rel with a runt who is without a weapon and incapable of inflicting punishment, neither soft words nor hard ones can long postpone the conflict. The ungovernable temper quickly casts aside all restraint and rushes forth as a mighty wind to wreck and destroy the puny thing that dared to rouse It, Thus the treatment for an unruly temper suggests itself. If discretion will in any case keep a temper in bounds, encourage the development of discretion by providing greater need of it. In the case of a small boy apply the back of a hairbrush to the seat of trouble at the first appearance of temper. In the case of the bellicose adult, now more commonly described as a hard boiled egg, face the patient calmly and discourage his gathering temper by the application of a brick to his ear. This treat ment, if persistent and conscientious, will effect a complete cure in the most desperate cases, A hairfrom the dog won't cure the bite, but a kick in the ribs will discourage the bark. he said, “is it not a beautiful

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Murphy OF exere) a= Motor Car # Enamels Practically every tenth car in the United States is painted with Da-cote— over a million cars made new at trifling cost. It’s easy —fun. No brush marks or laps, just a smooth, glossy, durable finish. Da-cote means “Coat to- day—dry tomorrow.” PCR meme tackle ing all popular colors. Murphy vBiss Company Newark Chicago | she had always craved. | for Jasper. | hither and thither by his good heart Jasper |} managed to prosper. | above taking his Sunday | He has that either. THE SATURDAY They say one day he looked at her and said: “Well, Sarah, we were happily married after all!’’ And they say she told somebody that she had always known John was a good man if he hadn’t been so worried with living. The marriage that turns out well is the happy marriage, no matter how hard a time the two people in it have had bearing with each other. I had company that night in my heart, so many men and women I had known seemed to come back with their little good deeds to be recorded. As fast as I could set down as briefly as possible how Brother Hicks, at the age of seventy, waited on his bedridden wife, cooked, cleaned and made a living for her on a little old rabbit-skin farm he had, I would recall someone else who had been the patient good man in the community where he lived, but who could never get on very well with the saints in the church because he was so busy defending and building up the sinners. I had more than a dozen of these little tales of honor and cheerful long-suffering written before Peter came up and asked me what I was doing up so late. I told him I had been writing a few letters. You are justified in concealing the truth sometimes. The next morning I added a few hopeful sentences, like the smart paragraphs we see | on the editorial page of a newspaper, only | they were not smart and they did not bite. Good little words sowed in sentences which I hoped would come up and grow in the minds of those who read them. When you are not accustomed to writing it wakens you in the night and you get up | and put down something that you forgot to tell. I did this for a week. I was up and down so much with my memories that Peter heard me one night and wanted to know through the deor between our rooms i . was ill. I told him no, that I had heard a noise and had risen to see what it was. You may be permitted to use a figure of | speech sometimes, which is the symbol of the truth concealed. The noise I heard was of tired feet on a country road long, long | ago, when Jasper Wood came in the dead hours of the night to get William to go to old Tim Herndon, who was dying and had | made up his mind to repent if they could get a preacher in time to do it. I had for- gotten to put Jasper in. He was a rich poor man who lived on the Rocky Road circuit. He had a hard task making a living because he was everybody’s good Samaritan. If | a man was in trouble he went to see Jasper | about it and stopped him from plowing his | corn until he had relieved his mind. If anybody wanted something quick he went to Jasper and borrowed it, even if he never paid it back. If someone was sick he sent And in spite of being dragged When I had written many pages of this | stuff I sent it without a word of explanation to the editor of our leading daily paper. Nothing happened for two weeks. I en- dured the strange suspense of an author. My only comfort was that no one knew that I was “hair-hung and breeze-shaken,” as the old preacher used to say, between the | editorial wastebasket and the world of let- ters. I still appeared to be the mother I had always been to Peter, and nothing else Maybe a trifle absent-minded at times, | having thought of another good deed that I might have put in, or feeling a little de- pressed, as no doubt real authors do when they fear the dangerously variable weather of an editor’s judgments. I had lost hope when the third week passed and there was no sign of a breach in the editorial policy of this paper to publish the worst and nothing but the worst that was going on. One Sunday afternoon Peter, who is not paper on the Lord’s Day, was in the parlor reading it. ] was in the dining room helping the maid clear the table. Then I heard Peter laugh. a laugh that comes out of him with a joyful whoop and ends in a strictly mas- culine giggle. I thought he must be looking at the funny page, because he is not above “Mother! I have something to show you!” he called out. “TI will come presently, Peter, I an- | swered, going on with what I was doing The next moment he came in, grinning | broadly. EVENING POST MY SON (Continued from Page 28) “‘Look at that!’’ he exclaimed, spreading a page of the paper before me. There was the picture of an old man and oman seated side by side, looking grim and strong in their yeevs, as if they had made a long journey together and knew they had come the right road. Beneath was printed: “Happily Married.” Two or three smaller pictures, of plain virtuous- looking men and women, appeared below, the kind you see in old family albums, and made long before photographers learned the lying art of touching up their negatives, but left the light to tell the truth about your grandmother’s wrinkles and her old- fashioned breastpin and the mole on your grandfather’s nose. I stared at these illustrations and glanced up inquiringly at Peter, as you do when you fail to see the joke. “But you have not read the headline! he said, crinkling his eyes to a keener humor at me. Then I saw printed at the top of the page in tall type: GOOD NEWS And beneath, in a smaller type: Tue Just SHALL LIVE BY FAITH ” Long paragraphs and short ones followed. each with some good old motto for a title. I experienced an overwhelming sense of guilt, confounded with the gratification e a secret pride. My name was not there, but I myself had appeared in print. I for- got for the moment the pious purpos had when these sketches were written. I was flushed, elated and very fearful lest my son should suspect me. “Peter, these are not my reading glasses. I cannot make out what it is all about,’ I said faintly. “Well, it is all about what you talk of so much—the things good men have done, the patience with which good women have en- dured. It sounds so much like you that I could almost suspect you have been giving an interview to one of these smart young reporters!’’ he said teasingly. “You know I would never do such a thing!’’ I retorted. “Well, some fellow has put over a good thing. It comes corking near to being liter- ature. Listen to this,”’ he said, running his eye down one of the columns, and then beginning to read aloud what I had written about Jasper Wood coming along the dusty road at night like a whole regiment on his two feet to fetch the preacher for an old sinner who was about to die in his sins because he would not make his peace with- out a minister to receive and witness his confession. “Now that sings!"’ Peter exclaimed. “You hear the whir of wings about that old man of God hurrying with his salvation for that old scout about to pass!”’ I regarded Peter's back thoughtfully as he passed through the door into the parlor, still seanning this page of the paper. It was strange that he did not recognize this preacher as his own father. How far re- moved he was still from those great sub- stances in the lives of men out of which alone poetry, religion and literature are made. Then I took an indignant turn on my own heels because he was so far from even suspecting that his old sundown mother had written this thing. They who know us best know only our limitations best. You are much more likely to surprise your fam- ily t an the world if you achieve some- thing. Vanity must be a very quick growth! Here | was as secretly resentful at Peter beeau'e he failed to recognize me as the author hese little candle-lit tales as if he had seen the picture of his own mother and did not know her face because her name was not written beneath it. I went back to the table, my hand trem- bling so that the top tittered against the rim of the butter dish when I put it on. It is a wonder to me how real authors endure the excitement of their own performances. Later in the afternoon, when Peter had gone somewhere, I went in and read the whole of this Good-News page, much as you repeat the prayer you said last week. My memory is not very good except for Scriptures and hymns, but I reckon I could have repeated every word on that page be- fore I was done with it. It is odd how curi- ous we are about the simplest little image of January 1,192! our own minds we create, as the homeliest woman studies the reflection of her own face in a mirror. I doubt if this is due to vanity, but probably to a sort of perpetual astonishment that what you really are is so completely hidden by this countenance. So it was a sort of miracle to see the insides of my mind spread in type on this page, and to know that no one would suspect that, least_of all the feeling and purpose with which I had written. At last I took the scissors, cut this part of the paper and climbed the stairs to the attic, where William’s sermons lay neatly folded in the old tin box. What sublime imagery they contained of a good man’s heart, how much more bravely they have stood out than these pale shadows of mine which I laid among them! I closed the "id and remained a while on my knees before it not to pray but to grieve that William’s son was not such a preacher, that so much of the faith that William had lay folded away out of the thoughts and minds of men, like these yellowed pages of his old sermons. This Good-News favorable comment. page created much The wedded life of the Hightowers and Jasper “ .od’s cheerful goodness became the topic. uf social discus- sion. I was obliged to exercise considerable repression at a missionary tea during the ~veek when a smart young matron said Mrs. Hightower was a fool, and that the modern wife would know a sight better how to take care of herself in the married relation, or get out of it! Peter met Mr. Quick, the editor of the paper, at the Add and Carry Club. He svid Mr. Quick told him that he had long con- sidered some such feature as this for his Sunday edition, and considered himself lucky to have hit upon the right idea; the people needed a change from the catas- trophic, and he thought there would be a reaction toward old-fashioned religious idealism. He invited Peter to contribute something to this page. He said the ma- chinery of press news ~ as not adapted to furnishing material fo. such a feature, and that was the only trouble he anticipated in keeping the thing going. Peter said he thought he had a thing or two that might help Quick out in this emergency. He had asked Quick where he obtained the copy for that first page. “He grinned and told me that was a secret, but he admitted what I suspected, that nearly all the copy came from the same source,”’ Peter said when he was telling me later of this conversation with Quick. “But I doubt if he can depend on it,”’ he added, “‘and I imagine he plans to get the preachers of the city to help him carry the thing. There will be one difficulty.” “What is that?” I asked. “Most of them will want to sign their names, and he prefers that all the copy should be anony mous,’ ’ he explained. “Why should they?” I wanted to know. “Well,” he BM smiling wittily, “‘oreachers are like other folks—they want ir children to bear their names. It is custumary and natural. A man’s thoughts are as much the offspring of his mind as they are of hisk + The following = anday there was a fine short essay at the top of the Good-News ge on “ Be ye doers of the Word,” which I suspected Peter wrote because it was so ra- tional and ethical, but he did not legitimize the thing with his signature. Meanwhile I was resolved that Mr. Quick should not lack for the soothing copy I thought the people needed. You may say that I entered the ministry secretly, with none of the brethren to lead me in prayer, and no choir to sing, beyond the tune of my own memories. I worked my recollections to the last littie decimal of a tale. Finally I worked out, and had to begin on the secret prayers and deeds of my own life. Here I discovered an inexhaustible supply of se- cret matter. It is astonishing how much we have lived and suffered and believed and hoped when we have been compelled to live better than we really are. And every Sunday my little stories filled most of this page. Peter said the only fault he had to find was with the editor. He said Mr. Quick strutted and aired himself like a hypocrite about his Good-News feature. He said the man was positively insuffer- able he was so boastful about how easy he found it to get more copy than he could (Continued on Page 46)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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Vibration wears away materials that are structurally weak, caus- ing them to sag, allowing circula- $ oe tion of air between covering and

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Continued from Page 44 most prominent ir mtributions 0 torth adventure might imstance strictly commercial ything by ad to carry it on various religious de- , totaling many mil- me er when the ch greater Interchurch smote the ears of all At last the Lord established in the , a cire vertising scarcely-ov of all n, ardless of creeds, by a 1. One of the officials of this organiza- yn passed th the city and saw what in excellent medium the Good-News page unday paper would be for Thereafter it was devoted to the propaganda of the latest tua] enterprise for the saving rough 1 our purpose clusivel al pir the world The Fighteenth etin Jul iCAGINE - Amendment went into f this year. Peter had looked forward to prohibition as the solution of many problem He thought liquor fo- mented strife and stirred the evil passions of all classes. We all do. But now we had [he first effect we had from pro- was a flare of indignation among who had no active rela Those who habit- ially drank to the point of drunkenness had ittl But what disturbed Peter was the exaggerated sense many members had of their constitutional rights which had been violated by this law. He was obliged 0 stop calling on Mr Hobbs to lead in though he had long been known as a consistent member of the church and had the gift of prayer, he was violently opposed to prohibition. Mr. Steward, on the other hand, was a rabid prohibitionist, and would not be led by Hobbs in prayer Men are queer people. I do not say that they are so deviously queer as women, but with the reputation they ‘have acquired for being They are by nature and in- lination lawmakers. They hang one an- other for committing murder. A man is He is sued if he does » shoci hibitior nany worthy citizens ion with evil forces e to say prayer because their queerness is far less consistent reasonable punished who steal THE SATURDAY pay his debts. He is watched in busi- ness, lest his profits interfere with another man’s rights Any one of them will get himself elected to the legislature so that he may pass more stringent laws. He will not allow you to expectorate on the street, even if you have a bad cold and @ught not to do it in your own pocket. But the moment his own Government, which he has made and which represents him, undertakes to enforce a law against one of his physical appetites he is up in arms. It makes no difference which appetite it is. If an ordinance should be passed against the drinking of butter- milk he would die by the churn. As for intoxicating beverages, he does not care for the stuff, never touches it, he tells you, but it is the principle of the thing to which he objects. It means paternalism in government, and paternalism means the overlording of law. A man could not call his soul his own! This was Mr. Hobbs’ argument. Presently they would take his tobacco and coffee from him! He belonged to the great minority. He was entitled to representation I thought this was queer, considering how earnestly he favored the Government's laying a chastening hand upon profiteers But being only a woman maybe I do not understand paternalism. I feel that it is a figurative term in politics and does not mean what it ought to mean. In vain Peter reasoned with Hobbs, re- minding him that nearly all crime, poverty and disease may be traced directly to in- dulgence in strong drink. That was not the point, he said. This was a free country. Somebody was tampering with the inalien- able rights of free men to choose whether they would be sober or not sober. And for one he would not submit tamely to this oppression. There were more ways of kill- ing a dog than choking him in butter, he announced darkly The primary preludes of electing officers for the city government came on. Hobbs espous-d the wet ticket. Steward was the raging lion of the dry forces. They met in joint debate and accused each other in public places. They published cards vilify- ing each other. The whole congregation of Peter's church took sides. Apparently there were no more good Christian people, but the majority of those who had gone under not EVENING POST this name were overwhelmingly for those candidates pledged to enforce prohibition. Nevertheless, every man on the wet ticket was nominated. The next Sunday Mr. Hobbs appeared, after several weeks’ absence, at the Sabbath services as usual, sitting prominently, look- ing satisfied and mild, like a man who is now willing to take the gospel, having car- ried his point in that secular matter of the election. And Mr. Steward transferred his membership to another church. I do not know which is the best time to hold a revival. If you have it before a political campaign many of your most in- fluential members backslide, boosting their candidate. And if you hold it afterward the mischief has already been done. And though a man may repent of everything else he will not repent of the candidate whom he helped elect, no matter how unworthy he may be to hold office. Peter held a series of perfunctory serv- ices after this political upheaval, much as you hold a Chautauqua. Nothing happened. If I take a bad cold, that is the least part of my trouble. What worries me much more is how I came to get it. I recall every draft that came through an open window. I remember the times I have risen in the dead hours of the night, thinly clad, and gone upstairs and downstairs to make sure that I really did lock all the doors before retiring. I consider the soles of my shoes and try to remember whether I wore my rubbers the last time I went to prayer meeting, which was on a damp evening. But I never can decide which imprudence gave me the cold. I was in the same doubt during the latter part of thissummer, about a marked change in Peter. He went doggedly on with his work, but not with the enthusiasm that had always been characteristic of him. He had lost his buoyancy, which in my opinion was never spiritual but due to the hardy con- science he had, a good conscience, but not sensitive, and never introspective. He di- gested his deeds, his prayers and his ser- mons, and lived on them as you forget the food that sustains you. But now he was not doing very well. He was moody. He practiced silence as a garrulous man pra¢ tices speech. He devoted more time to the January 1,192! preparation of his sermons and preached like a man with a stone hung round his neck. And this was not the worst of it. His church was more than half empty. This had never happened before, even in the warmest weather, when many members of his regular congregation were away on their vacations, because he had a sort of floating audience from the outside which more than compensated in members. Now these cheerful sinners were not there. Some pop- ular virtue had gone out of him and his ministry. I perceived that at last my son was beginning to be uneasy, like a man who fears he may receive his sight soon and be obliged to change his course. I thought he was losing that artless faith in his fellow men which had sustained him since he entered the minis’~v, and which is not justified. He was at last confounded by the con- fusion of spirits in men which drove them this way and that like the demoniacal pos- sessions mentioned in the Scriptures. The mountains were shaking at last, and I trembled for my son, for I could not be sure whether he would yield to a purely rational defeat or turn to God for a right understanding of his ministry. I experienced once more the old bur- dened feeling I used to have when William passed through a spiritual crisis. I could never be sure he would receive the blessing he desired of his Heavenly Father, nor what would happen if he did not get it. But I knew he would not go on preaching the gospel without it. Now in the same way I was anxious about what was going on in the heart of my son. I desired above all things that he should remain in the min- istry, and I knew that this question was up for settlement in his mind. He was an man. He was beginning to realize what I had known from the first—that his ministry had not accomplished its purpose. That he should understand this was neces- sary if he ever became a true priest, but what courage it requires in spiritual things to overcome defeat by faith! I did a sight of blind praying that summer to the one end that the Lord would guide Peter. honest TO BE CONCLUDED CATTLE, waa Mount Rainier From the Southern End of Cowlitz Ridge

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THE SATURDAY EVENING © The fer swir tar ugh the thes in a fi ure four limes as im the nary washer. py of the interesting story “ George It's a book will enjoy, 1 some surprising things from it. vou ¥ movement of- or- THE DAINTY, IRRESISTIBLE BLOUSES one sees in the shops, the clinging, graceful negligees, the soft, intimate little under- things—did you know that they, too, can be popped right into the shiny copper tub of the 1900 Cataract Electric Washer and that out they will come, all their freshness restored, and sweet and clean as new? sb. 1ERE are two very definite reas ns why everything can be washed in the 1900. First, the tub, whose lining is as smooth as the palm of your hand, has not a single thing in it to catch and tear fine fabrics. Nothing to snatch off buttons! No parts to lift out and clean after the wash is finished ! And then, there is the magic figure 8 motion—an exclusive feature. The water gently swishes back and forth through the clothes in a figure 8 movement, four times oftener than in the ordinary washer. Thus the clothes are washed faster. The electric wringer is reversible, and can be shifted to any posi- tion. Only eight to ten minutes are required to wash a tubful of clothes, and the 1900 costs only a few cents an hour to operate. You can buy a 1900 Washer on deferred payments, too. IQ0O CATARACT WASHER 1900 WASHER COMPANY G nadian Fac f ry 203 Clinton St., Binghamton, N. Y. and Office, Canavtan 1900 Wasuer Co., 357 Yonge St., Toronto January 1,1921

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nang re garments he owns. Ma, who sits with him in the front seat, wears one-piece overalls, which are not especially beautiful but ex- ceedingly commodious. The girls, who perch upon the quilts and the skillets behind, go in for costumes ¢ onforming patriotism with comfort, as it were. They mate the khaki breeches and the spiral putties of a dough- boy witha broad-collared sailor’s blouse, thereby doing honor to the Army and not forgetting the Navy either. Thus accoutered, off the members of the household roll for an outing of a week or a fortnight ora month. Incredibly bad roads do not daunt them, for as often as not in- credibly bad roads are what they are best aequainted with. Dust thicker than any dust the Easterner can con- ceive of disturbs them not a whit. It is mostly powdered pumice anyway, and it wipes right off, leaving the skin white and clean. In a land where rain never falls from the time summer sets in un- til midautumn has come our campers need take no'heed of the weather. They eat in the open and they sleep un- der the stars. No matter how scorching hot the sun may be in the daytime, the air will chill the moment the sun goes down. And in those altitudes it’s always deliciously cool in the shade at any time. The Shade Hound In the course of a month's coursing back and forth through Oregon I think I must have seen five hundred such parties. As the license tags attested, they camefrom a dozen Western and North- western states, but mostly we met Oregon folk. Those who composed each separate group appeared to be having a perfectly gorgeous time, and it might safely be figured that the entire cost of the outing for a whole automo- bile load of such sight-seers would be less than is required to board a Pomeranian pup in a fashionable New York kennel while its owner is off for the summer. Kindlier or friendlier human beings never lived than these va- cationers were. Every now and then we had to ask the aid of some passing party in finding the shade hound, and never did we get a churlish reply. The shade hound took a lot of tending. He was a loan-collection dog. One of the members of our party borrowed him from a neighbor who recommended him highly for general purposes, but was reticent— pur- posely reticent, we decided afterward meses going into details touching on the exact metes and bounds of his sphere of usefulness. To look at, he was not a par- ticularly handsome animal. He was a mixed breed, being part Airedale and part, I think, lamp-chimney cleaner. He had the general shape and color of an Airedale, but the fluffy, woolly aspect which one associ- ates with a lamp-chimney cleaner. Imme- diately after acquiring him we discovered that he suffered from the affliction of palsy of the hind quarters, so that when he wagged his tail a general quivering motion was imparted to his after sections. Going away from one, he suggested a fashionable dancer; but approaching head-on, he more resembled something to be run through the flues in order to remove the soot. He was also quite deaf; but, as the saying goes, v heart was in the right place. He had a wonderful disposition. A kind word from a complete stranger—if he heard it— was sufficient to start him shimmying behind. Now we intended, if opportunity served, to hunt a variety of game—lava bear, black bear, wild fowl, deer and possibly cougar. That one of our party who had borrowed him, being an optimist, figured that the dog might qualify to hunt something or other that was on our tentative list. Events proved that the trust was misfounded. We tried him first on black bear. By re- quest, he smelled at the fresh bear tracks A QUEST IN YOUBETCHERLAND (Continued from Page 7) which were presented for his consideration. and very obliging, but anyone with half an eye could see that he lacked the enthusiasm which ever marks your true bear-trailing dog. He sniffed as a reluctant patient on the operating table might sniff at the approach- He was polite enough about it, ing ether cone or as a smoker might test with his nose a bad nickel cigar selling for Then, evidently feeling that he had done his full duty in the premises, he excused himself from the company and went back to camp and ate a ham which someone had left hanging on a low tree limb. It was plain, so his sponsor confessed was not tempera- organized to hunt black bear. a quarter. that night, that this dog mentally THE SATURDAY EVENING POST experimenting. For by now we knew the true nature of his calling in life. He was a shade hound by profession. Whenever he was left to his own devices he dedicated his being to finding a patch of shade; and having found it, with slight shimmying motions betokening satisfaction, he would lie down in it and stay there as long as the shade did. Then he would rise up reluc- tantly to go and find some more shade. I am inclined to think that I was the first of our party to observe this peculiarity I noticed it after we had left the timber to sojourn a while in the sagebrush. There was not much shade out on the desert There rarely is, in the daytime, out there The patches of shadow under the stunted Sand Pinnactes, Crater Lake National Park Perhaps—so he hopefully suggested —per- haps his forte was chasing deer. So we waited a few days until the bear hunt was over, and then we loaded him on the running board of the car and took him across country to where the runs of the black-tailed deer made narrow paths in a vast thicket of lodgepole pines. We un- loaded him there, and by word and gesture encouraged him to show us a little some- thing along sporting lines. It was at once made manifest that of all the subjects in this wide world the subject of deer was of the least possible interest to him. I never saw a dog display more unmistakable signs of boredom. As plain as print, his manner told us what his feelings were. We were persistent, though; or rather the man who had borrowed him was. We carried him out of the forest and into the Great Desert and introduced him to some fresh coyote signs. Once more the result was disappointing. The dog’s demeanor unmistakably indicated that if ever in his life there hac been a period when he enter- tained any antipathy for coyotes he long before had decided, so far as the coyote was concerned, to let bygones be bygones Live and let live—such evidently he had made his motto. Finally we tried him at jack-rabbit coursing. But instead of pur- suing the smoke-gray bunnies he made un- successful efforts to put himself on terms of amicable understanding with this or that range jack rabbit crossing his path. These experiments, I should explain, ex- tended over a period of upward of a fort- night, and long before they were concluded we had discovered what he really was. I think it was stubbornness more than any- thing else which toward the last kept us greasewood and sagebrush bushes were hardly large enough to shelter field mice, and from an hour after sunrise until just before sunset the heat on clear days was unabated and intense. It came to my at- tention that our dog was favoring me with hiscompany. Offhand, I decided this must be an evidence of growing friendliness on his part; but closer scrutiny of his action revealed the fact that he was not entirely actuated by affectionate impulses. In what he did there was a trace, at least, of self interest. ‘I cast more shadow than any other person present did; he was trying to stay in my shade limes when we were motoring he would quietly drop off the running board and go to look for shade. He would strike off the road and tangent away for miles possibly before he found enough shade to suit him Meanwhile we would bowl merrily along usually for, say, half an hour before any of the remaining occupants of the car di covered that one of ou number no longer was with us If he 1 be longed to us we might have Pat te : him, but he wa borrowed property F we were pledge to return him in good order to | master. So we would turn around and back-track, looking for him. In a sparsel settled country this frequently meant much added travel. It might be that we would run for an hour on the rearward trail be fore we met another car or until we had come to some lone homesteader’s cabin or sheep herder’s camp. There we would be reasonably sure to find the shade hound tucked away somewhere on the shade side f the shack. Questing about to ascertain the where- abouts of the shade hound gave us a better under opportunity than otherwise we might have had to study the desert homesteader and admire the grit which inspires him to tackle dry-farming where fre juently dry-farming is one of the most uncertain and hazardous of agrarian pursuits. His claim nearly al ways lies out on the alkali flats, which are not alwavs flat, but which generally do carry a high percentage of alkali. The more fertile lands along the water courses were preémpted long ago, and the marketablk timber is either privately owned or lie within the state reserves and the nation if park So he sets up his cabin on the desert and there, season in and season out he wages a war against unfriendly element and a Nature which begrudges its scanty gifts. He contends with bit ter weather in the winter with wind and dust in the spring, with dust and heat in the summer. Always there is the possi bility of a scant rainfall in the wet season, which mean disaster for the grain he ha planted; and there is a cer tainty of assaults on his growing crops—if his crop grow—by the jack rabbit and the gophers and: the ground squirrels. It may be that he has to haul his water for miles; not only the water he drinks, but the water he washes in and the water he gives his stock. Often he must travel a considerable distance to chop the stunted juniper which serves him as firewood. He and his brood endure loneliness and alkal and sagebrush and sand storms and snowstorms. No flowers grow about his bare doorstep. No fruit tree blossom and bear in his door yard. Of course here | am citing atypical extreme case, but there are a great many of these typical extreme cases To the average Easterner the greatest wonder, next only to the amazing circum stance that the desert home steader ever settled where he did settle in the first place is the almost equally amaz ing fact that he hangs on so persistently. Sometimes he quit De- serted shanties give proof a that here or there some poor devil finally gave up and, acknowledging that the desert had licked him, moved on, leay ing the place he had called home to be come the abiding place of pack rats and owls. But for every one who surrende there is another who sticks, inspired, I think, more by the cra ing of the nati American to own a piece of this footstool for his own than by any hope of ultimate victory over natural disadvantages. He! the true pioneer of thi generatior the present pathfinder in the waste pla Rock, Sand, Alkali and Hope He stands fast, faint pro uoyed perhaps by the poste anh ye day irrigation ma olve the problem for him by turning the webrush into lush green gardens or that a railroad may come through, anc pe haps if he has luck his fenced-in n of rock and sand and leprous alkali will be come part of a town site And through it all he keeps his courage and his patie and his sense of independence He live ymehow or other. on a trifle of rather | than nothing a year, and he grins in t face of adversit; His hospitalit ' boundless as the iew from |} A Whatever he has is yours for t skit without it All about the edges of the particular are whither we went to kill our lava bear wer the steadings of struggling dry-farme We kne wina | ance ist where we hou go to hunt the lava bear, although with rt prior guaranty and ir leed w ’ prospect that we should find him wher« hunted From the hunter tend , one f tl wutstanding attra t 0) gon is that i ert elleds ‘ areas he is reasonab ire t find

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Berg REG. US. PAT OFF HATS FOR YOUNG MEN The FINEST (il ¢ S HATS Imerica Next to its nationally known high quality, the thing which com- mands your interest in a Berg Hat is that you this quality at a sensible get high price. Another way of putting it is—quality without extravagance. Other Grades $6 to $12 F. BERG & COMPANY Orange Valley, New Jet Bere REG. US PAT OFF HATS FOR YOUNG MEN | mule-tail. | Oregon is one THE SATURDAY EVENING January 1,192! haunts and feeding grounds of certain hunt- able creatures. There are areas where the mule-tailed deer lives, but rarely or never does the black-tailed deer abide there, and vice versa. There is at least one range where the white-tailed deer of the East or | a deer very much resembling him may be | looked for with more or less success. But old Oregonians told me that in this par- ticular neighborhood there was small likeli- hood for one to see a stray black-tail or It is as though all the animals had sent delegates to a congress where each variety, having selected its own abiding place, agreed to stay off the private pre- | serves of all the rest. This is particularly true, seemingly, of the deer; but it is true in a measure, also, of some of the flesh eaters. Black bear are fairly numerous on this or that mountain, while the cougar is rarely found there. Fifty miles away the cougar ranges, but the bear, except in exceptional circum- stances, does not. This arrangement sim- plifies things for both the hunter and the hunted. The hunter knows approximately that the game he seeks is common to a given locality, which, however, may be the size of the state of Massachusetts or larger of the ‘roomiest states we have, and localities as defined by the Oregonians are likely to be sizable. At any rate, having decided on what he wishes to hunt, the hunter decides upon the dis- trict in which he will hunt and goes there Presumably the animal knows that on or about a certain date the hunter will be along looking for him, and so during the hunting season he takes a vacation and | slips away into the more inaccessible parts At least such was our ex- perience. There are lots of deer in Oregon oodles and seads and shoals and herds of deer. But we found remarkably few of them at home when we called at their best-known places of residence of his domain. Fish and Fiction What applies to the habitats of the mam- mals in Oregon applies, in a way of speak- ing, to the fishing likewise. I am not speaking now of the salmon fishing, which these times is more or less of a commercial pursuit, but rather of the trout fishing. In stream the rainbow trout live and breed. In another the transplanted Eastern brook trout are numerous, while the rainbow may be scarce. In yet another the Dolly Varden trout or the steelhead or what not abound. We fished in one lake, and not one Crater Lake such a very large lake either, where on a certain shoal one was reasonably sure of snaring a mess of Dolly Vardens. A mile away, around a point, the fish one caught would probably be rainbows almost exclu- sively, and just across the lake, near the opposite bank, the speckled trout seemed to hold a monopoly on the feeding grounds. I do not know why this should be so, but so it was. Somewhere on this continent there may be better trout fishing than is to be found in Central Oregon, but personally I do not know where it is. Take, for example, East Lake, which for all-around fishing purposes is conceded to be about as dependable a lake as there is in Oregon. Ten years ago there were no game fish in this lake. It fills the crater of an old volcano, and it lies several thousand feet above sea level. by stream runs into it. It is fed largely t rain and melted snow and by hot ao Be which last are strongly impregnated with sulphur and iron and various other min- erals. When the state game commission decided to stock it, doubts were expressed as to whether under such conditions as these fish would live in East Lake, and grow and multiply. Did they grow and multiply? On both counts I'll say they did! It has been less than a decade since the first batches of fry and fingerlings were brought in small tanks on pack trains over the mountains from the hatchery and turned loose in East Lake. Ichthyologists are divided as to whether it was the quality of the water or the abun- dance of the feed or the presence of hot springs along the shore and in the lake bed or a combination of all three of these which produced a piscatorial miracle. But be the cause what it may, the fact remains that it is now no uncommon thing for a twenty- pound rainbow trout or an eight-pound brook trout to be taken out of East Lake. Indeed there is authentic record that a rainbow weighing thirty-six pounds was caught there, and an approved tradition has to do with a rainbow which is said to have weighed upward of sixty pounds twenty-four hours after he was landed. But, of course, when a fish attains to any such size as this he isn’t a fish any more, but a fiction, and all persons are warned against believing him, even though they behola him with their own eyes. He’s an optical delusion when you look upon him, and a plain fish lie when you tell about him afterward. I was shown a trolling tackle which has been used in the catching of some of the biggest of the East Lake trout. It con- sisted of two enamelware dinner plates riveted back to back with a doorknob affixed to the upper surface of the upper plate for a handle and with an iron rod passing through the bottom plate and so devised as to be made fast in a hole in the rear seat of a rowboat. Between the plates a line as heavy almost as sash cord was reeled. But of course such a rig as this isn’t possible either. It overtaxes the powers of human credulity to believe that such a thing is actually used for catching trout, and I do not expect the reader to credit me when I say that I saw it. Trolling for Whale Three of us went trolling for part of an afternoon in East Lake. Using a five- ounce rod and a light silk line, one of my companions, after a ten-minute battle, con- quered a rainbow which scaled ten pounds. With a somewhat heavier rig I took a brook trout which weighed one ounce less than five pounds—a hump-shouldered, broad- beamed monster with the head of a speckled trout and with the markings of one, but with a body which might have be- longed to a big-mouthed black bass. Be- tween us, the two of us who fished—for the third man rowed and gave advice—caught within two hours twenty rainbow and speckled trout of an average weight of about three pounds. In the eyes of green- horns from the East the least of our catch seemed a whale, but when we landed and saw a string of thirty-one rainbow aggre- gating in weight ne arly a hundred pounds which had been taken by two men in less than eight hours we curled up and quit. The scenery and the series of experiments with the shade hound and the fishing and the deer hunting and one side trip to Crater Lake for sight-seeing purposes and another to the headwaters of the Metolius River in the Deschutes National Forest, which is one of the most exquisitely beautiful spots that lie outdoors, and the mountain climb- ing and the pack-train trips and a lot of other things, including the death of a black bear, which event is to be treated sepa- rately as befitting the spectacular and unique merits of the case—as I say, all these things so retarded the beginning of the actual hunt for the lava bear that nearly three weeks elapsed between the time we started out by motor from the town of Bend and the time we struck into the lava beds east by northeast of Fort Rock. (Continued on Page 52)

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ee mir mn =~ As a man judges an automobile by what is under the hood, a woman should judge a motor-driven machine for her home by its motor THE SATURDAY EVENING POST The little motor that’s a big help Look for this mark of leader- ship in electrical development and manufacture N the final analysis, a woman is Satisfied only with the good results she gets from a motor-driven ma- chine working for her in her home. When she buys a high grade machine, she has the right to expect dependability. She should make sure at the time of her purchase that the motor on that machine bears the G-E trade mark — it is the assur- ance of motor reliability. It represents the care and skill of men who have spent their lives building motors. The far-sighted manufacturers of motor-driven machines for the home know that to the excellence of their workmanship they must add reliable motor performance. Accordingly, they use G-E motors and build quality upon quality. General Electric General Office C Sales Offices in Schenectady, NY. © lglg) al mM y all large cities

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SS SSS SSS SS SSS SSRIs Pee eee eae THE SATURDAY EVENING POST It’s above the ears that counts The man who succeeds is the man who really thinks. The fact that you can think bet- ter—concentrate more smoothly and effectively—while enjoying a mild and mellow cigar is one reason why mild cigars have grown in favor so tremendously with thinking men. Mildness united with genuine Havana quality, ripe and satisfying — this is the rare combination which gives the Girard its unrivaled stand- ing as America’s foremost cigar —a cigar that has never cut quality in order to maintain a profit or a price. This is why you find it so often on the desks of active, brainy business men who tackle heavy problems every day. Why not 2 box of Girards on your desk today ? Antonio Roig & Langsdorf, Philadelphia Established 49 years "ORY Ske, ee GIRARD Never gets on your nerves | unbenefit. | | for his hide, and nation and state offer | an easy mark for the poisoner. (Continued from Page 50) On the way, by appointment, we met and took along with us a young man who is supposed to know more about the habits of the lava bear than probably any other person in Oregon. Undoubtedly he does. His name is Andrews, and he is a trapper of | predatory animals in the Federal employ— perhaps the most successful trapper on | Uncle Sam's pay roll in the Northwest. He specializes in trapping coyotes. His an- | nual bag is an astonishingly large one. He has the knack of being able to outguess Br’er Coyote at his own game. This gift is not common among human beings; in- deed it is exceedingly rare, because of all created beings the coyote is one of the wisest and the wariest. He is smart, but he has no friends. Every man’s hand is against him. He is Ishmael going on four legs; Judas Iscariot in a gaberdine of mangy gray. His per- sonal appearance is prejudicial to his own interests; his personal habits are unspeak- able. The stockman dislikes him on general principles, and also because he murders the young calves. The sheep herder abhors him for that he is a constant menace to st raying baa-baas. He is chronically addicted to raiding hen roosts, hence the dry-farmer views him with aversion. He preys upon sage grouse and prairie chicken, so the man who loves wing shooting carries a couple of shells loaded with buckshot for his especial The fur dealer pays a good price bounties on his scalp, wherefore the pro- | fessional trapper spreads snares for his feet and sows poisened titbits in his path- way, and runs him down with wolfhounds. And everybody looks upon him with the jaundiced eye of disfavor, because he is sneaky and furtive and sly and unwhole- some of aspect, but most of all because he hates mankind and shows it. By day he slinks through the sagebrush, a living dis- figurement to the landscape. Comes the nighttime, and he stations himself upon some convenient elevation just out of gun- shot of the spot where you have pitched your camp, but within earshot of it, and there, hunkered back on his gaunt haunches, | with his nose uplifted to the unsympathetic | stars, he pours out the concentrated venom of his soul for hour after hour. For his sins he cannot sleep; for his vocal activities you can’t either. By his very mode of life he seems to ex- press his contempt for the forces arrayed against him and for all his enemies. Mainly he ranges on the open plain. He digs his den, wherein his dam rears his pups, right out on the desert, making no attempt to hide its entrance hole and its exit from sight. When occasion suits him he forages in the broad daylight, for always he is hungry, and nearly always he is famished. By rights, with all creation arrayed against him, he should have vanished long ago. But he absolutely refuses thus to oblige the implacable foe. Some of our biologists maintain he is more plentiful since the white man’s civilization invaded his orig- inal domain than he was when he had to contend only with bow-and-arrow Indians. Certainly he is constantly extending the limits of his hunting grounds. The Abounding Jack Rabbit With one exception, he is the only wild thing in America which probably is more numerous now than it was fifty years ago. The other exception is his fellow inhabitant of the staked plains, the jack rabbit. In his way the jack rabbit is a greater pest to the agric ulturist than the coyote is to the ranchman; for the jack rabbit is likewise a perambulating famine with an appetite which cannot be satisfied, and having a preference in his diet for young grasses and tender grain stuffs. In every Far Western state campaigns of extermination are waged against the jack rabbit. Individuals war on him for the protection of their own crops and for the bounties paid by state or county. Many a struggling homesteader | has weathered through a lean year on jack- rabbit bounties. Communities organize drives and kill tens of thousands of the long-eared nuisances in a single day. Gov- ernment employees go about the country showing the husbandman the latest and most approved scientific methods of slaugh- tering him. may be wrong in this, but I think there are courses in intensive jack- rabbit poisoning in some of the state agricul- tural schools beyond the Rockies. He is an easy target for the gunner and He bobs January 1,192! up before you as you ride through the sage- brush, lopes along for a few yards, then squats in plain view as though determined to allow himself to be slain. Stricken with one tiny leaden pellet he lays him down and dies. He attains Nirvana after nibbling a morsel of strychnine-treated grain which would merely give a ground squirrel a good appetite. No more arsenic than would clear a gopher’s complexion kills him on the spot. At intervals mysterious maladies decimate his breed. Measured as we measure things by mortal standards, he, too, should have long since disappeared; but he abounds. How he does abound! In one month in Oregon I myself saw more thar nine million jack rabbits. I kept a record up to the ninth million, but after that I got careless and sort of lost count. The Rambling Optimist The coyote, which is so devilishly wise— so canny about pitfalls and so sapient about lures and snares—endures because he is so wise. The jack rabbit endures for another reason—his devotion to family ties. When it comes to multiplying he is the champion lightning calculator of the entire animal kingdom. Compared with him, Belgian hares are amateurs and guinea pigs are confirmed advocates of the theory of race suicide. In pursuance of his trapping of coyotes and other predatory beasties, this young man, Andrews, has spent a dozen years more or less in and about the area where by all accounts the lava bear was most fre- quently encountered. Yet in all that time, so he told us, he had seen but three speci- mens and had killed but one. The one he killed had been a full-grown male, yet it measured, he said, a trifle less than three feet from the tip of its nose to the tip of its tail, with a height at the shoulder of about twenty inches. He described its shape as having been squatty and all bunched up. I gathered that the creature was hunched in its fore quarters, with the flanks sloping away sharply in its after sections. He had saved its skull, and he gave it to me. It was little larger than the skull of a fair- sized sheep dog would be, but with much heavier jaws. Adhering to the dried scalp were wisps of a curiously pale-red fur, which probably, before exposure bleached the hairs, had been a pronounced cinnamon color. Andrews told us there had been nothing about the appearance or the coat of the bear he killed to indicate kinship with the grizzly; rather it was its behavior when he came upon it which led him to be- lieve it might be a diminutive cousin of Old Ephraim. A black bear or a brown bear, of whatsoever size, would promptly have fled from him unless it chanced to be a female with cubs; but the lava bear ex- hibited no fear. On the other hand, it had shown a ferocity infinitely greater than its bulk justified. As I said just now, he had seen just three lava bears in his life. He knew of a veteran stockman who in thirty years on the range had glimpsed just four of the pygmies. So he warned us that our chances for finding a specimen, even though we were bound for its favorite habitat, were exceedingly small. He mercifully refrained from telling the tenderfeet what the habitat itself would be like. We found more optimism touching oi the prospect in another quarter. We were replenishing our outfit in the general store of a tiny hamlet on the edge of the desert when a picturesque person rambled in. In this connection I use the word “‘rambled”’ advisedly. The gentleman in question evi- dently had been looking upon the lemon extract when it was yellow or the Jamaica ginger when it was red. But lemon extract is a mocker and Jamaica ginger is raging and whosoever is deceived thereby is not wise. His breath was fragrant, even as a soda fountain, and his eye was rolling wide and free. As stated, he rambled in, trip- ping over crates of canned goods and get- ting himself entangled with agricultural implements, and he propped himself against a show case where we were gathered in the rear of the establishment and gave us opportunity to appraise the gorgeous- ness of his raiment. Just to look at him was a treat. He was attired in the most ornate and glorious gearings that a cowboy can select out of a mail-order catalogue. His boots were excessively high-heeled and carried vast silver spurs. The legs of his chaps had wide leather wings on them, and these wings were bossed with brass knobs (Conctuded on Page 54)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST YOU HAVE always known there would be such a car. You have felt it would be beautiful with the beauty of true propor- tion and deliberate grace. You have known it would be strong with the strength of unHlawed metal and authentic skill. Silence would be the eloquent ad- Eee hE Ee gD vocate of its merit “ * Thinking these things, and how other cars wonderfully fine have only narrowly failed of this NE image, surely we were bold indeed who should seek in such an enterprise to be successful. Surely we had need religiously to compact in this all that the past has proved and, not incautiously, that the future promised. For ours was to be a car which constantly should do quietly and with ease what many another might not do at all. Such a car as might with safety and with honor uphold upon its finished excellence our future and our hopes * & We offer it to you now. And if in so offering it there is evident some slender trace of pride, it is such pride as rightfully may be found in the knowledge of how earnestly we have tried to make it fine * Itis beautiful and quiet and strong. It will serve you brilliantly and well * #* * #* & LAT ATECITIE “aN

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THE SATURDAY National Bank of Commerce in New York A Service of Facts Through contact with every phase of big business and asa result of the exhaustive and constant study of economic con. ditions which ts essential to the safe conduct of a great bank, the National Bank of Commerce in New York is able to render to its friends a peculiarly valuable service. Broadly speaking, we are ina position to supply authoritative information, drawn from original sources, on practically every im- portant matter related to commerce and industry, whether national or international. Our friends, in this sensitive period of adjustment, are invited to employ this service to the fullest extent. Capital, Surplus and Undivided Profits Over Fifty-five Million Dollars EVENING POST (Concluded from Page 52) and edged with broad leather fringes. His hat never cost a cent less than thirty dol- lars. His double-breasted blue shirt was adorned with pearl buttons the size of butter plates. For a final touch he wore upon his breast, between the twin ranks of his marching buttons, a monogram em- broidered in red, and the letters of this monogram were at least two inches long. Plainly it was no trouble for him to recog- nize himself. One glance adown his bosom at those blazing initials, and instantly he would know exactly who he was. This should be a great convenience to a lemon- extract fancier. Without waiting for an invitation he joined in the conversation then going on between the members of our party and the storekeeper. Since we had come thus far to hunt lava bear, naturally lava bear was the subject under consideration at the moment. Immediately he took over the burden of the talk. At inopportune moments, though, he involuntarily interpolated into his re- marks symptomatic sounds indicative of some passing derangement of the digestive apparatus. “Hie!” thus he began. “Why, say hic—ain’t no troub’ find old lav’ bearsch an’wheres out yonder.”” He waved his arm to include at least two points of the compass. ‘‘Yasshur, an’wheres out there find ‘em li'l’ ole lav’ bearsch. Way to do is jes--hic—’em to death.”” He paused, looking at us reproachfully as though si- lently blaming us for the labial miscue. Then he tried again. ‘Don’ need take no gunsch ‘long kill lav’ bearsch. Jes lellum come at you an’ w’en get closch jes haul off an’-hic—’em to death. Thasch way I do—hie—’em to death. Like thisch.” Illustrating, he aimed a violent stroke with his right toe at space. ‘‘Thasch c’rect way! Youbetcher!” At least two of our group were pleased to hear this. If a bear could be hicked to death the undertaking would simplify itself for persons whose marksmanship with a high-powered rifle was inclined to be erratic, especially in moments of excitement. We had never done any hicking, but we were willing to try. It seemed you did it with your foot. Cheered by his words, we packed and went away. Twenty-odd miles farther along, when we had passed the last ranch and the most outlying homesteader’s shack, we dipped down into a waste known as Squaw Flats, and made camp in the aban- doned cabin of a sheep herder. Next morn- ing early we set out, bumping in our car through the trackless desert to where, north of the flats, the lava bed reared its low parapets. Within a quarter of a mile of the lava wall, and just after we had quit the automobile, we found bear tracks fresh ones, and smaller than any bear tracks which any of us, with the exception of Andrews, had ever seen. We had struck the trail of the lava bear right off the reel! The tracks led through the greasewood and the sagebrush and on into the lava bed. We followed, all exhilarated. We came speedily to the boundary where, abruptly, the lava met the alkali. At the heels of the trapper we invaded that lava. A Sea of Gray Rock I fear me my typewriter and I have traveled a long and rambling way to reach a briefened and disappointing climax. We invaded that lava bed to a depth of perhaps a hundred yards, and there the invasion came to a halt. Creation surely was acting up in a most reactionary manner when this part of the world was cooling off. Volcanoes spouted, mountains moved, the face of the earth was reft into deep cracks and clefts, ths melted basalt flowed in rivers, the obsidian was heaved up into rounded hillocks of smooth, glistening black glass; altogether condi- tions were decidedly unsettled in those good old Archzozoic times. By and by, after a million years or so—but what's a million years among geologists?—the old-line or pre-Cambrian Republicans carried the country and confidence was restored and things quieted down again. The upthrown buttes put upon them garments of green verdure. The mountains took on pines and firs. Some of the craters filled with water and were transformed into lake beds. Others, dead now as volcanoes, yet still functioning funnelwise, were left to yawn as the dead fireplaces of a dead age when the January 1, 192i planet was in flux, but became garlanded about their rims with the laurel and the manzanita. Only the lava beds, as a real- estater would say, resisted the onward march of improvement. As they were at the beginning of measurable time, so have they remained unchanged, and so always they will remain unchanged—the drearest, grimmest, dourest, most forbidding, most inhospitable things of Nature’s contriving that ever were. Imagine a sea that is crested with breakers and tempest-tossed into all man- ner of shapes—but it is not a sea of water. Imagine it as a sea of gray rock eternally congealed into the aspect it took on as it hardened after it poured forth out of the bowels of the earth—pocked with sink holes, furrowed with troughs, seamed with fissures, lifted into sharply serrated waves, then dropping away into caves and caverns so deep that in their lower chambers the whole year through ice may be found where the rainwater, dripping down through cracks from above, froze in a temperature which never changes. Imagine a stretch of this that is ten miles long, or twenty or thirty, and perhaps half as wide as it is long. This space is treeless and grassless and almost shrubless. Nowhere does it rise to a height of more than fifty or seventy-five feet above the level of the flat upon which it rests, yet to traverse it is a harder task than your seasoned mountain climber would care, offhand, to undertake. The edged lava underfoot literally cuts the soles off your boots. The glassy surfaces tear your palms when you seek for hand- grips to climb upward over a ridge or to slide downward into a depression. It takes hours of incredibly hard work for one to penetrate into a lava bed for a mile; and when you have penetrated that far the chances are that you will be completely and teetotally lost, because every square rod of it looks identically like every other square rod of it. No More Hunts for Lava Bear At least, so I am given to understand. Personally I did not test the thing out. Our guide was willing enough to keep on going indefinitely in the direction which he figured that lava bear had taken, and the two other Oregonians in our party seemed to regard lava-bedding as a pleasant recre- ation for a hot day, but inside of ten minutes from the time we invaded that hell’s township the remaining pair of us had accumulated enough reminiscences of lava-bed exploring to last both of us through the balance of our lives. We felt that we had lost our ambition to cross the table. We were satisfied, and more than satisfied, when we rolled into one of the side pockets. I think there must have been something about us—about our expressions, perhaps, or our manner, or in the words we let fall which caused our companions to read in our faces that simultaneously we had reached a decision to reconsider. However, we made ourselves clear to them on one point: We had not abandoned the quest. We merely had postponed it. We did not say for how long—we merely said we had postponed it, and let it go at that. So then we crawfished back down out of there and patched up our wounds and shot jack rabbits for the rest of the week. A jack rabbit is not particularly good to eat, and as a target he does not offer a great deal, but as a sporting proposition he had to us one great outstanding attraction —he didn’t reside in any lava bed. Some of these days, when opportunity suits, L mean to go back to Youbetcherland, for to my way of thinking it is as fine a place for vacation purposes as lies outdoors. But when I go I think I shall not invade the Oregon lava beds to find the Oregon lava bear. To begin with, I now realize that I have not lost any lava bear. In the second place, the undertaking is one for a pro- fessional naturalist. A weak-minded natu- ralist who doesn’t care what becomes ‘of him would make the best possible candidate for the job. I wish him luck. I hope he finds a per- fect specimen and brings it out. And then in the days to come, when again I feel the craving to hunt lava bear stealing over me, I can get on a train and run down to Washington and go over to the Smithsonian Institution and hunt it there. Youbetcher!

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ean — eee PAS THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 55 ICHELANGELO, by his incomparable genius, breathed life into inert marble and made it express his own “‘tempest and hurricane of spirit.’’ By supreme craftsmanship, Baldwin vital- izes inert wood and metal so that Baldwin- made pianos and player-pianos respond to the mood of him who plays them, as the Italian Carrara responded to the will of the sculptor. Wherever you live you may hear and try any Baldwin-made piano or player-piano without obligation. Descriptive booklets and name of nearest dealer furnished on request. THE BALDWIN PIANO COMPANY Factories at Cincinnati and Chicago CINCINNATI CHICAGO DENVER SAN FRANCISCO DALLAS ST. LOUIS INDIANAPOLIS NEW YORK LOUISVILLE CLETYTE TTT eee eye eee ee eee errr) ————— FY —___— Ney ' —— Builder of? Incomparable PIANOS and PLAYER-PIANOS peer ey WOnN \ \\ a R Baldwin Products The Baldwin Piano Grand Prize— Paris and St. Loui The only American Piats ver honored The Ellington Piano The Hamilton Piano The Howard Piano The Manualo he [’ r-P ul huma 7 n iA) QU LitT rp, ” y - @ i

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“T'll give you yards,”’ responded Horton, unable to hide his pleasure that his dissua- sion had been unsuccessful. ‘ Humorous stuff is the hardest thing in the world for a newspaper to get. Some idiot like you is worth more to us than fifty statesmen hand- ing out double-leaded platitudes. Though as I said before, Beddy, you will simply be flinging away every : ‘Oh, piffie!” exclaimed Beddy, who was in no humor for further warnings. ivery reformer is a joke and a crank and an idiot at the beginning. The first man who carried an umbrella shook London to its founda- tions and was almost killed by the mob. Plimsoll was torn to ribbons in the press for trying to save seamen from coffin ships. Darwin was the joke of his period. Pasteur was constantly arrested for prac- ticing medicine without a license.” Still speaking, he had risen to his feet and taken his hat and gloves. “‘Come along,”’ he said gayly, though in- ternally there was a terrible sinking in the pit of his stomach. ‘‘ The way to begin is to begin! Zero hour, boys!” The elevator was dark, and the descent was made at no cost of Beddy’s assurance. The yawning colored elevator boy seemed to look everywhere except at Beddy’s feet. But in the lobby, flooded with spring sun- shine, whom should they meet but Miss Félice Turner. Miss Turner was an ador- ably pretty brunette who had a studio apartment all to herself on the same floor as Beddy’s, and with whom all three young men had been trying in vain for months to scrape acquaintance. Cooper and Haynes were madly in love with ion Beddy, for all his devotion to Helen 5 Hn never passed the sparkling Félice without a catch at his heart. Mrs. Briggs, who knew everything, said the girl had left home and wealth to study art and earn her own living as a designer. But whether this were true or not, she was certainly one of the prettiest and most unapproachable of young women. Well, here “ws was, prettier than ever, with some packages on her arm, and—as she looked at Beddy— the most astonished expression he had ever seen on a feminine countenance. Ordinarily the beautiful Félice was wholly unable to see a young man. She could gaze right through a young man as though he were invisible. But she did see Beddy’s feet. The rest of him might be invisible, but there was no doubt she saw his feet; and, seeing, showed every symptom of uncon- cealed amazement. Beddy hurried by her with a flaming face. His feet seemed toswell and, at her pursuing scrutiny, grow nakeder every second. And how cold they felt on the pavement out- side, which had been newly sprinkled and was unexpectedly stubby to sensitive and tenderly reared soles! A wave of hatred for Miss Turner rose within him, though a strictly logical mind could scarcely have held her culpable. Why had she chosen that morning, of all mornings, to meet him face to face? The wave of hatred rose till it in- cluded Horton also. How perky and ex- pectant Horton looked! It was nothing to Horton that a young man with excellent prospect was sacrificing himself for the public good. Horton wore the aspect of a sportsman who knew it was a good day for ducks. Beddy decided to walk to the bank, not wishing to reach it before the official hour of opening. The horrified surprise of friends and acquaintances seemed more to be dreaded than the stare of strangers. Stran- gers would give him a startled look and then edge away — often with the suddenness of a shying horse. Sometimes when they were small and young and ragged they would walk backward in front of him, scream- ingly inviting the world to behold the sight. But in general the Upper West Side was very intent on its own affairs and wouldn't have turned round to leok at a striped elephant. But on Fifth Avenue, the haunt of lei- sure, it was very different. Beddy acquired a tail. Horton, looking back, said that there were at least twenty people following them. At Fifty-sixth Street, the tail still swelling, there came the first clash with the police. “Hey, what's the matter here?’ de- manded a big policeman, placing himself in front of Beddy and blocking the entire pro- cession. “Hey, young fellow, where’s your shoes? THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE MAN WHO (Continued from Page 5) “T can’t afford to buy shoes,” exclaimed Beddy in an oratorical voice. ‘ They are so expensive I can’t afford to buy them, and I am going to go barefooted till the price comes down. This profiteering has got to stop, and I am going to stop it!” The policeman eyed him with bewilder- ment. The crowd, growing prodigiously, repeated Beddy’s remarks with crisp varia- tions. “If you are advertising something, you can’t do it here,”’ said Authority, turning Beddy round to look at his back. “T am advertising human misery,” said Beddy. “I am advertising the plight of thousands.” “Well, you must do it on Sixth,” said the yoliceman. ‘Anything goes on Sixth. But nere you are liable to be run in for indecent exposure, disorderly conduct, leading a pro- cession ey a permit and resisting an officer. ou don’t want ten days on the Island you —t ee better beat it.” By this time the mob, constantly aug- menting, had spread into the Avenue, block- ing the traffic. The windows of the high buildings on either side began to fill with faces. The Man Who, much happier now that he was angry, vociferously stood on his rights as a citizen. He was still vociferat- ing when the patrol wagon arrived out of nowhere and engorged him. But the grave, gray sergeant at the desk would allow no charge to be entered against Beddy. Making some caustic remarks about young trouble makers in plaited shirts and ascot ties and the inadvisability of rousing an overworked police, he re- quested Beddy to “‘get out of here, and get out quick!” Beddy obeyed and, soon accumulating a new procession, toiled slowly back to Fifth Avenue. He reached it at Fiftieth Street, where history repeated itself even more tumultuously— mob, blocked traffic, brow- beating policemen, crowding windows, ora- tory niiendan and, finally, the inevitable patrol automobile. But this time it was a very different sergeant—a terrible old fel- low with a white mustache, who had no scruples in charging Beddy with all the crimes in the calendar. As they were being entered, however, White Mustache, after several sharp glances at Horton Meiklejohn, suddenly beheld a great light. The police dread the press; and the masquerading reporter, who writes them up next day and gets them in hot water with their superiors, is not a person they willingly interfere with. “On consideration I don't see as this young man has committed any particular harm,” the sergeant observed with an extraordinary softening of manner. ‘Sure, the price of shoes is something fierce, and we may all have to imitate him if the prices stay up. Dismissed!’ With that he waved Beddy away. “Where now?” asked Horton, still briskly sportsmanlike. Beddy’s feet ached. He was tired and cross and humiliated. It taxed all his reso- lution to say, “Back to Fifth.” But he said it in a voice now a little hoarsened by declamation. At Forty-fifth Street, five blocks nearer the bank, there was a weary repetition of the whole business. If anything the crowd was larger, the police more blustering, the general commotion and uproar on an en- hanced scale. Horton nodded here and there to a dozen other reporters. News- paper Row had heard of Beddy and was out in force. Staff photographers photo- graphed him from the tops of green busses. A moving-picture outfit tore up just as he was being loaded into his third patrol wagon and went into action with the pre- cision of a machine-gun squad. Beddy was glad to get into the patrol wagon. It meant seclusion and a chance to sit down and rest his feet. He smiled at the moving- picture operators and waved his hand. He was becoming used to celebrity. This time he was taken directly to a police court, where after a short but not unwelcome waiting he was called before the magistrate, a severe-looking Jew with a pouncing way of getting at facts as though they were mice, and he a grizzled old Tom who knew just when to dart out his paw. No fact, however small, scurried past Judge Abrahams. Beddy wilted under the glare of those bloodshot old eyes that seemed to stare at him with such animosity. Nomercy here, that was plain. Thesmooth, glib cop had everything his own way. The magistrate cleared his throat and, gazing at Beddy more menacingly than ever, said: “It is an intolerable thing that the police should interfere with this ex-soldier, whose only crime is being poor. In the court’s opinion a man who cannot pay the present extortionate price of shoes and who cou- rageously does without is highly to be com- mended. Mr. Mills, sir, youaredischarged.”’ Beddy bowed, and was turning to go when there was a terrific flash and report, and he realized he had been photographed with the judge. The fumes were still in his eyes and throat as Horton, more used to such proceedings, guided him out of the building. On the curb outside, as the newspaper men and photographers gathered about him like expectant bird dogs, he decided he would continue his further progress in a taxicab. After three arrests in the forenoon even the most robust young man is entitled to feel a trifle tired. In the past of the night before, now in- credibly dim and distant, as though half a lifetime had intervened, Beddy had looked up the address of a press-clipping bureau, planning to take out a subscription. To know what the public is saying of you is very important to a Man Who. A press- clipping bureau provides the mirror in which he can see himself. Beddy gave the address, which was repeated down a line of taxis behind him, and sank into his seat. Becoming a Man Who was certainly an arduous business. You needed a constitu- tion of iron to become a Man Who. Horton was in high spirits. “It’s simply unbelievable—the way you are ripping up the town,” he exclaimed. “If anybody had told me that one bare- footed man could make all this hullabaloo, I would have thought him plumb crazy. I guess you must have hit the exact psycho- logical moment when such a tomfool thing would “If there isn’t a big murder between now and Wednesday, or some tremendous scan- dal, you are going to be the most-talked-of man in New York.” After a pause he added: “How shall I ever be able to thank you for letting me in on this? Oh, and before I forget it—you will give me the first interview, won't you? Just a twenty-four-hour start over the others, that’s all. To-night at eight—will that do?” Beddy nodded his assent. He was in no humor to talk, and his feet were smarting. His friend's elation, instead of being a help, was almost an infliction. As they drew near the big building where the bureau had its offices he decided to beg Horton to go in his place. “Tf it is not too much trouble,” he said, getting a ten-dollar bill out of his wallet. Nothing was too much trouble for Hor- ton, who jumped out with alacrity, grinning at his brother journalists, whose arriving taxis were lining their rear. Beddy sank deeper in the luxury of his seat and lit a cigarette. You had to be a celebrity to ap- preciate such lulls as these. But his repose was only momentary. Two camera men ran up, begging for a close-up of his feet. They said they did not wish to trouble him—they were the politest young men imaginable— but would he not oblige them by putting his legs over the side of the car? It would only take a moment, and th would be so much obliged. Beddy obliged, while the moving-picture people, whose automobile bore a gilt inscription, * ‘All the News of the World in Pictures,”’ reeled off photographs of the photographers. The in- evitable crowd rose out of nowhere, and once again Beddy was the center of a surging sea. Horton returned, through the jam. “IT went a Tittle beyond your order,” he said, taking his place beside Beddy. “You would hardly believe it, but the fellow up there already knew all about you—that’s how news travels in this burg —and when I planked down the ten bucks he burst out laughing. Then he said I had better put in an order for ten thousand as a starter, and it ended by my promising you would send him a hundred dollars on account. Is it all right?” Beddy answered that it was all right, and his face showed his satisfaction. Yesterday not a newspaper would have printed his name unless he got married—or died. Now elbowing his way January 1,192! in only a few hours the press-clipping bureau had put him in the ten-thousand class, and All the News of the World in Pictures was running after him like a pet dog. He was a Man Who, and nobody could deny it. As his exhilaration mounted he suddenly realized he was famishing. Let the bank wait! Lunch—that was what he needed. He mentioned the name of an excellent little grill to Horton. Horton was shocked. “T was endowing you with a genius for publicity,” he cried out, “and here you want to take me to a little hole and corner joint like that! No; the right place to go to is the Watteau-Victoria at the head of your cohorts and unloose as much pan- demonium as possible in their gilded halls. You are out to startle New York, aren’t you? Well, let’s hit them in the high spots, and hit them hard.” Shivers ran down Beddy’s spine as Hor- ton gave the order to the chauffeur. “Watteau-Victoria,” he said. ‘Main entrance on Forty-second Street.” It was an admirable choice—from the point of view of unloosing pandemonium. They flooded into the spacious lobby like a Red army invading the home of all the Czars. Pale clerks, stunefied with horror, gazed at the barefooted intruder who led the way so jauntily. Then bells began to ring; bell boys scurried; like an invaded hive the great hotel hummed with an ominous note. A foreign lady, very bejeweled and in the shortest skirt ever beheld, screamed out, “Ze revolution!’”’ Commotion! Uproar! Guests flattening themselves against walls; camera men leaping on chairs like goats; the Red army advancing down the famous Alley toward the dining room. But ha! Devoted Cossacks block the way—two house detectives, several husky porters in blue-flannel shirts and a stalwart engineer from the dynamo room swinging a monkey wrench. There was no parley. The technic of the Watteau-Victoria was evidently to throw itself on an undesirable and rush him sub- terraneanward, with the minimum of noise and the maximum of kicks. At that palpi- tating instant, as Beddy gave himself up for lost, but with a determination to fight to his last breath, All the News of the World in Pictures bounded on an onyx table while confederates instantaneously unfurled two immense white sheets by way of reflectors. The defense was paralyzed. The sheets were even more daunting than the clicking camera. There was no real command in the chief detective’s voice as he ordered Beddy to “get the hell out of here!’’ His half- whispered request to one of the porters showed his desperation. “Quick! Get Mr. Bratzi!”’ he exclaimed. His discomfiture was complete when Horton remarked in his high, thin, incisive voice: ‘The Morning Clarion, which I repre- sent, is interested to see how this hotel treats friendless ex-service men.”’ Mr. Bratzi appeared at this juncture; a sallow, imperious man, with snapping black eyes, who gave the impression of a voleanic nature under iron restraint. As a photographer shouted to him, “Please hold that pose, mister,” he visibly gritted his teeth. Addressing Beddy, after looking him up and down with extreme disdain, he said in accents that would have cut ‘corundum, “Will you kindly inform me what you are doing here?’ “Oh, just lunching with my friend, Mr. Meiklejohn, of the Morning Clarion,” re- turned Beddy. “And do you consider that a suitable way of appearing in public?’’ asked Mr. Bratzi, indicating Beddy's feet with a dramatic finger. ‘‘There are ladies here, sir, and it cannot be permitted.” “I don’t see why the ladies should mind,” retorted Beddy. “The fact is, I am con- ducting a campaign to reduce the price of shoes by doing without them. Perhaps I might have the privilege of enrolling you as a member of my association?”’ Mr. Bratzi gasped "ae nothing to me whether you wear shoes or not,” he said. “One thing only I know, and that is no shoeless individual may enver my dining room.’ (Continued on Page 59) == Pee pet anton

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST a ta ii, Bik A oe ve + ¢ N ha - :: Bi . re 4 i ; wt ' y ae ‘ Be id a fr 5 it i 2 be Tt ; : “4 Auto-Lite Starting. Lighting & Ignition | The automobile industry is the second largest making a | completed product. To lead in it, as Auto-Lite does and i | has done for ten years, means but ove thing—Quality— a consistent excellence maintained without deviation from the highest standards. \ More than 2,000,000 cars are equipped with Auto-Lite Systems Ht ‘ OFFICE AND WORKS ELECTRIC AUTO-LITE CORPORATION DETROIT SALES OFFICE . 1507 KRESGE BLDG TOLEDO, OHIO Willys Light Division of Electric Auto-Lite Corporation. Manufacturers of Electric Light and Power Plants for Farms, Et asi .

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January t, 1921 Valspar—tested by Fire and Water! N the night of September 13th, 1919, the sky line of Brooklyn, N.Y., was thrown into bold relief by the flickering glare from the great five- million-dollar Standard Oil fire. For five days and nights the fire boats fought the flames at close quarters continually drenched with water, jammed up against the scorching heat. These fire boats were Valsparred. And when the siren signalled ‘‘Out’’ not a single blister or white spot was visible on their Valsparred surfaces. A terrific varnish test! But Valspar stood it — just as it stands all tests in- The Famous doors or out. Hot and cold water, snow, sun, oil, grease —Valspar holds its natant brilliancy against them all. Valspar varnish never turns white. Anything varnished with Valspar can be washed with soap and hot water without harm. With floors, linoleum and woodwork Valsparred, think how easy to keep your bathroom, kitchen, pantry and nursery clean and sanitary. Anything worth varnishing 1s worth Valsparring. VALENTINE & COMPANY Largest Manufacturers of High-Grade Varnishes in the World — Established 1832 New York Chicago Boston Toronto London Paris Amsterdam W. P. Fuiver & Co., Pacific Coast VALENTINE & COMPANY, 456 Fourth Ave., New York VA | EB N | N E’ S Special Offer 11 tamps, we will send you a 30c¢ u t finish a small table or chair, Address Saturday Booming Post 1-1-2 RRR ete The Varnish That Won't Turn White

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! bal i 1 i. ‘2 i » i ‘ ' , f “? ' ; (Continued from Page 56) “This one is going to enter it!”’ exclaimed Beddy with battling eyes. As he spoke he took a step forward. “Moreover, every table is engaged,” protested Mr. Bratzi, evidently abandoning the front-line trenches to win by strata- gem. He glanced meaningly at a subordi- nate, who hurried away. ‘I am afraid I can’t take your word for that,” said Beddy, pushing past him. “Come along, Horton, let’s get there before they can close the doors.” The pair almost ran, while cameras clicked and reporters trotted after, But the doors had not been closed. On the contrary, they were wide open, disclosing dozens of empty tables which waiters were frantically dotting with cards marked “Reserved.” Beddy and Horton burst out laughing at these attempts to forestall them. The lunchers, of whom there were at least a hundred, laughed too, and uproariously, as they saw the barefooted man racing to secure a table that was as yet unmarked. The general hilarity increased when waiters appeared withscreens and segregated Beddy and Horton in a room of their own. Here luncheon was served to them with- out further trouble, except for people who mounted chairs outside the inclosure to stare down at such mysterious and secluded strangers. Beddy, amid much merriment, was kept busy explaining his campaign to these broadly smiling faces, which were constantly renewed. In all its history that dining room had never been the scene of such indecorum. The scraping of chairs was incessant. Once the wabbly walls fell down and had to be restored by smiling waiters. Everybody was friendly and in- terested. But it was not wise to linger in this Capua. Horton, with his diabolical in ventiveness, suggested that they move over to the Metz for coffee and cause a fresh disturbance in that ultra-aristocratic hotel. A sensation should never be allowed to slump, said Horton Once let it get cold and— poof, it was gone! Beddy acquiesced, though with a sinking heart. He was weary of riots; weary of patrol wagons and inflamed human countenances; weary of jams and jeers and rough hands on his coat collar, But to endure them was the price of becoming a Man Who; and so up he got, with a semblance of determination. But as their string of taxis reached the imposing entrance to the Metz, and as the Red army descended and massed behind their ,barefooted leader, Beddy was a tounded at the lack of attention he—and they—excited. The door men and starters never turned a hair, no one gave them a econd look, and inside the great lobby, considerably filled at that hour, there was no such commotion as had attended their invasion of the Watteau-Victoria. A few languid fashion plates gazed at Beddy’s feet with supercilious surprise; a few lorgnettes were raised; a child pointed, and was suppressed—and that was all! Oh, no, not all! What was that big transparency above the long desk? Horton clutched at Beddy’s arm, and the pair gazed at it transfixed GUESTS A) rAFF WILL KINDLY TREAT THI SHOF NSATION MONGEE WITH THE SILENT CONTEMPT He DESERVI “‘Bratzi has tipped them off,” whispered the journali ‘Everybody has been primed to ignore you. If you let them get away with this you will fizzle!” Poor Beddy felt that he was already fizzling. He knew how silly and ignomini- ous he must appear with no outraged management to sustain him. How could he roar for his rights as a citizen when they were thus freely accorded— with silent con- tempt? He had flourished on fury and scandal; without them he was merely a hotly flushing young man with dirty bare feet. The Red army, with obviously shaken confidence, followed him to the vast dining room. Oh, that his way might have been barred—but it wasn’t! A waiter took his order without the wiggle of an eyelash. It was heart-rending Sipping his black coffee, Beddy took counsel with Horton. Horton felt the gravity of the situation, and his confidence, too, was ebbing. The depressed Red army yawned in the doorway. Al] the News of the World in Pictures, sunk in gloom, were eating ices at an adjoining table. “You can’t sit here like this,’” whispered Horton. ‘You'll have to start some- thing—or die. Why not go the round of the tables, making a little speech at every one and playing up the ex-service man stuff? It’s your only chance in the world. Hop, boy, hop!” Beddy sprang to his feet and, with asensa- tion of the room swimming about him, stepped over to an adjoining table where half a dozen people were seated. There was a breathless instant as they stared up at him and he stared down at them. Then with the deferential and engaging air that came to him so easily, he said: “TI beg your pardon, ladies and gentle- men, but I am Bedford Mills, the man who is trying to reduce the price of shoes by going barefooted. Though appearances are against me, I ask you to believe that I am neither a crank nor a lunatic, but simply a young ex-service man who sees that some- thing must be done before this profiteering causes a revolution. I Should be greatly pleased to enlist any lady or gentleman in my crusade.”” There was more—very much more—but this was thé preamble he carried from table to table by way of self-introduction. He was extraordinarily successful. The friendliness and mirth at the first table carried him on like a fair wind to the next. Had he been less good-looking it might all perhaps have been very different. But Beddy, to do him justice, was a most at- tractive fellow, with a well-bred air and an irresistible smile. The women were always on his side. But in a world where even true love does not run smoothly Beddy’s success could not continue indefinitely. At the eighth or ninth table he roused a hornets’ nest of three shoe manufacturers, disguised —as he said afterward—as gentlemen, who had been awaiting his arrival with bursting resentment. In no time at all he was in the thick of a heated controversy. One of them, penciling fiercely on the menu, shook it in his face while demanding he analyze the figures then and there and admit on his knees—yes, sir, on his knees—that- twelve dollars was the very cheapest at which you could turn out a decent pair of shoes. While attempting to controvert this he was loudly assailed by the others as a Bolshevist, a Red and an Il. W. W as an anarchist, pro German and self-ad vertising soap-box hum bug. Insults flew so fast you couldn't count them. One apoplectic individual vociferously demanded a noose and a lamp post, being ready, dammit, to string up all such cattle single-handed. Growing ashamed of the din, Beddy o tentatiously shrugged his shoulders and turned away. As he did so one of the trio kicked him viciously in the leg. Beddy, pivoting, and incensed beyond control, struck him in the face. Over crashed the table. The air seemed to fill with clenched fists. Women screamed, waiters ran and there was a wild, frenzied, indiscriminate punching. Bing, bang! Bleeding noses and blackened eyes! Upraised gilt chairs, dodging heads and flying crockery! Pande- monium, more pandemonium, superpan- demonium! Then the combatants were torn apart, rumpled, disheveled, collarless and gasping for breath. Then police, notebooks, incoherent explanations and a headlong exodus to the patrol wagon. At the police court charges and counter- charges were entered in a greasy tome; and while the manufacturers were telephoning frantically for legal aid Beddy leaned back on a bench in a state of agreeable lassit ude His mouth was swollen; one ear felt as though it had been torn off; his side ached; the knuckles of his left hand were badly sprained—yet he was happy, blissfully happy. He had not fizzled; he had not succumbed to silent contempt; he had kept his following busy and together when they had been on the eve of disintegration. So he rested peacefully, with the pleasant assurance of still being in the public eye Theirs was the last case to be called, and the magistrate, as he gazed at Beddy’s feet, wore an expression of entertainment. The magistrate had an Irish name and an Irish sense of humor, and he could hardly keep his face decorous as the eminent Mr. Peabody Quinn, himself broadly smiling, began to outline his clients’ complaint. Eminent counsel had not relished his call to this trumpery affair, and he revenged himself by an exaggeration of epithet and description that made everyone titter. He had not gone far before the magistrate interrupted him. “The court hesitates to interrupt so dis- tinguished an orator in one of his finest flights,”’ he said, ‘‘ but the hour is late and the matter at issue seerns comparatively unimportant. The court suggests that these THE SATURDAY EVENING POST gentlemen, all of whom seem to be at fault, should withdraw their respective charges and shake hands.” “Amen!” exclaimed Mr. Quinn in his booming voice; and with that the pro- ceedings terminated in general hilarity. It was dusk by the time Beddy got home in a taxi, with all the evening papers, which he had bought by the way, bundled under his arm. He found Mrs. Briggs in tears and Cooper and Haynes in a state of inappeas able wrath. The joint establishment was to be dissolved at once. Cooper and Haynes could not continue living with a barefooted idiot. They were explosively indignant, and demanded to have the question of the player piano settled at once. Would Beddy buy them out, or would they buy him out? But Beddy was in no condition to discuss the fate of joint player pianos. He was so tired that he staggered in his walk. His back ached, his side ached, his sprained knuckles ached and his feet were burning as though they had been seared with hot iron. Mrs. Briggs rubbed them with ba- con fat while he lay on a sofa—a Samari- tan act which roused Cooper and Haynes to fresh paroxysms of exasperation. But to Beddy their talk was no more than a mean- ingless buzzing. He was too exhausted for either sarcasm or insult to hurt him. Wea- rily he glued himself to the evening papers while Mrs. Briggs rubbed in that healing balm. He was on the front page of every paper—columns and columns of him, under staring headlines. His name sprang out at him with horrible distinctness, and it was like being skinned alive to read the stuff He was represented as a ludicrous young fool who was convulsing the town with his absurdities—a sort of Happy Hooligan who had risen in the flesh from the comic supplement. He was own brother to Pup and Jup; he was a Hoogleboogle Kid, grown up. The only oasis in this howling desert of derision was an editorial in the New York Evening Tory, headed “An Ominous Manifestation.”” Beddy was the ominous manifestation—the first of the new sans-culottes invading the haunts of an aristocracy too stupid to tremble. A guil lotine in Times Square was darkly hinted at. Although this was scarcely the out come Beddy had planned for his crusade, he was pleased nevertheles That edi- torial was spiritual bacon fat for his smart- ing soul. Horton, arriving later to interview him, was no less comforting. Horton said that in all his experience he had never seen such astir. He said solemnly that it was symp- tomatic, and astonished Beddy by adding that the New York Evening Tory was not altogether wrong in its alarm. ‘It’s because everybody is so sore about these prices that you make a sensation,” he went on. “‘You are putting into action what is more or less floating in ever ; mind. In 1914 who would have ¢ doit whether you went barefooted or not? Now, though the press is guying you to death, it feels the immense ground swell of public opinion on your side. See how lenient those magistrates were! Look at the way the Metz knuckled under! Why, even the police handled you with kid glove And it is all due—every bit of it is due —to the same ground swell of out raged millions!” The ground swell, however, was very poorly apparent in the morning paper The space they gave Beddy—and they gave it without stint—seemed but for elbow room to laugh him to scorn. The ridicule was merciles As Beddy he was more than ever in the class of those egregious heroes of the Sunday sup. The nickname was universal, and with the use of it he seemed almost to hear the accom panying guffaws. As Beddy read those endless columns hi skin seemed to peel off and hang from him in strips An excruciating humiliation afflicted every particle of his being. His heart swelled to his throat. He visualized St. John Jessop at breakfast, combining grilled bacon with grilled Beddy; visu alized Helen—no, no, no! He could not bear to pursue the thought. Putting both hands to his head and clutching his hair, he rocked to and fro in an utter abandonment of despair. But he had still the Morning Clarion, which with premonition he had put byeto the last. Nor was he disappointed. Horton had drawn a picture of a young Don Quixote, simple-minded and sincere, who innocently believed he could track the ody N ared a farefoot (Continued on Page 61 Its Queer About Druggists So many people seem to have it in for them Manufacture roist declines to ce 1utt which he pays $5000 of drugs get sore because a drt vote a window, tor rent, to display he manufacture goods just because the druggist knows the article tsn’t much good and nobody Wants it ‘ , Girls edve into a three d ep crowd at and complain ibout a soda fountain lruggist be Self dosers blame. the cau one of the wenty odd thousand } j +. 8 remed he carrie stock Gdldn t hap pen to mneciae with th amateul } Gdlagnosi Lots ot peopk don't isk for what thes want by name and then talk about substitution. Is there any more u seful, conve nient, indispensable store than your nearest r il iruguist ¢ Study the people in a drug store: \ haggard faced tather, frantic tor the pl cription which mav Save a ‘baby’s life \ dainty miss, Silt htly embat ra d in her first quest of beauty aids pers seeking the sundae that cheers. Happy children spending then dimes and youths nonchalantly squan dering the Ir day s earnings on vir] s vuSt ] “a 1) starting their careers as “Gold Dig vers.’ A sidewalk accident rushed 1n for first aid ; , ee It a cheery, « cal clal center ial guardian of health—an tnexhaustible : , provider of almost anything you need ps to the thing | am tlad to Say a vood word for lruggists in general because pretty nearly every nul one of them from Marine to the Vlexi an bor ler keeps ' Mennen Shaving Cream promune ntly displayed. That is because every drug nst knows that a larg proportion ol his mal ustomel! would no more think of shaving with anvthing but Mennen’s than they would of trying to raise a bear be it you doubt that tatement, sen 15 cent (Mennen Salesman) THe Mennen Company Newaan, J. USA

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 1,192! Douglas Fir Northern White Pine Idaho White Pine Western Soft Pine Western Hemlock Washington Red Cedar Red Fir and Larch Norway Pine HOW CHOOSING THE RIGHT WOOD MAY DOUBLE THE SERVICE YOU GET FROM LUMBER "| cannot conceive at this time of a greater service to more people than to put order and system into the marketing of lumber.’’ This was said recently by one of the great industrial men of America. He spoke as a buyer and user of lumber— thinking of the needs of industrial America, the big construction plans and the great era of home-building ahead; of the fact that every building project involves the use of lumber wholly or in part; and that the question touches every farm, every business, every town and city in the land. Wood is the natural building material of America, just as stone is of France and Italy. It is a startling fact that the service value of the average purchase of lumber could be increased 100%, if the buyer chose the most practical wood for a given purpose. Putting order and system into the lumber busi- ness means wood in its right place. It means selecting the kind of wood best suited for a given use. It means specifying the grade best adapted for the job. As substantial factors in the lumber business the Weyerhaeuser people wish to render real service to you and to everyone who uses lumber. To this end we will supply to lumber dealers and to the public any desired information as to the qualities of different species and the best wood for a given purpose. This service will be as broad and impartial as we know how to make it. We are not partisans of any particular species of wood. We advise the best lumber for the purpose, whether it is a kind we handle or not. What we advocate is conservation and economy through the use of the right wood in its proper place. If we could insure your getting the wood you eught to have, it might mean a difference of years in the life and service of the lumber—fifty years perhaps as against a few months. So important is the selection of the right wood or grade of wood for a given use. From now on the Weyerhaeuser Forest Products trade-mark will be plainly stamped on their prod- uct. You can see it for yourself at the lumber yard or on the job after it is delivered. When you buy lumber for any purpose, no matter how much or how little, you can look at the mark and know that you are getting a standard article of known merit. WEYERHAEUSER FOREST PRODUCTS SAINT PAUL: MINNESOTA Producers of Douglas Fir, Western Hemlock, Washington Red Cedar and Cedar Shingles on the Pacific Coast; Idaho White Pine, Western Soft Pine, Red Fir and Larch in the Inland Empire; Northern White Pine and Norway Pine in the Lake States.

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(Continued from Page 59) dragon of H. C. L. to his lair and per- sonally slay him amid the plaudits of the multitude. It was gayly written; brightly and sympathetically written; and its vivid little touches of character and dialogue lifted it out of the rut of ordinary reporting. It enormously restored Beddy to his own self-esteem. It enabled him to endure an agonizing breakfast with Cooper and Haynes. Later it strengthened him to re- sist a fond woman’s tears, as Mrs. Briggs, with her devoted old face all screwed up, hysterically besought him to bring no further disgrace en his head. In the lobby he found a shrunken follow- ing aw: 1iting his descent—five or six in place of the little army of the day before. Horton had sent a substitute— and excuses. All the News of the World in Pictures was conspicuously absent. It looked to Beddy as though he had outlived his newspaper welcome. Inconsistently, he felt depressed and aggrieved. His plan, too, of invading the Fifth Avenue shoe stores suddenly ap- peared to him as lacking in originality; yet without Horton’s unfailing inventiveness he could think of no better. It was in a gloomy humor that he sallied forth, scowl- ing at the passers-by as they nudged one another and whispered, ‘“‘That’s him that’s Beddy Barefoot!’’ The press had introduced him to New York’s millions, and he was now endowed with the ambig- uous celebrity of ‘Say, look, that’s him that’ Ss Be dc ly Bare foot !’ : He was very miserable, very forlorn and lonely; and, to make matters worse, he could not get Helen out of his head. How was her liking ever to survive this ignomini- ous fame? In imagination he saw her fastidious lips curl; saw her lovely, shocked eyes. She had craved a Man Who, and he had given her— Beddy Barefoot! Or had she demanded the impossible merely to get rid of him? Had it not been, perhaps, a cruel subterfuge ? And if so how idiotic it had been of him to take her at her word, discovering the truth when it was too late to stop and borne on by a momentum of pride. Then he remembered he must smile. All the papers had commented on his irresist- ible smile. So he grinned and grinned, feeling like the Cheshire cat in the picture book of his infancy; grinned and grinned while his feet ached and his heart grew heavier and heavier. But it became a real smile a few blocks farther on, when he first snarled up the traffice—the fighting smile of a Man Who whose blood was mounting. He whiffed battle. There was an encouraging tramp and jostle behind him. He knew he had regained his follow- ing. He had only to stop for it to flood into the Avenue and congest everything. At the first shoe store on his way there was a terrible crush as he entered its por- tals. Hundreds followed him, pressing at his heels. It was like a wave bursting intoa cavern. An indignant manager met him indignant, scandalized and just a little cowed. Yes, sir, they had inexpensive It didn’t matter what kind so long as they were cheap? George, show the gentleman those marked-down Oxfords. William, get these people out of here gettimout, gettimout! But William, though he tried, couldn’t gettimout. Instead they packed in closer than ever, while the win- dows outside darkened with more, and green omnibuses floundered and stopped in a sea o: heads. Twelve dollars, sir. But you said they were marked down! yes, sir, certainly sir—marked down from six teen. The tag Then Beddy exploded oratorically. It was outrageous, it was intolerable, it was profiteering gone crazy! His voice rose as base persons in the crowd booed and cat- called in an indiscrimination that was pos- sibly meant to favor the champion of the people. Manager and clerks rejoined heat- edly. Arguments became insults; and in- sults personalities. Faces crimsoned and fists clenched. William blew deafeningly an a police whistle. Base persons yelled: ‘‘ Hook it, Hook it, Beddy Barefoot!” It was good advice, and Beddy took it, but with dignity and without precipitation, dropping his assumed anger like an actor coming off the stage. He was learning the technic of systematic trouble making. When an altercation had reached a certain temperature which might be allegoric ally ex- pressed as ninety-nine centigrade, he left left just before boiling point. Indeed, he contrived, with great ‘skill, to keep within the fatal one hundred degrees all along the shoes. seddy!

Avenue, and emerged unscathed and smil- ing from places where a less practiced hand might have perished. The police, it must THE SATURDAY EVENING POST be admitted, were strangely tolerant, evi- | dently under orders from P. H. Q. regarded him stonily, but lifted not a finger. In a fuller sense than to most celebrities They | Beddy had been accorded the freedom of | the city. | Thus he proceeded from shoe store to shoe store on a task that at last became almost commonplace. Surging in at the head of his followers, he would ask to be | shown some inexpensive shoes; would be horrified at the price; would give vehe- ment vent to his dissatisfaction; and then, raising the ensuing altercation slowly to ninety-nine degrees C., would leave in the nick of time. The program scarcely varied. It functioned with machinelike precision till noon, when an extraordinary thing hap- pened. It was the hour when the sweatshop army, having descended in its myriads from innumerable lofts, econgests the pave- ments of Fifth Avenue while it enjoys its brief leisure. It is a huge, surly, ill-dressed, ill-favored mob, which idles, smokes, spits and soils with its dingy presence the most fashionable thoroughfare in the world. Although besought in fourteen languages, and in the most urgent, emphatic type, to hide itself on the side streets and not impair real-estate values, the army defiantly masses daily on holy Fifth, refusing—as the family skeleton—to hide itself in the cupboard. Beddy, emerging from a shoe store, gave it nospecial thought. There is nothing novel to a New Yorker in the sweatshop army, which he accepts as he does snowdrifts or torn-up streets or any other obstacle to prog- ress. It was only when the army began to cheer him that Beddy awakened to its ex- istence. Yes, to his amazement they were cheering him, splitting their throats in hoarse, shrill bellows, extending their grimy hands and belaboring him on the back with excited friendliness. t was a spontaneous ovation, startling and tremendous, which he carried with him like the swirling center of a tornado as he struggled through the press. It was inexpressibly elating, embarrass- ing and absurd. These poor ninnies, in their simp licity, were taking him seriously as a champion of the oppressed. Hip, hip, zoom, boom—vivas, huzzas—in ear- splitting proximity; sallow, bearded faces reddening with excitement; guttural bless- ings called down on him from fourteen separate heavens; his arm a pump handle as in tousled and hatless triumph, and not without the aspect of being dragged to a lynching, he ran the gantlet of fame. And there were blocks on blocks of it; blocks on blocks of cheers, outcry and heart-stirring, pulse-thumping 3eddy, who had at first thought of escap- ing, saw that he had to see it through. Soon he was enjoying it; was drunk with it as he carried these thunders down the Avenue and heard them bursting about him with the measure of a stupendous surf. The high-up windows filled; motors in droves came to a standstill to watch the sight New York in years had never seen any- thing so sensational as Beddy’s progress from Thirty-fifth Street to Twenty-third. But in the very zenith of it all, whom hould he see, by one of those miracles of coincidence, but Helen Jessop! She was standing on the rear seat of her arrested landaulet, with one gloved hand on her father’s shoulder, a lovely, slender patri cian gazing at the mob with an air of amused disdain. Pride radiated from her, spread about her like an aura in her tapes- tried nest pride of race and caste, wealth and elegance, distinction, beauty—a pride that was just a little petulant, a beauty that was just a little cold in its blond perfection, though never had she seemed to Beddy more intolerably beautiful than at that moment when her eyes met his in amazed recognition. It was but for the briefest instant through a rift of heads, a glance caught and lost again; but the piercing memory of it remained with him like a dagger in his side. His exhilaration vanished, and a be- numbing misery took its place. himself as he was, disgraced, humiliated by this grotesque ovation, a ludicrous parody of a Man W ho. And it was she—she in the pitiless power she had over him—who had cast him into this furnace. But it was no sise e to consider the wounds of the heart. His inexhaustible admirers were shattering his eardrums and grabbing at his person in tireless relays. He had to grimace, pretend

acclaim. | He saw |

CLEAN COAL AND WHAT IT MEANS ESIDE the loading tip ple of one of The iF 0% Company’s big mines, there stands a tremendous mound Consolidation Coal It looks so much like coal that the It really ts not coal, Piled ton 1 oe ! upon ton that would cost many thousands of dollars to haul to that closely resembles coal. ordinary layman would probably buy it as such. but slate—-a waste substance of no fuel value. tidewater, it stands there, a silent testimonial to our tradition and our ideal that Consolidation Coal must be clean coal. rom the first days of its ope ration, The Consolidation Coal Company has invariably supplied clean coal to its customers. No matter what the condition of the times, we have unfailingly sent from our mines only the fuel from which slate, rock, bone, dirt and sulphur balls had Sulphur balls about one-third as much heat as the same weight of coal, but the been removed. produce other impurities which we eliminate have practically no heating value. They coal consumer rate charged for real fuel. Only the tradition in the miners can prod worthless material bought by the at the repres¢ nt mere in uncleaned coal same price and freight ; closest inspection and consistent instilling of thi ice clean coal. In the midst of war, when the Government controlled the fuel industry, all mines were ordered to produce clean coal. Becaus necessitated no change for us. of our fixed practice, the order In the pe riod of fuel shortage when many consumers Were gla and anxious to purchase “‘anything that was black,” we adhere to the Consolidation standard. Clean coal maintains the reputation of our Company, provide our customers with maximum fuel vaiue for money expended, and produces a feeling of institutional pride every part of th Consolidation organization, THE CONSOLIDATION COAL COMPANY INCORPORATED Pankers Trust Pralding New York City

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62 to be gratified, exert his lame and aching arm. The worst day in the Argonne would have been paradise to this. But nothing lasts forever Freedom came; luncheon in a marble morgue with paper ¢ ubs, who vied in sug gestions for his afternoon But Beddy would have none of them teddy was tired; feet were burning; and there was al- ; that dagger in his side. Nor was he any mood to persecute more shoe stores He was tired of shoe stores—of harangues, convulsed faces and insults. He pined for peace, and decided, as the nearest ap- proach to it, to take a ride in the park To ride in the park would still keep him in the affording an interlude in chummy new public eye while } ; miserable I'he knew him at Dalton’s, where he often hired a mount on Saturdays and Sundays; | w him in faultless breeches and boo an excellent rider and very liberal wi th his tips. These last now served him well as he made his scarecrow appear ance. Old Sam, grinning from ear to ear, saddled Bessie for him—Bessie, the best horse in the stable and given to only a few favored riders. The twilight of the place and the self-absorption of the other riders made it easy for Beddy to come and go with comparatively little attention. But in the open air he regained his celebrity; regained it much more than he could have wished. Fortunately Bessie was a spirited animal, and the sensation he made on her was not wholly ignominiou The more people stared and tittered the more he showed off his military horsemanship. It alved the gnawing bitterness within him to rouse Bessie to frenzy. They were both in a bad temper, and fought each other all round the park It was about five when he returned home Jake, the colored elevator boy, said that a lady had left a card for him, and fumblingly produced it. There was some penciling on it which had suffered from being rubbed in Jake's pocket, but the engraved name stood out with paralyzing distinctness— Miss Helen Jessop: “ Beddy: Don't ever see me again. Don't ever think of me again. Don't write or telephone or bow or even look as though you had ever known me. Words cannot ex press the finality of this farewell. H. J,’ ‘Fierce, ain't * said Jake, who had evidently absorbed the blurred message “She was so awful mad that she gave me a dollar,” The boy would have contributed further chuckling reminiscences had not Beddy turned to the stairway to escape him. He ran up three steps at a time in a state of mind that baffles all description; in such rage and misery, resentment and despair that he moaned aloud. Helen had thrown him over; had ended everything between them. - And with what cruelty, with what utter heartlessness, and not even screening in an envelope the terms of his dismissal! But what was the matter with the apart ment? The familiar sitting room had dis appeared. It was bare, carpetless, almost denuded of furniture. The rugs were gone, the curtains were gone, chairs, table, divan desk, Persian lamp-—-all had flown. Beddy needed no sobbing Mrs. Briggs to explair what had happened. With a provision of possible parting, each of the partners had contributed from his dwn po ket There had been an individual ownership in every thing except the piano, That was why it had been left, of course; that was why there still remained a picture of an un draped lady, a rocking-chair, a bookcase, a cellaret, a German helmet, two crossed bayonets and an engraving of Rheims Cathedral Mrs. Briggs, in tears, told him that Mr Cooper and Mr. Haynes had left. My, and the things they had said! It was awful boohoo! And they had left it to him to decide about the piano; they would buy him out or let him buy them out, and they wanted to know about it at once and about the lease. Would he please ring up Prospect 2249 between six and eight? Oh, it was awful—they who had all been so happy together And what boohoo—about the kitchen things, which had been bought in common? Mr. Cooper and Mr. Haynes particularly wanted to know about the kitchen things, having none of their own to go on with. And what about Mrs. Briggs herself, who, like the piano, had been held in thirds? What was to become of Mrs. Briggs in the upheaval? Would Beddy please say at once, though she had quite made up her mind to go with } ' boohoo THE SATURDAY Mr. Cooper and Mr. Haynes. She was too self-respecting to work for a barefooted young man whose name was in all the papers like a murderer, and they had a nice room for her in the new apartment, with southern ex But what were those strange heaps in the shadow of the wull that looked like dumped-out sugar or something? Oh, those were the letters! Hadn't she told him about the letters? Thousands and thou- sands of them, and telegrams. More tele- grams than she had ever seen in her whole life. That’s how they had come, in sacks and sacks, with the mail carrier half crazy and the bell ringing every other minute There was the bell now—more of those dreadful telegrams! Well, he could sign for them himself; Mrs. Briggs was through; Mrs. Briggs was quitting; it had only been a sense of dooty that had kept her till his arrival. Beddy noticed for the first time that she was attired for immediate de- parture, and as he opened the door to a messenger boy she disappeared. There were four telegrams, which Beddy opened and read with a wondering brow “CHATTANOOGA, TENN ‘Fired by your splendid example and with enthusiastic permission of faculty, Class One, Jackson Military School, ple dg ~ itself to go barefooted for one month “OAKVILLE Forks, IA ‘Welldone! Bravo! Goit, Beddy Bare- foot! Hurrah, nine of us, four ladies, cast off our shoes to-day and march with you till the battle is won! ELMER SWAN.” ‘Los ANGELES, CAI ‘Assembled Southern California astrolo gers and phrenologists in biggest conclave ever seen south of the Tehachapi applaud your efforts and appoint special barefoot committee to enlist adherents, beginning with seventeen and growing like prairie fire. Unsurpassed climate of world’s garden spot makes crusade a pleasure as well high publieduty. Cordially and fraternally, ““ORRIS NORDHEIM, Hon. Sec.” ““GERONA, N. M ‘Lonely one-lunger, exiled but in longing touch with world movements, feels even here the throb of your superb purpose, and lays in mind if not in person her homage at your fearless feet. Also husband ‘Mrs. H. F. WELKINRINGER.” Beddy had the feeling of a man in a dream. It was all like one of those incredi bilities when you touch yourself to make sure you are awake. Moving toward the wall, he surveyed the mass of letters and telegrams with a wonder that was almost awe. To think that they were all for him! That his name was on every one, and within an unknown voice seeking him out of the void! He opened one at random ‘'Dear Mr. Mills: Having excessively tender feet, should I be violating the spirit of the crusade by wearing moccasins to and from business made by a deserving blind man in the neighborhood? I am employed is a bookkeeper in the Ajax Pump Works, where everybody is greatly interested Hoping for a reply at your earliest cor venience, Sincerely yours, ‘Miss Birpie Conan Halworth Street, Chicag He picked up another: ““LATAPIE, NORTH DAKOTA ‘Dear Exalted and Supreme Ruler: Hav ing just organized a Bedford Mills Club with a hundred and fifty ardently enthusi astic young business men and women, we desire to obtain a charter and official recognition Please reply collect, wit! rousing telegram Eric OLSEN.” There was another ring at the door, and Beddy went, not very willingly, to open it But it was not a messenger boy with more telegrams, but a young lady, very pink and confused, whom he was astonished to re« ognize as Miss Félice Turner. Her voice was a little breathless as she spoke and her di ark eyes were shining. I am Miss Turner, who has the studio on this floor,” she said, struggling against an obvious timidity. ‘And, being very impulsive, as I hope you are-—as all really nice people are, don’t you think? i—I just wanted to tell you that I am one of your warmest admirers, and i She stopped in the most captivating dis- tress, as though had he not smiled she would have turned and fled. EVENING POST “Please come in,” said Beddy, himself flushing from an intensity of pleasure, and almost as confused as his attractive visitor. She was so deliciously girlish, piquant and shyly daring that his heart filled with elation. He murmured something about her great kindness; that he was flattered beyond expression, and so on. But it was the cadence, not the words, that consti- tuted his response and gave it the warmth of smitten young manhood. “‘Oh, I meant more than that,’’ she con- tinued, entering, but with one hand timidly on the door as though appealing to him not to close it. ‘“‘] want to take you back to my studio and give you a cup of tea—and dinner later—and afterward, if you think I type well enough, may I be your secre- tary? Surely you need one.” They both laughed as they regarded those heaps and heaps of letters and tele- grams. Beddy hardly knew what he said it was all so gay and happy and unexpected and delightful. And he needn’t wash his hands or prink, but come as he was, and receive first aid and eat electric toast and be waited on hand and foot like a knight of old after a particularly trying vow. Still talking eagerly, and in a glow of tumul- tuously mutual liking, they walked down the long hall to the studio door, which Félice opened and made him enter first. It was the most oddly beautiful room that Beddy had ever seen, quivering with vivid colors that ought to have clashed but instead were intriguingly harmonious, spar- ingly but most invitingly fur-i hed with furniture that had been paint w stained in the same bewildering key of brilliancy. There were yellow Chinese rugs on the black floor; the ceiling was yellow; and the walls, where they showed between gleam- ing old embroideries, were of a strange pea- cock blue. Here and there was a picture of fantastic incoherence, glittering like a panel of jewels, Enjoying his exclamations, and saying something about hoping that he, too, was a modernist —whatever that meant Félice led him to a divan and, taking no denial, made him lie his length on it while she propped up his head with pillows. Then she retired for a minute, returning with a long linen smock over her dress, and proceeded to arrange a little tea table, cut- ting bread for toast and uncovering the most appetizing of strawberry jam; and all this so archly and prettily that Beddy, commanded to silence, felt as though he were in a seventh heaven and entertained by an angel. Across the tea table it seemed the most natural thing in the world he should be telling her everything about himself everything, that is, except about Helen, whom he tried to omit from his thoughts Why spoil the present? A_ heartache ignored might become a _ heartache for- gotten. It was already extraordinarily suaged. Félice had such understanding, such humor, such warm, quick sympathy that just to be with her was to be hap py. If she were not so beautiful as Helen, she was certainly maddeningly attractive. You felt somehow that if she cared for anyon her love wouk 1 have a protective quality; that her instinct would be to close her arms about the man she loved and try to protect him from every harm, no matter at what cost to herself. Beddy endeavored to tell her this and, though he expressed himself poorly, she colored with pleasure. The great profundities vied with the strawberry jam and electric toast. When Beddy was dismissed it was with the conviction that Félice Turner was the most wonderful gir] he had ever known. He returned later in evening clothes, looking very fresh and restored, and enjoy- ing what seemed almost a treachery to his principles—silk socks and pumps. Félice, too, had changed—into a shimmering, shin- ing blue garment she said was mermaid's skin and which fitted her almost as closely. Its really-truly name was a delphos, and the ancient Greek women had worn it Beddy was asked to recall it on statues, but he couldn't, never having seen any statues to speak of except the highly tailored cast iron of New York’s great departed and the sumptuous young Eves which decorate Pacis. He was gazing at it, entranced, and just a trifle abashed at the apparent ab- sence of anything save Félice beneath it Then there was a little dinner in the coziest of dining rooms—casserole chicken with mushrooms and potatoes, a salad, a small bottle of California champagne, and some fruit and French pastry; such an ex- cellent little dinner, and so gay, with such swift advances in intimacy ‘and mutual January 1,192! confidences. Beddy confessed that he had admired Félice for months and would have given his soul for an introduction; while she admitted, in shades as fine as the tex- ture of a soap bubble, that his desire had been no less ardently reciprocated. Inci- dentally he learned that she was the youngest of three sisters, and had broken away from her family to be independent and earn her own living as a designer while studying art; and how at first they had tried to starve her into submission and then had gone to the other extreme of giving her too big an allowance. “That wretched thousand a month has been the ruin of me,” she said. “At first I was too poor, and now I am too rich, and feel equally aggrieved. The thankless child, you know, that was even a bother in the Bible—with bobbed hair, probably, and yearnings to carve rocks and live a freer life in Babylon.” 3eddy wondered at her frankness in thus speaking of her allowance. It hardly seemed to accord with her delicate reserve. But a little later, as they had finished their black coffee in the studio, he was to dis- cover why. His heart was fluttering. The situation was one that might have impelled the least forward of young men to rashness. His hand, almost of its own volition, sud- denly closed over hers. But before any- thing more could follow she had daunted him with her wide-open eyes. Outvardly —_ her voice was a little breathless as she took his hand in both her own and laid it back like a package to where she said it belonged. That was not what they were there for at all, she remarked. Not that she was against holding hands. Holding hands had its place, of course—a rapturous place; but they were there just now to set their minds on _ r things. hat, for instance, did Beddy Barefoot intend to do about all those stacks and stacks and stacks of letters and telegrams? This, in fact, was to be a business talk of the businessiest kind, and would Mister Bare- foot kindly give her question an immediate consideration and reply to same at earliest convenience? Mister Barefoot ran his hands through his auburn locks and, much ruffled, both in hair and spirit, said that for the life of him he had not the faintest idea what to do. ‘And there will be tons more to- morrow,”’ continued Félice. Beddy murmured something about its being awful, and that he would soon have toc mb over them like an Alpine climber and buy himself snowshoes to get to bed. “That's what I meant by saying we had to set our minds on higher things,”’ said Félice. “‘We must grapple with the prob- lem instead of ignoring it. To hold hands now would be as bad as sailors breaking into the spirit room of a sinking ship. Please arrange yourself to look like Rodin’s Penseur while listening to wisdom from the mouths of babes and sucklings.’ Beddy said he could listen better if per- mitted to smoke a cigar. Might he smoke a . cigar, unless of course babes and suck- ngs—no, they would like it. Well, this was the idea—her idea—to get Sarah But- - or, with her three girls and the mimeograph thing, and install them in Beddy’s apart- ment. Make an office of it, you know, from iine to six, with four expert stenographers, oad the mimeograph reeling off form letters by thousands a minute, with a nice little pink boy running his little legs off to mail them as they dropped from the machinery. This rather confused statement took time to shape itself succinctly in the Penseur’s head. Sarah Butler, it seemed, was a young college girl, a chum of Félice’s, who had, started an efficiency bureau. Sarah was a miracle of trained expertness and whatsis- name; organized you while you waited ind doubled your income by rearranging your chairs. Show Sarah chaos, and in two hours everything would be card indexed, and she could tell you where the hatpin was you lost last year in the Subway. Oh, a marvelous person! But had Beddy ever noticed that all or- ganizing geniuses are apt to be a little sharp, lacking in suavity and getting-on- ness with people? Sarah was not doing we! at all; wasn’t prospering, you know. Only yesterday she had spoken rather dismally about her prospects. People seemed to pre- fer chaos to her energetic efforts. Even making lots more money was less tempting than getting rid of Sarah—after she had once started. That was why this job Beddy’s job—would be such a godsend to (Concluded on Page 67 = poet gros

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tg SAR orem ST Ass FIREPOAM 2%-GALLON APPROVED HAND EX FINGUISHER,. For farms, country and suburban homes, public buildings, hotels, garages, factories and stores. Ordinary fires, oil fires, gasoline fires, ename varnish and chemical fires all smothered quickly No reflash—no rekindling. Fire out to stay out. FIREFOAM 3-GALLON PAIL. A most remarkable e-fighting device. Pro juces 24 ga refoam No skill requ Anybod an dash itscontents on a fire FIREFOAM 40-GALLON ENGINE. For farms try and suburban home ther places { extinguishers ild prove of i theient aApacity Easily discharged any burning surface ata tance of $0 ft. of more Pressure self-generated. One man can handle it. SATURDAY EVENING POST They didn't have Firefoam “HREE. below zero and the only protec tion against fire—a lightning rod! Is it any wonder country and suburban homes suc- cumb to fire in winter? Fire plugs and water tanks frozen tight. Roads buried deep in snow. Fire departments and timely neighborly assistance beyond reach. Burning coal and wood in stoves and fire places. A careless match, an upturned lamp, a child’s playfulness—then fire and ruin! And why? Simply because most country and suburban dwellers fail to realize the im- portance and necessity of adequate Aome fire protection. Adequate fire protection in your home means Firefoam protection. With Firefoam protection in your home, you need not worry about low water pressure, frozen fire plugs and water tanks or any of the usual or unusual causes of country fires Kirefoam is effective on any kind of fire even blazing oil and gasoline. The action of Firefoam upon fire is totally different from that of water and all other fire extinguishing agents. It expands eight-fold upon release, forming a thick blanket of fire smothering bubbles, which coats and clings fast to all materials, all objects, all surfaces, and floats on burning liquids No surface—liquid or solid—coated with Firefoam can burn. Firefoam does its work in seconds and minutes—not hours. It does not soak in, drip through or damage as water does It is harmless to life and property and assists in Jowering insurance rat Firefoam apparatus, endorsed by leading fire and fire insurance authorities, covers the entire field of farm, country and suburban fir protection. The apparatus shown here would prevent a disastrous fire in any country ot suburban home. Firefoam apparatus is simp to operate. The pressure 1S se lt-venerated and always effective and ready for usi Today, with the high cost of replac everything that yoes into the hor ce. al fire protection is real economy ire insuran only repays in part for actual lo kireftoam prevents the lo Can you afford to be with out it any longer? For full information write nearest Sales Company. THe koamire | BF 1 4 ‘ y on biase t t f , Di july t he t it it ’ FOAMITE FIREFOAM COMPANY, Fifth Avenue Building, New York City The following Sales Companies are at your service: ATLANTA, 1 Ivy Street DENVER, 1109 I nite Firet n Comy v Rocky M BOSTON, 929 Old th Bla KANSAS CITY Foamite Firefoam Company Foamite Firefo CHICAGO, 764 Conway PHILADELPHIA Firefoam Engineering Cc Atlantic refoa CLEVELAND, 6 St. Clair Ave. W PITTSBURGH, 1 bo te bFirefoam Co. of © Firefoam Sales SMOTHERS FIRE \ FRANCISCO, M Co | j te} ( Balt re Ave Pr. Laut 1419-20 Pierce ( pany I te Firefoam ( pa 1509 Arch St HAMILTON, CANADA { t ud i any in | te Firef Ltd ud Street LONDON. FE England, 4 Br t. Pl pany Foamite Firefoam, Ltd

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THE SATURDAY EVENING January 1,192! ee. ry . — - . — Mee

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ‘The Car VUhat Is Just A Little Better All Around! T is the Overland theory that one suffers far more from overstating the facts than from understating the truth. Exaggeration destroys confidence. Modesty creates it. We would rather earn a reputation for temperate statement than make claims that we cannot fulfil. The Overland is a good car. It is a car that is just a little more economical in its fuel requirements —just a little lighter in its tire bills—just a little more complete in its equipment —yust a little better in its machining —just a little better in its upholstery —just a little better in all things that make for service and economy — and truthfully, a whole lot better in comfort, for the New Suspension ‘Iriplex Spring makes even a lightweight car a genuine luxury to ride in. WILLYS-OVERLAND, INC., TOLEDO, OHIO Sedans, Coupés, Touring Cars and Roadsters Willys-Overland Limited, Toronto, Canada The John N. Willys Export Corporation, New York

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST BUN (( CENTRIFUGAL } > ROTARNeP eK o N the banks of the Ravi in the Punjab stands the ancient city of Lahore. For some two thousand years its people carried water from the river by hand or raised it by shadoofs. Now they use Goulds Pumps. When one of China’s 400,000,000 in- habitants built the first modern textile mill in his country, he equipped it with Goulds Pumps. In the rise of the Philippines from semi-savagery to parliamentary government, Goulds Pumps have helped in the development of indus- \ KANN } ae : s a 4 mM ywm eta ara (Punjabi for GOULDS PUMPS FOR SALE HERE) try, agriculture and home building. In South America, Goulds Pumps so far lead the field that Bombas, the old Spanish word for “Pumps,” has been superseded in the native vocab- ulary by Bombas de Goulds. Today Goulds Pumps irrigate vast tracts in Australia, operate Cuba’s sugar mills, flush nitrates in Chile, sluice pla- cer gold in Alaska, wash out diamonds from the deepest pits of South Africa. THUS Goulds Pumps serve distant parts of the world, and have done so Si. . Drawn from a photograph of Goulds representative in shop of native merchant at Lahore, India for more than forty years. Here in America, they have become essential to the structure of our modern life. You will find them today in California’s orange groves, in Oregon’s canneries, and on the farms of Iowa; in the tex- tile mills of Massachusetts, the oil fields of Texas, the mines of Montana; in Pennsylvania’s steel mills and West Virginia’s paper mills. The experience of Goulds Engineers is as broad as the world-wide service of Goulds Pumps. If you have a pumping problem, take it to Goulds. THE GOULDS MANUFACTURING COMPANY, Seneca Falls, N. Y. Boston - : NU mh e 0 [ ull | New York - Philadelphia - Pittsburgh - Chicago - Ue ASN i ie nt : Detroit - Atlanta - Houston - Agencies in All Principal Cities : \ 1 Ul = | January 1,192!

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(Concluded from Page 62) her, and Félice guaranteed it would be done to perfection. What did Beddy think about it? Might she telephone to Sarah and arrange it all? There was more than a hint that the “‘all’’ was to be at Félice’s ex- pense—disguised assistance to a chum in distress. Beddy said he would jump at it. Why, to get Miss Butler would be like lifting a nightmare off his chest! If she could dig holes in that avalanche, for heaven’s sake let her dig! In the exuberance of his grati- tude he would have knelt down then and there and kissed Félice’s sandals. Félice’s idea was to supply Sarah with half a dozen form letters and form tele- grams, which might be varied in trifles to suit the circumstances. God-bless-you let- ters, you know, with a pat on the back in them. Go-to-it letters, bursting with whoop and enthusiasm. Beddy said it was a splendid idea and, returning to his rooms, brought back as much of that unopened correspondence as he could carry in a bath towel. For an hour this was sorted over and analyzed, and then they commenced to concoct the form answers— concocting themwith giggles and in an animated out-loud competition that often ended in peals of laughter. It was the jolliest evening Beddy had ever spent, and when the task was done both he and Félice were surprised to find it past midnight. The young lion was_hurried forth, with an invitation as hurried to a mouse breakfast at eight-thirty. The next day began noisily, with two sacks of mail and an ensuing trickle of tele- grams. It was all Beddy could do to bathe and shave and dress in the intervals of the doorbell. On going to the studio at the‘ap- pointed time he found it in a bustle. Miss Butler was there; also Miss Smith, Miss Nordhoff and Miss Stubbs; also their type- writers, their mimeograph, their lune heons and two suitcases full of necessaries; also Félice in an apron, in the soudioal of spirits. For a moment or two Beddy cast a dam- per on the party. A before-breakfast celebrity is a trying person to unfed young womanhood. But in a little time he had become Beddy Barefoot and was getting out the butter and setting the table and seeing that the mush did not boil over, much more like a big brother than a pedestaled Man Who. Had the party refrained from quoting the morning papers aloud he would have been altogether happy. His name was on every front page and in many of the editorials, and the general tone in re- gard to him was one of staggered amaze- ment. It seemed that his campaign was spread- ing like wildfire. This derided, disparaged Happy Hooligan was assuming the propor- tions of a national figure. People in thou- sands everywhere were casting off their footgear and looking to him for leader- ship. Bedford Mills clubs and associations were springing up in hundreds of towns and cities—-spontaneously, unguided, self- generated—each a burning bush in a nation-wide conflagration. It was a phe- nomenon. It was absurd, incredible, un- just—for why pick out shoes in the uni- versal po Pen BE sen: of everything? But there it was, phenomenoning all over our broad and once-happy land. The press that had guyed Beddy into fame was now re- garding him with an embittered respect Grudging every word about him, they had now no choice but to give him whole columns. 3eddy ought to have been pleased, but he wasn’t. He was sick of notoriety. How he longed for the irrevocable peace of the dear old bank! The thought of the bank made his eyes moisten. He felt like a woman who had eloped with an unworthy lover and learned too late, and so on. He had eloped with fame, and the bank he had disgraced was forever closed against him. If only he might be back there, an eligible young man, with brilliant prospects, who could offer Félice These random imaginings, which per- sisted in the chatter of the breakfast table, showed the intensity of his preoccupation. And Helen? Helen had disappeared over the horizon. It was as though the acuteness of his humiliation had acted like a sponge, obliterating her from his heart. Félice, too, had been a good deal of a sponge in that obliterating sense. And what a hypocrite he felt among all those girls who took it for granted that he was in earnest with his imbecile campaign! Beddy, in his heart of hearts, agreed with his detractors, THE SATURDAY and winced in dreadful secret agreement at every stinging oy they scored against him. It was indeed not nearly so cheerful a breakfast as he pretended it was. And afterward? After the efficiency ex- perts, with their form letters and mimeo- graph and suitcases and luncheons had been installed in his apartment? What was it Félice was saying in that pretty, pleading way? And—and—ye om barefooted? Was going with him? Was going like that? Insisted on it, with such sparkling eyes and eagerness and urging that the poor stunned fellow was unable to do anything but gasp? He was appalled. The truth almost came out of him; but instead, in a sort of des- peration, he kissed her hands to make her let go his coat. But she only clutched the tighter, still begging, still pleading. Then, altogether beside himself, he kissed her up- turned mouth, again and again and again, while he heard her repeating in a panting whisper: “I am going with you! I am going with you! I am going with you!” What could you do with a girl like that except succumb? With a girl so softly ob- stinate and determined that even when half squeezed to death could still whisper: ‘‘I am going with you! I am going with you! I am going with you!” Dizzy with delight, Beddy’s kisses of denial turned swiftly into those of impas- sioned young manhood. It was not till then that Félice tore herself free, strangely beautiful in her shame and dishevelment; and somehow in the incoherent moments that followed Beddy had consented to her wish and had crossed his heart like the good little lion he really was. Not a word of love had been spoken, yet as they looked at each other, spent and smiling, it was with the realization of a plighted troth Manlike, Beddy would have stayed; but woman, always practical, was for the busi- ness in hand. Where were they to go, Mister Lion? The papers had said that the Lower East Side was twenty-five per cent shoeless; that in the Bronx hoodlums were breaking shoe-store windows; that the Italian quarter, south of Washington Square, was in such a ferment that the po lice had been doubled to prevent shoes being taken forcibly from passers-by. Where were they to go, Mister Lion? Mister Lion, being a confirmed New Yorker, could not conceive of any itinerary that did not include Fifth Avenue. Fifth Avenue is an ingrained habit. The New Yorker turns to it as the Persian turns to the sun. Thus it was decided, after some discussion, that they would stroll down the great thoroughfare, cross Washington Square and sustain—while also perhaps curbing —the fermented Italians. ‘You owe it to yourself not to allow the crusade to go to excesses,”” said Félice sagely. “I know I would hate anybody who pulled off my shoes in the street, yell- ing ‘Viva Beddy Barefoot!’ That’s what they are doing down there—the poor, ex- cited dears!” Félice was a poor, excited dear herself as she left the building with Beddy, and not nearly so brave as she pretended. They had not gone far before she was clinging very pitifully to his arm; and at the inevitable jeers that greeted their appearance she trembled and turned pale. But nothing could induce her to turn back, even when a host of little ragamuffins ran in front of OY ASAHEL CURTIS, SEATTLE, was Summertand, Northeast Part of Rainier National Park EVENING POST them, shrilly crying out: ‘“‘ Beddy Barefoot's got a doll! Beddy Barefoot’s got a doll!” Beddy would gladly have killed the whole human race. It was purgatory to ex- pose Félice to all this grinning crowd, which grew in numbers with every step, clogging their progress in the way he knew so well. It was little good to remember that he was a phenomenon. To have been a Nero or a Herod would have pleased him far more just then. But he was too much in love to blame Félice or hold her accountable. The devotion that had prompted her was su- perb, and his misery was due to the price she was paying for it. The girl who could do that for a man Jostled from behind, he turned, and as he turned a heavy heel came down squarely on the toes of his right foot. Whose heel he had no means of knowing; in the thicken- ing mob it was impossible to identify any culprit. But geewhillikins, how it hurt! For an instant the pain was almost unbear able. But one couldn’t nurse injured toes * in that surge of staring, elbowing humanity. One could only swear under one’s breath and clench one’s fist. Then suddenly he was kicked in the heel with all the viciou ness possible in so cramped a space. Boil- ing with rage and inflamed by the pain and insult, Beddy again found himself help- lessly at a loss to discover a face that wore the least look of guilt. It was an infuriat- ing situation, nor was it alleviated by a rising chorus of “ Beddy Barefoot’s got a doll! Beddy Barefoot’s got a doll!” through which he tried to warn Félice of these detestable attacks. But he was interrupted by her cry of anguish. Her whole weight seemed to hang on hisarm. She, too, had been stamped on and was in an agony of distress. It was all she could do to control herself— not to break down utterly. Beddy was at his wit’s end to know what todo. His reeling brain had no counsel to give him. To turn back would be no advantage, for when you are the focus of a mob your personal direction counts for nothing Suddenly he received another himself like the squnch of an elephant’s hoof. It nearly doubled him up. The minions of the shoe trust, mingling with the crowd, were only too evidently taking their revenge and this so craftily that there was none to hold to account. Félice was sobbing aloud, Beddy, with blazing eyes, had the sensation of a goaded bull at bay. All about them was that intolerable refrain of “ Beddy Barefoot’s got a doll! Beddy Barefoot’s got a doll!” What a moment for the poor doll to say, in the most piteous voice Beddy had ever heard, ‘‘I am afraid I am going to faint’! Fortunately she didn’t, as with one arm about her, and in savage desperation, 3eddy contrived to force a way to the curb. Minions resisted every inch; minions stamped and trod; minions booed farewell as that blessed taxi bore them off. By the time they had reached home they had laughed themselves into a hilarious humor. A common humiliation can at times be an extraordinary bond. Their feet were black and blue, and it was all they could manage to limp to the elevator and then to the studio—but still they laughed with rueful and inextinguishable entertainment This served them in good stead for a new disaster—the almost immediate arrival of 67 a blustering little house superintendent, who flourished a lease and ordered them to vacate their respective apartments by nine the next morning. He had already cleared out those typewriting women and had in structed the post office to deliver no more mail. “T herewith give you legal notice that you are objectionable,”’ he roared at Félice, and drowned her protest in a loud repeti tion of the same remark to Beddy—“] herewith give you legal notice that you are objectionable.” With that he laid down two letters with the gesture of a miner depositing two sizzling sticks of dynamite, and tramped out before the atmosphere could become too surcharged for his personal safety. Beddy and Félice gazed at each other in smiling consternation. They had been or dered out into the wide, wide world! That wretched lease permitted the landlord to adjudge them objectionable at his own sweet will and eject them at a few hours’ notice. ‘And the spitty way he said it, as though we were hairs off his shaving brush!” ex claimed Félice indignantly. ‘It made me feel like Jonah getting out of the whale.” They were both seated on the divan, side by side, holding hands—with their poor feet on chairs in front of them. “What does anything matter as long as we have each other?” said Beddy cheer fully. Félice answered with a squeeze—such a comforting squeeze. “Do you know what I think we ought to do?” said Beddy in an odd sort of voice “I think we ought to get married.’ “* Married!" “Yes, I mean it, Félice. Truly and seriously, I mean it. Why should we pre tend we don’t love each other?” “Oh, Lam not pretending I don’t!” said Félice. “The trouble is 1 do, of course But it’s rather suddenly sudden, isn’t it? And will you promise and vow to cherish my poor feet?”’ “Please don’t laugh about it, Betty. “You admit you care, and you know I care—and it’s all terribly impor tant, Félice.”’ “But how important was it two da) ago?”’ With a little shake of her head, she added before he could reply: “‘I don’t want to be repented of at leisure, you dear infant It’s very alluring; I don’t say it isn’t; but I cannot let myself be marked ‘Rush’ mat rimonially. Why can’t we admit, quite frankly and kissingly, that we like each other a lot—and let it go at that?”’ “You don’t realize what a hole | am in,” went on Beddy with a note of entreaty in his voice. “I can’t limp about New York for everybody to laugh at the way the tables have been turned on me. [| am beaten, and I may as well admit it. The idiotic crusade is over, as far as ] am con cerned, and my problem is where to hide my diminished head. It’s going to be a heartbreaking exile without you.” Félice reflected. ‘There’s Bermuda,” she said at last “Papa and mamma are in Bermuda, and papa chose it because it was the nearest place he could get a drink without a pas port. He says if the golf course is good he will buy an estate there and alternate be tween Bermuda and New York.” ‘Then why not be engaged and go to Bermuda?” exclaimed Beddy joyfull ‘That would be perfectly in order, wouldn't it? It only takes two days and, anyway, you spend most of that in being seusick Let's go to Bermuda, Félice.”” ‘There's a boat at noon to-morrow,” she said with a pretty seriousness that might mean much or nothing. ‘I know there i because I write to papa by every mail. But I really couldn't go—engaged.”’ ‘Could you go unengaged?” She snuggled closer to him and her arm stole round his neck “Yes,"’ she whispered, “A thousand times yes, and my love isn’t two days old at all, but months and months old. I uss llv of me , protested to call you my e god boy 40 8) wasn't it?—and if: a weel passed without my seeing you I was miserable. And now shut your eyes and I will tell you my shameful secret. I am not the girl you think I am, and perhaps you will never peak to me again, Shut your pretty blur eyes, and try to love me in spite « f it.’ Beddy, with Helen on his conscience, and remembering what he had read of artist braced himself for an avowal he dreaded to hear “Papa is the shoe trust,” she said,

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THE SATURDAY \ “Floors of beauty thal lighten labor With the servant problem more serious than ever betore, household management seemingly becomes more .complex. Happily, means are at hand to lighten the duties of the home. Conspicuous among such helps are Blabon floors of Art Linoleum. Their beautiful patterns enlarge their use and adapt them for every room in the house. Fabric rugs may be thrown over them or not, as you prefer. Their smooth surface is easy to kéep clean—merely a light, regular going over with a damp cloth or mop, and it is always bright and sanitary. Especially in the sewing-room is this feature welcomed, tor keeping such floors free from threads, ravelings and cuttings of cloth is usually quite a tiresome task. On the floor above Carpet Inlaid pattern No. 615 is shown. The designs and colorings go through to the burlap back, insuring continuous beauty through years of service. For genuine linoleum look for the name Blabon. Write for illustrated booklet. verings (including rugs) made upon a felt paper base are not linoleum, and to describe, advertise or sell them as linoleum is a violation of the law. Felt paper floor verings have a black interior which is easily detected upon examining the edge Important Notice: Floor co The George W. Blabon Company, Philadelphia | every afternoon?” | Spike EVENING POST January 1,192! THE WRONG TWIN (Continued from Page 19) deprecatingly with his tongue as Winona became detailed in her narrative. “My great glory!” he exclaimed at last. “You mean to say they mix it down there “Every single day,”’ confirmed Winona. | “ He’s been going to that low dive for weeks and weeks. Think of the debasing associa- tions!” “Just think of it!” tiently. “Every afternoon he -aring a word of it!” f you could only say a word to him,’ besought Winona. ‘Coming from you it might have an influence for good.” “T will, I will!’’ promised Sharon fer- vently, and there was a gleam of honest determination in his quick old eyes. That very afternoon, in Pegleg McCar- ron’s shed, he said words to Wilbur that might have an influence for good. “Quit sticking your jaw out that way or he’ll knock it off!"’ had been his first advice. And again: ‘Cover up that stomach—you want to get killed?” He was sitting at one end of the arena, on a plank supported by the ends of two beer kegs, and he held open a large, thick, respectable gold watch. *Time!”’ he called. Beside him sat the red-eyed and dis- reputable Pegleg McCarron, who whacked the floor with the end of his crutch from time to time in testimony of his low pleas- ure The round said Sharon impa- and me not closed with one of Wilbur Cowan’s right crosses—started from not too far back—landing upon the jaw of Brennon with what seemed to be a shattering impact. Sharon Whipple yelled and Pegleg McCarron pounded the floor in applause. Spike merely shook his head once ‘The kid’s showing speed,”’ he admitted cordially. “If he just had something back of them punches!” “It was a daisy!’’ exclaimed Sharon. “My suffering stars, what a daisy!” "Twas neatly placed!”’ said Pegleg. “I’m surprised at you!” said Sharon later to the panting apprentice. “I’m sur- prised and grieved! You boys mixing it here every day for weeks and never letting on!” “T never thought you'd like it,” Wilbur. “Like it!’ said Sharon. He said it unctuously. “And say, don’t you let on to Miss Penniman that I set here and held the watch for you I ain’t wanting that to get out on me. “No, sir,” said Wilbur. Later Sharon tried to avoid Winona one day on River Street, but when he saw that she would not be avoided he met her like a man. “I’ve reasoned with the boy from time to time,” he confessed gloomily, “but he’s self-headed; talking huge high about being a good lightweight and all that. I don’t know—mebbe I haven't taken just the right tack with him yet.” Winona thought him curiously evasive in manner. She believed that he feared the worst for the boy, but was concealing it from her. “His eye is almost well where that cow- ardly bully struck him,” she told Sharon. “If only we could get him into somet hing whe ‘re he could hold his head up. ‘He does that too much now,” began Sharon impulsively, but stopped, flounder- said | ing. ““T mean he ain’t enough ashamed,” he concluded feebly, and feigned that some- one had called him imperatively from the door of the First National Bank. From time to time Spike’s boxing man- ner grew tense for a period of days. He tightened up, as Sharon put it, and left a sore and battered apprentice while he went off to some distant larger town to fight, stepping nonchalantly aboard the six-fifty- eight with his fighting trunks and shoes wrapped! in a copy of the Newbern Advance, and shifting his gum as he said good-by to Wilbur, who would come down to see him off. Sometimes Spike returned from these sorties unscathed and with money. Oftener he came back without money and with a face—from abrasive thrusts—looking as if a careless golfer had gone over him and neglected to replace the divots. After these times there were likely to follow com- | plicated episodes of dentistry at the office These would render the of Spike more refulgent of Doctor Patten. iavinciple smile than ever. mi HE next birthday of Merle Whipple was celebrated at a time when Spike had been particularly painstaking in view of an approaching combat. Not only did he leave his young friend with an eye that compelled the notice, an eye lavishly dis- playing all the tints yet reve valed by spectro- scopic analysis, and which by itself wo ae have rendered him socially undesirable, but he bore a swollen nose and a split and puffy lip; bore them proudly, it should be said, and was not enough cast down, in Winona’s opinion, that his shameful wounds would deter him from mingling with decent folk. Indeed, Winona had to be outspoken be- fore she convinced him that a birthday party was now no place for him. He would have gone without misgiving, and would have pridefully recounted the sicke ae details of that last round in which Spik Bre nnon had permitted himself to fancy he faced a veritable antagonist. Still, he cared little for the festivity. He saw Patricia from a distance in River Street, but pulled the dingy cap lower and avoided her notice. She was still bony and animated and looked quite capable of com- manding his attendance over eighteen holes of the most utterly futile golf in all the world. His only real regret in the matter of his facial blemishes was that Spike came back with the mere loser’s end of an incon- siderable purse, and had to suffer another infliction of the most intricate bridge work at the hands of Doctor Patten before he could properly enjoy at the board of T-bone Tommy that diet so essential to active men of affairs. CHAPTER XII more the aging Wilbur Cowan alone by night thrillingly to watch the arched splendor of stars above and muse upon the fleeting years- that carried off his youth. The moment marked another tremendous epoch, for he was done with school. Now for all the years to come he could hear the bell sound its warning and feel no qualm; never again need sit confined in a stuffy room, breathing chalk dust, and compel his errant mind to book- ish abstractions. He had graduated from the Newbern High School, respectably if not with distinguished honor, and the super- intendent had said, in conferring his rolled and neatly tied diploma, that he was facing the battle of life and must acquit himself with credit to Newbern. The superintendent had seemed to be- lieve it was a great moment; there had been a tremor in his voice as he addressed the class, each in turn. He was a small, nervous, intent man whose daily worries showed plainly through the uplift of the moment, and Wilbur had wondered what he found to be so thrilled about. His own battle with life—he must have gone out to the fight years ago under much the same circumstances—had apparently brought him none of the glory he was now urging his young charges to strive for. He had to stay in a schoolroom and breathe chalk dust. Whatever the battle of life might be, he was going to fight it out-of-doors; not like imprisoned school-teachers and clerk and bookkeepers in First National Bank Only when alone under that splatter of stars did he feel the moment big with more than a mere release from textbooks. Ther at last he knew that he had become a man and must put away childish things, and his mind floated on the thought, off to those distant stars where other boys had that night, perhaps unwittingly, become men. He wished that people would not pester him with solemn questions about what he now meant to make of himself. They seemed to believe that he should be con- cerned about this. Winona was especially insistent. She said he stood at the parting of the ways; that all his future hung upon his making a seemly choice; and she said it gloomily, with ‘frank foreboding, a: more than half expecting him to choose amiss. Judge Penniman was another who warned him heavily that it was time to quit being a Jack-of-all-trades. The judge spoke as from a topless tower of achieve ment, relating anecdotes of his own per- sistence under difficulties at the beginning (Centinued on Page 70) NCE stood s one

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(Continued from Page 68) of a career which he allowed his hearer to infer had been of shining merit, hampered, it is true, by the most trying ill health. Even Mrs. Penniman said that they were expecting great things of him, now that he had become a man. The boy dimly felt that there was some- thing false in all this urgency. The super- intendent of schools and Winona and the judge and Mrs. Penniman seemed to be tightly wound up with expectancy about him, yet lived their own lives not too te nsely, The supe rintendent of schools was not inspiring as a model; the judge, for all his talk, lived a life of fat idleness, with convenient maladies when the Penniman lawn needed mowing. Mrs. Penniman, it is true, fought the battle of life steadily with her plain and fancy dressmaking, but with no visible glory; and Winona herself was becoming .a drab, sedate spinster, troubled about many things. He wondered why they should all conceive him to be meant for so mucl than they had achieved. Why couldn't he relax into a life such as they led, without all this talk of effort and planning? It seemed to him that people pretty much allowed life to make itself for them, and lived it as it came He was not going to bother about it. Let it come. He would find a way to live it People managed Judge Penniman was never so ailing that he couldn't reach the harness shop for his game of checkers. The only person he knew who had really worked hard to make something of himself wa Spike Brennon. So he resorted to the golf links that sum- mer, heedless and happy. “‘ Without ideal so far as one can read him,” wrote Winona in her journal, underlining the indictment and closing it with three bold ex- clamation points. He was wel- comed effusively to the golf course by John Knox MeTavish **Good!" said John on the morn ing of his appearance, which wa effusive for any McTavish He liked the boy, not only be cause he drove a ball, but because you could talk to him ir a way you couldn't to par-r-r-rtic , club proper-r-r-r and to quit‘callin’ it stick He caddied that summer only for golfers of the better sort, and for Sharon Whipple, choosing hi employ with nice di John had said golf game, because more weet you was teaching to hold a a“ rimination was a grand than any other game it showed how many kinds of a fool a man could be betwixt his mind and his muscles. His apprentice wa already sensitive to the grosser kind In addition to caddying he taught the secrets of the game when pupils came too plenteouslyfor John. Buthe lacked John's tried patience, and for the ideal teacher was too | more likely to utter brutal truths instead of polite and meander ing diplomacies. He had caught per haps a bit too much of Spike Brennon’ manner of instruction, a certain strained brusquerie, out of place wit! people who are willing to pay largely for instruction which they ignore in spite of its monotonous repetition. John warned him that he must soften his clients— but-ter-r-1 ‘em up withnice.words—or they wouldn't come back. He must say they was doing gr-r-rand. He did say it now and then, but with no ring of conviction. Still it was a good summer. Especially good, because all the time he knew he was waiting for that morning in early Septem ber when the school bell would ring and he would laugh carelessly at what had once been the imperious summons. He thought that after this high moment he might be able to plan his life at least a little—not too minutely, ui ATE that summer Merle and Patricia _4 Whipple came by appointment to play the course with him Merle too had be come a man—he would enter college that fall. Apparently no was bothering about the plan of his life. And Patricia had become, if not a woman, at least less of a girl, though she was still bony and utterly freckled. They drove off, Patricia not far but straight, and Merle, after impressive preliminaries that should have intimidated any golf ball, far but not straight. After his shot he lectured instructively upon its faults. When he had done they knew why he had sliced into the miry fen on the right. Then with an expert eye he studied one be Doing Next? THE SATURDAY his brother’s stance and swing. The ball of Wilbur went low and straight and far, but the shot was prefaced apparently by no nice adjustment of the feet or by any pre- liminary waggles of the club. “No form,” said Merle. “‘ You ought to have form by this time, but you don’t show any; and you put no force into your swing. Now let me show you just one little thing about your stance.” With generous enthusiasm he showed his brother not ‘only one little thing, but two or three that should be a buckler to him in time of need; and his brother thanked him, and so authoritative was the platform manner of Merle that he nearly said “ Yes, ir.” After which Patricia played a brassy shot, and they fall went to find Merle’s ball among the oaks. After that they went “Prine Fighting!" Said the Jadge Scornfully. Never Settles Down to Anything. Jack-of+ Alt«Trades and Good at None" on to Wilbur's ball, which—still without a trace of form—he dropped on the green with a mashie, in spite of Merle’s warning that he would need a mid-iron to reach it. They drove, and again Merle lectured upon the three reasons why his ball came to rest in a sand trap that flanked the fairway. He seemed to feel this informa tion was expected from him, nor did he neglect a generous exposition of his brother's failure to exhibit form commen- surate with his far, straight drive. His brother was this time less effusive in his thanks, and in no danger whatever of replying “‘ Yes, sir!’’ He merely retorted, “Don't lunge—keep down!” advice which the lecturer received with a frowning “I know—I know!” as if he had lunged in- tentionally, with a secret purpose that would some day become known, to the confusion of so-called golf experts. Wilbur and Patricia waited while Merle went to retrieve his ball. They saw repeated sand showers rise over the top of a bunker. From where they stood the player seemed to be inventing a new kind of golf, to be played without a ball. A pale mist hung over the scene. “I know just what he’s saying,” Patricia told Wilbur. “Shame on you!” saidthe, and they both laughed, after which Patricia glanced at him oftener. “What'lt He EVENING POST It should be said that he was now ar- rayed as Winona would have him, in summer-sports attire of careless but ex- pensive appearance, including a silk shirt alleged by the maker to be snappy, and a cap of real character. The instinct of the male for noticeable plumage had at last worked the reform that not all of Winona’s pleading had sufficed for. Wilbur Cowan at the moment might, but for his excellent golf, have been mistaken for a genuine Whipple. Merle’s homilies continued after each shot. He subjected his own drives to a masterly analysis, and strove to incite his brother to correct form, illustrating this for his instruction with practice swings that were marvels of nicety, and learnedly quoting Braid and Vardon. It was after one of these informative in- tervals, succeeding a brilliantly topped drive by the lecturer, that Patricia Whipple, full in the flooding current of Merle’s dis- course, turned her speckled face aside and flagrantly winked a greenish eye at Wilbur Cowan; whereupon Wilbur Cowan winked his own lefteye, that one being farthest from the speaker. The latter, having concluded his re- marks, went to find his ball, and the two walked on. “He just ought to be takendown,” suggested Pa- tricia malevolently. “Think so?” demanded Wilbur. “Know so!” declared the girl. ‘‘’Tisn’t only golf. He’s that way about every- thing—telling people things—how to do it and everything. Only no one at our house dares come down on him. Harvey D. and Ella and even grandfather—they all jump through hoops for him, the cowards! I give him a jolt now and then, but I get talked to for it.” “The boy needs some golf talk tainly does,” conceded the other. Too bad you're afraid to do it,” Patricia said resignedly. She looked sadly away, then quickly back at him to see if it had taken. She thought it hadn't. He was merely looking as if he also considered it too bad. But on the next tee he astonishingly asserted him- self as—comparatively—a golfing expert. He wasn’t going to have this splendid brother, truly his brother for all the change of name, making a fool of himself before a girl. Full in the tide of Merle’s jaunty dis- course he blazed out with an authority of his own, and in tones so arrogant that the importance of the other oozed almost pitiably from him. “Quit that! Listen! We've played ten holes, and you haven’t made one clean drive, and I’ve got off every one clean. I make this course in seventy-three, and you'd never make it in one hundred and twenty the way you're going. But every he cer- January 1,192! time you stand there and tell me things about your drive and about mine as if you could really play golf.’ “Well, but my dear chap’’— Merle paused, trying to regain some lost spiritual value “T’m merely telling you some little things about form.” “Forget it!” commanded the other. “You haven’t any form yourself; you don’t have form until you can play the game, and then you don’t think about it. Maybe my form doesn’t stick out, but you bet it must be tucked in there somewhere or I couldn’t hit the ball. You don’t want to think I haven’t any just because I don’t stand there and make a long speech to the ball before swatting it.” “Well, I was only saying -’’ Merle be gan again, but in meekness such as Patricia had never observed in him. Hearing a sound in the background Wilbur turned. She was staging a panto mime of excessive delight, noiselessly clap- ping her thin brown hands. He frowned at her—he was not going to have any girl laughing at his brother—and returned his attention to the late exponent of Braid and Vardon. “‘Here’’—he teed a ball—‘‘ you do about every wrong thing you could. You don’t overlook a single one. Now I'll show you. Take your stance, address the ball!’ He had forgotten, in the heat of his real affection, all the difference in their stations. He was talking crisply to this Whipple as if he were merely a Cowan twin. Merle, silent, dazed, meek, did as he was directed. “Now take your back swing slower. You've been going up too quick—-go up slow—stay there! Wait—bend that left wrist under your club—not out but under here’? —headjusted the limp wrist. “‘Now keep your weight on the left foot and come down easy. Don't try to knock the ball a mile—it can’t be done. Now up again and swing—easy!”’ Merle swung and the topped ball went a dozen feet. “There, now I suppose you're satisfied!” he said sulkily, but his instructor was not satisfied. “Don't be silly! You lifted your head. You have to do more than one thing right to hit that ball. You have to stay down toit. Here’’—he teed an other ball—‘‘take your stance and se« if you can’t keep down. I'll hold you down.” Infrontofthe player he grasped his own driver and rested it lightly upon the other’s head. ‘‘ Just think that clul weighs a hundred pounds and you couldn’t lift your head if you wanted to. Now swing again, turn the left wrist under, swing easy —there!”’ They watched the ball go high and straight, even if not far. “A Texas leaguer,”’ said Wilbur, “but it’s all right. It’s the first time this af- ternoon you've stayed in the fairway. Now again!” He teed another ball, and the threesomes had become a mere golf lesson plus a clash of personalities. Wilbur Cowan did all the talking; he was grim, steely eyed, im perious. His splendid brother was mute and submissive, after a few feeble essays at assertion that were brutally stifled. Patri- cia danced disrespectfully in the back- ground when neither brother observed her. She had no wish to incur again the tightly drawn scowl of Wilbur. The venom of that had made her uncomfortable. “*See now how you hit ’em out when you do what I tell you!” said the instructor at last, when Merle had a dozen clean drives to his credit. But the sun had fallen low and the lesson must end. “Awfully obliged, old chap—thanks a heap!”’ said Merle, recovering slightly from his abjectness. ‘‘I dare say I shall be able to smack the little pill after this.” The old chap hurled a last grenade. “You won't if you keep thinking about form,” he warned ‘Best way to forget that—quit talking so much about it. After you make a shot, keep still, or talk to yourself.” “Awfully good of you,”” Merle responded graciously, for he was no longer swinging at a ball, but merely walking back to the clubhouse, where one man was as good as another. “‘ There may be something in what you say.” “There is,”’ said Wilbur. He waved them a curt farewell as they entered the latest Whipple car. (Continued on Page 75) ,

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= THE SATURDAY EVENING POST } Increasing Tire Mileage § With Goodyear Service ‘‘Last summer, when about 75 miles from Chicago, one of the tires on my car punctured. This time I did not have a spare, but I did have Goodyear Tire Savers. In fifteen minutes we had the tube airtight with a Goodyear Self Cure Patch. The tube repair is good yet, after fully 3,000 more miles of wear. There is a lot of satis- faction and peace of mind in carrying Goodyea. Tire Savers and I wouldn’t drive without them.’’ — Robert F. Long, 6036 Stony Island Avenue, Chicago HEN you are asked by Goodyear Dealers to carry Goodyear Tire Savers in your car, you may know that this is part of a purpose to make your tires last longer. Not satisfied merely with the sale of a fine tire, Goodyear dealers continue their interest even after the sale and until the tire delivers its maximum of mileage. The practical nature of their interest is evidenced in the oiving of timely advice on tire care, in providing Goodyear Tire Savers, and in teaching you easy ways to use them. So when confronted on a lonely country road with a cas- ing or a tube injury, you are enabled because of Goodyear Service to make speedily an adequate repair. In your own garage, injuries to tread and fabric can be healed, tubes made airtight, and all made ready for hun- dreds, for thousands more miles of wear. At the orange and black sign of the Goodyear Service Sta- tion Dealer ask for tire inspection, ask for the lessons on tire care and the tire savers available there; these increase tire mileages. mn HUAI 73

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(Continued from Page 70) “But, you know, the poor kid after all hasn’t any form,” the convalescent Merle announced to Patricia when they were seated. “He has nice hair and teeth,” said the girl, looking far ahead as the car moved off. “Oh, hair—teeth!’’ murmured Merle, loftily careless, as one possessing hair and teeth of his own. “I’m talking about golf.” “He lines "em out,” said Patricia cat- tish ly. ‘Too muc h lifted a hand deprecation. gets for ha the time.” “The poor kid!’ murmured **T never noticed him much before. 3eastly overbearing sort of chap,” Merle. “Isn't like 1 professional.’ Merle from the wheel to wave ‘That’s what the poor kid nging about that clubhouse all Patricia. said he?” said Patricia. “I couldn’t help but notice that.’’ She shifted her eyes side wise at Merle. “I do wish some of the folks could have been there,’’ she added listlessly. “Ts that so?”’ he demanded, remember- ing then that this girl was never to be trusted, even in moods seemingly honeyed. He spurted the new roadster in rank de »fi- ance of Newbern’s lately enacted ordinance regulating the speed of motor vehicles. Yet the night must have brought him counsel, for he appeared the next afternoon—though without Patricia—to beseech further instruction from the com- petent brother. He did this rather hum- bly, for one of his station. ‘I know my game must be pretty rotten,’ he said. ‘‘Maybe you can show me one or two more little things. “I'll show you the same old things over again,” said Wilbur, overjoyed at this friendly advance, and forthwith he did. For a week they played the course to- gether, not only tothe betterment of Merle’s technic but to the promotion of a real friendliness between this Whipple and mere Cowan. They became as brothers again, seeming to have leaped the span of years during which they had been alien. During those years Wilbur had kept secret his pride in his brother, his exultation that Merle should have been called for this high eminence and not found wanting. There had been no one to whom he could reveal it, except to Winona, perhaps, in little flashes. Now that they were alone in a curious renewal of their old intimacy, he permitted it to shine forth in all its fullness, and Merle became pleasantly aware that this sharp-speaking brother—where golf was concerned—felt for him something much like worship. The glow warmed them both as they loitered over the course, stopping at leisure to recall ancient hap- penings of their boyhood together. Far apart now in their points of view, the ex- pensively nurtured Merle, and Wilbur, who had grown as he would, whose education was of the street and the open, they found a common ground and rejoiced in their contact “T don’t understand why we haven't seen more of each other all these years,” said “Merle on a late day of this renewed companionship. ‘“‘Of course I’ve been away a lot—school and trips and all that.” “And I’m still a small-towner,” said Wilbur, though delightedly. It was worth being a small-towner to have a brother so splendid. “We must see a lot of each other from now on,” insisted Merle. ‘‘We must get together this way every time I come back.” THE SATURDAY “We must,” said Wilbur. ‘I hope we do, anyway,” he added, reflecting that this would be one of those things too’ good to come true. “What I don’t understand,” went on Merle, “‘you haven't had the advantages I have, net gone off to school or met lots of people, as I’m always doing, not seen the world, you know, but you seem so much older than I am. I guess you seem at least ten years older.” “Well, I don’t know.”’ Wilbur pondered this. “‘“You do seem younger some way. Maybe a small town makes people old quicker, knocking round one the way I have, bumping up against things here and there. I don’t know at all. Sharon Whipple says the whole world is made up mostly of small towns; if you know one through and through you come pretty near knowing the world. Maybe that’s just his talk.” “Surly old beggar. Somehow I never hit it off well with him. Too sarcastic, thinking he’s funny; uncouth too.” “Well, perhaps so.”’ Wilbur was willing to let this go. He did not consider Sharon Whipple surly or uncouth or sarcastic, but he was not going to dispute with this curiously restored brother. ‘‘Try a brassy on that,’ he suggested, to drop the char- acter of Sharon Whipple. Merle tried the brassy, and they played out the hole. Merle made an eight. “T should have had a six at most,” he protested, “‘after that lovely long brassy shot.” Wilbur grinned. “John McTavish says the should-have- had score for this course is a mar-r-rvel. He says if these people could count their should-have-hads they’d all be playing under par. He’s got a wicked tongue, that John.’ “Well, anyway,” insisted Merle, ‘‘you should have had a four, because you were talking to me when you flubbed that ap- proach shot; that cost you a couple.’ “John says the cards should have an- other column added to write in excuses; after each hole you could put down just why you didn’t get it in two less. He says that would be gr-r-r-and f'r th’ dubs.” “The hole is four hundred ard eighty yards, and you were thirty yards from the green in two,” said Merle. ‘‘ You should have had “*T guess I should have had what I got. Sharon Whipple says that’s the way with a lot of people in this life—make fine starts, and then flub their short game, fall down on easy putts and all that, after they get on the lawn. He calls the fair greens lawns.” “Awful old liar when he counts his own score,’ said Merle. “I played with him just once.” Wilbur grinned again. He would cheer- fully permit this one slander of his friend. “You certainly can’t trust him out of sight in a sand trap,”’ he conceded. ‘‘ You'll say, ‘How many, Mr. Whipple?’ and he'll say, ‘Well, let me see—eight and a short tote—that’s it, eight and a tote.’ He means that he made eight, or about eight, by lifting it from the rough about ten feet onto the fairway.” “Rotten sportsmanship,’ declared Merle. “No, no, he’s a good sport all right! He'd oy you to do the same, or tee up a little bit for a mid-iron shot. He says he won’t read the rules, because they’re too fine print. I like the old boy a lot,” he concluded firmly. He wanted no misun- derstanding about that, even if Merle should esteem him less for it. EVENING POST One hun- They drove from the next tee. dred and fifty yards ahead the fairway was intersected by a ditch. It was deep, and its cruel maw yawned hungrily for golf balls. These it was fed in abundance daily. “Rottenly placed, that ditch!’’ com- plained Merle as he prepared to drive “Only because you think so,” replied his brother. ‘Forget it’s there and you'll carry it every time. That’s what Sharon Whipple does. It’s what they call psychol ogy It’s a mental hazard. Sharon Whipple says that’s another thing about golf that’s like real life. He says most all things that scare us are just mental haz- ards.” “Stuff!” said Merle, “Stuffy stuffness! The ditch is there, isn’t it, psychology or no psychology? You might ignore a hungry tiger, but calling him a mental hazard wouldn’t stop him from eating you, woul 1 it? Sharon Whipple makes me tired.’ He placed a drive neatly in thedite h. ‘‘There!”’ he exploded triumphantly. ‘I guess thst shows you what the old gas bag knows about it.” “Oh, you'll soon learn to carry that hole!’ his brother soothed. ‘Now let’s see what you can do with that niblick.” He grinned again as they went on to the ditch. “Sharon Whipple calls his niblick his gitter."" Merle, however, would not join in the grin. Sharon Whipple still made him tired. In the course of their desultory playing they discussed the other Whipples. “Of course they're awfully fond of me,’ said Merle. “Of course,” said Wilbur. “TIT guess Harvey D.—father—would give me anything in the world I asked for, ever since | was a kid. Horses, dogs, guns, motor cars—notice the swell little roadster I'm driving? Birthday! Says he expects great things of me.” “Why wouldn't he? “Oh, of course, of ¢ ourse!’” Merle waved this aside. ‘And Grandfather Gideon, he’s an old brick. College man himself—class of sixty-five. Think of that, way back in the last century! Sharon Whipple never got to college. Ran off to fight in the Civil War or something. That's why he’s so 9 countrified, I s’pose. You take Gideon now—he’s a gentleman. Anyone could see that. Not like Sharon. Polished old boy you'd meet in a club. And Mrs. Harvey D.—mother—say, she can’t do enough for me! Bores me stiff lots of times about whether I’m not going to be sick or some- thing. -And money—Lord! I’m supposed to have an allowance, but they all hand me money and tell me not to say anything about it to the others. Of course I don’t. And Harvey D. himself—he tries to let on he’s very strict about the allowance, then he'll pretend he didn’t pay me the last quarter and hand me two quarters at once. He knows he’s a liar, and he knows I know it too. I guess I couldn't have fallen in with a nicer bunch. Even that funny daughter of Sharon's, Cousin Juliana, she warms up now and then—slips me a coupk of twenties or so. You should have the hit I made at prep! Fellows there owe me money now that I bet I never do get paid back. But no matter, of course.” “That Juliana always makes me kind of shiver,” admitted Wilbur. “She looks so kind of —well, kind of lemonish.” “She's all of that, that old girl seen She's the only one I never do get close to. Soured old maid, I guess. Looks at you a lot, but doesn’t say much, like she wa sizing you up. That nose of hers certainly does stand out like a peak or somethings You wouldn’t think it either, but she reads poetry — mushiest kind—awful stuff. Say, I looked into a book of hers one d iy ove! at the Old Place—Something-or-Other Love Lyries was the title--murder! | caught two or three things — talk about raw stuff —you know, fellows and girls and all that! What she gets out of it beats me with that frozen face of hers.”’ A little later he portrayed the character of Patricia ed igs in terms that would have Incen ed her, but that moved Wilbur to little but mild interest “You never know when you got your thumb on that kid," he said. “‘She’s the shifty one, all right Talk along to vou sweet as honey, but al! the time she watching for some chance to throw the harpoon into you Venomous ~—- regular vixen. No sense of humor laughs at almost anything a fellow says or doe Trim you in a minute with that tongue of hers. And mushy! Reads stories about a young girl falling in love with strange met that come along when hér car busts down on a lonely road. Got that bug yw, Drives round a whole lot all alone looking for the car to go blooey and a lovely stranger to happen along and fix it for her that tur out to be a duke or something in yr Sickening! “Two years ago she got confidential on night and told me she was going to Italy some day and get carried off to a cave by a handsome bandit in spite of her struggles Yes, she would struggle—not! Talk al mental hazards, she’s one, al] right! She'll make it lively for that family some day With Harvey D. depending on me a lot, I'm expecting to have d of trouble with her when she gets to going good. Of no en course she’s only a kid now, but you car plot her curves easy. One of these kind that’ll say one thing and mean another And wild? Like that time when she started to run off and found us in the graveyard remember?” They laughed about this, rehearsing that far-off day with its vicissitudes and sudden fall of wealth. “That was the first day the Whipple noticed me,”’ said Merle. ‘I made such a good impression on them they decided to take me.” At another time they talked of their futures. Wilbur was hazy about his owr He was going to wait and see. Merle wa happily definite. “Tl tell you,” aid he when they had played out the last hole one day, Like this. I feel ot need to express my best thoughts in writing, so I've decided to become a great writer—you know, take up literature. I don’t mean poetry or muck of that sort—serious literature. Of course Harvey D. talks about my taking charge of the Whipple interests, but I'll work hin round. Big writers are somebody— not bankers and things like that. You could be the biggest kind of a banker, and people would never know it or think much about it. Writers are different. The kinds of notice, I don’t know just what branch of writing I'll take up first, but I'll find out at college. Anyway, not mucl stories about a handsome stranger coming along just because a girl's car busts dow: I'll pick out something dignified, you bet !"’ “T bet you will,” said his adn brother. “I bet you'll get a lot of notice “Oh"’'—Merlewavedana senting ha i ‘naturally, after I get started good.’ (TO BE CONTINUED

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THE SATURDAY EVENING January 1,192!

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THE SATURDAY THE GLOBE Go into the great cities or out along the highways of Europe—in England, Ireland, France, Italy, Spain or wherever else you will, and note the many motor cars that ride on Dunlop Tires. Travel the hot and dusty roads of far-off India, the ancient thoroughfares of Pekin and Tokio or the modern streets of Sydney and Melbourne and observe how frequently the passing automobile leaves behind the imprint of Dunlop. From London to Capetown, from Bombay to Buenos Aires, the trail of the motor is, in large measure, the trail of Dunlop Tires. How true this is you would have realized had you attended any of the big international motor shows across the seas in the past few years. At one of these, for example, sixteen makes of tires were rep- resented on the cars exhibited, and 59 per cent of these tires were Dunlop’s, the fifteen other makes dividing the remaining 41 per cent. At another, Dunlop represented 52 per cent, thirteen other manufacturers absorbing the remainder. In the thirty-two years that have passed since Dunlop gave to the world the first pneumatic tire, both Dunlop idea and Dunlop institution have circled the globe. Today nine tire factories and scores of branch factories and depots scattered over both hemi- spheres are kept busy supplying the large share of the world’s tire business that is Dunlop’s. Moreover, Dunlop’s activities in the growing of rubber and the making of cotton fabric for Dunlop Tires, in themselves, represent great businesses. The following two pages sum up briefly what re] it means to you that Dunlop has circled EVENING POST Set out on a tour of Dunlop properties, and you will truly circle the globe, for you will traverse both hemispheres and visit every one of the following countries and cities: EUROPE ASIA ENGLAND Japan —- Factory, Kobe. Branches in prince iy al Tire Factories, Birmingham (3) Cities RimandW heel Factories,Coventry(2) CHINA Cotton Mills, Rochdale, Bacup, Factory Branch, Hong Kong I lollinwood, I lebdenbridge. INDIA Factors Branches, Leadon, Manche Factory Branches, Bombay, Calcutta, ter, Birmingham, Liverpool, Leeds, Delhi, Madras Newcastle-on- Tyne, Norwich, wy Pa a ac m . Ce r Nottingham, Bustol, Coventry. maay’ SCOTLAND Factory Branch, Singapore. Fac tory Bran hes, Glasgow, JAVA Edinburgh Factory Branch, Sourabaya. IRELAND ms ae . SOUT TRIC . 5 ) 3 s Fac tory Branches, Dublin, Belfast Factooy EXxanches, ¢ apstown, FRANCE Johannesburg, Durban Factories, Argenteuil, Mont Lucon Factory Branches in principal cities NORTH AMERICA UNITED STATES OF AMERICA BELGIUM Factory, Buffalo, N. Y Factory Branch, Brussels Cotton Mill, Utica, N. Y ITALY Branch Offices now being established Factory Branches, Rome, Milan, . 2 prex ipal cittes Bologna Capa Fac tory, Toronto SCANDINAVIA Fa tory Branches, Vi tora, Vancou Factory Branches, Copenhagen, ver, Edmonton, Calgary, Savka Stockholm toon, Regina, Winnipeg, London, Hamilton, Toronto, Ottawa, HOLLAND Fa tory Bran h, Amsterdam. Montre al, ot John, Halifax SOUTH AMERICA SPAIN ; Factory Branch, Madrid ARGENTINA eo i Factory Branch, Buenos Awes GERMANY BRAZIL Factory, Hanau-A-M. Factory Branch, Rio de Janeiro. In serving such a vast portion of the world for many years, Dunlop has touched all sides of the subject of tires and has gained an experience in tire-making and tire-marketing second to none— an experience which is now being turned to the distinct advantage of the motor car and motor truck owners of the United States. the globe. Tire merchants will find here also information of special interest to them 77

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST SERVING That America was the last of the great tire markets for Dunlop to enter is a fact of no little consequence to you who use tires and you who sell them. Dunlop comes to the United States now, after thirty-two years of tire-making, not only as a pio- neer of the industry but as a long-established inter- national institution with long-established and suc- cessful methods. It comes with a product which has been tried by many years of performance under the varying and often extremely difficult conditions of world-wide service. It comes with full recognition of the magnitude of the task and with abundant resources in men, materials and money. It comes, too, with something else equally im- portant—its conception of responsibility to those with whom it deals, whether these be manufacturers, merchants or tire-users. The great plant which Dunlop has built at Buf- falo is evidence in brick and steel of the way in which it is going about its work in America. Picture to yourself a broad tract of land, fronting on the Niagara River and containing 214 acres. On this property has been erected a series of buildings covering thirty-five acres, so arranged that their capacity to produce over twelve thousand tires a day can easily be doubled when expansion becomes necessary~—so easily, in fact, that the continuous operation of the plant need not be interrupted. This modern tire-building city contains every material means necessary for producing the highest- grade pneumatic and solid tires, as well as tubes and tire accessories. To this material equipment and this name of in- ternational reputation is added the established Dunlop policy. In brief, it is a policy whose corner-stone is the mutual interest of you who buy and use tires, of us who make them and of the Dunlop merchants who sell them. Dunlop considers that this mutual interest rep- resents a Dunlop obligation to build only the best product possible; to make it accessible to tire-users; to improve it in every way and, finally, to consider that Dunlop responsibility goes beyond mileage limitations and ends only with the last day the tire is in service. Dunlop merchants are men who believe as we do —who have selected us as truly as we have selected them—who are your representatives to us as they are our representatives to you. These and all other points in Dunlop policy are founded on the firm belief that what aids one aids all, and that, in the last summing up, your best interests and ours are identical. A + * Dunlop distribution is through retail channels. It will be national in scope and completely effected as rapidly as is consistent with the best “interests of tire-users and Dunlop merchants. We will wel- come the opportunity to discuss distribution plans with responsible tire merchants who are interested. DUNLOP TIRE AND RUBBER CORPORATION OF AMERICA BUFFALO, NEW YORK , If you have not already read the preceding two pages, turn to them now for an interest ing picture of Dunlop as a far-reaching International Institution \ ry} January 1,192!

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So far there weren't any details. Rodney Sands hadn't the slightest notion that she was consider’: g the possibility of marry- ing him “T really want to know,” Sophie said Mr. Blodgett's face became grave “No,” he said, pursing his lips, “‘no—we shouldn't regard marriage as a disqualifica- tion.”” Sophie looked expectant imber of marrie d women taff,”’ he continued But it’s only that ir : There are an on our fair to say our experience marriage but usually — the You may our work, but you s usually—not always end of a busine ntend to pon with y woman's career kee probably won't.” Sophie to go wanted, and she wa it with Mr. Blodgett might ask her who the she was going to marry ‘Thank you so much, Mr. Blodgett,” she said. ‘‘] want very much to keep my job.” ‘Dan't be a hurry,” Mr. Blodgett aid, “It every day that I have a chance to give good He laughed ‘Of course I know it’s too late to persuade you out of it even if I could.” Sophie tried to smile, but it was a pan- icky little smile. She wanted to get out of Mr. Blodgett's office as fast as she could ‘And you know,” Mr. Blodgett con- tinued, “I like to see young women marry. Some business men are bitter on the sub- ject. They say they can’t train a woman for a responsible place before she up and marries and leaves them flat. And that’s But I can't get mad about it. When all's said, marriage is probably good for women, and if it isn’t good for business well, business will have to stagger along.” ‘I really mean to keep on working for years,”” Sophie said “As a manager I hope you will,”’ Mr Blodgett said. “I like what you've done with the book department so far. You've pleased some of our most valued customers so much that they've let us know it.”” He smiled quizzically at Sophie. “I shouldn't want to fill your place on twenty-four hours’ notice, Miss Adams.” ‘Thank Sophie said have my promise that If | ever do want to ample notice.” “That's settled then,” said Mr. Blodgett He turned to his desk. Sophie took a tep toward the door. She must get away. “Just one moment,”’ Mr. Blodgett said He lifted a typewritten list from his desk. ‘I’ve been making out the vacation schedule. It's the last of May now, and I'm Let's see— when are you going to be She had the fact she anxious not to discuss He was so friendly he man was and when rose isn e advice.” \ true “And you have to you you "7 you won't leave I'll give late married?’ Sophie had a_ wild Sophie felt her cheeks could she say? What wouldn't agree to her plan? observed her confusion ‘I don't mean to inquire he said in the kindliest the date will affect won't it?” ‘Why -- why,” said Sophie, “I to be married very soon.” said Mr. Blodgett, “to be a impulse to flee grow hot. What if Rodney Sands M r Blodgett too closely tone ‘But of course your vacation, l expect “Well,” little more specific, | was going to ask you if you could take your vacation early this year. Everybody wants to goin August, and naturally everybody can’t. Of course if you're going to be married in August I'd make a point of m He looked at Sophie inquiringly ‘Mr. Blodgett,” said Sophie desper ately, ‘I don’t know just what to say.’ “On the other hand,” he explained, “if you could go as early as the first week i: June I could perhaps arrange to give you an extra week, or even ten days.” “Mr. Blodgett,’ Sophie began—she must be purple in the face by now. What would he think? Could he guess that she didn’t know when she was going to be married—if ever? ‘Mr. Blodgett, I ‘ Again Sophie couldn't find words. Mr. Blodgett smiled Mr. Blodgett chuckled. “I see,”’ he said. “You want to consult him first!" *‘Why—-why—yes!”’ said Sophie. “That's all right,”’ said Mr. Blodgett genially. “You talk it over with him to night and let me know in the morning.” Sophie’s knees trembled. She had escaped—until to-morrow morning “Thank you, Mr. Blodgett,’ she said “Thank you so much,” THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE TROUBLE WITH WOMEN (Continued from Page 21) Sophie felt better when she got back to her little office off the book department. After all, everything had come out all right. She could hold her job, and that was the great thing. It remained only to tell Rod- ney Sands that they must be married at once. Instinctively Sophie reached for the teie- phone on her desk, and then she remem- bered she didn’t know where to find him. She would have to wait. The chance was that even now a note from him was waiting for her in her mail box in Thirteenth Street. If he hadn’t written he would call her on the telephone as soon as she got home—or he would come. Her immediate task was to clear up an infinity of details in the book department that she might leave it to Miss Snider for two weeks, or even three. vi SVOPHIE found her mail box empty. But J she assured herself that it was of no consequence—he would telephone. She wasn’t hungry, but she knew she ought to eat something, and so she employed her- self in constructing a salad of lettuce and tomatoes and shrimps with a Russian dressing. It became an excellent salad. Sophie arranged it with art in a bowl of dark-purple ware that was one of her few extravagances in furnishing. She surveyed it with pride. It was a large salad. In- deed, she made at least twice as much salad as she could eat all by herself. She had instinctively and unconsciously made salad not only for herself but for Rodney Sands. Sophie was perhaps a little shocked at herself when she realized what she had done. But why not? Why not get a dinner for him? A salad, however splen- did, was no meal for a man. She must have chops or a steak. Sophie did not want to leave her flat for as much as ten minutes, lest she miss his telephone call. She solved the difficulty by sending the janitor out to buy lamb chops. Meanwhile she put the salad in the ice box. She had some excellent potatoes. A baked potato would be a deli cacy at this season. You couldn't get a good baked po- tato inarestaurant. Besides, a baked potato would be good for him. He was too thin. He wanted feeding up. Sophie se- lected four large potatoes and put them in the oven to bake. Then she set the table in the liv- ing room for two and sat down to wait. It was nearly seven. He knew she always got home a little after six. He would call up any minute now, While She Was Applying Cotd Water to Her Eyes She Won: dered if She Could Find Rodney Sands by Telephone But Sophie was in no mood to sit still. There was a small stock of delicacies on the pantry shelf. She could improve his din- ner. She found a bottle of stuffed olives and a jar of preserved quince that her aunt had sent her from Indiana. The quince would make an attractive sweet. It was after seven when these additions were ready to serve. But Rodney Sands hadn't tele- phoned Sophie sat down in her armchair and composed herself to read the evening paper. She had made it rather a duty to read the evening paper. But she suddenly remem- bered that the potatoes had been baking an hour in an extremely hot oven. They were done. Sophie turned off the gas. But baked potatoes would, she knew, lose their virtue in five or ten minutes. She removed the four potatoes and pierced their skins to let the steam out. If he called imme- diately they would do. If he didn’t they wouldn’t. So Sophie got out the bag of potatoes. There were none quite so large or so fine as those she had already baked, but she hunted out six smaller ones that would do, and put them in the oven. They could bake until half past eight at a pinch, and Rodney Sands would turn up before that. But at half past eight Rodney Sands had not called up. Sophie began then really to worry. She must see him before morning—before she saw Mr. Blodgett. Had she taken all the heart out of him by her cool reception of hi« love? Sophie removed the second batch of baked potatoes from the oven. The po- tatoes she had left were small, al- most too small to bake. But she had set her heart on giving him baked potatoes. She put nine of the small ones in the oven. At half past nine Sophie cried a little, and re- moved the nine small po- tatoes, now as thoroughly baked as the original four and the suc- ceeding six. While she was applying cold water to her eyes she wondered if she could find Rodney Sands by tele- phone. She called up the Carlton. Yes, Mr. Rodney Sands had been registered there, but he had checked out. She called the New York Press Club. Nobody had seen Mr. Sands that day. Sophie tried to recall the name of some man Rodney had mentioned as a friend. The only one she could think of was Oswald Fane. She found Oswald Fane’s name in the telephone directory, but the operator rang his number in vain. At least she said she did. At half past ten Sophie went into her bedroom and lay flat on her back in the dark. She had eaten nothing, but she was not aware of that. She was thinking about Rodney Sands and—again of Mr. Blodgett. She had to give Mr. Blodgett an answer in the morning. At eleven o'clock the janitor would clese the switchboard of the building and then no one could ring her telephone till he went on duty again in the morning. Sophie heard the clock in a distant tower count out eleven. She might as well go to bed. But she knew she could not sleep. She needed to walk. She could think bet- ter when she walked. She could think best when she walked up her beloved Avenue January 1,192! in the dark. Sophie put on her hat and started down the stairs. At the first land- ing she paused, involuntarily, to listen for her telephone. Then she remembered that the board was closed. It couldn’t ring. Sophie stood on the top step. It was here that she had stood the night she had seen the two men slip quietly up behind Rodney Sands and pinion his arms. It was here that she had gripped her umbrella so fiercely. She looked down the street. There was Rodney Sands striding toward her. Sophie ran down the steps. He was walking with his head down. He didn’t see her. He was walking with the swing of a man who is walking a long distance. And now he lifted his head and looked up at her window. Sophie gave a little inarticulate cry. ““Why, Sophie!”’ he said. “Rodney!” she said. He held out his hand. She took it in hers. He stood awkwardly looking down at her. Sophie released her hand. Sophie looked up at him. It was quite dark, but his face looked hurt—she could see that. She had hurt him. “Rodney —I—1—last night I wanted to tell you " The tears we.ied up in her eyes. could not sp ak. “My dear,” he said, and took her in his arms. Sophie clung to him. Sophie buried her head on his shoulder. He kissed her hair. He kissed her cheek. Sophie lifted her face. He kissed her mouth. “T love you,” said Rodney Sands, looking down into her eyes. Sophie looked bravely back. “I love you, too,”’ she said. “Last night I thought you didn’t care at all.” “But I did,” said Sophie. “I was just —just waiting for you to kiss me!”’ She laughed in spite of her tears. “You darling!’’ said Rodney Sands, and kissed her again. ““Do you know,” he said, “I’ve been walking round this block for the last five hours. I must have walked twenty miles.”’ “Why didn’t you come up?” cried. “I didn’t dare. I was so sure I had lost you. I was afraid to see you, and | couldn't stay away. I came down here at half past six, but I couldn’t ring the bell. I thought if I walked round the block I might get my courage up. I’ve been walking round the block ever since.”’ Sophie laughed. She could laugh now. “And I,” she said, and paused to laugh “I’ve been baking potatoes for you. I baked three batches for you. I baked all the potatoes there were in the house.” Rodney Sands laughed his rueful laugh. “I'll eat them, Sophie,”” he said. “At least I'll try. But I felt so foolish the other day when I didn’t know whether I'd eaten or not that I ate four meals to-day. And an hour ago I stopped in that little restau- rant round the corner and ate ham and eggs. I’m awfully sorry, really.” “You didn’t know,” said Sophie. “But I know this,” said Rodney Sands grimly —‘‘I know I can get a job somehow, somewhere. And I'll work like a nailer. And if I do that, couldn’t—we could live very simply —couldn’t we be married in six months?” “We're going to be married next week,” said Sophie. ‘I have a three weeks’ vaca- tion beginning June first. We're going to spend it in a place I know up on the Cape.” “But I haven't any money or any job nothing!" cried Rodney Sands. “T have,” said Sophie Adams proudly. “But don’t you see? I couldn’t take your money!”’ “You must!” “But, after all, Sophie—I’m a man and you’re a woman.” “Rodney,” said Sophie earnestly—she took the lapels of his coat in her hands “IT know. But it is a silly, stupid conven- tion. It doesn’t fit a case like this. And it’s the only thing I'll ever ask you to be reasonable about. It’s the one thing I'll ever ask you to give up.” She she vir ITHIN a week the little house that Sophie had found was home to them both. It was a weather-stained house of (Continued on Page 83)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ! Pag moe © ae OM L Sane et nek ea Wa ee ey a ee ~ ' # . sg re he om ; ~ vx ae he { 33 ‘ Spag a jea” > l dered 0 pant ree n re of oP “— ais mm "y The Qe o Quaker goes Italy one better! ee ; ad Milk Macaron, A///é Spaghetti—a wonderful improvement in richness, in flavor, in food value peru \PS you have not known it, but {re not potatoes creamed in milk far riches I Her you t) macare ni at spagherti have always been than potatoes simply boiled in water? Are Phus Quaker has taught Italy how t , made of wheat and alter. not your gravies and soups, yout puddings macaroni and paghe ttrexceptionally ri hy Che Italians have made them that way for and cakes far richer in flavor and nutriment good ‘ - i . Al. hundreds of years. when you make them with milk? TI Ouaker | le f I , . ° ¢ lu UAKCI ha made tor you wh ) VV \ 1d Ame rican n anufacturer shave followed Wheat with milk—the perfect food foad delahts. wh ail their example, perfec ting, mainly, the meth , £4 3 1 ’ ' 1 | — } Dietitians to lus that we'd have tn milk and mukK and wheat, the fato th ods of packaging and al stributing these old- \ , | . : , wheat a perfect food combination. IPry Quaker Brand Milk Macar or NI time foods. , : $ > ss . : Wheat alone, they said, does not supply a Spaghett tonight Until you / e tr But we believed that macaroni and spa , er é' : \ : } : i ertain factor in which the merican diet 1s O nnot fully appreciate hov od the ghetti could be improved in the making. We ee a om fully ap} a | , ; apt to be dencient But milk contains thi foods can be. wanted not simply new ways of serving them, . factor—the growth-promoting vitamine—in R aie dd ways for you to make them better. We sought food IG UAIME Pac ne . vreater Quantity than any otner Toor . ; a way in which we could make them better. — bt We pack more macaroni and spaghet | ; . : Not only a better tasting macaroni and h | By th D| 7 From Nature’s larder we took two basi foods spaghe tti but a more nutritious macaron: and rs . | ae ia ws "I . t ’ . and othe osts, we i! i to v e ¥ We went to Nature S larder, first for wheat. spaghetti the n be came oul goal. 1 : hee or . ' ' ] ] , better, mor Costly roduct t pbourt th , / And we found that here in America grew one And now, friends, we've reached that goal! ; prtee ; wr P : ; ‘ pri er ounce as ordinary Kind certain kind surpassingly rich in protein, great In Quaker Brand M/k Macaroni, Mz:// ; , golden kernels of wheat. We adopted it, de- Spaghetti. he smaller box we en | e , 9 wil ri} Y) | | rere? bo } . spite its higher cost. Such macaron}, uch paghetti you ve never full family meals. The lary ' ’ And then we thought of that other basic _ tasted! better value. ) . , ° ° . . } ° j rm | food in Nature’s storehouse—miulk, the great Macaroni and spagh tti as rich as new po Ask your grocer for it today. If h ; ° - i enricher. tatoes creamed in milk—as_ tender, when happer not to have it, write us, gi If we could put milk in macaroni and spa- cooked, as that kingly table delicacy, Brussels name, and we will see that y ghetti we knew we could make them richer = sprouts—as_ satisfying and wholesome as Phe Quaker Oats Company, 1 1-1 Ra fl than they could possibly be made with water. home-made bread and country butter. way Exchange Building, Chicago, U.S. A

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January i, /921 Properly Why the Beauty of Your Hair Depends on the Care You Give It Illustrated by | ~ ALONZO KIMBALI \SLOMO AFI6SL> —_ § b- beauty of your hair depends upon the it in thoroughly all over the scalp and throughout the care you give it entire length, down to the ends of the hair. Shampooing it properly is always the most im- portant thing. Rub the Lather In Thoroughly lt is the shampooing -— h bring a re , ‘an three teaspoonfuls will make an abundance of toatl ar Sig guar Pata gia rich, creamy lather. This should be rubbed in thor- makes your hair soft, fresh and luxuriant. oughly and briskly with the finger tips, so as to loosen l oO ai sary. dull and |} \ ifel A i . . Whe n your hair is dry, dull and heavy, litel the dandruff and small particles of dust and dirt that stiff and gummy, and thestrandscling together, and it feels harsh and disagreeable tothe touch, it is be cause your hair has not been shampooed properly. When your hair has been shampooed properly, and is thoroughly clean, it will be glossy, smooth and bright, delightfully fresh-looking ftandsilky. Weter. Then use another ap- While your hair must have frequent and regu plication of Mulsified. lar washing to keep it beautiful, 1t cannot stand [wo waters are usually the harsh effect of ordinary soap Che free al- sufficient for washing the hair; kali in ordinary soaps soon dri he sealp, but sometimes the third is When the hair 4 tick to the scalp. When you have done this, rinse the hair and scalp thor- oughly, using clear, fresh makes the hair brittle and ruins it necessary. You can easily ‘ it a good thorough brushing Phatiswhy« iscriminating women use Mulsified tell, for when the hair is Se be wring it as dry as you can; and finish Cocoanut Oil Shampoo, This clear, pure ' ; by rubbing it with a turkish towel, and entirely gre ase less produc t cannot pos- shaking it and fluffing it until it is sibly injure, and it does not dry the scalp : ’ ' dry. Then, give it a good brushing. or make the hair brittle, no matter how , After a Mulsified shampoo you will a, often you use 11 ; = } find the hair willdry quickly and even- If you want to see how really beautiful er ly and have the appearance of being you can. make your hair look, just ; much thicker and heavier than it is. . rr« “* y ’ Follow This Simple Method If you want toalways _——aeeen SIRS he | gle 4 be remembered for your Sas 4 , Wet the hair an caip im clear , T ? : ) |. ate . Ty little ~ arm water en, apply a rttie ight ’ : hair. make i le : lean, wet hatr hair, ake it a rule to “ Mulsitied Cocoanut Oil Shampoo, rubbing ay u 1 ueaks set a certain day each ooo a 4 bem vy ‘ | on ~ %! the scalp soft, and the ‘ \ sal rinsing bright, fresh-looking \ 1 leave the and fluffy, wavy and ftand silky easy to manage, and it ‘ hair fine and silky, ‘ ti waler

will be noticed and ad- mired by everyone. Youcanget Mulsified perfectly clean it will be soft and silky in the water, the strands will fall apart easily, each separate hair E : floating alone in the water ° and the entire mass, even Cocoanut Oil Shampoo while wet, will feel loose, fluffy and light to the touch at any drug store or toilet goods counter. A and be so clean it will fairly squeak when you pull 4-ounce bottle should ' last for months. Rinse the Hair Thoroughly WATKINS HIS is very important. After the final washing — J : ) A Y the hair and scalp should be rinsed in at least two Cc ki changes of warm water and followed with a rinsing in REG U & PAT OF flather. Rub tt in thoroughly . : riskly with the finger tips cold water, When you have rinsed the hair thoroughly, @@COANUT O@L SHAMPOO Coovnsnerr 2900 it through your fingers.

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aan { { ‘ ] b ! : ip \ i a 1} i ( ) } } . ( ; , ‘ (Continued from Page 80) shingles, with windows of many tiny square panes, built round a great chimney after the fashion the Cape followed a hun- dred years ago—the simplest possible house. Within, the fireplaces were set in walls of painted wood, exquisitely paneled, the simple iron hinges and catches of the cupboards showing black against paint the color of ivory. The house was happily set in the brow of a wind-swept dune, a mile from any ne tahher. They saw no one except a clam- mer or two, save when they walked to the village for supplies. In the morning they paused for a mo- ment on the stoop and looked out over gray-green salt marshes through which the inlet doubled and redoubled on itself. A mile beyond, the Atlantic boomed on a hard white beach. Morning after morning they dived into the cold, salty water of the inlet. Day after day they sailed a Cape sharpie with a spritsail and an oar for a rudder down the intricate channel. Evening after evening they walked down the beach, the wind in their faces, hand in hand. Coming back, they would round a small spit of land, and then Sophie would take Rodney Sand’s arm. “Look!” she would say. They could see dimly the shape of their house against the sky, the windows pat- terned in yellow light shining through the dark. “T think it’s cool enough for a fire, don’t you?” Rodney Sands would say. And they would run up the path through the gorse and build a tiny fire of driftwood, and talk. They talked as neither of them had ever talked before. It was as if they had newly discovered the possibilities of communication. It was as if talk were no longer a means of concealment. They were so completely happy that Sophie overcame all her objections to ask- ing an additional favor of the kindly Mr. Blodgett. He had allowed Sophie ten days more than the regular vacation. She wrote after two weeks were gone and asked to be allowed to stay out the month on a leave of absence, and Mr. Blodgett had granted her the leave. Sophie had a never-flagging curiosity about Rodney Sands—his work, his friends, his life—with an intense eagerness to speak his language and see the world as he saw it. Nothing was too trivial to absorb her at- tention if it concerned Rodney Sands, not even studio slang. She began with the one word—the word ‘“‘amusing.”’ She had from her reading some hint of its studio use. Rodney Sands enlarged on it. “it’s the one word for every situation,” he explained with irony. ‘‘Whenever you're in doubt you say a thing’s amusing and know you're safe. If somebody asks your opinion of a full- length portrait in oils or a necktie or the Woolworth tower or a new overcoat or Fifth Avenue or Stravin- sky’s music or a Sheraton sideboard, you say it’s amusihg—you've paid it a compli- ment, you've proved yourself in the know, and you haven’t committed yourself to anything you can’t back out of later. If somebody shows you his most treasured work, and you don’t like it, you say it’s amusing. If you do like it, you say it’s amusing. Amusing is open sesame and abracadabra in the world of art—the perfect password and the universal excuse.” Rodney Sands couldn’t be quite so clear about the words he used himself in praising a drawing—words like “‘solid’’ and “fat,” for instance. “They aren’t so easy to explain,” he admitted. ‘I suppose it’s because they mean something.” “IT do want to know,”’ Sophie said. “I don’t expect to discuss art with your friends, but I'd like to listen intelligently.” Rodney Sands put his arm round her and drew her close. “‘ Honey,” he said, ‘‘it isn’t necessary to listen intelligently. Among artists it’s only necessary to listen.” “But I really want to know the things you're interested in,’ Sophie insisted. “Then know,” seid Rodney Sands sen- tentiously, ‘that there is only one universal and eternal truth in art, one law of beauty to which there is no exception, one touch- stone by which you may know the value of any work, whether it’s a pattern in a carpet or a Gothic cathedral—you like it or you don’t like it. And the corollary to that is, if you like it you're a bourgeois, and if you don’t like it you’re a connoisseur. “The trouble is,” Sophie said with knit brows, “I don’t always know whether I really like a thing—or not.” THE SATURDAY Rodney Sands shook his head with mock gravity. “Ah, Sophie,”’ he said sadly, “‘that will never do! That’s because you're honest. You'll never, never make a studio success.” Sophie raised her eyebrows. “You're getting bitter,”’ she said. She hadn’t yet observed that he was likely to grow bitter when he talked of art and artists. She hadn't as yet the slightest suspicion that Rodney Sands often hated the artist in himself; that he alternately loathed and loved the idea of himself as an artist. “I suppose,” he explained, ‘that I’m smarting for all the silly poses of my past. I didn’t discover art until I'd been drawing on newspapers for years, and then I got it bad. I’m not over it either, Sophie. I’m still a little sore because I wasn't born to be another El Greco.’ Sophie patted his hand. “I’m so glad you’ re what you are,” she said earnestly. “I wouldn’t have you dif- ferent.’ Rodney Sands smiled. “T wonder,” he said, “if any artist ever forgives himself for not being a genius of the first order? I suppose that’s the reason so many artists do such queer things. Peo- ple think they are trying to put themselves over on the public. But that isn’t the truth—quite. They’re really trying to put themselves over on themselves—to con- vince themselves that they really matter.” “T didn’t know that the really first-rate ones did awfully queer things,”’ Sophie said. ‘‘I thought they didn’t have to.” “It ought to work out that way,’’ Rod- ney Sands admitted. “But it doesn’t always. Take George Allenby. He’s a first-rate painter, if there ever was one, and yet he does the most outrageous things. I met him one morning in Broadway. He was the most dapper little man you ever saw—all tricked out with a monocle and a Malacea stick and mauve spats. He had seen an advertisement of a special sale of blankets—some marvelous bargain at Marcy’s. He was on his way to buy four double blankets, and I must come along and help carry them home. I told him to have them sent. But no, we must carry them home. When we found the counter it was being mobbed. It was ten deep with women. I told George we wouldn't get waited on before noon—there were hun- dreds ahead of us. I tried to argue him out of buying the blankets. But no, he had come to buy blankets and blankets he would have. He kept edging into the crowd and dragging me after him. I kept arguing that it was no use, but he kept on pressing in. We must have wormed in halfway to the counter before he’d admit that we couldn’t push any nearer. He stood there for a minute, and then all of a sudden he let out a yell—a shriek, rather a most terrible shriek. Everybody turned to look, of course. And then George pro- ceeded to put on the most realistic imita- tion of an epileptic fit lever saw. It fooled me. One woman fainted and the rest ran. I didn’t know what to do, so I stuck. “The moment the path to the counter was clear George Allenby screwed his monocle in his eye, walked up to the one seared clerk that was left, and said, ‘My good man, are these blankets all wool?’ The clerk said, ‘Why, no, sir, not all wool.’ And George Allenby said, ‘Then I don’t want them, do 1?’ and walked majestically out of the place, with me tagging behind.” “‘He must have loved attracting atten- tion,” Sophie said. “Yes. But why that sort? He’s had every honor there is as a painter. Why did he have to compete with people who have fits? After all, he can’t do fits any better than they can. And he can paint—he can paint like the devil. ““T knew a young chap in Frisco who did almost the loveliest pastels I ever saw. But he wasn’t satisfied with that. Whistler was his god. He must not only do pastels that Whistler would have admired—he must look like Whistler. He tried to bleach a lock of his hair so it would be like Whistler’s famous white lock. He spilled the stuff and bleached his whole head white, and nearly lost his eyes.” ‘That was very silly of him, of course,” Sophie said. “And yet I can _ under- stand it.” “Oh, I can understand it!’’ Rodney Sands exclaimed. “I understand it quite too well. I’m capable of being almost as much of a fool as that myself.” He got up and paced back and forth. Sophie leaned back in her corner of the EVENING POST sofa to watch him. He was wearing corduroy trousers and a shirt of that old blue flannel they make on the Cape, and in the firelight his tanned face was like bronze. He paused suddenly and faced Sophie. “Why do artists have to be fools?” he | cried. Sophie clasped her hands and put them behind her head and leaned back against them “Perhaps,” Sophie said slowly, ‘be- cause it’s so becoming to them.” Rodney Sands laughed and sat down in the other corner of the sofa. “Of course,” he went on more calmly, “IT don’t admit that artists are half so absurd as the critics of art. You remember Oswald Fane?” “Of course,” said Sophie. Oswald Fane and Gertrude had been the only wedding guests in the famous little church when Sophie and Rodney were mar- ried, and Oswald Fane had insisted on providing a wedding breakfast. “Well,” said Rodney, “Oswald Fane has made knowing about art his avocation He writes about it occasionally, but mostly he talks. He thinks the artist must be absolutely ruthless. He seriously believes that an artist who permits any human con- sideration to interfere with his art is un- true to his artistic self. You know the story of The Moon and Sixpence, and how the hero threw up his business and aban- doned his wife and children without stop ping to explain and we nt off to paint and never saw them again? ‘Yes,”’ said Sophie. “It was suggested by a living painter, wasn’t it?’”’ Rodney Sands nodded. “IT suppose so. We were all discussing that book one night, and do you know what Oswald Fane's view was? He said that the man didn’t have the real stuff of an artist in him or he'd have abandoned his family sooner. And somebody mentioned Bernstein.” “Who's Bernstein? “Oh, he’s a crazy young sculptor. He does awfully queer figures—figures that look as if they had been starved to death and then flayed. Oswald Fane thinks he’s a great artist, and he certainly has got something. Oswald got a wealthy con- noisseur interested in him. He promised Oswald he'd buy one of Bernstein's things, but Bernstein didn’t like him, and when he inquired the price of a figure he wanted —a little thing cout eighteen inches high Bernstein said it would cost him ten thou- sand dollars. The man with the money protested that five hundred would be a fairer price. And Bernstein just up and threw the figure at him—smashed it all to bits against the wall ‘Well, this night Oswald got to orating about Bernstein. ‘There’s an artist for you!’ says Oswald. ‘Money means noth- ing to him. You couldn't bribe him to do an inartistic thing—not with a million dollars... And young Chapman spoke up and said, ‘You couldn't bribe him to pay his debts either.”, And Oswald roared bac! ‘What do I care for his debts? The mor people he owes the better. He's an artist.’ And Margie Patten said, ‘Why, he’s a regular pickpocket! He'll steal anything that's loose.” That sort of got Oswald, | suppose. Oswald stood up and shouted, ‘What if he does? What's that got to do with art? I hope he does steal, and the more he steals the better for art.’"’ “What does a man like Oswald Fane do for a living?’’ Sophie asked “You won't ever tell, Sophie?” “Of course not!” ‘It's a dead secret,” Rodney S plained. “But it’s too good to Most people think he has money of his own, but he hasn't. He's a credit man for a hardware jobber in Brooklyn.”’ Sop hie laughed. ‘He was awfully funny at our wedding,’ Sophie said. He said to me, ‘Of course an artist has no business to marry, but if Rod ney must marry I'm glad it’s you.’ | laughed, and he said: ‘I meanit! The artist has just two enemies in this world. One popularity and the other is worman. But somehow I don't feel that you'll exploit him as most women would.’”’ ‘That was his way of saying he you a lot,’’ Rodney Sands observed “T sort of liked him,” Sophie admitted. “T think he likes you.”’ “I’m not sure I liked your friend Ger- ” Rodney Sands said. “She has the al ds x Keep liked trude,”’ kind of eyes that see right through you, and she looked at me as if she didn’t see much. (Continued on Page 86 if S _i Lesuer, WHirMan & Co., MEN'S COAT LININGS The Daily Grind On Your Coat Lining Pe) ie - lot of the coat hning is a Indoor tasks and outdoor sports, little gestures ) hard one and big exertions —each plays ——' its part in the rack of the lining that Jooks right enough at and ruin first, but isn't right enough to last Granite Double End has body as well as looks It gives service as well as promise It is heavy as serge, with a finish like A smooth and level weave disarms the play of friction an alpaca ‘ and beauty the life and insures the entirety Granite Double End throughout of the longest-lasting garment End is the coat lining made in America to satisfy the d Granite Doubk standard of America, by American Labor American Men. Your mand of critical lothier will let you see and feel it in the coat you like in various weaves, many shades, styles and design If you pre er a two-tone effect, he has it Or px sibly you'll choo fancy stripe patterns or a brand new cx lusive check not to be found elsewhere than in Granite Double End sc one of the numerous Your urance This Label is Guide and Ass rHE GUARANTEE This garment is lined with Granite Double Kad (Reg. U.S. Pat. Off.) made by Lesher, Whitman & Co., Inc., and we hereby guarantee that if the lining is not perlectly whole during the life of the gar- | ment, we will furnish material for a new lining without charge lesner Mouairs IN« S81 Broadway, New York

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 1,192! Send for the “Wool Soap ee Calendar \. See offer belou A mother and her baby! In the old, old subject, artists have ever found a new, new interest—from the first erude figures on old church walls to exquisite modern madonnas. The Woo! Soap calendar for 1921 is a lovely mother and baby picture by Harold Brett The reproduction given here but faintly reflects the charm of the calendar in colors Fill out the coupon on the opposite page and get this calen- Jar, together with a 3-ounce cake of Wool Soap. You will find in both a new and lasting pleasure LE. inner Oe eee te Se ws att cA ‘Fleecy Lather

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST What every mother ought to know about her baby’s skin Suggestions given by the Government Children’s Bureau so large a place in the plan of a home —for Baby—there are just three necessities. He must have his food. He must have his sleep. And he must have his bath. Fei that small person who occupies Not the least important of the three is the bath. Not, to be sure, is it equally vital to life itself; but equally so to health and comfort. Keep Baby perfectly clean and you give him the best possible chance to be perfectly healthy. And much of his comfort is deter- mined by the condition of his skin. Baby’s bath must be regularly and caretully given The skin is one of the means through which the impurities of the body are carried off. It is, therefore, highly important that its pores be kept open by frequent cleansing. Regular bathing is necessary to keep the skin free from these bodily impurities and from outward sources of irritation and infec- tion that might lead to serious skin troubles. The extreme sensitiveness of a baby’s skin is almost beyond adult understanding. Ut- most care and gentleness must be used if its delicate, petal-like beauty is to be pre- served. Suggestions for the bath Every well baby should have one tub bath daily after it is ten days old. The bathing should be done quickly to avoid handling. Oar «4 ye to r Ff { hd iy -- se 7 Bk ar 7) -VeV 5) OL) , II’ aeVvaevavtavtatetatan ava Va aot eae The bath water should be about body tem- perature—tested by a thermometer or the elbow; never the hand. After the bath, the skin should be dried quickly and thoroughly by patting gently with soft, warm towels. Never rub a baby’s tender skin with anything less smooth than the palm of the hand. The baby should have its own special towels and wash cloths—very soft and always immaculately clean, to avoid chafing and irritating the delicate skin. The necessity of pure soap for Baby’s skin A special soap should also be used for the baby. It must be very pure and mild and non-irritating. Wool Soap is made for just this purpose. Every ingredient in it is so pure and so mild it can well be used on a baby’s skin. And that the makers of Wool Soap consider the most searching test of soap purity. Every mother will find in Wool Soap the natural successor of the genuine old im- ported Castile Soap, now so difficult to obtain. She will surely want to try it. Our 1921 Wool Soap Calendar — for everyone who loves a baby Every woman who loves a rosy, soft-cheeked baby —and that’s every woman—will surely want the Wool Soap calendar for 1921—a beautiful mother and baby picture by Brett. Fill out the coupon below and send for it today. i 4? Swift & Company, Union Stock Yards, Chicago: Enclosed find 10 cents in stamps for which please send me the Wool Soap calendar and a 3-ounce cake of Wool Soap. Name Address LOA OOOO eee ‘ a J OOF FF Oe ee et FO ee ee ee ee ee ee ee Ins For Toilet and Bath

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Centinued from Page 83) ‘But she did like you,” Sophie protested “She liked you a lot. She said to me—you know her queer way of talking—as if she were trying to get the whole story in ten words—she said, ‘Don’t approve, Sophie. Can't possibly ap prove. But like the man. ~ may ibe a bad husband, but he isn’t a bad egg.’ ‘You see,” said Rodney Sands, ‘ see through me.” “Nonsense!"’ said Sophie ‘she did vail 4) next morning Sophie woke at dawn She wondered what had wakened her and then she saw that Rodney Sands was gone. She slipped into some clothes and walked up the path to the top of the dune to look for him. He was sitting on the brow of the dune with his hands clasped round his knees watching the sunrise Sophie hesitated to disturb him, but she wanted to help him. She slipped quietly through the gorse and sat down beside him without speaking. He put his arm round her and drew her head down on his shoul- der. They sat silent for a long half hour “What's the trouble, Rodney?” she asked finally “Nothing,” he said Sophie waited “T can’t stand it bitterly. You can't Sophie asked gravely He shook his head, and then he down at Sophie and kissed her “T can't stand not working,” he said “T’'ve been happy. I've keen happier than I ever hoped to be, up here with you. But now I've got to go to work.”’ “Is it—is it that you didn’t have any money and we had to use mine?” Sophie asked Rodney Sands sat silent. “ After all,” he admitted, “I and a man likes to pay for things ‘I suppose,”’ Sophie said humbly—‘'I suppose I oughtn’t to have asked you to let me doit. But ye Rodney Sands patted her hand. “I don’t mind,” he said. “At least, | don't mind much. The thing that’s re “ally getting me is something deeper than that.’ The sun was over the horizon now, and the thick mist that had covered the marshes was lifting so they could see the channel of the inlet for half a mile. A hint of a breeze came over the marshes, blowing the mist into long winding wreaths. The water of the inlet sparkled in the sun, “You see, Sophie,” he said, “I've got to make good. I never have made good. I've never even made a beginning, and I can’t wait any longer to make a beginning.” “Don't you call being a newspaper car- toonist at nineteen a beginning?" Sophie asked. “Look where I am now!" “Well?” said Sophie. “ After ten years I'm out of a job even get a job.” “You can get a job,” Sophie “What makes you think you can't?’ “I don’t think I can’t, I suppose. But I'm afraid I can’t. That's the whole part I'm afraid I can't, and so I've got to go out and try—right away.” “Allright,” said Sophie. “ But don’t get desperate about it. Don’t take it hard. I know you can get any kind of job you like. You know you can. There isn’t a man in New York who can draw the way you can.” Rodney Sands smiled. “I'd like to believe that, but I can’t. Why, Sophie, I woke up this morning in a kind of terror for fear I’d never be able to draw again!" “Honestly?” “Honestly!"’ said Rodney Sands scared-—I'm scared I can "t draw.’ “Then,” said Sophie, “the thing for us to do is to go right back to New York and let you find out you can.’ ‘But you got an extra week— you've got ten days more. ‘I've got you,” Sophie said, and snug- gled close against him. “‘That’s all I ask.” “Wouldn't you be disappointed?” “No,” said Sophie. Rodney Sands took her head between his hands and turned her face so he could look into her eyes. “You really wouldn't mind?” he asked. “Oh, perhaps the least bit,’ she ad- mitted. ‘Only the other matters so much more.” ‘I'm afraid you'll be sorry Sophie shook her head any longer,”’ he said being married?” stand looked am aman I can't said. “I'm afterward.” THE SATURDAY “‘Don’t you remember what I said to you that night? I'd never ask you to give up anything again?”’ know,” Rodney Sands said. I feel awfully selfish to ask it.” “You needn’t,” Sophie smiled. “It won't be a sacrifice. It’ll be a privilege.” “T do want to go back to New York,” he said, “‘and there’s no use pretending I don't. I want to go back and get a job a regular job. And I want to paint on the side. I’ve got to paint. I've got to find myself, and I'll be no good until I do.” ‘And I,” Sophie said—“I am so proud that you told me the truth. It makes me feel that you trust me.” Rodney Sands kissed her. “You are a peach, Sophie,”’ he said. “I'm your wife,” said Sophie, “and I want to understand.” * Ah,” said Rodney Sands, understand.” “You told me once the first time I saw - Sophie said, “that women didn’t. ‘The trouble with women is that And I’m so “But “you do you, You said, they don’t understand art.’ afraid that’s—true.” Rodney Sands smiled. “That,” he said, ‘“‘is nonsense.” nonsense-— pure x YUM MER is the dull season in newspaper ) offices. The sporting editor and his staff are busy enough. But business slackens, people are away on vacations, the courts close. Rodney Sands went religiously to every managing editor in New York and Brook- lyn. But none of them wanted either a cartoonist or a sketch artist. Those whose kindness prevented them from saying flatly that they hadn't a place for him asked him to call again in two weeks, and these Rod- ney Sands visited twice, though he knew what they meant. And when he had exhausted the news- paper offices he set about finding work in an advertising agency. The man who had given him the six little drawings to do in May was away on his vacation. After two weeks it seemed to Rodney Sands as if all the art managers in New York had gone away for their vacations. It was the first time in his life he had met a series of re- buffs. Sophie soothed his ruffled feelings. “It doesn’t matter,” shesaid. “Things’ll be different in the fall. A month or two is nothing.” “I know,” he admitted. awfully galling, just the same.” ‘It’s terribly stupid of them,” Sophie assured him. “But don’t worry about them. They'll come round.” “But I'm not doing anything,” he pro- tested. “I'm a loafer—and a sponge.” “Why not draw anyway?”’ Sophie urged. “You've told me how you used to carry a sketchbook, and sketch eve srywhere you went. Why not do it again? “But you can’t sell odd sketches. I never sold one in my life.” “What of it? We don’t need money. We've hundreds in the bank.” “You've got money,” he argued. “I haven't.” “Oh, Rodney,” Sophie begged, “won't you forget that part of it? Won’t you?”’ ‘But I've got to earn at least my own living, Sophie, and there’s no use pretend- ing anything else.” “You've got to draw,”’ Sophie insisted. “You draw—the money’ll come.” Sophie felt she had partly persuaded him with that argument. At any rate he began to carry a sketchbook. Sometimes he would sit all afternoon in Union Square sketching the people on the benches. If they went out to dinner he was sure to see a person who demanded to be drawn, and he would manage, with Sophie for a shield, to put down the few lines he needed to record his impression. Once they were put out of a restaurant by an irate head waiter who objected to this use of the patrons. But usually it was possible to sketch half a dozen people without attract- ing attention, and Sophie liked nothing so much as to find a subject for his pencil one he responded to. “It gives me the illusion of helping you,” she said. “It makes me feel asif I counted.”’ “You'll never know how much you count,” he assured her gravely. “If it weren't 7 you I'd have given up—I'd be a bum. I'd have tried to get to Tahiti or Mexico or Yucatan, and by now I'd be trying to get a square meal by begging it off somebody's cook.” “Why Tahiti or Mexico or Yucatan?” Sophie asked. “But it’s EVENING POST “Tt’s the Gaugin dream,” he explained. “The dream of burying yourself in some tropical country and steeping yourself in color and painting as no man ever painted before. It’s only in the tropics that you see color. In the north everything is drab and everything is small. We don’t know what color is. But down there everything is big, and the color is just--just smashing.” “TI suppose you ought to go,” Sophie said slowly. “No,” said Rodney Sands. “Seeing color isn’t the same thing as painting it. I can see color, but I can’t paint. I haven’t it in me. Any gift I haveisfor people. I’m always interested in people. Sometimes I think I can really draw people.” Sophie was half convinced that he had given up any idea of being a painter. It was true that he was interested in people. He was enthusiastic about people. He grew lyric over a group of day laborers they saw going home from work in a street car. “Why is it,” Sophie asked him, “that you are so fascinated by poor, ugly, ill- dressed people? Is it that you sympathize with them more than with the others?”’ Rodney Sands shook his head. “It’s because it’s so much easier to make something out of them,” he said. “‘They reveal the true shapes of their bodies so much more completely than well-dressed people do. If a man’s clothes are made by a good tailor and kept in press you can’t see the man for the clothes, and it’s even more true of women than it is of men. If you want to see what human beings are really like you want to look at them when they are tired—when they’re wearing the clothes they’ve been working in for a month. It is only then that they forget to pose. “Of course,”” he added, “I’m talking about civilized people. Savages don’t wear so many clothes as we do, and they aren’t so self-conscious.” “That’s another reason for wanting to go to the tropics,’’ Sophie suggested. Rodney Sands grinned. “T’ve got ail the material [ want right here in New York, Sophie,” he said. “I couldn't draw all there is to see in this town if I lived nine lives.” But Rodney Sands’ enthusiasm for sketching the natives of Manhattan Island was brief. He grew more and more irri- table. Sophie urged him to set up a draw- ing table and work up some of his sketches into finished drawings. He occupied him- self in doing this for a week or ten days, but it did not satisfy him. “There's so little in it, Sophie,’’ he said. “7 want to draw for publication. A draw- ing isn’t a drawing to me unless it’s published.” Sophie considered this problem for two days. She was deep in the affairs of the book department at Millman’s from nine to five. But she had cut down the time she had formerly allowed to keeping in touch with the new books almost to noth- ing. For the moment it didn’t matter. Few books are published in August. But September was coming, and with it the autumn flood of books. She couldn’t do her job then unless she spent hours every evening keeping up. She had hoped that somebody would send for Rodney and give . him a job, but so far nobody had. She was face to face with the fact that he hadn’t got a job. They weren’t spending any more money than she was earning. She saw no immediate financial difficulty. But the state of Rodney’s mind was getting worse. She was already failing in the task of keep- ing him cheerful, and she foresaw that even if she scamped her job during the fall rush and devoted all her spare time and energy to him she would still fail. He needed work, and he was going soon to need it desper- ately. She knew nothing of the ways in which artists earn a living except what she had learned from Rodney. But there must be other ways than the ways he had tried. It wasn’t reasonable that a man of his talent should want for work. It wasn’t credible. One evening after dinner she sat down in the familiar armchair by the reading lamp with a new novel she needed to skim. But her mind refused to obey her. She sat thinking about Rodney. He was sitting at his drawing table trying out a new pencil and a new kind of paper. Sophie watched him. He had the air of a man who knew exactly what he was doing—the air of the competent workman. It was always that way when he sat down at a drawing table. “Rodney,” said Sophie, “why couldn’t you do magazine illustrations?” He shook his head without looking up. January 1,192! “You could, of course,”” Sophie said. Rodney Sands laid down his pencil and lit a cigarette. “The magazines wouldn’t consider my kind of thing,’”’ he said. “They want—I don’t know what they want. Illustrating’s a trick, and I haven’t got the trick.” “Did you ever try?” “T did once,” he admitted. “I took a bunch of my stuff round to the art editor of Stannard’s when I was on the Commercial Reporter. He said he liked it, but he didn’t give me anything to do.” “Just what did he say?’’ Sophie per- sisted. “He said he didn’t have a story in the shop to give out, and that I might come back later. I knew that was just a stall just his way of letting me down easy.” “Didn’t you ever go back?” “Of course not.” “But perhaps he didn’t have anything to give out.” Rodney Sands smiled wearily. “Perhaps he didn’t. But if he really wanted my work he’d have found some- thing—that’s all.” Sophie tried again to skim the novel in herlap. It was half an hour before she asked another question, and this time she rose and stole up behind Rodney Sands and put her arm round his neck. “Do you mind if I look over your shoul- der?” she asked. “Not a bit,’’ he said. Sophie laid her cheek against his and looked down at the drawing. He had drawn from memory the two of them in the stern of the sharpie they had sailed those weeks on the Cape when they had been so happy—drawn it deftly and pleasantly, with a kind of romantic glamour. “Tt makes me homesick,”’ Sophie said. “TI wish we were back there, too, Sophie. I suppose that’s why I drew it—to capture again the feeling I had then.” “And now,” Sophie said, you’ll never be happy again.’ Sophie felt as if she were going to cry. Sophie felt that she had failed him. ‘No,” he insisted. “But I’m most awfully sick of loafing. It ruins me to loaf, Sophie.” “Why don’t you try the magazines, Rodney?” “They'd only turn me down,” he said. “And I’m tired of being turned down.” “But I can’t believe it!’’ Sophie cried. “T haven’t seen a drawing as nice as that in a magazine—not in a year.” “Tt is rather nice,” he admitted. ‘But it isn’t magazine stuff.” “Why, Rodney,” Sophie insisted, ‘I _ a magazine would jump at stuff like that!” “That’s because you don’t know.” “But wouldn’t you take it round and show it to somebody? Couldn’t you do that?” He shook his head. “But, Rodney—all magazines aren't alike—couldn’t you pick out one that would like it?’’ Again he shook his head. “It might do in some very cheap maga- zine, but I doubt it. Andrew Forrest might like it—he might happen to.” ““Who’s Andrew Forrest?” “‘He’s art editor of Crandall’s Magazine. It goes in for three-color plates and etch- ings and that sort of thing. It’s artistic.”’ “*Show it to him!’’ Sophie cried. “Show him one drawing?”’ “Why not?” “That isn’t the way it’s done. You go in with a whole portfolio of your stuff. You couldn’t sell yourself on one drawing.” “T can’t argue with you,”’ Sophie cried in exasperation. “But you’re wrong—l know you're wrong.” Rodney Sands smiled a slow, bitter smile. “‘IT wish I were wrong, Sophie.” “No, you don’t. Sometimes—sometimes I think you don’t want to succeed.” Rodney Sands winced as if she had struck him. They were nearer to quarreling than they had ever been. Sophie could not bear the idea of quarreling with him. Sophie threw both arms round his neck. “Forgive me!’’ she cried. “I didn’t mean it—you know I didn’t mean it.” Rodney Sands held her close. And then the tears came. Sophie sobbed and sobbed, and when she had cried her heart out on his shoulder it seemed as if they were back where they had been in the days on the Cape. It seemed as if somehow they were meant for each other, and everything would come right —it must. “you think (TO BE CONCLUDED)

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eee een THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE LIEUTENANT OF THE MARBLE VENUS (Continued from Page 17) “Hush!” I said. “Don’t talk like that, Charles! It’s wicked and untrue. Your maman loves you with all her heart, I am certain.” “I know,” he answered with his childish gravity. “She loves me, but is sorry I was born. Women are like that.” I could not help laughing at that last remark from this philosopher who knew few women but his mother and Madame Bertrand. But as I laughed I had a sense of some tragedy which had cast a shadow over this child’s mind, though he knew no more than I did, perhaps, as to the specter behind the shadow. His girl mother, Madame de Thilloy, answered the bell when I rang at the door of his appartement. She embraced her boy and then turned to me graciously. “You are very kind, monsieur. W vill you not come in and take a glass of wine? have a friend with me who would be glad to meet you.” It was Charles who shouted the friend’s name with glee. “Le Lieutenant Méricourt!”’ A faint color crept over the pale skin of Madame de Thilloy as she answered, “ Yes, it is our lieutenant.” I excused myself once or twice, but as she pressed me I yielded to an invitation which seemed sincerely given. She led the way into her little salon, poorly but prettily fur- nished, as I saw at a glance, and with that faint scent of polished wood and black coffee which lin- gers always in French rooms, and seems—even in imagination, as I write these words—to bring back memories of France. A fig- ure rose as we entered, and I saw that it was a young officer of the Chasseurs Alpins, with an empty sleeve and a row of medals, and a fine hard face of southern type, with black eyes and ruddy skin. The boy was hugging him round the waist, but when Madame de Thilloy presented him he stood straight and bowed formally, and gave me his hand with a cor- dial gras “You have our D. S. O. be- sides all the others!” I said, glancing at his medals; and he smiled and answered, with just a touch of the south in the roll of his r’s: “I am proud of that! I was in Flanders on the left of your troops in the April fight- He had his one arm round the boy now, and we chatted a lit- tle together. Meanwhile Madame de Thilloy brought out some wine and filled three glasses. “Charles, my child,” she said, “go and wash your face and hands. They are enormously dirty.” But Charles protested. “Maman, let me have some wine, too, on this day of the Vic- tory March!” I saw her hesitate, looking at her boy with thoughtful eyes. The French lieutenant laughed and smoothed the lad’s hair. “Why not? It will do him no harm to take a sip.” “The smallest drop!”’ said drink. She saw that I noticed that, for she turned to me with a quick smile and gave me an explanation. “‘Let us not think of the enemy to-day! Let us remember only our heroes, alive and dead!” I liked her for that. There was no need now to say “A bas les boches!"" They were down and out, and remembering their own dead and their irretrievable ruin without consolation of any kind. In the hour of great victory we could afford to be chiv- alrous even to Germans. During that hour I stayed with Madame de Thilloy I noticed two things which made me wonder a little about the meaning of this girl’s life. I noticed—it was impossible not to see so plain a thing—the adoration of the French lieutenant for this lady. There was a homage in his eyes, which fol- lowed her about the room whenever she for France. It was not on the mantelshelf or in any corner of the room. While the lieutenant told some story of the war my mind wandered down byways of imagination in that absurd way which most minds have, almost subconsciously, of tracking down a thought to fanciful conclusions. “This girl’s husband is a bad hat,” I thought. ‘Perhaps he ran off with some other woman in the war. Or perhaps he was a coward or a traitor who has dis- graced his name. A traitor! Yes, that would account for what the old concierge said about the boy. ‘It’s a pity he was ever born!’ That would be horrible. To be the wife of a man shot as a traitor, like that fellow Bolo. Still, vf course, it may be the other way round. Perhaps Madame de Thilloy was not as faithful as she might have been, and now is conscience-stricken the French Punch antics of Polichinelle in the Champs-Elysées, or went for pi ratical voyages on the lake of the Bois de Boulogne which ended happily with rose tinted ices on the Ile des Chalets. Some times the Lieutenant Méricourt joined these expeditions, and I came to like that Chasseur Alpin with an empty sleeve. He was a gay-hearted fellow, with something of the spirit of those old troubadours of Provence whose poetry he knew by heart and recited with a tenderness and passion which made it live again. He was always singing little old omnes of France, to the great joy of young Charles; and some times, but not often, he told stories of his adventures in the war. That was when Charles pleaded hard with him. “Mon lieutenant, tell me of how you captured the chateau of Vermelles. As a great treat, mon lieutenant!"’ “No, no, Charles, let me for get the smell of blood and the Madame de Thilloy, and she poured out a little wine into a fourth glass. It was the lieuten- ant whoraised his first and proposed a toast. “A notre belle victoire!’’ We clinked glasses and drank, remember- ing the years of horror. “A la France!’ I said next, and both Lieutenant Méricourt and Madame de Thilloy answered by raising their glasses to me and saying very solemnly, “A nos Alliés!’ Then it was the turn of Charles, and drinking be fore he gave the toast with a great gulp of his little drop of wine, raised his glass like a Laughing Cavalier, and shouted, “A bas les boches!”’ I laughed at that, and so did the lieu- tenant, who repeated the words and drank the toast; but I saw that Madame de Thilloy put her glass down and did not sight of dead men! War is a dirty business —idiotic!’’ “But I want to hear how you fought the “Germans with the marble Venus.” “Poor lady! She was a figure of love, not made for such ascene as that. I will tell you the tale of Le Chat Botté.” ‘“*‘No, no, mon licut mani! Please! I want to hear about the fat Germans sticking halfway through the ceiling, and how they squealed when your men poked them with bayonets.” The lieutenant turned to me when the boy pleaded like that, and laughed in a comical way “Youth is very bloodthirst How are we going to kill he spirit of war in the human heart? You see, even now, so soon after the massacre which has destroyed the best blood of Europe, young ears listen to the tales of war as though! they were the exploits of Jack the Giant Killer!” “Better than that, mon lieu- tenant/”’ cried Charles. “I like the true tales best. Tell us about the chateau of Vermelles.” So, spilling a little wine on the wooden table under the trees on the Ile des Chalets, that flower strewn isle on the lake of the Bois, Armand Méricourt made a map of Vermelles, with the French lines round the village and the chateau in the center of the German stronghold. “‘T was here with my company. We had a machine gun behind some sandbags, but we had to keep our heads down, I can tell you, because the Germans had snipers in the windows of the chateau, five hundred yards away, and killed any man who showed his pate for a single sec ond. I had eight men killed like that, and their bodies lay un buried among us for three days, and we watched their faces go black and their bodies swell out in the heat. Not amusing that, my little one!” Not amusing, but terribly thrilling to young Charles, who listened with his mouth open, drinking in this tale. “We were preparing a mine to blow up the garden wall before “You, Too,"* Growted This Chasseur Alpin, “if You Stand in My Way!" moved. It was indeed more than homage. It was a spiritual hunger. The man desired this woman’s love so that the sound of her voice was music to him and every gesture she made was a beauty in his eyes. But he called her always madame, and spoke with a reverence and courtesy that disproved any notion I may have had that they were lovers, accepted and acknowledged. The second thing that intrigued me somewhat was the absence of any photograph of this woman’s husband. My gaze roved about the mantelshelf for the usual portrait of a French soldier—officer or poilu—draped in the tricolor, as in «.» many homes of France where women waited for their men, or on such a day as this gazed at the image of one of those martyrs who had died at the thought of the dead man, who, being dead, knows her guilt. No, that is ridicu- lous and caddish. What right have I to build up theories about this poor girl? How one’s brain busies itself with other people’s affairs!”’ After that evening on the féte day of victory I became a frequent guest in the little salon of Madame de Thilloy, owing to the devotion of young Charles, who shared me in his affection, it seemed, with his heroic lieutenant. Together we fought the Battle of the Marne and many bloody episodes of trench warfare on the polished boards of his mother’s sitting room with the little lead soldiers who had astounding qualities of courage and élan; and on sunny afternoons we stood watching the an assault on the chateau. You remember I have told you how we fought through the little gar dens and from wall to wall before we reached the outskirts of the small place in which the red brick chateau stood. Many of my poor comrades had fallen and at night we could hear the wounded crying and groan ing, where many of them lay half buried under piles of bricks and earth flung on top of them by shell fire. Not good sounds t hear at night above the chatter of the mitrailleuses!"’ Not good sounds, but the boy Charle made a tattoo on the wooden table with his finger nails to imitate machine-gun fire “The chateau was stuffed with German machine guns. All day and all night they swept the little place, and I knew that when we made our hole through the wall it was (Continued on Page 95)

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2 an (Continued from Page 91) my job to cross that place with my com- pany and lead the assault on the chateau. ‘C'est dréle, ca,’ I said to myself a thou- sand times. ‘To-morrow I shall be dead. To-day I am alive. I am very thirsty. These two hands of mine = **One hand,” said Charles. “Two hands, my little one. It was be- fore I lost my arm. ‘These two hands of mine can touch, press the trigger of a machine gun, obey every direction of my brain. To-morrow, when I cross that sacrée place, they will be like the hands of that dead body sticking out of loose earth a yard away from where I stand alive limp, leathery, dead. That is queer,’ I thought. ‘It is also damnable.’”’ “*Were you frightened?’’ asked Charles. **Enormously frightened,”’ answered the Lieutenant Méricourt, and this confession of a great hero thrilled the boy with a kind of exquisite horror. “It was at eleven o’clock in the morning that we mined the wall. It went up witha roar and a cloud of red brick dust. ‘Come on, you imbeciles!’ I shouted to my men they loved me to call them imbeciles and, as mad as devils, we made a rush into the place, where the red chateau stood with shell holes in its walls and sandbags in its windows, and mitrailleuses lashing the ground about us with wicked little bullets.” ““What happened then?” asked Charles, who had heard this story before and knew exactly what happened. “A funny little thing happened,” said the Chasseur Alpin, forgetting the boy a little and speaking to me, with somber eyes in which was the memory of a maurais quart d’heure. ‘‘A German officer, seeing the mine explosion, came rushing out of the chateau with some machine gunners to stop our way through the wall, but before he could get his gun into action we were on him with our bayonets. The fool had left the chateau door open, and that gave us our chance. We made a dash for that open door. I think it was fear that made us make for it, to get cover from the mitra- illeuses, which were vomiting lead about us. I had a pain like a red-hot poker through my right arm, and I remember cursing with the foulest words. And I remember seeing some of my men bowled over like rabbits as they ran. And after that I re- membered nothing until I was inside the drawing-room of the chateau with half a dozen lads. We panted there like pigs, and there was a strange silence in the room except for that hard breathing. It was a well-furnished room, with a piano in the corner and some plush-covered chairs torn by rifle fire and covered with plaster which had fallen from the ceiling, leaving only the naked laths up there. And in one corner of the room was a wooden pedestal with a figure of Venus on it, in white marble, unbroken.” The boy Charles drew a deep breath and smiled at this mention of the marble Venus. It was the choicest thrill of the story. “Upstairs there was the noise of men’s voices— German voices — shouting and curs- ing. I think they had found out we were in the house. We let them know for cer- tain. I fired my revolver through the ceiling, and heard the cry of a wounded man. Then my men smashed the laths with the butt ends of their rifles. Two of them stood on the sofa to reach the ceiling better. The laths gave way, and some Germans came through half-and-half, with their legs dangling. “They were screaming, and my men laughed when they stuck them with bayo- nets. It was very comical. I was laugh- ing like a madman— you know how it is in war—when the whole ceiling came down, and a dozen Germans fell on top of us. “Tt is difficult to remember details, mon- sieur. It isa little like a dream afterward a nightmare. I remember that one of my lads had his nose bitten off by a German who was on top of him, and another, a Breton, strangled a big German with his two thumbs on the windpipe, which made a strange, gurgling noise. I had lost my revolver when the ceiling came down, and had no weapon. It was then that I seized the marble Venus with my left hand. You remember, I told you of that pain in my right arm, like a red-hot poker? It was a good thing, that white Venus, hard and handy. I held her by the legs and brained a German who sprang at my throat. After that, two more. Then the Venus broke in half, and I was at the mercy of a German officer who stood by the open door of the -prettier than the smoke of shell fire.’ little salon with an automatic pistol which covered me. I had not seen him before, but now I stared into his eyes and made ready to spring at him. Suddenly he dropped his pistol, and before he could stoop to pick it up I had my foot on it. He spoke to me in French. ““*Tt is strange to meet here, Méricourt.’ “I stared at him again, and said, are you, Schweinhund?’” “Once we were friends,’ he said, and I remembered him as a man I had known in Dresden before the war, when I was studying music. ““*Now,’ I said, ‘we are not friends, and I am going to kill you.’”’ “But you did not kill him!” said Charles. “No, he was too quick for me. He turned from the door and ran down a passage which led to the garden of the chateau. He was the only German who escaped alive from the chateau of Ver- melles. I am sorry he escaped.” “So am I,” said Charles. ‘But it is a splendid story.” Armand Méricourt touched his empty sleeve. “It cost me that.” “Queer coincide nce, meeting that Ger- man at such a time!’’ I said. ‘‘What was his name? “T have forgotten his name.” He put his one arm round the boy Charles, who snuggled close to him ador- ingly, and said tenderly: ‘‘Sometimes I wish to forget all those years of war as completely as I have forgotten that man’s name. Peace is better, cleaner, more beautiful, here on the Ile des Chalets, with roses in bloom, and boys making love to their girls, and white clouds that are Armand “Who I know now that he remembered the German’s name as well as that scene in the chateau of Vermelles. It was Madame de Thilloy who told me the name a few nights later, when I sat with her alone, after the boy had gone to bed. We had been playing a game of cards together for the amusement of Charles, and I noticed that the girl’s hand trem- bled when she played, and that once when there was a knock at the door she let all her cards fall, to the great disgust of Charles, and stared toward the door with a panic look. It was only the postman, but that she was suffering from a sense of fear I knew when I rose to take my leave, as soon as Charles had gone off to his room. “Stay with me a little while,”’ she said; and then in a pitiful way, “I am fright- ened.” The confession was so abrupt that I was startled, and more alarmed when suddenly she lost control of her nerve and wept with most passionate grief. I could do nothing but utter silly, soothing words, with the awkwardness of an Englishman at such a time, and presently she gained some self- control and begged me to pardon her for such lack of dignity, such foolishness. I lit a cigarette and chatted about small things, while she mopped her eyes, and then mentioned Armand Méricourt and his wonderful story of the chateau of Vermelles, and his strange meeting with the German he had known in Dresden. “It's a pity he has forgotten the man’s name,” I remarked to keep the conversa- tion going. “He has not forgotten,” said Madame de Thilloy, ‘‘and I will tell you.” She spoke witha curious emphasis which gave her words a sense of tragedy, though why I could not guess. ‘His name,” she said, with a quick in- drawing of breath, “is Franz von Miirren He is my husband, and the father of Charles.” I confess that I was dumfounded by these words, and could think of nothing on earth to say except some foolish murmur of “Really!” or ‘Good gracious!’’ which did not meet the case at all “You know his name?”’ asked Madame de Thilloy more calmly, after her astonish- ing confession. “‘He was a famous singer before the war.” Yes, l remembered then. He had taken London by storm at Covent Garden as Lohengrin, on a gala night, when the King and Queen were there. A young, tall man with blue eyes and a handsome, boyish face. His portrait had been in all the pic- ture papers. He had been interviewed a score of times. He was lionized in London society before going abroad again to many capitals of Europe. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST That evening in the little salon Madame de Thilloy, as she called herself now by her maiden name, told me with wonderful candor and simplicity the story of how this young German had fallen in love with her and she with him. She did not deny her love for him in those days when she had been a pupil of his, or the happiness of their married life when for three years before the war she had traveled with him and then, before another season of opera which never came because the drums of death played other music in the world lived with him in a big old house at Auteuil, be yond the roar of Paris. ‘That was the house that Charles re members,”’ I said; and Madame de Thilloy nodded and smiled a little. “Yes, his dream house with the big clock in the hall and the winding stairs as high as the Kiffel Tower.” “And the man who sang old songs in a voice like the organ of the Madeleine.” I think the most pitiful thing in Madame de Thilloy’s narrative was the memory of the love that still came pressing back into her heart for this German husband whom she had abandoned forever. He had adored her, it was clear, and there had been no harsh word* between them until that day when she implored him not to go back to Germany and fight against France. They had had a frightful scene. The man had wept more than the woman, cursing war, protesting to God against the abomination that was coming upon the world, and yet giving his wife no hope that he would desert his country ‘lam a German,” he said over and ove again. ‘“‘I must go back, and, if need be, fight for my Fatherland. I am a German! I cannot escape from my duty!” ‘But you may have to kill my brothers!” his wife had cried out. “Your brothers may kill me,” he had answered. “The boyhood of France and Germany will die in the same shambles.’ They had argued, quarreled and wept again. Then Franz von Miirren had to go, because an agent de police came to see him in the last train to Basel. He had em braced the baby, Charles, but his wife, Suzanne, had not embraced him in that last moment. She had called him the enemy of her country, and though he struggled to kiss her hands she would not let him until she fell into a swoon \ tragic scene that was happening in more rooms than one in the world that night on the outbreak of war! The rest had fol lowed—the invasion of Belgium, the atrocity stories, the slaughter of Frencl youth; and Suzanne, who called herself De Thilloy—her maiden name —hated the memory of her German husband with the shuddering aversion of all Frenchwomen or most—for the race that had done such evil deeds. She had suffered in the year of war. Her two brothers had been killed one on the Somme, one at Verdun, that greatest of graveyards. “You had one comfort,” I said. “You had little Charles.” I think only a Frenchwoman would have revealed another cause of tragedy so frankly and with such an intimate know] edge of her own psychology as this lady did to me. Little Charles had been an agony and not a comfort to her. Her very love for him was like a poisoned dagger in her heart. As he grew older she could see the German in him getting stronger, un mistakable. Nothing would alter his blue eyes and his fair hair; nothing would alte a hundred little traits of character, of man ner, even of speech, in which she saw —or fancied she saw, poor soul—the blood and spirit of the German race. He ate his soup like a German—I told her that all children do. He had a habit of sudden rage He laughed like a German, had a passion for music —‘‘ Nothing wrong in that!’’ I said and was Teutonic in a way that frightened her. “‘Sometimes,’’ she told me, “I see in him a miniature boche, the little incarnation of the German race, and it makes my heart swoon sg “Nerves!"’I said. “ Morbid psychology, madame. Charles is French to his finger tips, crazy about la gloire de France, and the noblest boy for his age I have ever met on this side of the Channel.” She shook her head miserably. “IT should love him better if he had dark eyes, like Armand Méricourt.” I think those words slipped out before she knew she was speaking them, for in stantly they left her lips she blushed very deeply. When I rose to go she told me 95 something else which startled me as mucl as her first confession of a German husband “Why were you frightened to be left alone?” I asked She hesitated before she answered, and then spoke ina low voice: ‘IT have told you so much that I may now tell you all. That man who was my hus band is in Paris. He is one of the secre taries of the peace commission It is certain that he will try to find me.”’ I was silent at this piece of news ‘You will never go back to him?” I asked ‘I would die rather!"’ she told me, and there was a thrill of passion in her voice One must have been in France during the years of war to understand the mentality of this lady. One must have seen the flame of hatred in the soul of France for all that was German. I think an English wife of a German husband would have kept her love for him, if she had loved him, in spite of the brutalities of wi ar, and would have seen the tragedy of the conflict with a wider pity for its victims on both sides, with loyalty to England and yet with fidelity to her man and recognition of his own sense of duty and honor. Indeed, I know women of England who had to face that frightful problem of double allegiance and who rose above the limiting ideal of na tional hatred. In France, invaded, out raged, martyred, it was more difficult almost beyond human nature. Yet my own view is that the love of two human beings should be sacred even in the passion of a conflict dividing their peoples to the death, if they are truly mated; though I admit that “if’’ begs half the question During the next few days Madame de Thilloy had no need of my company, I found, for Armand Méricourt, the Cha eur Alpin, spent many hours in her salon, with the boy as a third party I think the lieutenant was pleading with her for a final abandonment of her German husband and for a new scheme of life by which his own dream would be fulfilled So much I guessed from the prattle of young Charles, whom | met in the court yard, and who told me that his lieutenant was very angry with would not go and play with him in his house at Tour ‘He thinks it is idiot of maman to stay here forever, when his heart is hungry for her in that chateau which is empty. That is what my lieutenant said, though I do jot understand how his heart is hungry at ours while his body here and quite we ll fed. I think it is poetry he is speaking I thought so, too, and I pitied the ‘poet heart of the man who had been through hell in war and now wanted joy in peace Charles spent an afternoon in my rooms while his mother and the lieutenant went driving in the Bois, and it was after a game of dominoes that there was a knock at the d or “Come with me, maman because she Charles,”’ I said, ‘ “and I will see what the postman brings to day But it was not the postman Vhen I opened the door, while Charles eld my hand, I saw a tall young man outside, whose face seemed vaguely known to me—a hand ome face, blue-eyed and rather English looking He lifted his hat and spoke in ilmost perfect French, perfect except for a lightly heavy r. He seemed very nervou ind agitated ‘Pardon me-—doe a lads named Madame de Thilloy live here?” I guessed at once that it wa Franz von Miirrer His wife had prepared me for that, though not for this coming to my own door. Before I could answer him his gaze had fallen on the child, and a bright, eager look came into his face ‘Is it possible?"’ he said in a kind of whisper. Then he gave a queer ery, and said: “Charles! My little son. Oh, m dear baby, grown so tall, so big!” Before I could speak he had lifted boy to his heart and kissed him a dozer times greedily, while tears streamed dow his face. The boy was frightened. He struggled out of the man’s arms and ther took cover behind me Franz von Murre called to him “Charles, my sor , do not be afraid! IT ar the father who went away from you wher the war began. I have come back again ‘My father } dead,’ iid Charl Then omething, I think tirred in the child’ memory ome face din reme! bered a ina dream and hea ed a queer! question: ‘“‘Are you the man wl ng with an organ voice?”’ (Concluded on Page 98)

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The WARREN Standard Printing Papers are Warren's Cameo Dull x ted pape for art half-t Warren's Warrentown Coated Book Glossy-coate 1, CS] i 3S ped for proces r printing Warren's Cumberland Coated Book A generally popular, relatively inexpen ! gwiossy ~ ited pape Warren's Silkote An nore ror } t printi | Warren's Printone A semt-coated paper espe " uited larwe edition w K requiring half-tone Warren's Library Text An English finish paper taking mediut creen halt-tone atisfactorily Warren's Olde Style A watermarked antique finish paper for distinctive book work devoted t type and line cut Warren's Cumberland Super Book A super-calendere paper of star quality tor halt-tone, ¢, and t Warren's Cumberland Machine Book A moderately } ichine finish paper of the first quality Warren's Artogravure Fgyshell finish for offset Warren's India an Warren's Thintext For thin editions THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 1,192! better paper COCKS better Warren's ;od hSTANDARO | rinting

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Se THE SATURDAY EVENING POST BOOKS that are made to be cut up NCE each month for the year 1921 every paper merchant who sells Warren’s Standard Printing Papers will distribute copies of a series of books known as ‘Printing Sales Material.’’ These books are made to be cut up. They are intended to enable the printer, artist, designer, or adver- tising manager to sit down with shears and paste and in a few minutes prepare a presentable and understand- able dummy for any sort of booklet, catalog, or folder. Each of these books shows specimens of type pages and layouts, type faces, title pages, covers, illustrations, rules, borders, decorations, etc., that are exactly the sort of thing needed for the first steps in planning printing. In addition, each book is a demonstration of the print- ing possibilities of the Warren Standard Paper upon which it is printed. These books are not sold. They are distributed by the merchants who sell Warren’s Standard Printing Papers. A list of these firms is printed here. ‘The list will not appear in subsequent advertisements. We suggest you make a note now of the distributor nearest your city, and apply to him if you can use these books. S. D. WARREN COMPANY BOSTON, MASS. PRINTING Sydney), B. J. Ball, Ltd List of Paper Merchants Who Sell Warren’s Standard Printing Papers Atlanta, Ga Sloan Paper Co Baltimore, Md D. L. Ward Co Boston, Mass A. Storrs & Bement Co Buffalo, N. Y The Alling & Cory C Chicago, I! J. W. Butler Paper Co Cincinnati, Ohio The Diem & Wing Paper Co Cleveland, Ohio he Petrequin Paper Co Colurnbus, Ohio The Diem & Wing Paper Co Dallas, Texas Southwestern Paper Co Detroit, Mict Butler Paper Co Grand Rapids, Mich Central Michigan Paper Cx Hartford, Conn Henry Lindenmeyr & Sons Houston, Texas Southwestern Paper Co Jacksonville, Fla Antietam Paper Co., Inc Kansas City, Mo Missouri-Interstate Paper Co Los Angeles, California Sierra Paper Co Louisville, Ky The Diem & Wing Paper C« Lynchburg, Va Caskie-Dillard Co., Inc Memphis, Tenn Tayloe Paper Co Milwaukee, Wis Standard Paper Co Minneapolis, Minn The John Leslie Paper Co Newark, N. J Henry Lindenmeyr & Sons New Haven, Conn A. Storrs & Bement Co New Orleans, La The Diem & Wing Paper Co New York City Henry Lindenmeyr & Sons New York City (Export) National Paper & Type Co Omaha, Neb field Hamilton Smith Paper ¢ Philadelphia, Pa D. L. Ward Co Pittsburgh, Pa The Alling & Cory Co Portland, Me C. M. Rice Paper Co Portland, Ore Endicott Paper Co Richmond, Va D Ward Co Rochester, N. Y The Alling & Cory Co St. Louis, Mo Mississippi Valley Paper Co St. Paul, Minn Nassau Paper Co San Francisco, Cal Pacific Coast Paper Co Seattle, Wash Mutual Paper Co Springfield, Mass he Paper House of New England Washington, D.C., D. L. Ward ¢ London, England, Lindenmeyr & Johnson Paper Co., Ltd Australia (Brisbane, Melbourne PAPE RS

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Vulcanize good as new, THE BILLINGS-CHAPIN CO Boston Cleveland New York eae ONE |\DECK PAINT ww in fo. floors and watte nmaRo DOLLARS IN HARES we charges. Big Prot We furnish ed high grad tock ane Use back yard , ntract and Mlustrated ¢ ! Standard Food & Fur age 401 T Broadway New York rm Ox THE SATURDAY (Conctuded from Page 95) ‘Yes,” said Franz von Miirren. “The father who sang you to sleep with old lullabies ™ It was then that I stepped between the father and son. “Sir,” I said, “‘this child is in my care for a little while, and his mother has not given me permission to let him talk with— with—visitors.” I remember stammering out the words, afraid of hurting the man, this man who had come back, yet thinking of what Madame de Thilloy would say when she came home again. ‘‘He is my son,”’ said the man simply. ‘His mother is my very dear wife. I have long been parted from her by this tragic war.” “Are you really my father?’’ asked Charles. lave you come alive again?” “Yes,” said Franz von Miirren, “‘I have come back to life.” How could I keep this man from his son when I could see that his whole soul was stirred to joy by the sight of the child? What right had I to step in between them? None in the world, I thought, and still think. Yet, knowing the hatred of the boy’s mother for this German husband, I was put into a very grave predicament, for I owed some loyalty to her, having been left with her child on trust, as it were. At that moment I heard the laughter of Armand Méricourt at the bottom of the staircase, and guessed that Madame de Thilloy was with him. I shrank from the really tragic thought that a meeting be- tween this husband and wife should happen without warning, and with the Chasseur \/pin and myself as onlookers. I spoke sharply to the boy: “Charles, run lieutenant I am here The boy was startled by my sudden com- mand, and ran as I bade him, with a cry of ** Mon lieutenant!”’ I think he wanted to tell his hero this wonderful news of the father who had come back, but I did not think then of its effect upon that French- man. I spoke to Franz von Murren: “Come inside, sir, I beg of you.’ He stepped farther into the passage, and I shut the door behind him and led him to my room, So we stood face to face, and | remember now the anguish in the man’s eyes, startled by my action of sending the boy away, and guessing a little perhaps the near presence of his wife. ‘You are English, are you not?”’ he said, speaking in my own tongue. “‘May I ask what you have to do with my wife and boy a ‘Iam a mere friend,” lanswered. ‘‘ But your wife has told me something of her life.”’ ‘Then you know that I am German?” he said. “Yes, I know.” He was silent for a moment, deeply. He seemed like a man who sees all his life outspread, as men say the drowning do “This war,” he said—and I was struck by the beauty of his speaking voice and remembered his fame as a singer—‘“this tragic war has not made it good to be a German in France or England. In my case it has been the worst of tragedies, for it made me the enemy of my wife’s people. But all through these years I have lived with the hope of finding her love again, of seeing her dear beauty, which is my life, and devoting all the years I may have to her happiness. Do you know my wife well enough to tell me whether the man she e loved may hope for that? downstairs! Tell the thinking EVENING POST The wistfulness of these words, their humiliation, touched me poignantly. “She has not written to you?” I asked. “For five years I have had no word—nor any of my friends.” “Tt was difficult for you to hear,” I said. “Difficult, yes, but not impossible.” He waited for me to give him some hope, and I cast about in my mind for some vague, noncommittal words which might give him faint consolation. All my pity was for this German now, and the specters of the war did not stir my hatred. A stricken soul seems to me above all racial enmities. I spoke to him again: “T don’t know your wife very well; not well enough to give you any answer to your question. But if you'll wait here I’il go and see her and take a message, and bring back her reply.” He accepted this like a hungry dog to whom a bone is thrown. “Tell her this,” he said: ‘“‘‘I die without you. My love cries out for you. In the name of God, who made us man and wife, I beg you to see me again.’”’ I left him standing there and went across the outside passage to the door opposite my own. When I knocked it was Armand Meéric ourt who opened it. There was an unusual pallor beneath the bronze of his skin, and his dark eyes were somber. ‘Has that sacré boche gone?”’ he asked. “Not yet. I have a message for his wife.” He swore a frightful oath, but stood by while I passed into the little salon. Madame de Thilloy stood close to the table, white to the lips, and waited for me to speak. Charles held to her frock. He looked frightened and was quite silent. Some tragic scene had happened before I came. ‘I have a message, madame, from your husband,”’ I said. “Have I your permis- sion to give it before Lieutenant Méri- court and little Charles?’”’ She nodded, but did not speak. I repeated the words of Franz von Miirren exactly as I remembered them ‘He says, ‘I die without you. My love cries out for you. In the name of God, who made us man and wife, I beg you to see me.’"’ Madame de Thilloy, as she was called, raised her hands and put them up to her face, and I thought she was near swooning. It was Armand Méricourt who spoke first after my message. “Tell this boche,” he said savagely, “that his Kaiser broke all contracts made by God and man between French and Ger- mans. He is no longer the husband of this lady.” I turned to Madame de spoke to her gently: “Shall I take madame?” She tried to speak and failed, and then broke into spasms of weeping. Charles stroked her hand, but I think she was un- conscious of that touch. It was Armand Méric ourt who spoke again: “There is an easy way and a good an- swer. I will go and kill the man, and finish what I left undone in the chateau of Vermelles.” He took his revolver from its case and slouched toward the door. I am certain that he intended to fulfill his words. “Not in my room!” I said, and stood between him and the door. “You, too,” growled this Chasseur Alpin, “if you stand in my way!” I'm certain he meant that also, and I was very near death that moment. Then Madame de Thilloy spoke: “IT will go and see this man.” She put her hand on my arm, and the Chasseur Alpin fell back before her and let Thilloy and back your answer, January 1,192! us pass. I think he was cowed by the tragedy of her face, so white, so ghostly. My little door on the other side of the passage was locked by the click of the patent catch, and I remember fumbling with the key before I could get it open. Franz von Miirren stood just inside the door of the small room, and the light from the gas overhead in the passage fell on his face. It brought back to my mind the figure of Lohengrin as I had seen him on a gala night at Covent Garden. He took one step forward, with a wonderful look of joy, and the on stood still and spoke her name: “Suzanne! Ma femme!”’ She answered him coldly: “What is it you want with me?”’ I heard no more than that, for I passed quickly by the lady and turned into a little hall on the left, and shut the door be- tween them and me. I think she stayed with him no more than ten minutes, though I cannot be sure. I heard the murmur of their voices, the man’s voice passionate and pleading, the woman's cold and hard. Then silence. Then the click of the latch and the shutting of my front door. I went into the passage. Franz von Miirren sat at my table with his head on his arms, ag ag I left him there until some time later I heard his footsteps in a stumbling way across the passage. He too went out, and my door closed again with the click of the patent catch, and I was alone with a sense of tragedy. I have never seen Madame de Thilloy since. She left the house in the Rue de la Pompe next morning early with her boy Charles, and from the concierge I learned that they had gone away from Paris. wondered whether they had gone to Tours, and hoped not. For the sake of the bleed- ing heart of Franz von Miirren, German as he was, I hoped not, as well as for the soul of Suzanne de Thilloy, who once had loved him. For her I am sure there would be no real happiness in a chateau at Tours with that husband's love between her and a Chasseur Alpin. It was Armand Méricourt who told me the end of the tale when I met him a few days ago at Chartres. He held out his hand and said, ‘‘Comment ca va, mon vieux?"’ and then invited me to an apéritif. For some time we spoke of casual things. Not a word about the lady who was in both our minds. Then abruptly he told me what I wanted most to know. ** Madame de Thilloy— you remember? went back to her boche husband. They are living in Italy. He fell ill in Switzerland and she nursed him back to life. I think she always loved him, even whe 2n she hated him. Women are like that.’ I remembered young Charles using that phrase. ““Women are like that,” he said once, making me laugh. Perhaps he had learned it from his lieutenant. Armand Méricourt took another sip of his ape ritif. ‘It’s a pity I didn’ t kill him in the chateau at Vermelles,”’ he said in his quiet way. I was silent, votion to Suzanne de Thilloy, sorry for him. “Or rather,” Inside the room thinking of this man’s de- and feeling he said presently, continu- ing his thought, “‘it’s a pity, he didn’t kill me. I’m finished—anyhow.’ We spoke no more on that subject, but talked of the war and of the peace. The lieutenant of Chasseurs Alpins cursed both with very dreadful oaths.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 1, 1921 Raver ey Cl uigihr> 1g that ret vole Vos IrURE| M6. co. BRISTO oct SOND:

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an SE <a re every primal instinct in the onlookers. A handful of people hissed or yelled “‘Shame!”’ Their protests were lost in a whirlwind of shouts and handclaps and in the pounding of myriad feet. Dizzy, “7, shaken, drunk with the fearful concussion, Cal Benton came to his senses. He found himself lying in a ring-side box, while Bud Kelleher thumbed expertly his supra-orvital nerve, and the weeping Mil- dred held ammonia to his twitching nos- trils. For the best part of three minutes he had been senseless; long enough for Ira to leave the ring and get to the dressing rooms, but not long enough for the bedlam of shouts to die down “T'll—I’ll go see Iry in his dressing room,” babbled Cal when he was able to sit up. “That was a chance punch. I know how rotten he’ll be feeling about it. I'll just go say it’s all—all right—and " “You'll come home, dearie,”’ contradicted Mildred. *‘ You'll come right straight home and let me put you to bed. As for seeing Iry Mack, aay never see him again if I’ve got anything to say about Jit. The brute done it a- purpose. He Yo, no!”’ denied Cal fervently. “‘Not Iry, girl! You a him wrong. Iry wouldn't make so small of me. No white man would. It w: is a fluke. I must ’a’ run into it, or else “Come on home!" repeated Mildred with great firmness as she signaled to Kelle- her to support the tottering man on one side while she “4 up his other elbow. ““Come on home, like I say. That’s a good bh . ° Let THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE OLD MAN Continued from Page 13) beating him to the punch. I did not want to disappoint the people of Pitvale who were looking forward to seeing me box. So I did the only other thing left me to do. “It says that?” roared Cal, scrambling out of bed and snatching the paper. ‘The paper says that? Lemme see!” Mouthing, shivering, he read and rerés ad the brief interview. Mildred at first sought to soothe his stark fury by motherly clucks and pats. But presently she desisted, for Cal’s rage had departed. He stood move- less, cold, masklike of visage. For perhaps five minutes he stood so—oblivious of Mildred’s cooing queries and condolences. Then without a word, and ignoring his wife’s protests, he began to get into his clothes. Yet, once dressed, he did nothing. He did not go to his studio. He refused to see a reporter and a half score friends who called. All day long he sat wordless and granite-faced by an upper window. At in- tervals he would pull the crushed news- paper from his pocket and read slowly the interview with Ira Mack. With difficulty Mildred got him to come downstairs for supper. Scarce had he seated himself, dumb and rigid, at the table when the door burst open and his son Orville came storming into the room. At sight of the twelve-year-old, Mildred cried aloud in horror. Even Cal came far enough out of his stupor to stare open-mouthed. The little fellow’s face was a mask of blood. A front tooth was gone—a new one at that—and his tip-tilted nose looked less like a nose than like a prize tomato which had been blight smitten. One eye was a puffed slit, under which darkness already had begun to gather. There was a bump on his forehead and another on his chin. His collar and tie were gone, his shirt was torn and his once-neat jacket was split from collar to hip. Such ¢lothes as he still wore were uniformly caked with dirt and blood. So was his face. His knuckles were raw. He was an awesome little sight. “Ofall the ” shrilled his mothef, then breath failed her. But heedless of her ery and of his own weird aspect, Orville marched straight up to Cal. Tersely—his words impeded by swollen lips—the lad reported. “Startin’ home,” he puffed, “‘after the ball game. Met Byron Mack. He said you'd never saw the day you could last out three rounds against Iry. Said you quit the ring when you did because you saw Iry was a comer an’ that he'd lick you, just like he did last night. Said you was yaller. Said Iry told him so. Says he’s goin’ to tell all the other fellers what Iry said. He won't!” The boy stopped long enough to explore with a bitten tongue the hollow where once his best upper front tooth had blossomed Then he went on jerkily as before “‘He acted like he had a lot more to say, but I didn’t wait to hear it. I had to sail into him. Someone had to, and there was only me. Likewise I did.” “Orrie!"’ gasped Mildred. “Why, that great lout of a Byron Mack is more’n two 101 years older than you! And he’s a head taller and ever so mu h heavier, You don't me an to say you “Yes'm. That s why I look like ldo. If he hadn’t of been that much older an’ bigger an’ so much used to scrappin’, he couldn't ‘a’ messed me up like he did before | wa able to get him hollerin’ "nuff! Dad, he lied, didn’t he? I told him he did. But I'd like fi ne to hear you say so tao.” ‘Yes, kid,’’ answered Cal, sinking back into his dull apathy, albeit with a new tenseness of jaw. ‘‘ Yes, kid, he lied. Let it go at that. Now go wash yourself up And—if Byron Mack or anyone else give you the same line of talk again don't you get to fighting with ‘em. I-—there’s bette: ways better ways.” Nor would Cal oper his mouth again on the theme of Ira Mack’s trickery. He did not so much as mention Ira’s name. He did not even vouchsafe a word of commer when news came a week later that Mac had beaten the light-heavyweight cham pion of the East in the twelfth round of a slashing fight, and had won for himself Cal Benton's long-abandoned title But Bud Kelleher could have told the world at large that Cal spent something like two hours daily for a while in writing mysterious letters, some of them with checks in them, and in brooding, shut-eyed, for long spells, or in scribbling figures and words on scraps of paper At last Benton went into long executive session with Bud Next week the two closed the studio indefinitely and left Pitval Nor did

mommer fuss over you and put cool things on your poor head. Come on! Bed’s the place for you!” Because he was too sick and wabbly to resist, Cal let his wife and the roustabout guide him out of the arena and to a cab. Yet he was sorry to go home without a vord of reassurance to the friend whose blunder had knocked him out. Next morning, when she had given him his breakfast in bed and bathed his rioting head for the tenth time, Mildred drew a newspaper from her ample blouse and it down beside her husband. “T hate like toad pie to read you this,” she began. “But you’ve got to know it sometime, an d it'll kind of come easier from someone thatloves youlikeIdo. Just listen here a minute, dearie.”” She ran a plump finger tip down one of the paper’s columns, mumbling words under her breath, until she found the place she sought. ‘Here it is,” said she. ‘“‘I can read you the fight story by and by. The Chron’cle ed’tor treats you fine in it; and there’s a nice little piece about you, too, where the editorials are. But I wanted to read you this part of the paper now, be fore Bud Kel- leher or anyone can come in and spill it. It'll come easier from me.” Clearing her comfortable voice, she read slowly and impressively: ‘Before returning to his training quarters at Wyckoff by the owl train Ira Mack said to a Chronicle reporter at the Union Station: ‘I hated to do it, for I used to be very fond of him. I en- tered on this bout to-night with the clear understanding it was to be a friendly exhi- bition go. Then just before I stepped into the ring ] learned on authority I could not doubt that Benton had been betting heavily at long odds that he would knock me out in the third round, There were only just two things I could do. I could

their native town hear of them for many a long day Meanwhile Ira Mack wa basking and wallowing and reveling in the chaste bli which awaits a new-made champion. He filled a six week small-time vaudeville engagement, pulled down a tidy package of cash by working in a motion-picture company’s tunt serial,

patronized in lor tly fashion Don Fancher, his patient manager, and for the first time in his impecunious life spent money as he would All this, and the worship of fight hangers-on, was golder reward for the hungry years, and Ira’ ample-size soul expanded under The best part of the whole thing was that he had barel begun. Richer and richer day tretched out before him. There were ju set up fights to loaf through, with a bag of Nn at the end of each, Later there would be the light-hea weight champior of the world to challenge in athlete whose partiality t trong drink and to weak women had ripened him for the first rugged contender he could be baited int ny After that

But the set-up fights were first in order The ould not begin too mm f the torrential flo f po money were to continue a lushly as of late And Ira bade Don Fancher get bu Fancher sought the be location for ich a battle, even before he looked for opponent Pitvale was a fight tov It was Mack's home tow: It proclaimed himi its fave ite son, or at least enoug! Pitvale to insure fat gate re ceipt Pitvale, moreo possessed i puendia auditorium and a suj placent mayor i chief. Pitvale, ther choser set up Next on ng th yr] sort f man Far him of Cor

refuse to go on, or I could save my reputation by He Bowed Gractoustly to the Plaudit:Throbbing Crowd, Smiled Tenderly at the Screened Gallery Box heavyweilg champ) (Concluded on Page 105

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST On August 25, 1920, at San Francisco, Vacuum Cup Tires withstood the test of rounding a wet, slippery corner at thirty-five miles an hour in the Safety First demonstration—the feature event of the third annual i convention of the National Traffic Officers’ Association. Think what such non-skid safety means to you and to those who ride in your car! the SAFETY costs you nothing!

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(Concluded from Page 101) whom Mack had so recently dethroned. Fitzroy was in a financial slough, owing to heavy bets he had staked on himself against Ira and to the monetary collapse which follows hard upon the loss of a champion- ship. Like Mack, though for more urgent reason, Fitzroy yearned for ready cash. An hour’s chat between himself and Fancher ended in a thoroughly amicable arrangement, whereby in return for twelve rounds of hippodrome fighting and a sensa- tional knock-out the late champion was to be enriched to the sum of fifteen hundred dollars. After their former go, Fitzroy had no delusions of grandeur as to his ability to defeat the redoubtable Mack. So he was quite willing to play fair and to earn his fifteen hundred dollars and take his re- hearsed knock-out strictly along the lines dictated by Fancher. Next, Fitzroy shrieked loudly in every sporting page within reach that he had been doped before his championship bout with Ira, and that in decent condition he could thrash Mack to a standstill. Wherefore he clamored for a return match. Mack, with true mar ieey wa pa answered this broadside by saying he did not want to owe his championship to a fluke. If Fitzroy really had been doped or otherwise disabled before their other fight he was willing to give him a return match, and to stake his title on his ability to thrash the man a sec- ond time. Bothstatements were writtenby Fancher, and they made a distinct impression on the fight-going public. Artieles were signed, a date was fixed for the bout, Pitvale was chosen as the location, and both gladiators went into brief but widely press-agented training. Added heart interest was given to the affair by an announcement that Ira had stipulated that The Girl—heavily chaperoned by his own father and mother and his kid brother Byron—should witness the contest from a screened gallery box. Mack even waived the championship prerogative of making his antagonist go into the ring first on the night of the battle. Having absolutely no fear of the outcome, and being in no need of scaring or impress- ing Fitzroy by a long wait, he entered the thronged auditorium ten minutes before the hour scheduled for the event, and strolled with languid grace down the main aisle from dressing room to ring The air shook and heaved with applause. It was to taste this adulation and to bask longer in the ring with all eyes admiringly fixed on him that Ira had preceded the gallant Fitzroy into the arena. He bowed graciously to the plaudit-throbbing crowd, smiled tenderly at the screened gallery box and draped himself upon his stool in a corner of the ring. There he sat while the applause flickered out and while the spectators wearied of staring at the bath-robed figure and began to glance toward the dressing-room door in anticipation of the other warrior. Noting which, Ira shifted in his seat and whispered to Fancher, “What's keepin’ Fitz? Send someone to hustle him along.” Obediently Fancher dispatched a handler to the dressing room where fifteen minutes earlier he had seen Fitzroy disrobing for the bout. The room was empty. Fitzroy and his two seconds had departed. Behind them they had left a note in Fitzroy’s sprawly handwriting to the effect that the fighter had been assailed by sudden and horrible cramps in the midst of undressing. He was subject to these cramps. They lasted for at least a day before wearing themselves out. He was in no condition to fight, or even to stand upright. Hence his apologies—also his Supseenes, By the time Fancher and the furious Mack had fairly read and mastered the hideous contents of the note the crowd had begun to whistle. Then it began to clap, then to groan and to cateall. The Pitvale Auditorium manager trotted over to the ring and held a swift and tragic conference with Fancher and Mack. At the conclu- sion of the council—and spurred by the ever-increasing racket of the spectators the Pitvale manager walked to the center of the ring and waved both short arms for silence. He got it. “The management begs to regret,’’ he megaphoned, “that Con Fitzroy has been took with a bad sickness, and the doctor says positively that it’d be his death to set foot into the ring. The management,” he went on more loudly, to be heard above a babel of disapprobation from the specta- tors—‘‘the management begs to apologize. And the management begs to announce THE SATURDAY that the champion stands ready to take on any p’fessional of his weight who may happen to be here to-night. The man- agement ——— The buzzing of the crowd drowned his voice. No less than four men jumped to their feet and made for the ring, brandishing their arms to attract the manager's atten- tion. These men were what ring habitués know as waiters—pugilists who make a practice of attending fights in the hope that one of the combatants may fail to appear and that a volunteer chopping block may be called for. There is enough money in this waiter game to make it worth many a third-rater’s while. First of the quartet to reach the ring was a fellow who had started to mill his way forward before the manager had begun to speak. At sight of him someone clapped. Some- one else cheered. The cheer was taken up as hundreds of Pitvalians recognized Cal Benton. Into the ring clambered Cal, a full twenty feet ahead of his nearest rival. “First come, first served !"’ he sang out as he and Bud Kelleher found their footing side by side on the canvas floor. ‘ Hello, Iry! Care ‘bout taking me on, for a subs’- toot? Hey?’ For an instant Mack’s face went blank with astonishment. Then his quick brain began to work. He himself was in the pink of condition, for set-up fights were still too much of a novelty to him to permit of any chance-taking. He was more than twelve ane younger than Benton, and the latter's eisurely studio life had not kept him from a slight softness or from a tendency toward meridional fat. There could be no doubt as to the out- come of such a fight. Youth, as ever, must be served. The aging back number, in bare semitraining, against the fiery young fight- ing machine, would serve better for set-up yurposes than the cramp-ridden Fitzroy; yesides being a local hero who had once received louder and warmer applause than had Mack. “You're on!’ decreed Ira; while Fancher and the Pitvale manager all but embraced the life-saving Cal, and the crowd cheered its fool head off. Into the ring less than ten minutes later ee Cal Benton, swathed in his rusty yath robe. The professionally faithful Bud Kelleher at his heels was his only attend- ant—laden with bottles, pail and towels. Cal sat low in his corner. He still wore his bath robe when he and Mack came to the ring center for their instructions from the referee. Only when the bell rang for the first round did Benton cast off the shapeless garment. At the same time he cast off the shyly deprecating manner he had worn with it. A ripple of applause from the initiated paid tribute to the man’s physical perfec- tion. Gone was the hint of waistline fat. Gone were the soft curves of the past two years. Cal was granite hard; as rugged as a New Hampshire hillside; as lithe as a cat. ‘Took me the best part of three months to get down to this!’ he said pleasantly as he and the amazed Mack came together in mid ring. ‘‘ Takes longer when you're past thirty, but I got there at last. Bud and I did it. And I’m here!" As he talked he danced back from a left lead, countered a heart punch, danced away again, then flashed a flicking left to Ira’s jaw. The blow stung rather than hurt, yet the house cheered. Still relying almost wholly on footwork, boxing at long range, keeping away except when a rare opening let him in at face or body, Cal Benton continued to talk. He spoke in broken sentences, and never to the sacrifice of his boxing or of the long-range EVENING POST caution he had adopted. As he spoke his face went iron-rigid. His voice took on a queer my not unlike that of a_ bone- gnawing dog that sees another dog sidle toward him. “Try,” he said, “I won't tell you what a swine you are. It'd be a waste of breath. And if you don’t know it, I couldn’t learn it to you. But being a swine ain't on the free list, Iry—like you're due to find out That’s why I’m here. Con Fitzroy’s got eighteen hundred dollars of my money. That’s why he ain't here, Iry. Think it over. It’s cost me a sight of cash, soon and late, to corner you to-night. But it was worth a whole passel more—a whole passel more. And I'll get it all back, right in this ring! I'm here to get you, too, Iry! The ending of the round cut short his three-words-at-a-time oration. It had been a fast round, with practically not one tell- ing blow scored on either side. As an exhi- bition of skill and of speed it was a treat. But the crowd had come to see blood flow and men slugged to the floor, and the ap- plause was scant. Ira Mack went to his corner feeling queer in the head. For the first time in his ring career he was worried. The Grand Old Man, to all appearances, was again at his best. And there was cold, wary hatred in his face and voice. At his best, Cal Benton had been well-nigh invincible. If he were really so now Deaf to Fancher'’s prattlings, Mack sat blinking across the ring at his foe. In his stout heart a queer feeling was astir. He was not afraid. The champion had no yellow in his cosmos. But there was something in this sudden apparition of a rejuvenated Benton that jiggled Mack's taut nerves. He knew—none better—the Grand Old Man’s one-time prowess. He knew, too, that there was deathless hate and cold bloodthirst in Cal’s broodingly puckered eyes. He had heard somewhere a wheeze about bewaring the anger of a patient man Never before had he seen Benton angry Never, even in the ring, had he seen the old chap’s placidly friendly face transfigured to flinty grimness. And despite himself Ira began to fidget. As the men came up for the next round Mack made a bull rush bred of nerve rack. Benton stood his ground, first blocking neatly and then running into a clinch. In this clinch he held on and clung close until! the referee with some trouble pried the fighters apart. And throughout the long clinch Cal was whispering rapid-fire speech into Ira’s ear—to this purpose: “| learned you all you know. That ain't saying I learned you all I know, Iry. There’s one trick I never taught you or anyone, because it’s a killer, I never used that punch since | killed poor Spike Mee- han with it back twelve years ago. It was a murder punch, and I was afraid of it, not being a killer, or even a cur. But this past few months I've practiced it up a lot. In the fifth round you'll get it, Iry. In the fifth! This is your last fight, son—your last fight! In the fifth, remember! I excuse me, Mister Ref’ree! I couldn't wrench free of him any sooner. He was hugging. Caution him—not me.” And the fight was on once more. Having no further need for words, Cal forbore to dance away from his enemy; and all future clinches were of Mack's seeking. With little use of footwork Benton stuck to the aggressive. Wasting no dynamic power in mere spectacular antics, he tore away at his man. Even the most skeptical of the onlookers could see Benton had actually come back. Whether at his age he could maintain such speed and force for ten rounds or more was another matter. Fondling this one hope, 105 Don Fancher, between rounds, exhorted the bothered Ira to keep away from Cal and to box until prolonged exertion should prove the superiority of youth. It would be time, Fancher urged, to begin the actual slaughter in the eighth or ninth round, when Cal's bolt should be shot and when age should have be ‘gun to claim its pay, To his manager's preachment Ira gave little heed. In his brain were singing the droned words ‘This is your last fight! In the fifth, remember!" Mack could still hear the odd grate of solemnity in the threat, and he could not make himself think of it as a bluff. For all his squareness, Cal Benton had been the craftiest man in his division, and it was more than just possible that he had evolved some such man-killing punch as he said; a deadly and invincible smash, perhaps, such as George Lablanche’s historic pivot had been before mercy tabooed it from the (Jueensberry ring For the life of him Ira could not put the solemnly muttered warning from his mind, and he knew that Cal had enough insight into his mental processes from long associa- tion to be aware of this. Yes, Cal must be knowing he had worried his ex-pupil. Ira was certain of that, and it added hopeless wrath to his worry If by any lucky chance he could knock Benton out before that rotten fifth round Cal would keep his word. That was Cal's way. He had said the fifth round, and in the fifth round it would be. Not sooner. Meanwhile Disregarding Fancher's increasingly fran- tic appeals for caution, lra flung himself furiously into the fray, hammering, slug- ging, taking blows unnecessarily, that he might chance a knock-out counter. And thus through the third and fourth rounds the battle slashed on at top speed, full of heavy hitting and of grievous punishment on both sides. The pace could not last long. The fans screeched themselves hoarse The bell rang for the fifth round. Up came the fighters, with exaggerated snappi- ness. Ira’s tanned face showed a trifle pale under its tan and its bruises. Cal was smiling slightly. It was not a pretty smile As they met in the center Benton said quite loudly, but with no bluster at all, “In the first minute of this round, Iry!"’ As he spoke his glance strayed as by instinct from Mack's eyes to his stomach Ira’s reply to the threat was a feint for the jaw, followed by an immediate retreat Nor thereafter could he be induced to stand his ground He backed away nimbly warily, forcing Cal to follow him step by step, and always on the go. Plainly he was seeking to ride out the round. Fancher grunted approbation. Several spectators Lissed Patiently, with no show of haste or ex citement, Cal followed his fast-moving opponent, and as he went his glance kept shifting, as if instinctively, to Mack's wind Whenever this happened Cal would at once change the direction of his gaze, apparently seeking to keep Mack oom observing tne covert looks cast at his belt line Then in a trice the patient pursuit turned into a tiger dash. Forward whizzed Cal, driving Mack by sheer strength back into a corner too quickly and ferociously to permit of side-stepping. As Mack’s hip touched the rope Cal made an awkward left lead for the face, his unmanayeable eyes flashing toward the stomach in a lightning appraisal of distance, and _ his mighty right jerked convulsively bact ward. Mechanically Ira pulled his own head aside from the slow left and with both hands guarded his wind, for there was red murder in the old warrior’s glare, and the first minute of the round was near an end Mack wakened from deep and dreamless slumber. He woke on the table in his dress ing room. Boredly Fancher and a handler were sluicing water over his battered head The head itself was one egregious and re nding ache. ‘hat--what was the--the fancy new punch he— he got me with?” bleated Mack, the fragments of his brain harking back to Cal's warning “Fancy new punch, nothin’! norted the manager unlovingly ‘He got you with one of the oldest of the lot--an easy right hook to the jaw—while you was a-rockin’ your stomach to sleep with both hands. Say, where the blue blazes was you durin’ that fight anyhow? You sure made one swell showin’ for your home-town folks

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108 THE SATURDAY 2.2% eatin int wee at fl x —~wtt tf — ~~ clling at Oklahoma City, Okla., with of surfaced with Sta-so laminated slate ‘ 4. Niche Inc., Builder ~and in 194] it will still defy the Sun ty young Mr. 1921 thinks he is going to fade | this roof—or any other roof surfaced with Sta-so laminated slate—he is doomed to disappointment, The vears gone by have tried to fade Sta-so have tried with all the forces at their command. They have sent the sun with its intense bleaching | rays to fade Sta-so’s naturally indelible colors of | deep Indian red and cool sage green. But Sta-so, | unlike other minerals, defies even the sun to fade it! hey have called on Father Time, whose gradual destruction fades most every type of roofing. But Sta-so’s colors are impervious to Time itself! Add to Sta-so’s indelible color beauty its fire- and weather-resisting abilities and its moderate cost, and you will understand why 350,000 home owners are convinced that Sta-so’d roofing is giving them the greatest amount of roof satisfaction they can buy. The manufacturers listed below use Sta-so to surface their slate-surfaced roofing. For your own protection against other slates or imitations that fade, \ook for and demand the Sta-so label on the rolls and on the bundles of shingles of the slate- surfaced roofing you buy. \malgamated Roofing Co., Chicago, Il National Asbestos Mfg. Co Barber Asphalt Paving Co., Phila., Pa Jersey City, N. J Barrett Co Ne York, N.Y B. F. Nelson Mig. Co Beckman-Daweon Rig.Co.,C hicago, Il) Minneapolis, Minn Bird & Son, Ltd., Hamilton, Ont., Can Pioneer Paper Co. Los Angeles, Cal Bird & Son, Inc., Fast Walpole, Mass Reynolds Shingle Co Philip Carey Mfg. Co., Cincinnati, Ohio Grand Rapids, Mich Flintkote Co Boston, Mass Richardson Co . Cincinnati, Ohio Boston, Mase St. Paul, Minn Safepack Mills Si Fo Products Co Ford Rfg. Products Co., St. Louis, Mo The Heppes Rig. Division The Richardson Co Chicago, I Standard Paint Co., New York, N. Y Keystone Roofing Mig. Co., Vork, Pa Usona Mfg. Co Aurora, Tl. McHenry Millhouse Mfg. Co H. F. Watson Co Erie, Pa South Rend, Ind \. H. White Rfg. Co., New Orleans, La National Rfg. Co., Tonawanda, N. \ Wilberite Rig. Co Cleveland, Ohio Toon / CID” ADING'S UATE: ROOF SURFACE EVENING POST January 1,192! SHE DRIFTED TO THE CITY (Continued from Page i1) to deal with trouble. Three months later she was chief operator, and then a difficult PBX problem arose in a new Southern war industry community—the private branch exchange of the corporation that had built and was operating a big plant for the Govern- ment. Stella straightened that out, too, and stuck to it until the armistice. All together the original telephone job sanctioned by her father because it was only five minutes’ walk from the house landed her in half a dozen states during the war and left her a thou- sand miles from home. Katie O’Brien would probably have gone into the telephone service, too, after finish- ing school—she was three years younger than Stella and had a yeaf’s study ahead when we entered the war. Pat O’Brien himself got Katie a job in a gas-mask fac- tory when the 1917 spring term ended, and there was no thought of going back to school when vacation was over. Katie soon developed ability in managing girls. There was a rather rough element in that plant- some foreigners, others who had not en- joyed much schooling, with still another element attracted from domestic service by the wages. There were also skylark recruits from comfortable and even wealthy Amer- ican families, anxious to help win the war, but green, heedless and lacking the sense of responsibility. Katie's whole soul was in the war, and every operation on a gas mask connected with its ultimate service. School athletics had given her a knack in leadership. A thoroughgoing little human being, she made no distinctions in dealing with people. For the ignorant and poverty- hampered she had sympathy, and for the | skylarkers a real wallop inherited from her father—a wallop in a kid glove, perhaps, but landed just as quick and straight where it was needed. War broadened women’s work in fac- tories. Many of the skilled mechanics were drawn into military service, and women were given new tasks. Where they had been employed before chiefly for routine, such as the tending of machines, testing | parts, inspecting and measuring materials, | now they learned to adjust and repair ma- chinery, teach operations to others, super- vise as forewomen, and even design products and master technic. War also gave thousands of girls and women from comfortable homes a taste of business life. Not all the women volunteers could be em- ployed on committees or as canvassers or speakers. Such activities necessitated the keeping of records, correspondence, clerical detail. Thousands of home girls without business experience tackled such jobs, often taking courses in typewriting, stenography, accounting and general office work. The experience frequently revealed latent abil- ity in business and a liking for it, so that when the emergency was over they went into the business world to earn money, keep busy and live a fuller life. Selling Employment Employers learned new things about women workers during the war. Recruiting was carried into fresh fields. Instead of waiting at the employment office for girls who applied for jobs, the home and high school were canvassed, personally and through advertising. Employment became a selling proposition. Factory and office conditions were made attractive to nice girls, and recruits were more closely fitted with work adapted to physique, ability and temperament. The high-school gradu- ate or college student might excel in light tasks requiring speed and accuracy, cause she was quick and ambitious. On the other hand, the sturdy girl recruited from domestic service had the strength and stolid patience to run a heavy machine on repetitive work. A knitting mill in the Middle West made good a serious shortage of girl operatives by | reversing the drift to the city. Situated ina | country town of a few thousand people, very few of its operators came from near-by farms. These were chiefly country girls from large families, attracted wholly by wages, and living at home, going back and forth from work every day. A few more opera- tors came from near-by towns. So it was necessary to draw upon the feminine labor supply of the nearest cities—Chicago, St. Louis, Minneapolis, St. Paul. Small classi- fied advertisements in the Help-Wanted columns of city newspapers attracted chiefly floaters—girls who drifted from job to job, attracted by the prospect of an immediate increase in earnings, regardless of larger ultimate wages through increase in skill. This company built a residence hall for girl employees on the lines of a college sorority house, provided meals at cost, and a big social hall, and then advertised “More than a Living”’ in the big city news- papers. The hall was described in pictures in display advertisements. Girls were told about working conditions in the factory, which is thoroughly modern, and how they might themselves select congenial tasks. The dormitory is governed by the girls who live in it, but with the supervision of the company’s employment manager, a woman, to whom applicants were invited to write. This policy not only brought applications from a fine class of girl work- ers, eliminating the drifters, but soon gave the company a waiting list from which to fill vacancies. Broadened Opportunities An Eastern silk mill, finding the supply of typical mill help dwindling, took pains to explain modern mill work to high- school graduates who might prefer to earn good wages immediately rather than go through normal school and become teach- ers. Factory work stands only a peg higher than domestic service in the estimation of many girls who would consider an office or mercantile job congenial. Factory work brings up a picture of grinding machinery, noise, foreigners, the seven-o’clock whistle and the loss of individuality in a system. But factories nowadays make countless products that are interesting, dainty, femi- nine. Individuality is essential both in the product and the promotion that keeps the organization alive. Wages of factory girls begin to compare very well with those of skilled mechanics a generation ago. Mod- ern factory plants include restaurants, lunch rooms, libraries, dormitories, tech- nical training, social gatherings. Even the grade-school girls of fifteen and sixteen were recruited during the war by Eastern factories and given vacation jobs suited to their years—measuring, testing and inspecting products and parts. The factories needed them to piece out labor supply during the peak of war production. Opportunities of earning money while help- ing war production were welcomed. Ar- rangements were often made whereby schooling and factory work dovetailed into each other. There were other factors brought by war, such as the cutting off of immigration, which made it necessary to make work more congenial and profitable to American girls. But the upshot of the whole situation was that feminine opportunities in industry broadened greatly, along with feminine trend to industrial centers. Whether they go to the cities or seek employment in the nearest town, nine girls out of ten nowadays regard work for the three, four or five years between school and marriage as the normal scheme of life; so it comes down principally to what kind of work, and where, and the opportunities to earn money, acquire knowl- edge and skill likely to be useful in an emergency, and add a little excitement to existence. As a boy’s love of excitement is sup- posed to bring him to the city, so love of fine clothes and spending money and excitement are assumed to a the chief at- tractions for girls. But while girls com- monly work for a short period, where the boy must shape up a life career, their motives are seldom flutter-brained. Work is frequently the readiest escape from a dull, limited life at home. It offers inde- pendence, a solid interest and purpose in life, a chance to grow and a sense of worth—and many girls value these more than excitement and nice clothes. As with the boys, so the girl who has gone to work in a near-by factory or found employment in a city office or store writes back to her school chums, drawing them to town on the same endless-chain principle. The business world never seems to get enough girl workers. It can take them the moment they are legally employable, or use part of their time while schooling is continued. Hundreds of light tasks calling for little skill or training are found in fac- tories, and many more in offices. (Continued on Page 110)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST am a ~ “4 » 4 | EALTH depends quite as much on conservation as ON appress save tH 7 SURFACE CAMPAIGN be ter production. Jimely use of Paint and Varnish in 1921 will prevent enormous waste of property due to deterioration. To postpone painting is false economy. Jt costs more not to ii wo sf paint than to paint. Save the surface and you save all. Every tect’ time you save a surface you help reduce the cost of living. “tn

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THE SATURDAY Read the Whole Evening Through Without Eye-Strain! Style CQ-329 U. S. Price, $10.50 Canada. $13.50 A beautiful lamp built of durable brass ‘oo heavily nickeled and highly pol- ished. Univer sa!lShade Holder fite many dif ferent styles of shades me past ten years | machinery—machines that add, HEN you sit down for your evening reading, you want good Jight and a lot of it. Your eyesight is priceless—worth more to you than anything else you possess. You count it among the most precious privileges of your life and happiness. Save your sight! Protect it! Keep it! Get a Coleman Quick-Lite Lamp. You will soon forget there was ever such a thing as eye-strain. The Quick-Lite gives you a// the light you need—and it is just the right kind of light—300 candle power of pure white bril- liance; brighter than 20 old style oil lamps, yet a mellow restful radiance that never tires the eyes. (oleman Quick-Lite lamps and Lanterns Make and burn their own gas from common motor gasoline. Light No cleaning necessary. No greasy wicks to no dripping oil; no smoke; no soot; no dirt; Can't be filled while lighted. with matches—no torch needed. trim; no dirty chimney to wash; no odor. Can't spill or explode even if tipped over. Burns from 40 to 48 hours per gallon of fuel. The Quick-Lite Lamp signed attractive is handsomely de- in appearance. An ornament Thousands of owners say it is the finest Guaranteed 5 Years. and in any room, reading lamp ever invented. Style LO 327 U.S. Price, $9.00 Canada, $12.50 The Coleman Quick-Lite Lantern is a regular day-light It’s certainly the farmer’s friend. Lights up any job, anywhere, at night. Supplied with special bracket for use on tractor for night plowing, for maker. motor truck or wagon, Mica globe Storm proof and bug proof. Can't blow out. Made of brass and steel, nickeled. Will last for years. A Quick-Lite Lantern in the henhouse for longer feeding hours, morn | ing increases egg yield. The Coleman Lamp Company Largest Manufacturers of Gasoline Lamps in the World Wichita St.Paul Toledo Dallas heavily and night, 15,000 DEALERS sell Coleman Quick-Lite Lamps, Lanterns and Lighting Plants lf yours can't supply you, write nearest house, Dept. P-i. Los Angeles Chicago | date, | chinery; handed out in machine-made checks—and EVENING POST (Continued from Page 108) The demand for typists is an excellent illustration. Many an ambitious girl studies stenography before seeking a posi- tion, as the best preparation for a business career. Proficiency can hardly be acquired under six months; but with two weeks’ steady practice in typewriter operation alone the same girl could qualify as a typist and land a job. It would pay only about half the wages of a capable stenographer, but for every stenographer employed to- day there are at least five typists—girls | proficient in copying, writing combination form letters, entering, billing and like work. Chicago hires typists by dozens and hundreds, because it does most of the paper work for half the West. A great mail-order house receives hundreds of thousands of orders and letters daily from customers who are served by a girl behind a type- writer instead of a counter. Every step in filling an order or supplying information is reduced to rigid routine, and hundreds of girls are employed for the copying, enter- ing, accounting, checking, addressing, and so forth. Good crops, harvest money, or | even an early spring that makes the little red hen begin laying two weeks ahead of | time, will fill the mail-order store with in- visible customers, creating a demand for several hundred additional typists. Even in dull times, when stenographers may have to seek work, typists are pretty certain to be needed. So while stenography gives girls its special advantages for advance- ment, plain typing is good equipment for the beginner. She can be earning money within a month, and support herself while | learning stenography. Ingenious Office Machines Even simpler jobs have been created the by the increase in office address, make out bills and checks, punch holes in cards for statistical and accounting pur- poses. Bill Smith, telephone lineman, goes out into the field and does a repair Job, turning in his report. A girl puts a card in a punching machine, and by jabbing eight or ten keys records everything Bill Smith did on that job. One hole represents his badge number, another the district in which he worked, another the time he spent, and others the kinds and quantities of material | used, the kind and condition of damaged material replaced, the cost of the job, the account to which it is to be charged, the Another girl takes these cards and puts them through sorting machines, and still another files them. In the files they repose until certain routine information is compiled to show the month’s activities. Then other girls take the cards out and run them through tabulating machines, which give information in dozens of ingenious combinations. Tabulated one way, the total repair work for the month appears in figures; and in other ways the month’s repair work in each district, the cost, amount of material used, amount of material scrapped or any- thing you please. The system will report upon Bill Smith for any week or month in | the year, or furnish a complete inventory of that plant any time it is needed. The quantity production of automobiles is wonderful, but not a bit more wonderful than the quantity production of informa- tion by which business now does its office work and supervision. The bank clears its | checks and balances individual depositors’ accounts by machinery; the trolley com- pany tabulates its fares and counts its nickels by machinery; the newspaper and magazine keep track of subscribers by ma- the pay roll is made up and wages the human equation is ninety per cent feminine. Were it necessary to do such work by hand and brain, instead of key and carbon, there would be no two-dollar magazines or dollar gas or ten-cent kilowatts or five-cent telephone calls. A rigidly limited amount of accounting, tabulating and billing would have to be done by trained men, intent chiefly upon preventing errors; whereas with machinery and the minimum of train- ing and special tasks, Jennie and Lizzie, | just out of school, run machines, and the machines check and cross-check Lizzie against Jennie. The demand is ever for girls, girls, girls—schoolgirls, farm girls, home girls; girls of fourteen, sixteen, twenty; serious girls, giddy girls, ambitious girls; plain, pretty, plodders, clock watchers. With new January 1,192! devices constantly increasin ng the quantity output of routine work and information, and the average working career limited to a few years, it sometimes seems to the office manager as though there were not enough girls in the world. War opened up many new office jobs for women. Until bank employees were drafted it was exceptional to see women in tellers’ cages checking deposits on adding ma- chines, counting cash, verifying balances and doing other bank chores. But the girls were tried and trained and made good —and in many cases stayed. To-day it is the bank without them that is exceptional. Girls were enlisted for clerical work in gov- ernment service, not merely in Washington by the thousands, but in war organizations all over the country, dealing with food, fuel, munitions, shipbuilding. Scarcity of experienced clerical workers led many a home girl to take a government job, and in most cases to keep on working afterward. In Washington, when one organization such as the Food Administration reduced its forces, new places were available in the Census Bureau, Internal Revenue De- partment, the War Risk Insurance organi- zation, and other places where Uncle Sam was hiring instead of firing; or they sought jobs where their experience could be ap- plied in the business world. War also made more factory jobs, and better. There had always been a psycho- logical dead line beyond which women were seldom allowed to go in most industries. Sometimes a given class of work seemed too complicated for the feminine tempera- ment; too heavy, exacting, dangerous. Occasionally a superintendent or foreman admitted that girls could master such work with proper training, but doubted whether it would pay to teach them in view of the short period spent by the average girl in industry. In far more cases girls were not thought about at all in connection with tasks beyond the dead line. But the gen- eral scarcity of workers forced cutting and trying along new lines, with the outcome that girls made good nine times in ten, and to-day are holding their own in many new factory occupations. Women’s jobs in department stores and retail business generally are nothing partic- ularly new. Yet a good deal of misunder- standing concerning them still exists, both as to the nature of the work and the oppor- tunities for advancement. Shop girls are popularly supposed to be giddy, poorly paid, under constant temptation, at the beck and call of finicky customers, with little skill or technical knowledge and few chances to rise as business women. In- vestigation of a good department-store organization would dispel such notions. Department:Store Work One of the most representative stores in the country is a Chicago establishment. Its sales force is largely recruited from the nice home girls, who on leaving school apply for positions with the consent of their par- ents, because dad does business with that concern and knows its people and stand- ards. One of the first persons the new girl recruit gets acquainted with is the store chaperon, officially its welfare manager, a middle-aged woman, herself the mother of girls, with a consulting room, a secretary, and wide experience of a store’s girl workers and their work in different departments, backed by detailed records. Acquaintance probably begins with a personal chat and suggestions about clothing, diet, health and opportunities. Then the new girl goes to work, learning to sell goods, keep stock in order, wrap purchases, handle cash or records. Whatever her work, there are ways of scoring her efficiency, initiative, accuracy, energy. Through report sheets the welfare manager can see how that girl is getting on, noting progress and short- comings. Progress may materialize in the shape of a good sales record or a high per- centage of accuracy in some other field. The shopper in a department store sees chiefly its sales people, and has practically no contact with the much larger body of employees who are out of sight, in the buying, receiving, accounting, checking, cash, wrapping, packing, delivery and ship- ping organization. Shortcomings may show up in tardiness, carelessness, an unsatisfac- tory sales record. In either case the welfare manager invites the girl to her office for a talk. Producing a praiseworthy sales sheet, she finds out what the girl likes in her work, asks about her methods in selling, (Continued on Page 113)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST NOTE :—This announcement answers two questions that big employers repeatedly ask, viz: (2) Why don’t more men train with LaSalle for the high pay positions in business ? (1) What makes LaSalle men so practical? = . The LaSalle Problem Method —and how it successfully condenses a lifetime of experience into a few months of study A question has blocked action on the part of many thoughtful men who were and are sincere in their desire to qualify in high salary fields. They have asked themselves whether training g: uined at home by correspondence \ might not prove to be mere “ book-learning”’—impractical—unmarketable. We have no fault to find with this question —it is anaturalone. The burden of our criticism rests on the man who permits the question to be its own answer, and to block and stop him in his upward climb without seeking further enlightenment. For, when nearly a quarter of a million men have trained with LaSalle and found bigger, better things through this training, there must be sound reasons for their success. There ere reasons. They lie in the LaSalle Prob len Method of imparting —not “ book-learning” but real, practical, usable business experience. A knowledge of principles is one thing. The ability toapply and use principles — actually dothe work at hand—is another, and the gap between the two is bridged by one factor and one only EXPERIENCE. That’s why business men place such a premium on experience it safeguards them against costly experiments. Suppose you decided to take up as your life work —accountancy, say. Now stretch your imagination a trifle. Suppose that through the offices of an influen tial friend arrangements were made for you to step in and immediately occupy the position you You can answer these questions — your good sense tells you that the situation described would make you a practical man—sure, certain and confident able and capable of holding down any situation the accounting field offered. And that is why the LaSalle Problem Method makes practical men. Simply because the procedure outlined above is followed—exactly. True, you do your work at home. True, the experts who help you are loc ated here in Chicago. Nevertheless, under the LaSalle Problem Method you are actually oc« up) ing the position you are training to fill, whether it be in the accountancy field, or traffic, or busi ness Management, or law, or correspondence irrespective of what you are studying, you are acquiring principles and applying them in actual business under the watchful eyes and helpful guidance of men big in your chosen field, And when you have completed your LaSalk work, you can truthfully say that you are not only a thoroly trained man, but an experienced man you know the bed-rock principles and you have theyare familiartoolsin yourhands. walk in anywhere with feel the uncertainty and fear that when one faces the new and | nder the Problem Method he his chosen field on his own feet. The the problems, the difficulties — he met, faced and conquered them all. used themall \ LaSalle man can conhadence He does not arise ! unknown. has explored questions has intended training to fill right in the organiza tion of a big corporation, with a complete department under your orders. Say that by your side were placed, as your in structors and guides, several high grade account ants—men of national reputation—their duty being to train and equip you. training for. S le With these men instructing you 1 proper principles exercising your own judgment in hz so transactions and solving problems as they arose in your daily work —do you get the idea? You would be acquiring experience right along with the bed-rock fundamentals of the profession. i Sitting in the chair of authority-—dealing with actual business— learning by applying what you learned — with experts correcting your errors, commend ing good work, guiding you aright through the ramifications, routine and emergency situations of the entire accounting field and making you make good every step of the way—mind —not ina class room, but right in a business office where you would be actually doing the work you were training for wouldn’t you, at the end of a year or so in this situation, be much farther ahead than men who had spent years seeking the same knowledge in the old, hard, “‘find-out-for-yourself”” way ? 7 The LaSalle Problem Method places you in the position you are Big executives coach you in your exercise of judgment and initiative in the actual handling of real business problems. Self-confidence—practical, usable knowledge—all the things born of experience come to you from and thru the LaSalle Problem Method because it makes you an experienced man. then you yourse lf His experience makes him know that, altho he may be as sumMIng anew position at highe rpay, the duties of that position are an old, familiar story. Experience is cash capital in business. There are only two ways to get it: One ts the old, uncertain way. The man who chooses to learn a branch of business by pick ing it up bit by bit as he goes along, finds the years slip by faster than he thought and sometimes his progress not as sure as he had anticipated. For, all the “bits of knowledge” he sought may not have come his way.’ slow, Problem y | his Way condenses lifetime The other road is short, sure and certain. It lies through the Method, exclusive with LaSalle Extension University. nto the experience which it takes most men There is. food — tor serious thought in the literature that when you send the cou pon at the bottom ot this page. months, fo vain comes LaSalle Extension University The Largest Business Training Institution in the World t If you are in earnest when you say to yourself that you must do something to permanently increase your f earning capacity—then—check the coupon below in the square opposite that training which appeals ) most to you. It is a step you will never regret. And it is a step that is one hundred times as hard to 7 make tomorrow as it is to take today. Where’s that pen—never mind, a pencil will do just as well. LASALLE EXTENSION UNIVERSITY Dept. 171-R CHICAGO, HL. L. INOIS Please send me catalog and full information regarding the course and servi I have marked wit! X below Also a copy of your book Ten Years’ Promoti hout id HIGHER A UNTANCY Training fo ( MMERCIAL LAW Reading, Reterer INDUSTRIAI MANAGEMENT EFFI EFFEC dad, SPEAk ( I / position: ms a Audit rs, Comptre Hers, Publi he C] aa Consultation Service for Busine Mer CIENCY Training for Production Manager ] eff coun s, ( A untants, et PERSONNEL AND EMPLOYMENT MAN Department Head and all those desiring t ! I BUSINESS MANAGEMENT: Training for [ AGEMENT: Training for Employer training in the 48 factors of efficiency « s aie ial, Managerial, Sales and Executive po ployment Managers, Executive Indu ! [- BUSINESS LETTER WRITING Prainis [ I 4. COACH ( i . sition E ngineers for positior 1s Correspondents, Mail bb | UNT J ' EXPERT BOOKKEEPING Training for BANKING AND FINANCE: Training for =~ tors and executive letter-writing posit I 4 [ Head Bookkeeper ® xecutive positions in Bank ind Financial Lj LAW Training for Bar; LL.B. D MODE ! ! COMMERCIAL SPANISH Training for Institution f Bi cys MANAG 1 MENT FOREIGN [ | r { + Fycom ms a Foreign Correspondents with BUSINESS ENGLISH: Trair for Bu LJ AND DOMESTIC for | ' ri Spanish-speaking countrie Correspondents and ¢ Writer Railroad and Indu ¥. il Tr fhe Managers, et Name Present Position Address

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ISTERIN January 1,192! TOOTH PASTE isterine Tooth Paste! Made by the makers of Listerine! It ought to be good, from all you know about Listerine. And it is good. Good because it’s made by the Lambert Pharma- cal Company, the makers of Lister- ine. Good because it contains a pleasant fruit acid—and because a slightly acid paste is best for your teeth. An acid dentifrice, it is now believed, best maintains the nor- mal flow of saliva. This normal flow of saliva is itself of the utmost natural benefit. You can understand this easily. Think of lime juice or lemon juice. LAMBERT PHARMACAL COMPANY iw A SAINT Your mouth waters cepiously; even the thought of these familiar fruit ‘ acids “stimulates” your saliva. Could you have any simpler explanation of why Listerine Tooth Paste is slightly acid? To make your saliva flow freely, and help Nature take care of your mouth. When the Lambert Pharmacal Company offer you a tooth paste as good in its line as their famous Listerine is in its line, then it’s time to try it! LOUIS U.S.A.

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(Continued from Page 110) and perhaps transfers her to some other department where her ability can be uti- lized to better advantage. Shortcomings shown up by her record, on the other hand, may bring out a tale of misunderstanding and trouble—the other girls have all the best customers, the department manager does not give her a chance, and so on. In which case the welfare manager begins with punctuality, sensible clothes, regular meals and hours, and helps her to better health and a better psychology. Wild girls show up in the organization. Their wildness may be largely excess energy, which if properly directed can be trans- formed into useful work. Through close acquaintance among older girls in every department it is possible to form combina- tions whereby the ambitious girl, the care- less and the wild ones are supervised, helped, trained and developed by their companions. There is also an educational department, where girls study sales meth- ods, merchandise and the technicalities connected with their jobs. Retail opportunity is really fivefold. Handing five-and-ten-cent-store merchan- dise over a counter might be considered the very beginning of sales work, the lowest rung in the ladder. But it is a real begin- ning. The rung is accessible to the merest novice, and the ladder goes high. bbe ey experience with people as they come to the counters and sections of retail stores many a girl has learned to sell other things, in different fields, in bigger units. The next opportunity in retail work is the buying of merchandise, with all that means in tech- nical know ledge, appraisal of values, ma- terials, manufacturing methods, fashions and novelties. Third comes management — the handling of a single department or a big retail business, ‘recruiting an organization of employees, directing policy, finance. Fourth, there is advertising, nowadays a branch of business in itself, and one pe- culiarly attractive to women. Finally, there is the side of accounts and records, in which the simply typing or filing job may lead to good positions in accounting, credits or the creative record keeping which is becom- ing more vital to business every day. For the boy the city has been made attractive and his path there easier by the expanding success and how-to literature of the past fifteen years. For the girl, how- ever, there is not nearly so much written along these lines. Even though successful in business, reporters and magazine authors still regard her as a crowing hen and qual- ify their accounts of her success by carefully explaining that she is still feminine—which is about as soothing as a red rag to a turkey gobbler. A boy’s career in office work, factory supervision, salesmanship, engi- neering or any other line is blazed with guideposts, each step being explained in a copious technical literature. But girls still go it blind, more or less. Authors seem to pay scant attention to their opportunities in industry—how a girl is to land a job, do her work, and the why and wherefore gen- erally which would enable her to grasp principles and advance by brains as well as dexterity. Her average working career is short. Advancement Must be Earned “Even the best of them up and marry” is the skeptical attitude toward feminine ability, borne out by the disappearance into home liie of yest erday’ s conspicuously successful business women, Therefore a woman must fight harder to rise to execu- tive positions. The business world still insists upon teaching her detached tasks and routine jobs, paying little attention to the broad technical principles that would help her rise and perhaps persuade her to stay longer. If she becomes a forewoman, super- intendent or office manager it is probably because she demonstrates unusual ability; whereas with men advancement is often a matter of time and seniority. A girl can often beat a man, not simply in routine work requiring dexterity and patience, but by bringing her own ability into some field which has been regarded as peculiarly masculine. In the introduction of electrical conven- iences into homes, for example, a public- service company found that its salesmen were thoroughly effective in placing elec- tric ranges, washing machines, vacuum cleaners and other apparatus of consider- able cost, because these devices carried the best profit margin with the highest salaries and commissions. But they neglected the small conveniences, like flatirons, percola- tors and toasters, selling for a few dollars; it took a great many calls and sales to roll up a good week’s income, and the kind of salesman satisfied to plug along on small appliances was seldom capable of selling anything else. These appliances were grouped separately, and girls and women hired to push them systematically. The community was divided into districts for house-to-house canvassing. Each member of the feminine sales force got a moderate weekly salary, a sales commission for each appliance placed and so much percentage on additional current consumption result- ing from her work. Starting out in the morning with a pack of record cards showing past and potential customers in given territory, she patiently went from house to house, sticking to rou- tine as she would have stuck to a gauging job in a factory. It was practically a gaug- ing job, because investigation of electrical appliances already in use and reports upon those which were not working satisfac- torily came ahead of actual selling. But THE SATURDAY EVENING POST this straight plugging and feminine pa- | tience with small things showed results far beyond anything that had ever been at- tempted by the male sales force, and acquaintance and confidence developed thereby led to many installations of larger appliances. The Value of Patience Psychologists have diligently sought for differences between men and women, meas- uring intellectual faculties, vision, taste, smell, hearing, color perception and the like. Mighty few have been found; it is a daring psychologist indeed who will say of a —- hy we trait “‘This is a feminine trait’ “That is distinctly masculine women leit. do it.” muscular strength, more endurance, are able to move a little faster and make move- ments slightly more precise. But women have finer discrimination in color and musi- cal tone. Men are probably more ingenious, pore women possibly superior in memory, and perhaps in associative thinking—and so forth. Probably, possibly, presumably, perhaps! The more science investigates the more carefully it hedges. But in the world of woman’s work sex differences have become as definite as black and white, and utilized to the advantage of business and herself. If science would drop its motor-ability apparatus for a while, and hold the stop watch on some such trait as patience, it would be verifyin results long ago arrived at by business, an perhaps indicate broader lines along which business can apply characteristic feminine abilities. The first telephone operators were boys, with voices at about the cracking age. But boys were distracted by the heavy traffic pressure and sassed the indignant sub- scriber. Then girls were substituted. They were not only patient and soft-spoken themselves but the public became more patient and soft-spoken with them. Women are supposed to be tensely personal— unable to handle things in a detached, im- personal way. But telephone experience has demonstrated that they manage the public more impersonally on telephone switchboards than male operators, carrying out day by day, without a lapse, no matter what the pressure or provocation, the standard telephone operating routine, which confines them to half a dozen phrases, like ‘“‘Number, please?’’ Men make the routine, but women carry it on. -atience as a stop-watch faculty could unquestionably be measured and women found superior in places like complaint departments, adjustment bureaus, infor- mation booths, ticket windows and similar departments of business organization. A big city bank began advertising for new savings depositors some years ago, center- ing upon factory districts and foreign quar- ters. Men taken from tellers’ cages in the commercial department were distracted by the kind of people who came to open new savings accounts, for a five or ten dollar deposit often involved detailed explanation of banking methods and rules. The new depositors drove men crazy, and men tell- ers awed depositors or aroused their sus- picion. When women were substituted on that side of the bank, with their patience, sympathy and attention to small details, everybody was happy; depositors were handled more quickly and, most important ‘ Scientific tests of | motor ability show that men have greater | -does he go out ? | Tota | is “The Official Rules of Card Games, Auction Pitch —hearts trumps, he needs only one point, but— Would you concede the game to him tf you had bid **three’’ and needed ‘‘three’’ to go out ¢ HERE is only one way to verify your opinion on card questions—refer to “The Official Rules of Card Games" —Hoyle up-to-date. 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SATURDAY EVENING POST | of all, new savings accounts showed sub- sequent growth, indicating satisfaction with and confide nce in the bank. woman’s capacity for loyalty is so definite that the business world often gives her positions of trust without security, where men in the same places would be bonded... The defaulting and absconding woman employee is exceedingly rare. Not all business contingencies can be insured with a fidelity bond. No such protection is possible with confidential business in- formation, for example. Business leaks through the disclosure or sale of corre- spondence, records and secrets are common in the news of the day; but that sort of faithlessness is exceedingly rare among women—almost invariably the treacherous file clerk or private secretary is a man. Women have better memories than men greater capacity for feeling, greater sta- bility, closer concentration on familiar routine, a sure-fire sense of humor when a cloud passes over the sun, better judgment of people, and other faculties which business recognizes and utilizes, though it may be intuitively. These faculties are constantly widening feminine opportunities and creating whole fields of employment characteristically feminine. From the first spear-carrying job of the green miss just out of school and short dresses to an executive position, or a business for herself, there is open to woman not merely a road but a constantly grow- ing highway system through all industries. The number of lady blacksmiths and stone cutters at the last census was limited, but we had a few. Women had not yet ap- peared in the Army, Navy, Marine Corps, police force, fire department, a locomotive cab, structural iron crew or boiler works; but that was ten years ago—probably the new census will show them in all these occupations, just because no woman was doing it. Woman is not only drifting to the cities but setting them in order and making a new environment therein for herself and arriv- ing sisters. The boy who drifted to town any time these two past generations has been elaborately taken care of, with clubs, gymnasiums, entertainments, night classes and organizations for making friends, find- ing playmates and getting on. But girls’ needs along the same lines have been rather neglected until recently. |

Housing the Girls Philadelphia's experience during the war is a handy illustration. There were thou- sands of Quaker City girls and women at work before the war in offices, shops and factories; but they lived at home, had their own friends, interests, church and social connections, recreations, sports, meeting places. War picked up green country girls by handfuls, along with clerical and indus- trial workers from other cities, and dropped them into the town’s expanding war activ- ities. Stenographers, typists, clerks, sec- retaries, shop assistants, mill and factory operatives arrived on every train. Uncle Sam’s shipbuilding organization was moved up bodily from Washington in army trucks, setting its files and typewriters down on a magic carpet, between Saturday night and Monday morning, with the filing girls and stenographers. Boarding houses and fur- nished rooms filled up and overflowed, restaurants stood people in line at lunch and dinner hours, theaters were crowded. Quaker City women drawn from their homes into war work suddenly discovered that the town lacked living quarters, meet- ing places and facilities for these newcomers to get together. There were institutions like the Young Women’s Christian Association, maintained | with some vague idea of providing for strangers, but when the war workers poured in, these institutions were swamped and did not come within a hundred miles of meeting the situation. Two immediate needs were imperative not theories, but crying conditions—decent places for the girl workers to live, and team- work in bringing them together so they | could develop their own recreations. A big, old-fashioned residence near the downtown section was vacant. This was leased by a group of society women and | turned into a Y clubhouse. Bedrooms were | fitted up on the upper floors and let at | reasonable rates, while the ground floor | was turned into a restaurant and lounge, | with books, music, magazines. Brought together on the primitive basis of shelter,

_lar officers and by-laws, January 1,192! food and companionship, the girls quickly began to do the rest. Little knots and groups formed along lines of office acquaint- ance, sports and common interests. When a crowd of that sort came together spon- taneously, it was encouraged to organize, electing officers and planning recreations. It might be the Sunday Hike Club, the Maple Leaf Guild, the Seven Seas Soror- ity—any live interest sufficed. With regu- the girls could choose their own associates and interests. In a little while these clubs inside a club, with hobbies ranging from outdoor sports to highbrow things like books and music, were so effective in providing interests that the startled society women found the girls were living too much to themselves, seldom seeing young men. So dances were or- ganized, and a parlor set apart for Jill to receive Jack. Housing congestion not only in Philadelphia, but practically everything that draws girls into industry and business life, has made this problem of meeting places acute. Formerly the boarding house had its parlor where young people could meet, but rising rents and the overwhelm- ing demand for rooms have practically abol- ished this institution in most cities. The parlor, too, contributes its revenue, and so is rented, and young people are practically driven into the streets. Recreation Places Needed Places where young men can get together are fairly plentiful in our cities and indus- trial centers; but places where girls can have their sports, feasts and talk fests are still lacking, along with places for dances and other gatherings of both sexes. The girls themselves are taking hold of this problem in many cases, providing their own recreation; but they need leadership and help in financing. Several of these clubs were established during the war, and have been continued as permanent institutions. The war- working girl who drifted to the city has remained in industry. These clubhouses are necessary and are rapidly growing in num- ber and size throughout the country wher- ever working women need them. Apart from rooms, meals and associates, there are other attractions. First of all in popularity come sports, the gym and especially the swimming pool. After-work school facili- ties come pretty near being second, and the girl who goes to work suddenly finds prac- tical uses for education, making good short- comings in the three R’s, and studying stenography, typing, accounting, foreign languages. Plain English is one of the courses in greatest demand, while a knowl- edge of Spanish or French added to ste- nography may mean promotion as private secretary to an export manager or profit- able work in translating letters. Wild oats are rather a common crop among the girls who drift to cities. But the crop is economic, seldom moral. Leaving home and restraint, earning her own liveli- hood and living her own life, with not very much in the way of standards to guide her, the country grub begins turning herself into a city butterfly. However, there is seldom anything very wicked about such extravagance. More often it represents the desire for a broader and more interest- ing life and appreciation of pretty things, without the balance of perspective and ex- perience. In practically every big railroad terminal through which girls pass on their road to the opportunity and excitement of the cities a National Travelers’ Aid organization main- tains representatives day and night, ready to deal with anything out of the ordinary. Runaway girls as well as boys, hardly in their teens, turn up on their way to the Indian hunting grounds of the West—to the girls the West now means moviedom and its alluring careers. Older girls, lured to the city on some suspicious quest, oc- casionally need help in untangling them- selves. Girls of weak mentality wander to the city occasionally, and not long ago a runaway girl of eighty-odd years turned up in an Eastern city, bent on freedom and a “areer—she had escaped from a lunatic asylum. But one year with another, the p roportion of runaway and moonstruck rls drifting to the cities is small. The great normal tide passes without incident or interruption, enters business and indus- try in constantly increasing numbers, learns its job, does its work and gains ex- perience that is afterward useful. For these are Grandma Witt’s bright girls—they are not being left behind this generation!

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST A Permanently Beautiful Home DECORATIVE scheme is attractive only so long as the finishes hold their color and stand the wear of time and usage. Sherwin-Williams Flat-Tone on walls and ceilings, Old Dutch Enamel on woodwork and Mar-Not Varnish on floors are made to protect as well as beautify. S-W Flat-lTone produces rich, soft effects that will not fade or crack, and which can be S-W MAR-NOT Floor Varnish A tough, elastic, waterproof floor varnish Drie over night Will not scratch white or show heel marks Go to the Sherwin-Williams dealer in your town. Tue Suerwin-Wittiams Co., Main Office: 601 Canal Road, N. W., Cleveland, O, SHERWIN-WILLIA PRODUCTS PAINTS, VARNISHES, DYES, WOOD PRESERVATIVES. CHEMICALS. INSECTICIDES Ano DISINFECTANTS S-W SCAR-NOT Interior Varnish A varnish for furniture and interior wood work, takes a beautiful polish and with stands hot and cold water and steam. easily cleaned with soap and water when soiled. S-W Old Dutch Enamel, highest grade long life enamel for woodwork and furniture, affords beautiful effects in white, French gray, ivory. S-W Mar-Not Varnish, made specially for Hoors, stands wear and water indefinitely. Write our decorative department for color schemes with complete specifications. They are furnished free. S-W PREPARED WAX produces a beautiful polish on floors, furniture ind woodwork with minimum effort. En hances the surface and protects it from wear. January 1,192!

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—s— = THE MOTHER AND HER BOY (Continued from Page 10) Even without the female replica of button- nose and sway-jaw, you knew the other mother belonged to Peter. By the anguish in her wretched, wabbly, teary face, the tremor of her black cotton gloves, by the — adoration she turned on the window rture when Peter’s buckwheat stubble fi led it, by the ditto of primal loathing directed there when Mabel blushed instead. She was so completely a spectacle of dole and woe that I felt like getting out to com- fort her. For after all there was comfort to offer. She had had Peter to herself longer than any other mother in history. The longevity of modern boyhood is without parallel. In Sparta she would have lost her son at six; her pioneer grandmothers lost him in the later teens, boys of eighteen and nineteen striking out on their own, marry- ing, beginning family life. Her great-great- grandmothers of the dark Paleolithic times lost him utterly at puberty. At fourteen years he was initiated; he dwelt apart fora space, was painted with stripes and em- blems befitting manhood, had sundry of his teeth knocked out to proclaim his estate, and thereafter his mother had as much claim and influence upon him as an aged barnyard hen has upon the proud new cockerel that salutes his first sun. The mother of to-day—especially of the moder- ately well-to-do class, where he is protected from a too-early contact with the pay en- velope, where the college career is a natural conclusion—has very special privileges if she chooses to exercise them. She can keep her boy to the limit of the biological possi- bility, if she wishes, and bring to the finest flower such influences as are properly hers. What these influences are is meat for much careful thought. Unchangeable Clay My personal platform in this matter is stated in a paradox. I believe a mother cannot do very much for her boy and I believe she can do a great deal. The first half of the paradox represents her reaction to his heredity, over which she has no con- trol whatever; the second is, of course, his adaptation to environment—that adapta- tion which we all of us make if we are to live in and with society at all, and in the making of which the mother is of invaluable assistance to the son. Woman is the world’s greatest sculptor. The thing she sculps, by preference, is a man.. When she has a son she sculps him; if not—or perhaps also—she sculps a hus- band. Most men will verify this. She has accomplished some wonderful things by this yredilection for the molding thumb. She as molded civilization to a large extent; has given it hanckerchiefs, napkins, plumb- ing and religion; and she has done wonders with her plastic human material. At least men tell her so. “The hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world.” “All great men have good mothers.” I am willing to concede that I and all other mothers can perhaps shape and mold. But we cannot alter by a scintilla the clay in which we work. This was mixed for us in the beginning of time, and offers set and rigid barriers to our interference. When we overstep or ignore these we become not sculptors but meddlers. Here are two verses from a poem by Hilda Hall that exactly fit the question of the boy to my mind: He, though in making, still is in himseif complete ; An elemental trill Echoes behind his feet, Inviolate even after Ag 8 of dissenting tongues; He is incarnate laughter, Lifting from Time's deep lungs. In order to know how far we may im- press—at what point impression becomes cutting or gouging—we must give some thought to this matter of a son’s funda- mental qualities and composition. In order to avoid rushing in where angels fear to tread, and invading a personality whereby we make the havoc of a bull in a china shop; in order to know when to lay our hands on him and when to lay off and let him alone, we must take definite account of the mysterious limitations offered to us in his heredity. Mothers seldom think very far along this line. They do not consider the problem of a boy’s inheritance except in terms of his parents or grandparents. If he has blue eyes, they are “like mine”; if he stamps and cries and refuses to yield, “John is so bull-headed’’; if he is acquisitive, “‘Uncle Will was so saving’’; or if he has an angelic disposition, “‘I was never any trouble to mother.”’ If he is given to a liking for soli- tude or fits of brooding, “I can’t under- stand where he gets it, neither of us is like that. You’d think he was somebody else's child.” She forgets that the little bundle of en- ergy she holds in her arms and which she fondly believes she has created, is the whole human race, with the history of its struggle and evolution on its back. That it is a bun- dle of separable and dissociate personalities which must try to live in one human house—and whom here and there, along the line, she will meet cropping out oc- casionally; not necessarily Great-uncle Henry, who was a saint in the church in a boiled shirt and gold fob, but perhaps one Sieur Guillaume, a swashbuckling, footless adventurer who fought for Henry of Na- varre; or one Viretti, an Italian killer whose dirk was for sale in the fifth century and who died on the gibbet. ‘‘ My child! I guess not! We were always respectable!” Or Ossian, a scrambling red-bearded poet of the Celtic moss bogs; or Tintagl, newly got up off all fours in a cave in Finland, who fought his enemies with a club of mastodon bone. I think I can safely state that she will meet Tintagl rather oftener than any of the others. But at any rate her boy is somebodies’ darling—a whole flock of ’em. She cannot alter this. The predominance, the inter- play, the synchronization of his heredity is predetermined for her, ruled by the chem- istry of his being; his choices along tem- peramental lines are all fixed, deep-laid within him, like hidden mines; and she must accept and exercise a wise noninter- ference here. It is just this that is so difficult for some women, They cannot let their children alone and accept this fact. No woman can make water flow uphill. No woman can make a fiddler son out of a mechanic, nora sanguine lad from a nervous type; no woman can make a sissy out of a fighter sissies are born and reénforced, not made; and finally her most common error—no woman can make a son fall in love with a blonde if his love image is a brunette. She may accomplish these things in semblance, but in reality she effects only tragedy. She will cause ‘‘concert”’ and “curse”’ to sound like the same word in a son’s ears; she will drive a nervous temperament to repressions that will take toll in a hidden neurosis; she will make miserable a boy trying to stifle his natural impulses for valor in obeying her foolish lady like inhibi- tions; she will accomplish a son’s marriage to the wife she picks, but marital fidelity will be a lifelong secret burden to him. Intelligent Guidance She has in reality altered not one least fundamental quality of his composition. I repeat that she cannot do anything with the contour her boy’s heredity as- sumes—that her only field of success in molding or shaping lies in adapting this heredity, this essential composition of him, to the demands of the world he is living in. How will she do this? She will not do it all. She will teach him to do it. She will help him to help himself. 1 believe this is the only way in which a mother can intelligently shape a son’s life. He has come to her, full of curious unde- veloped potentialities, without conscious memory or knowledge of life. His mother is to be his guide. She has been over these paths before—up to a point her experience in life coincided with the paths his feet will take. Beyond that she can offer him vica- rious experience, through her imagination, her contact with literature and history. | She has evolved out of her experience and observation a sum total of expediency. | She has learned the interrelation of cause | and effect. She has learned that fire burns; | that honesty is the best policy; that you’ve got to think of the other fellow. These things she must show him—not merely in a sort of patina, a veneering made out of a lot of precepts and an eternal mill- | ing of talk. Heis from Missouri! He must THE SATURDAY EVENING POST For over a generation WL BRAND—with the Brown Band —begins his New Year with more friends than ever before. Good judges of tobacco have smoked Owls for over thirty years, yet the Owl Brand with the Brown Band never grows old. Owl has always offered unusual value, because the General Cigar Co., Inc., con- stantly keeps $3,000,000 worth of leaf in reserve, always curing and mellowing. Every leaf of the tobacco that goes into an Owl Cigar is high in quality. The filler is long-leaf and fragrant. The wrap- per is of genuine Sumatra. Try Owl. The value for the money was never greater. NATIONAL BRAND NEW YORK CITY Te @)’,'2 5 Brand With the Brown Band

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118 THE SATURDAY This New Light What Is It? A tiny glow that guides to it through the a gentle pull on a a sudden, bursting fountain of LIGHT, that reaches up- ward from its graceful bowl, pours and spreads itself everywhere in radiant diffusion! The beauts fluc mce;s eye you dark slender chain and downward, room blooms into beneath its soft in- nerves relax; they and comforted. taut brighten as are eased What this? It ts Gas Light modern form: kind of lighting is your old friend, most in its semti-indirect lighting in a Mebsb ach Gas Bowl Csas Lighting could Do you lreary after night- ike this Welsbach transforming KNOW } know a the iform to the tures made by “any cor art and fashion; home beaut liar pleasure s from pertect lighting. GAS COMPANY rese new Welsbach YOUR n their selection. rUuRED BY LSBAC H COMPANY GLOUCESTER, WN. J. If its for GAS LIGHTING be sure it's Welsbach, rTHuR WE | see them for himself. | him; B | trusted to him, which he EVENING POST I believe the arbi- trary imposition of ideals, of fixed principles and rules, is meaningless. The appeal must be made through a boy’s reason. A mother must give his budding intelligence the proper food, answering his questions—and there will be one or two!—to the extremest reach of her human capacity. He is a newly arrived visitor, and is full of inter- est in the customs of the country he has come to. She must acquaint the boy with certain forces he carries in himself—with, princi- pally, the three that will carry him to and through a successful career: his will power, his bodily vitality, his courage. She should let him understand by simple, practical dem- onstration on his own part, that his will is something that grows strong with use; that it may be an instrument to befriend or rend that it is like a small plant germ in- can cultivate toa strong stalwart growth. I think the de- velopment of a boy’s will power and the line of its growth lie largely in a mother’s keeping. She must teach good body ideals—a standard of health and cleanliness, of respect for his physical well-being; that violation of | this standard in any way will undermine him in all his powers. She must teach him the principles of courage—to draw on his reserve fund of nerve—to believe in himself and his own strength. That like old Cyrano de Ber- gerac he must wear a white plume on the top of his hat, that others seeing it in the | fray may know he is of high heart and good | spirit. These issues, ultimately of vital impor- tance, are laid over a long trail of little in- consequent daily happenings. The dose of ugly-tasting medicine ““Now which one of you two is going to thrash the other? Can you conquer this medicine and swallow it, bad as it tastes, or will it conquer you and make you yell and run?” “You've had enough cake, but you can have more if you’re willing to take a chance on being sick for the picnic to-morrow.” Or “The boy is only bullying you. Don’t be afraid to pass his house. If he rushes out at you, stand up to him. You can let him have it. You're as strong as he.” With such prosaic bricks is a boy’s char- | acter built and the best tone given to his | parent who was asked next morale. He can be let to understand that he is like a car—assembled of different parts; that according to his manner of assembling them he will be a beautiful, strong, high-powered racer reaching any goal; or a fussy, panting, second-rate also- ran. In short, a mother sets her boy an ideal working pattern of himself. It is a platitude to say that this is her job. It al- ways has been, it always will be. He may not approximate it—being a finite human thing like herself—but if she doesn’t give it to him the chances are no one else will. The Cult of the Child A crime very commonly committed by mothers is the attempt to live a son’s life for him. This was even commoner a gener- ation or two ago than to-day. This was a period when boys ran away from home, when parents spoke of breaking a child’s will. Visitors in the plush and horsehair glories of Victorian parlors surveying modest little flights of graduated progeny talked quite over the child’s head. When the little maids had had their chins chucked and the little men—there were no little boys—had had the shape of their heads admired, it was the “And what are you going to make of Charles or Loren or Dick or Harry?” And the parent was usu ally ready. “We are thinking of letting Charles study for the ministry,” or “‘ Loren writes a very good hand; we shall probably make a lawyer of him.” All Charley or Loren had to do was to look pleasant. There was no juvenile referen- dum or recall. Parents worked under a me-und-Gott complex. To-day the pendulum has swung the other way. There are a number of us who will say that when Victorians went out and children came in, we got the lid off too far. We set up the cult of the child with such fury and ardor, and repudiated so violently everything our grandmothers believ~d in, that he is by way of riding us with a high hand. It is true that we think our grand- mothers knew very little about children. They underbathed them and fed them pie January 1,192! and rocked them to sleep and let them wear their adenoids, and were generally quite shocking. On the other hand they paid attention to certain things we do not bother with. They worried a lot about their chil- dren’s souls and thought a great deal about a child’s manner—his ideals of courtesy, reverence and consideration for others- the very bed rock of the word “‘ gentleman in the finest sense. We are not so concerned with these things. We go in for a rather Greek worship of the body. We formula and protein and serum and orthodontia and tonsil and sleeping-porch our boy. We don’t bother greatly about his soul. Our ideals tend toward his more material success, and we are content with the manners the dancing school may teach him. We have swung the pendulum almost to complete reverse, and indeed if the Boy Scout movement had not called our atten- tion a few years ago to certain neglected salt-of-the-earth ideas of the past—this same courtesy, thoughtfulness, kindliness to others—we should have gone on placidly letting self-expression in our young god- lings turn them into as pretty a lot of un- licked noisy young cubs as ever was. Mothers are beginning to realize that not everything they rejected was despicable, and more and more they will attempt to modify their ideas of what is necessary to well-rounded development for a boy. But there is one point where many mothers are still closely if unconsciously allied with very old-fashioned ideas, and that is on the question of vocational or avocational choices for a son—in their will- ingness to live a son’s life for him. A Persistent Fallacy This occurs especially often where a par- ent has been denied certain greatly desired things in his youth and has now the oppor- tunity to compensate himself vicariously by presenting them to his son. “I always wanted to study music, but couldn’t. So I’m starting Alfred right in at six. If I keep at him he can do all the things I couldn't.” It makes no difference that Alfred is a heaven-born naturalist with a passion for toads, spiders and hellgramites; he will have to writhe his way through end- less scales and arpeggios to materialize a lost maternal dream. “Ever since Floyd had the influenza,”” a mother said to me lately, “he has turned against his violin. He is crazy about reading and doesn’t want to practice at all. But I tell him he’s got to put himself down to it; it means too much to me.” The last clause covers the whole phi- losophy of this type of mother. “T never got less than ninety in history, but Ralph does dreadfully in it. I can’t see why. He’s forever making something with wires and strings and wheels.”’ Here the naturalist, the littérateur, the mechanical engineer will no doubt triumph. They will! rebel and find themselves, as the phrase goes, but what a lot of energy is wasted forc- ing them meanwhile to a futile peonage to adult desires. If my boy has no taste for music or is tone-deaf, what does it matter to me that Mrs. Other-Woman’s little Garfield can perform In a Little Cottage Near a Wood on the piano or cello? Let him. I'd as lief force my son to become a proficient on the jew's-harp. I'd get better results, I think. He will have something to balance this shortcoming. Let me find it. h, but that’s the point!” a mother cries. “‘I can’t find out what Stewart's tal- ents are or what he is tending toward. He hasn’t any talent. I might as well make him do something.” It is quite true that it is simpler for some mothers than others. Very easy, for ex- ample, for Hercules’ mother, finding the choked serpents in his baby hands, to sur- mise that he would head the strong-arm squad; or the mother of Handel, lighting her lanthorn at night and discovering her son at the spinet, to predict his musicianly qualities. But even the boy without the sharply defined talent or bent will offer straws to show which way the wind blows if he is given the chance. I believe it is the mother’s part to offer it—through toler- ance, patience, respect for his individuality Some time ago Sonny traded in for a wonderful brass horse. It had pawed and snorted for many a year on somebody’s onyx clock, and had lost its rider’s arm. It was dear and beautiful and sparkling, and presently convoyed by him to that special (Continued on Page 121)

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120 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 1,192! BENJAMIN Porcelain Enameled Products PORCELAIN ENAMELED TABLE PHOTOGRAPHIC STOVE PORCELAIN ENAMELED REFLECTORS TOPS TRAYS PARTS SPECIALTIES Buy With Confidence In the service of many varied industries and millions of homes there are a myriad of devices, thoughtfully designed and painstak- ingly made, that bear the name of Benjamin. Benjamin “Crysteel” Table Tops form part of the fin- ished product of foremost kitchen cabinet manufacturers. Porcelain enameled stove parts, photographic trays, and other specialties are included in a line of high quality enameled products, made to the same standards that char- acterize the electrical products of this institution. You can buy any article of which porcelain enameled steel is a part with full confidence in its integrity, if you know the porcelain is a Benjamin Product. . For full information, address the Advertising Department, Chicago, Ill. nes Pleusar : hter ”” ’ r¢ ‘ mun ws? tee ; ergy ed A myriad of miscellaneous uses are rved with the wide t Pe be ‘ variety of Benramin Porcelain Ename i ad Steel Spe ialty Makers Of Things More Useful ; BENJAMIN ELECTRIC MEG. Co. . noe LIC AG O NEW YORK SAN FRANCISCO TORONTO LONDON

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a en (Continued from Page 118) sanctum where, under the collector’s com- plex in which we are living at present, he keeps an Eden Musée of strange, anomalous objects, arranged according to his own ideas, in a hair-raising violation of female order. An innocent charwoman, misunderstand- ing her instructions, ventured to lay sacri- legious hands on this collection and arrange it to something a feminine mind could understand. Sonny entered the room as she was finishing. His reaction was in- stantaneous, instinctive and universal to all males, similarly outraged. He released Tintagl from his Finnish cave, and with a cry, part sob, part scream, part battle cry, seized the brass horse and fell upon the offender. It was, of course, a shocking affair. We had to use a firm hand and drive Grandpa Tintagl back to his lair. We had to show him that ladies, however offending, must not be beaten with brass horses; but on the other hand we had to concede the violation of certain sacred rights. It is this sort of arbitration that whitens the maternal hair and qualifies her to wear the legal woolsack, but I believe it pays her enormous dividends in the end. I might add that in my own family the filial straws point to a junk-dealer’s career at present. I have no objection in the world. Did I not painfully carry but last spring the precious, moss-covered, time-blanched skull of a long defunct bullock over better than two miles of rubbly hill country road, and only yes- terday dismount from my car to assist in looting an aged mashed tin Lizzie, extract- ing therefrom two rusty piston rings. I have no objection to a career in junk or museum pieces. The Home Complex I am reminded of the Greek philosopher who asked his son, ‘‘And what dost thou wish to be when thou art a man?”’ “T will clean the streets of Athens,” the little fellow answered. “See then that thou clean them better than anyone else has done.” If we concede that a mother can help her son lay the foundations of a good character, establish a strong and healthy body, de- velop an ideal of gentlehood and let him bring forward freely those personal and mental traits which will indicate his future vocation, the question arises, For how long shall she attempt this assistance? Shall she carry her work forward through his ad- olescence or turn it over to another—to the head master and the preparatory school? Economic pressure settles this question for a wide range of mothers, for whom the vocational school or the industry becomes the final molding influence of her son’s youthful life; but where the college or university impends for the son of the house the agitation of this question becomes ex- ceedingly relevant. For a parent too indifferent or too busy to keep closely in touch with a boy passing through the delicate adjustive years of puberty, for a parent who is an awful ex- ample or who has failed utterly to help the boy make the first necessary adjustments in self-knowledge I have mentioned—a boy who has, so to speak, become a handful the preparatory school is the logical solu- tion. It stands in such cases in loco parentis, and is the best remedy for these condi- tions. But for the family with an ideal of self- control, consideration for others, respect for true American culture and an apprecia- tion of genuine aristocracy—those finer personal qualities that do not impinge on birth or place—I believe the preparatory school has nothing to offer. I hear dissenting cries. “Break the home complex,” says the psychoanalyst. “Cut the apron strings; get the boy on his own,”’ says the self-made man whoslept in a packing box and peddled newspapers for his start. And admirers of the British Empire cry: ‘‘How could the British ever have colonized the world with- out the initiative and daring developed by the breaking of early ties tnrough the boarding-school system?” I will not debate the last question, though prepared to suggest certain irrelevant facts as to geographical compression, the in- spiration to imagination of a small country surrounded by the sea; but if the home means an apron string or a sheath of cotton wool I agree with the first two. Home is not a place in which to tie up a boy or un- duly to protect him—it is a place merely to prepare him. The right sort of home will ; do this. I do not agree with the psycho- analyst anyhow. You can break ‘“‘a” home complex but never “‘the’”” home complex. It is an abiding symbol to man and accom- panies him to the last years of his life, when, like a tired child, he reaches out for something to go home to. I notice that men who slept in packing boxes and peddled newspapers are apt to pity them- selves, and it was a man with no home at all and consequently no complex who wrote the greatest song about it of all time—John Howard Payne, who wrote Home, Sweet Home. The instinct for home life, for the family relation, is an inherent, deep-laid one, and indestructible in its gen- eral aspect. Why then attempt to destroy | it, untimely, in the particular image? That this is a needlessly painful and cruel pro- | cess is borne out by the sort of letters young | lads write home; by the revelation highly organized, sensitive boys will make: “Dearest Father and Dearest Mother: I pray to you to let me come home. I have cried for three days. I cannot study. I am sick.” “Dear Mother: Well, here I am at schoél. I am not very well. How is the dog? I wish I could see you and father. The teachers are nice, but I do not like it but I will try to study. I wish I could see you and father.” “Dear Father and Mother: I am writing | to ask you to let me come home. There is nothing wrong with this school and the people are nice but I would like to of waited another year before going. I can’t seem to get my mind on my lessons or to sleep well.” These are, of course, reactions from boys sent away very young; but even at an age when the emotions are concealed and phlegm agd stoicism courted there is often a bitter dose of an entirely unnecessary an- guish, not the less profound because so often covered under a jaunty, casual, even gruff exterior. And the break once thus made is definite and final. The boy returns, but things are never quite the same. He has learned to live a life apart from his family. He has had his horizon suddenly, abruptly ex- panded, and is aware that his family is merely an unimportant integer in a great social sum, instead of the whole proposi- tion. This, of course, isa truth and not to be ignored, but in the normal course of things he would acquire the knowledge more gradually. The sending of a boy away to school is frequently analogous to the set- ting of an undeveloped plant in the warm blast of a hothouse. It is like the forcing process of horticulturists, and entirely an- tithetical to the slower developing pro- cesses of Nature. The Preparatory School What he has theoretically gained, of course, to offset any such disadvantage, is self-reliance. But his reliance is not so much on him- self as on the views and theories and pres- entations of his schoolmates. It is true that, called on for judgment, he cannot run THE SATURDAY EVENING POST In PHILADELPHIA The Pennsylvania Rail- road has standardized on Baker- Vawter regular ledger binders. CP cost of your of- fice may be reduced, more work and ac- curately done. Our analysis of your office will cost no- thing—it may save you much. BAKER-VAWTER COMPANY Service offices in 52 Cities Jn Canada Copeland Chatterson Lid, Brampton, Ontario Originators and Manufacturers Loose Leaf and Steel Filing Equipment to father or mother for advice, but there is nothing to prevent his running to his chum, his nearest associates, his dormitory mates, supplied through proximity or the un- pruned expression of his own green taste. A boy undoubtedly gains in esprit de corps, a knowledge of sporting tactics, of the thing to be done in a manly way, of masculine group conventions, by being in a preparatory school; but are these not balanced by the coloration of his ideas and the knowledge of life facts he secures in dormitory conversation with his contempo- raries? “Why, dormitory conversation is no worse than the conversation on public- school playgrounds, on street corners, and the like; than any such conversation which is admittedly normal and a part of mascu- line development.” It is not; but the boy who gets it on the street or temporary playground has some- thing to come back to while he is making his evaluations. He can compare and test the validity of the new philosophies offered him. If he is in the confidence of his par- ents he can question. He sees the family group, a solved problem morally and so- cially in the face it presents the world; he | sees the pattern in which things have been | worked out by other people—of which he | must presently be part. | uiniKOPY MARK The Carbon Paper That Gives Satisfaction HAT is the largest number of good car- bon copies you can make with one typing? How sharp can carbon copies Send for Samples of MultiKopy Carbon Paper be—how clean, and /ast- ingly readable? What carbon paper, most work per Multikop ill delight you. Write brand of Fagorenae so Coes". ecalaaa does the , MultiKopy Carbon Paper, and the sheet! equally superior Star Typewriter Rib a : bons, sold by principal dealers the [o answer these questions, world over. F. S. WEBSTER COMPANY 335 Congress Street, Boston, Mass.

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4 FLORSHEIM” in a shoe dis- poses of all doubt about its quality. You take nothing on faith; you know the shoe is right or the name would not be there. Florsheim prices are reasonable; Florsheim quality is unusual. THE FLORSHEIM SHOE COMPANY Chicago Manufacturer The Ratnbou Style M-55 Booklet Styles of the Times on request UGGAGE and men’s findings made of Genuine Keratol are distinctive and reflect good taste. Genuine Keratol wears better than most animal leather, looks better and costs less. Demand the Genuine THE KERATOL CO. Newark, New Jersey | elective opportunities. | | | THE SATURDAY EVENING POST All healthy youth is fundamentally law- less and every school of boys of any kind is subconsciously a stream of energy organ- ized against authority. Is it better that life from any angle be learned by a boy ina continuous association with this implicit organization of youth than in interrupted | intervals, where there is still opportunity for intimate interest in him on the part of | those who have called him here, and which will never be felt by anyone else? ; I believe that self-reliance and esprit de | corps are as well learned in the home as | education; anywhere, by giving a boy a share in its responsibility, by asking his opinion on matters touching it, by giving him a chance for personal experiment, for the earning of pocket money, for little forays into life. A boy should have a certain amount of street he must run with the gang, mates of his choosing; must go out after | his own experience. To try to prevent this | is to mutilate him. He will make some sad mistakes, in your judgment, but the best corrective you can offer him is his home organization, the sum total of his father, | his mother, their associates, the line of talk he hears, the books they read, the ethical principles they practice. If your average is below seventy-five, don’t hesitate. Off | with him! “But,” one mother cries, ‘we have a good home and have tried everything, but Bill is insubordinate. He is insolent and contemptuous in his home. He behaves very well for his teachers, for outsiders, but we can’t do a thing with him.” It is a deplorable truth that outsiders can often do more for a boy than a parent; in fact, in a boy’s adolescence there comes a period when he reacts against his parents, quite unconsciously. The intensity of this reaction must govern the parent. There comes a time when any boy must readjust his world. He finds out his father and mother, discovers they are fallible; yes, even frauds. ¥ One boy of thirteen, pale and passionate, cried to his mother, hearing some social white lie: ‘‘Why, you and father are noth- ing but liars. The whole world is nothing but lies. I hate it. I don’t want to live in it.” This feeling often comes from the com- promise demanded in his ideals. Nothing is at once so absurdly idealistic and so hideously primal as this woolly young male | biped of the adolescent period. The clash and crash that is going on within him de- mands a patient understanding and toler- ance. Infact, understanding and tolerance, and a strong sense of humor, are the only things that will carry the parents through. Usually they can get through without any serious trouble other than the Willy Baxter problems of seventeen furnish. But here and there a boy, bitter, arrogant, defiant, derisive—even hating his father and mother—arises. There is no solution for him but separation. He will get toned down and will appreciate his home, his parents better. Yet here, too, however excellent the in- tention, I believe that there has been some slip; that his state is not so much an in- dictment of Bill as of Bill’s parents. The American Idea Unquestionably the prep school has many superior qualities. It is conducted by gentlemen who, in all situations where a gentleman can impose his standards of good breeding, will do their best for your boy. It offers an exceedingly fine classical flavor in its curriculum, less and less often made use of in the high school with its It offers, as a beau- tiful theory, certain standards of gentle liv- ing and contact with carefully reared youths, by being restricted to membership from that class that can afford to pay for such restriction. But even if this theory proved up it is, for a normal ideal of American living, founded on fallacy. It postulates a class distinction which does not exist in this country beyond, possibly, the college graduation. For the man who must inevi- tably take his place in a business or pro- fessional life later on, in contact with all manners and types of men, in the majority of cases deriving his livelihood from their January 1,192! yatronage, it may prove an actual stum- bling block and an encumbrance. His best adjustment and reaction to the world he must live in, the world he must conform to, are got in his youthful plastic period by actual contact with the boys who will make these men. If he enters public school he associates with the son of Pat Grogan, the teamster; and Julius Rosen- feld, the little tailor’s son; and Paulos Con- stantine, whose father runs a candy store; and Hegob Bendir, the lace merchant’s son; with the sons of the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker. They are a job lot, a hit-or-miss batch of boys. They enter school and take their places without preferment, and in athletics or in study the best man wins. This is the American idea— a proper respect for individual merit and energy; and considering our common and unaristocratic human ancestry hereinbe- fore mentioned, the only rational basis of classification. A boy thus associated learns that he must compete for the prizes of life they will not be presented. *Presently these boys will be out in actual life, the makers of their contemporary America. Surely that man who has learned in his youth to speak their language, to work and to play with them, will be the better equipped to understand them later, when he directs the big factory or the hospi- tal or the department store or the opera- tions of a court room. A Boy’s Rights The gift of handling men is the greatest practical asset in the world. It is possessed only by people who understand the com- mon ways of thinking. The preparatory school does not teach this to the boy. It is incompatible with the ideal of restriction It stands for a more limited, insulated cul- ture as against that broad, sweeping kind that embraces a knowledge of all sorts of men and conditions. I repeat that these paragraphs are set down in all modesty as the conclusions of a maternal Uriah Heep. They are the phi- losophy of a woman being personally con- ducted by one small boy, but who has had a close contact with many hundreds of lads, and who loves their tribe. Out of these experiences, real and vicarious, has been evolved a creed offered here in conclusion: A CREED FOR THE MOTHER OF A Boy I believe in the inalienable right of little boys: To have mothers who are good pals; To get dirt on their hands and clothes, to ask questions, to make a healthy racket, to shun parlor tricks, to express themselves and have a place in the sun, to be busy about the affairs that are peculiarly theirs, to bring their clutter into the house and fill their pockets with marbles and nails and acorns and corks and chalk and cuds of chewing gum, and so on; To have taught to them at home the meaning of patriotism, honor, truth, cour- age, respect for others’ rights, the use of good English, that two times two is always four and the price of money; To learn to laugh at themselves and to take a joke and a hard knock or a disap- pointment; To know the world of outdoors—the brooks and trees and birds and flowers personally, and in the books of Henri Fabre and such men; to meet those dare- devils Tom Mix and Bill Hart, and also the best people of history and literature—the Knights of the Round Table, Sir Philip Sidney, Arnold von Winkelried, Nathan Hale, the brave Crusoe and his parrot; To play at all hearty games and sports— pirate and Indian and coasting and ball and skating, and to go swimming in the old swimmin’ hole; And to be indulged in half holidays and red roast beef and pink ice cream and circus parades; and to be spanked— or the equiv- alent of justice administered, when neces- sary—and to be permitted an occasional green apple. I believe in the inalienable right of little boys to be greatly loved and cared for, and to have mothers—and fathers too—who are good pals. It all comes back to that—it’s the foun- dation of everything for a boy. a

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GRACE A WATCH CASE— “THE LEAF THAT NEVER DIED” Exemplifying the Wadsworth art of fashioning cases for the leading watch movements It chanced one day in the fifth century B. C., that Callimachus, a famous Corinthian architect, passed by a maiden's tomb and noticed thereon a tile over which an acanthus plant had spread its foliage. Pleased with the beauty of the leafy contour, he copied it, and upon erecting « olumns at Corinth shortly after, capped them with his newly dis covered design. Thus, according to tradition, was the Corinthian capital conceived Adorning classic friezes, vases and bronzes, traced upon the works of gold and silver smith- craft, the acanthus leaf has lived through the suc ceeding ages~—it is ‘ ‘the leaf that never died.” Today, in the men’s and women’s cases shown above, Wadsworth artists have adapted this rare design so honored by the ancients. Whether the choice be a woman's wristlet, jewel-frosted or of chaste simplicity, a clean-lined strap or pocket watch for men, there will be found in the creations of the Wadsworth artists a case for every taste, a case for every purse THE WADSWORTH WATCH CASE Watch cases and watch movements are scarcely ever made by the same manufacturer The making of the movement requires the highest degree of mechanical skill. No lesser skill, however, is required of the case maker, for watch service and watch satisfaction depend in no small measure upon the proper casing of the delicate watch mechanism And to this skill must be added the artistry which makes the case a thing of beauty as well as utility Movement makers seldom make cases K K Thus it is that for thirty years leading manufac turers and importers have turned to Wadsworth for their cases. Many of the most beautiful, most popular designs with which you are acquainted are Wadsworth creations When you buy a watch, select a movement that your jeweler will recommend and have him dress" it in a Wadsworth case. The Wadsworth name is your assurance not only of correct design but of the finest in material and workmanship CO., CINCINNATI, OHIO Makers De watch cases exclusively Factories: FOR FINE WATCHES Dayton, Ky adsworth (cases,

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The Maker’s Mark of Identification on Cooper's- Bennington Spring Needle Underwear and ‘‘ Allen A’’ Summer Wear for Men and Boys—all weights and fabricsfor every season of the year Black Cat Hesiery— Reinforced Silk, lisle, wool, cotton —for Men, Women and Children, Give your Confidence to the Merchant who Merits it MAN usually devotes about five minutes to buying underwear or hosiery. He finds what looks like the kind he wants. Matters of cut, fit, finish, brand and money’s worth are taken for granted. A merchant may well ask himself whether he always merits such im- plicit confidence! The typical stock of mixed brands and lots and qualities can not do it. Nor anything else but concentration on a standardized line—the same all through the range of weights and sizes; always the same in quality, wear and comfort, no matter what the market conditions. There is such a service. It is more than thirty years old. You can find it in thousands of stores. Its sign is the label of ‘*Allen A”’ —the new mark of the Maker’s iden- tification and responsibility on the celebrated Cooper’ s-Bennington Spring Needle Underwear and Black Cat Hosiery. **Allen,’’ the name of the Makers; their personal pledge of responsibility to you. And ‘‘A’’—the standard mark of first and finest grade. These famous lines come straight from the Mills to the Merchant. He deals with the Makers direct. He knows what he is offering you, and merits the confidence he asks from you. The Allen A Company Kenosha, Wisconsin

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THRILLS (Continued from Page 15) ***Look here, Tom,’ I replied, ‘you have had four different motor cars in four years, each costing two thousand dollars or more. Your boy has driven them up and down the country roads every day and night; I know, for I have seen him. It costs at least fifteen cents a mile to run that kind of a car. You bought a thousand dollars’ worth of Liberty Bonds, fixed up your house, took a trip to Ohio — “*That is enough,’ he exclaimed; ‘I didn’t think of all those things.’ “That is the trouble with many pro- ducers—they fail to take into account the purchases and expenses they have been responsible for in these active days and which have no connection whatever with their crop raising. This is not saying that all farmers have made money, but I do con- tend that many exaggerate their situation.” The fact remains, however, that there is less interest in the back-to-the farm idea than a few years ago. The Government has in the 1920 census looked into the farm ownership and has just published its find- ings. The United States has 6,449,998 farms, a “farm” meaning “land which is directly farmed by one person by his own labor alone or with assistance of members of his household or hired employees.”” The increase since 1910 is 88,496, or 1.4 per cent. In the decade preceding, the increase was 624,130, or 10.9 per cent. The decrease in the number of farms in the leading agricul- tural states is startling. Illinois lost 14,719; Indiana, 10,361; Iowa, 3732; Kansas, 12,554; Nebraska, 3369; Missouri, 14,120. The South and the Pacific Coast, including the far Northwest, made the gains. This means that land in the lead ng producing states is passing into larger ‘dings, with fewer residents directly dey t on the production of the soil. Fart. mtry in- creases and urban population . The younger generation evidently s ater profit in going to the city and w. ing in industrial or business or professional life. State Aid for Farmers In an effort to overcome this some West- ern states are undertaking on an extensive seale the financing of the landless farmers. Kansas at the November election adopted an amendment to its constitution author- izing the legislature to issue bonds or make appropriation for the purchase of land to be resold on long time to farmers who have no means. It is ae that thereby the tenantry of the farmland, now reaching to practically one-half the tilled area of the state, will be lessened. Oklahoma, through a statute ‘to encourage and promote land home ownership” becoming effective July 1, 1920, has created a revolving fund of $250,000 to be loaned in sums not exceeding $2000 to those not owning more than forty acres of land to assist them in securing larger farms, payments to run over twenty years on the amortization plan. That state has since 1907 loaned its school fund on farmland security, with a maximum of $2500 to a borrower. It is placed at five per cent interest, a total of $14,484,387 having been loaned, with only ten fore- closures and no losses, according to the secretary of the fund. When the new re- volving fund was available more than 6000 applications were on file, indicating the de- sire of the tenant and the landless to obtain a foothold. South Dakota began in 1917 with a revolving loan fund on asimilar plan, but limited only by the amount of bonds that could be sold. It has loaned at six and seven per cent $26,232,250, according to the board in charge; has 6254 loans out- standing; and 487 applications pending. The board states that it has met with no losses. These state movements indicate an earnest appreciation in the agricultural sections of the menace of increasing ten- antry and the desirability of having a larger farm population. To one conclusion have all come: An easier method must be provided for the skilled young farmer to procure a farm of his own. Available acre- age is not lacking, not necessarily acreage now untilled, for there is little such re- maining, but farms now worked poorly by tenants and producing less than they should and could. Concretely, this means the provision of capital at low rates for the purchase and equipment of such farms, op- portunity for ambitious land seekers to oper- ate farmsteads. It is accepted that tenant farmers, speaking generally, represent a much less capable class than these farm- reared young men, educated under their fathers’ tutelage, and are less likely or able to cultivate the acres according to the best methods or handle them in a businesslike | manner, bringing the soil to a more produc- tive state. Even if capable, there is for them little inducement to overexertion on another’s property, such as would exist were the land their own. Broader Markets Needed Undoubtedly the increased efficiency of the producer enables him to-day to care for more acres than in the old era of land and horse labor. He can with a tractor do the work of three teams, and there is a | corresponding tendency to take on a‘greater acreage. It used to be said that every farmer wants to buy all the land that joins his farm—and that is not much changed in these days. Idle acres are not visible; somebody must be tilling the soil, and the argument is sometimes heard that it is better to have a smaller rural population to support and so give a greater supply for the manufac- turing of raw material into commodities for the world’s use. This, of course, checks back immedi- ately to the need of a world market, and the producing country is intensely inter- ested in the development of our trade overseas. The producer has learned that the market for our products cannot be confined to our own shores, that the worker in the factory at Schenectady or Lynn must have a larger output field for his activities than America. The financial in- terests of the farm country are willing to help to the best of their ability to develop this market if they can be shown how. Their criticism has been for the past year that they were not certain just what could be done. Flour mills in the interior make ship- ments to Belgium, Holland, England, South America. They wish to enlarge this trade, thereby furnishing a demand for the prod- ucts of the land, and seek methods of ac- complishing it. he producer is commencing to realize that a large part of his output must move to distant lands. He is visualizing his load of wheat as it passes to the elevator, thence to the mill, then bumping for hun- dreds of miles in freight cars to seaboard, and finally on board ship bound for the far corners of the earth. The experience of the past year has taught him to think in terms of freight cars and to some degree in | terms of ships. As this larger horizon ex- tends it means a firmer grasp on the prin- ciples of price establishment and better understanding of exactly upon what his crop return depends. Though the halting progress of foreign trade has not been wholly responsible for the “‘producers’ strike’’ because of low price levels for his output, it has been a | factor, and he concedes it. The farm coun- try is in a more receptive mood to-day for | taking up the problem of establishing | foreign trade than at any time in its | THE SATURDAY EVENING POST FOODSTUFFS AND FINANCIAL | DeLuxe’ | €) ) S All Seasow OU’LL find the latest models equipped with the Badger Top De Luxe—the practical, artistic, durable, all season top for touring cars You should have one for your car and enjoy the conveniences of the most luxufious Sedan. Cali fornia design-—-beautiful in line and finish— solidly built— perma- nently attached—free from rattles and squeaks— warm in winter fae open to summer breezes-— the hae ® Badger Top De Luxe gives com- , fort supreme in all weather. Now built for Buick, Nash, Studebaker, Hudson, Essex, Chandler and Oldsmobile Closed car season is here. See your dealer at once or write. McAvoy Bros. & Co. Racine, Wis. Makers of Fine Tops for Automobiles CVHAT fracti yours, if your car 1s signal operates with absolute certainty. The Buell is now ust d as is the only warning signal approved by the Underwriters’ Labor: toric a I APPROVED BY UNDERWRITERS LABORATORIES Warns /n Time mn of a second between safety and disaster is Buell-equipped. This most efficient equipment by 101 manufacturers. Jt or safe motoring equip your car with a Buell o a EXPLOSION WHISTLE | WARNS EVERY TIME BUELL MFG. CO. CHICAGO

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THE SATURDAY 126 ‘Other fellows

Courtright have made a barrel — North of money out of Dakota Curtis work. Why not Hawley?” he asked himself. Now he earns $600000 a Year A few years ago Courtright Hawley was clerking in a small-town store in North Dakota. He’d seen our ad- vertisements in The Saturday Evening Post telling of the success of subscription representatives, so he wrote for our offer. ‘If other fellows are making barrels of money out of Curtis work,’’ he rightly reasoned, “why not Hawley?” He gave it a trial: now he earns six thousand Curtis deiteds every year. You Need No Experience Mr. Hawley found that it took him just one hour to earn his first five dollars the Curtis way. That’s a familiar story: beginners often write in to tell us that their first Curtis profits were the easiest money they ever earned. The reason is plain: The Saturday Evening Post, The Ladies’ Home Journal and The Country Gentleman are in demand everywhere; you have only to ask to obtain big subscription orders. From the very start we will pay you generous commissions and a liberal bonus, based on production, for the business you for- yard to us. You're bound to make money. Establish Yourself in a Permanent Prosperous Business Mr. Hawley and the other workers whose faces are shown at the left have built up for themselves an in-

Silas Sheetz (North Carolina) $60.00 a Week

Raymond Starr (California) $100.00 a Week

dependent business that brings growing returns year after year. You can do as well. It is the policy of The Curtis Publishing Company, whenever possible, to appoint its full-time field circulation men only from its staff if you accept our offer you are in line for such a position, with a regular weekly salary and expense account. In the meantime you can take advantage of our spare-time plan to earn a helpful extra dollar. | of commission workers; Eller (Pe $300.00 a Month Mahaffey ‘ee eeeennsa-----==-Clip and Mail Today ------------------ The Curtis Publishing Company 898 Independence Square, Philadelphia, Penna. Gentlemen: Please send me, to subscription representatives. without obligation, full details about your offer I'd like to make more money.

Name Street or R. F. D.

Town State

EVENING POST history. That it has confidence in the recovery of Europe is evidenced by its willingness to invest in foreign securities — to an extent felt by many bankers to be detrimental to our own industries, which so grievously need additional capital. How- ever, the effect may in the end be bene- ficial, if it will aid in bringing a larger trade area and in securing a foreign business re- vival. The insularity of earlier days has passed with the average producer; his vision has been enlarged by the events of the past four years and he sees not only his own community but the broad field of human endeavor as an influence in the progress of his own dreams. As we enter on the new year the producer is yet uncertain of events. Another wheat crop, aggregating practically as large an acreage as that of 1920, is coming on; spring will bring its call of the field. The old adage of the Western settler, “Times will be better in the spring,’”’ always holds good—so far as its psychological effect on humanity is concerned. But foresight is far less certain than hindsight. On December 31, 1919, twenty- three eminent financial authorities con- tributed to a New York financial paper their opinions in answer to the query: “What will be the course of commodity prices in 1920?” The answers read rather curiously in the light of events. Only two or three predicted a general and extensive decline of prices in the year; some foresaw a further rise; the highest authorities lim- ited their views to the opinion that “no further great rise is probable.”” Two emi- nent economists thought that “prices should begin to recede”’ and that “‘fluctua- tions around the present level’? would prevail. Not the least remarkable was the idea of those who forecast a decline that it would come by reason of probable contraction of European currencies. But Europe’s paper money has expanded enor- | mously and our own Federal Reserve bank circulation reached late in autumn the highest point in its history, nearly half a billion dollars greater than the year before. Yet the price level of commodities declined more than twenty per cent from March to November. The limit of the public’s endurance and the forced liquidation of loans in order that the banks might have funds with which to finance daily needs did what economists and financiers had not fore- seen—brought determining influences for deflation. Carried over from the past season is a vast store of foodstuffs, the greatest ever January 1,192¢ known, all yet to find its way to market. Basic nt * 5 the real largess of the soil, is waiting for the consumer's table. Whether it move slowly or rapidly, it must even- tually move—and when it does will begin the liquidation of the farm debt and the improvement of the financial condition of the agricultural states. Bankers generally believe that early spring, at latest, will see a change, especially if the growing wheat crop then promises well. Knowledge of this is the stabilizing in- fluence nolding steady the hopes and con- fidence of merchant and financier. Both have been disappointed in the trend of business, both have felt that they were carrying too great a portion of the burden and that it should have been more equably distributed between producer and business interests; but faith that eventually there would come a return to normal conditions has been maintained. Three facts have been impressed on the producer by the events of the past few months: That the economic law of supply and demand cannot be overcome: that the Federal Reserve system exists not for one class but for all; that after-war deflation must fall upon him as well as upon others Perhaps this last experience came to him earlier than *t should; but that is a matter beyond the regulation of any class. Doubtless we shall see many changes in the methods of marketing of foodstuffs Codperative selling is gaining ground. The producer, like the average retailer, can make his greatest profit by elimination of unnecessary expense, not by artificially forcing upward the price of his commodity With it all will be a clearer vision on the part of the consumer of the position occu- pied by the producer, growing out of the publicity in the campaign for a fair return in providing foodstuffs. Continuous war- time prices for food are as impossible as wartime prices for other commodities and this is being understood by those most concerned. The saving grace is that all through the farm country has continued a firm be''rf in the ultimate righting of things—either through bringing the price level of the farmer’s products up to the producer’s idea of fair return or through the lowering of his living expense to compensate for the decreased income. It is unlikely that we shall see in the coming year any such financial thrills as have accompanied the irregular marketing of the foodstuffs of 1920; nor do the business or financial in terests desire ever to experience them again.

IS fully protected by copyright. THE SATURDAY EVENING ‘POST The use of our articles or quotations from them for advertising promotions and stock-selling schemes is never authorized.

Table of Contents January 1, 1921 SHORT STORIES PAGE The Man Who— Lloyd Osbourne it¢e @ * 6 6S oe The Red Handed — Wil! Levington Comfort . ae ape see 8 The Old Man—Albert Payson Terhune 12 The Lieutenant of the Marble Venus—Sir Philip Gibbs . 16 ARTICLES A Quest in Youbetcherland—IJrvin S. Cobb ah cher Gans tat The Mother and Her Boy— Mary Brecht Pulver 10 She Drifted to the City— James H. Collins 11 Foodstuffs and Financial Thrills—Charles Moreau Harger 14 Alvaro Obregén: As Cabinet Minister—Dr. E. J. Dillon 23 SERIALS The Wrong Twin— Harry Leon Wilson 18 The Trouble With Women— Lucian Cary 20 My Son—Corra Harris 24 DEPARTMENTS Editorials <a Everybody’s Business— —Floyd W. Parsons 31 Small-Town Stuff— Robert Quillen 43

IMPORTANT NOTICE TO READERS: A Request for Change of Address must reach us at least thirty 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 such advance notice. Be sure to give your old address as well as the new one.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 127 " ae handiest tool of all f Yes, dexterous, convenient —is ‘‘LePage’s”’ with its improved Tube and Spreader. It makes and mends. It helps you save and not spend. Stronger and better than nails even where nails will do. It has been doing the world’s “ fixing”’ for the past half-century. And costs so little! The Universal maker and mender VERY day you will fifid new uses for LePage’s inch square wooden joint, LePaged, is 2340 lbs, EK Glue. It goes a long way—apply little or LePage’s Glue with its ‘“‘can’t-be-lost’’ stopper much—and keeps to the last drop. It’s pure; will spreader is the one thing costing but a few not discolor the most delicate fabric; nothing pennies—and sold universally——that is an ever- like it for paper work; still it’s the strongest ready maker and mender—for the home, shop, adhesive known. The breaking tension of a one office, store—for any tool-box, anywhere, anytime. RUSSIA CEMENT COMPANY, Laboratory and Factory, GLOUCESTER, MASS + é 6B. SE Making Picture Frames Repairing Furniture LePaging Screw in Ragged Hole In the Home Workshop Make your own frames and save When the constant strain on the legs A pulled-out screw that has lost its Hammer, screw-driver, gimlet; ali these money. In frame making nothing else of a rocking chair loosens them “only “thread-grip”’ can be made to hold, and tools have their uses, but LePage’s will do but glue—LePage’s—it’s the LePage’s will do” to hold them securely hold everlastingly, by LePaging the Glue will do a lot of work that none of strongest adhesive known in place screw before reinserting it these tools can do

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128 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 1,192! DVANCED electrical science, coupled with skill that has flourished for nearly a quarter of a century, combines in Robbins & Myers Motors to that pronounced reliability for which they are everywhere known. In factories and in countless thousands of American homes and offices, these compact and quiet sources of energy are daily demonstrating their sterling honesty of build. The best materials that retort and crucible can yield, the finest craftsmanship that can be summoned to the making of motors, are put without stint into every power unit that bears the Robbins & Myers name. 4 Made in Springfield, Ohio. — Brantford, Ontario. ~ SS

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. oe tr * “ aie ay ee See S 22 000000 0056989008 0000 855% 3088000885098 8000004 TEE III rrr ] i a a a oo eee Me is 5 el cc TR es RE RSS SETS as e. 5 EN E ES ry : . 12 —absolutely essential if you would have a strong, vigorous body, free from ailments and be able to enjoy life indoors and out, summer and winter. § Unclean teeth breed tartar and film, and they in turn cause disease and decay. Modern dentistry can almost replace nature’s own perfection, but after long periods of neglect or ineffective cleansing methods it’s a costly and painful process. VIVOMINT offers a better, a more simple way to keep your Q teeth clean, sound and healthy— It Cleanses the Entire Mouth H as the Teeth are Brushed Ps " - ‘Se SSSOOS: = * Dente ty ty Brushing the teeth alone is not enough to keep them every inter-dental crevice, searching out and destroying i @ ry] clean. Many of the germs of tartar and decay come from the enemies of sound, healthy teeth. ° ¢ secretions in the tiny folds of mouth membrane and Thus, the entire mouth is cleansed as well as the teeth. r * other places the tooth brush never reaches. That feeling of cleanliness and purity left after the use Tet 2] How then can you get at them? of VIVOMINT is real. Get to know it, to recognize in ide . § fia ' : it something so distinctive that you will unquestionably ie § VIN wise was wr ag "te this — ghee igen prefer VIVOMINT. HY ry a powertul antiseptic, harmiess to you, but deadly to ‘ \ tf tl , cede tk dil acta Gi Bie MA ed oe Roa Send for a Free Trial Tube « 4 “ germs tna — gerd Sern. M8 Tne — A are Drusne The coupon below is for your convenience. Use VIVOMINT, r4 ry with VIVOMINT it cleanses and whitens them, and, Give it a thorough trial. You will like it. Tell your e e in addition, the delicious creamy foam caused by brushing friende about this new and different dentifrice. ] ae carries this antiseptic into every part of the mouth, Paris VIVAUDOU New York i s ‘ i 8 ° ' 3. r4 ‘ 4 a | “ate : 4 is ‘ , , a i THE NEW DENTIFRIC ~ DEALERS: Your customers wiil be wanting VIVOMINT eo” Are you going to supply it? Write to us for attractive i“ proposition. Vivaudou Shaving Cream & Its cool, soothing freshness makes shaving a pleasure morning of night For the stiffest: beard or tenderest skin. Try it A fter Shaving Talcum Anecessity after you have once used it Makes the face feel fine alter a close LL3 HT shave. Prepared especially for this purpose. TRIAL TUBE COUPON V. Vivaudou, Inc., Dept. 909, Times Bldg., New York City Send me a free trial tube of VIVOMINT TOOTH PASTE. 1 will give it a fair test ff V7; Vaudou'’s A/POOat , T 7 ye rj Name } Street and No Ae) City and State

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Shining -Sanitary fen L tensils AC jl OM Bltica me locteiomel ie ehmcbelem ett hy removes grease, stains, burned-in crusts, etc. from cooking utensils and makes them bright like new. The quality insures economy and effi- y a ciency for all general cleaning. Saves ‘\; am time and labor. Can’t harm the skin. ES EVERY Ty, * “ NG SPICK «~ SPAN