The Saturday Evening Post 1921-01-22: Vol 193 Iss 30

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST yt f HUGH MACNAIR KAHLER — SAMUEL MERWIN — WILL IRWIN ARTHUR TRAIN —JAY E. HOUSE — ISAAC F. MARCOSSON

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THE NASH PERFECTED VALVE-IN-HEAD MOTOR In every community you will find the Nash Six Sedan owned by men and women who are particularly exacting in their requirements. They have singled out the Nash Six Sedan for their approval because it possesses those qualities which make their investment a completely satis- factory one—unusual power, reli- ability, spacious comfort and notable UR. PRICES beauty of design and finish. These pleasing and pronounced Nash qualities are also found in the ' new Nash Four, built in sedan, tour- Price fb Milwande ing car, roadster and coupé. The Nash Motors Company, Kenosha, Wisconsin Four Cylinder Car Division, Milwaukee, Wisconsin Manufacturers of the Nash Six, the Nash Four, and Nash Trucks [|

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST WELL-TO-DO MEN are usually the best dressed men. That's because they don't hesitate to pay the price for good clothes. Society Brand Clothes are not for the wealthy alone, but they are tailored with more care and cut from bet: ter fabrics, and hence cost more, than clothes not so well made ALFRED DECKER & COHN, Makers,Chicago,New York In Canada. SOCIETY BRAND CLOTHES, Lim Society Brand GDlothes

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 22,1921 ~—= —— > ipple Sauce Fruit Cake «sei... t J cook book offered below ——made without butter, eggs or milk Crisco gives it its delicious richness. Once you make cake with Crisco, you will use no other shortening. No cooking fat could be daintier or more wholesome than Crisco. It is just pure, refined vegetable oil, solidified by the special Crisco process. There is nothing else like it. It is white— makes snowy white cakes. It gives cakes the same flavor as when butter is used; all that is necessary is to add a teaspoonful of salt for each cupful of Crisco. It is rich—goes further in everything. It is odorless and stays so till used, without even being kept on ice. Try it. See how much better it is for every kind of cooking. aw Crisco is always sold in this sani- tary, dirt-proof container—never in bulk, One pound and larger How do you measure flour for cake? learn the correct way, and all the other little knack ‘ sizes, net weights. At all good of mak perfect cakes, from the big Crisco cook grocers’. d made and d in book, a “Calendar of Dinners,” in which Marior for Frying -for ShAortenin ‘anada. Harris Neil, formerly cookery editor of “ The Ladie Home Journal,” gives the cooking knowledge that For Cake Making ule her famous. Tells how to judge meats, fish, wl | vewetables: what to do and what baking, broiling, roasting and frying all ves 615 exclusive useful recipes and i . jiete «inner menus-one for very day m the year 231 pares. Illustrated Cloth- bound Send us 1) nt 1 Stamps, today, and we il \ mail you one copy, postpaid. (Only ne py to an address, as each book cost is several times 10 cents.) Write to Departm K-1, Home Economics Sect The Procter & Gamble Cor rcinnati, Ohio

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Published Weekly George Horace Lorimer EDITOR The Curtis Publishing Churchill Williams, FS. Bigelow A Company W. Neall, Arthur Me Ke ogh FE. Dinsmore Cyrus H. HK. Curtis, President Associate Editors Walter D. Fuller. Secretacy 1879, at the Post Of at Philadelphis William Boyd, Advertising Directo Under the Ag of March 3, 18 Add nal Enter as Se nd-Class Mat Independence Square Philadelphia F d d AD! Ss hb B M4 F kli . . ounce 172 ry Den). Franklin acim nctitanl London: 0, Henrietta Street Entered as Se nd-Class Matter at ent Garden. W. € Copyright, 1921, by the Curtis Publishing Company in the United States and Great Britair Post-Office Department, Onewa. Canoda Volume 193 Sc. THE copr PHILADELPHIA, PA., JANUARY 22, 1921 $2.50 THE YEAR Number 50 Will Y I ALUM! Al STAUNIDIP-AIT EIR N POLITI ima standpat Republicar ely ‘ fa) WV jo TTA TES r ! e party is a fe His fa is tot , ably I might bea Democrat. For mea calm and LBW VAY Le HOUSE iniis prite'n'his country are expres tn the seve tempered out k on life has served to bridge many of the political animosities bequeathed to me by a ILLUSTRATED Br RAY ROHN half a dozen kinds of progre it the thre ark ne of fighting Republican forebears. I can look upon a ypes are the profe nal | ‘ ‘ Democrat without being stirred by any of the more violent emotions. I have upon tional progressive at he « est progre e. T profe ‘ LTeSSi Ve e gentle wcasion, particularly wit! the ten years last past, voted the Democratic ticket. But man who hopes to profit personally by the oku ; ed, as at ‘ ilegy ol it is inconceivable that I could be anything but a standpatter. And I wish to say in the politics, and not infrequently gifted as a rabble rouser, he ‘ the poison and beginning of t frank, friendly and intimate discussion of the matter that I am not then appoints himself command n chief of e eX ed t imp « t defending the fact that I am a standpatter Still less do I apologize for my fait} I infection The constitutional progressive u ill in ar t r tlemar ir is j am boasting of it To me it is the Croix de Guerre. I wear it as proudly as I should fellow, becomes one because he wants to ride in the pa ‘ bie ‘ t fe wear a decorat W on the field of battle iction and is allured by no lemon " Wi \ ej He My one regret that I did not have opportunity to write this story half a dozen vear doesn't care particularly where it is going He just wa » be « e Wa Ihe \ t ,n irar and open conte yn will shock a great many excellent perso earnest progre 1 is, generall pea ‘ i top-hole cit the honest and cor But had it been writt x ar wo, or ten vear ment mand has i i e hope »see worked ago, it would have shocked hundreds of thousands, celia out in the admit ) over ent. [ where t w WwW onlv thousand I oe 1] inlettered pra deta | ich of ’ ry in life yt 2 lp ‘ icts W e pre nee i stup t ind 1d { ( i 1 ‘ ! ! isse ve { De ie W ¢ i 1 ‘ I { t bea ‘ ’ ! ive loved to w r hal t LOW t 1 dozen yea if e ple ire ‘ Ile ‘ i wa ler ¢ l ea standpat i overne te € ) eputable a | ! ’ wa Ihe ti we t H the |} et electe 1 i il Pre { ) ‘ ‘ the I ted Stat To be e, he | ye the beg l lid rt me ( i he | from { wa i ta i to | ethes ! i ver \ ‘ a c Wa ‘ il 1 ! i t 1 It ede event! t Ss Wi t i i ! I y ¢ é itasta l I | re ‘ i patter may © al xceilent, 1 mi ment a om rt ly for itior guided citizer It was not alway) i§ v4 Kkventua 1 it et anywhere o. Over a considerable stretch of our more recent polit dé 1 plined into rn pare narching order. I saw the il history the word tandpatter ’ was considered at ; j t mob start | ! | t met j wd ol epithet and was so employed. It was the last tinct wa » stand pat. But an extended a ireful word in the expre m of contumely It was a scarlet tudy of is progressive n ts led me t letter Men who v e good standpatter at heart shrank ! or ] that i thing needs ve vi { bed ‘ ) 1 the brand it laid upon them. In the secret recesses of the po f it must be done, a indpatter must do And so lb place the pheld their faith, but they shrank from the odium tandpatter from « to ° onfe mn of it would have entailed. Strong on Parades but Weak on Work When Standpatters Were Outlaws wi progre ve worth ten standpatter nthe matter of lining pees tarting a parade But it m\ bose ation that wher i ipriete ms “standpatter’’ and “ progressive”’ are fixed in the nomer clature ol ana For a dozen years the y have been approached e is work to be aone the progre ive eile i ri y with the familiarly and employed promiscuously by the entire voting popula- procession that | , lor engaged in forn } tior But, curiou enough, I have never been able to wring from eaded in an ¢ ¢ lifferent direct And « \ ar authorit é nstituted or otherwise, an exact definition of movement is handicapped and to some extent ‘ ne I | many times I have besought people to tell caliber and character of its camp follower It ( it me; I have dared them to do it. I have endeavored to learn why t attracts ever a standpatter is regarded as an outlaw and a progressive as a noble inefficient and every f ' if ‘ 1 inspiring citize I have wanted to know exactly where Those whose ambit r , tandpattism ceased and progressivism began. No two person or rejected prog ‘ seemed to agree as to the answer And so 1 have been com ment hog do ject | 1} pelled to coin my own definition. | shall express it symbol weight of the n ally I have said I coined my own definition. As a matter of The prece ibmitted as the } fact I appropriated it. I got it from my friend, Cullen Cain of this argur { lown tot j Cain and I were discussing the differences Fror ‘ in a skete} t of way. I between the Eastern and Western types % icing ' if ‘ Ame can ¢ izel ti ‘ { ‘ " ‘ ‘It this,” quoth Cain: “When ar ‘ ¢ met Eastern man discovers a beautiful tree he } sits down in its shade and enjoys the view rr. | page , When a Western man dis- l ( the i ‘ ers a Deautilui tree he get l ull pre t i iX and choy t dowr ~ age i ther pol il The standpatter is con- : : a ae characte tent to sit down in the shade lhere i of the tree progressive n r mi tal wants to chop it down ta i Speak y g broa ily, there is but one type of standpatter. The Standpatter is Content to Sit in the Shade of the Tree. The Progressive Wants to Chop it Down

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 22,/92/ It omething more than a that night on a certain train routed over one of the trans- for observing the formality of going to the polls on elec- t ‘ The obligatior that of inter continental railway lines. So, apparently, did everybody tion day, that lets him out eting. without heat i without bias. the polities of this else. The chance that I should be able to secure a berth In our state the campaign of 1910 found the people ir to tl eople of this count I know of no other was so remote as to be negligible. I had contemplated the the saddle. The Republican Party was cracking at the W there ) ich popular misconcep- long lines in front of the ticket windows in dismay and with core and the progressive faction had swept the primaries, } ‘ I h prejudiced exploitation. a very pronounced aversion to fighting my way through nominating its candidate for governor, several aspiran e t hle } been that those who, by reason of their them to the portcullis for Congress and all its candidates for the minor state nence and their sy to reach great numbers of people As I stood there prickling physically and menta offices. The party council, at which a platform and a use ‘ e best ited to write the general solicitor and the general passenger agent of the battle cry would be adopted, was to meet within the week f tic nothing about politic Those who line came along. They were both old and intimate friends It was heralded by the progressive press and such of the e real t t : it politi an't write The general passenger agent and I had beer golfing part- progressive statesmen as relu ‘tantly allowed themselve | le t writ man, but I kr on many occasions. We had all belonged tothe same to be quoted as an unbridled and unbossed convention ‘ ! \ 4 1892 I tas a ce I ial circle and the same clubs I told them of my a of the people, whicl ild meet in solemn conclave and he | ‘ which nominated a « e lemma, and the general passenger agent went to the tele- enunciate a clarion call to polit iteousness. The ( gre listrict. I cast my first ein the suc phone. In three minutes he had secured a berth for me or anguage is mine. None of the progressive statesmen | eding elect Chat | had not voted earlier was due to the train I desired to take, had made notation astonumber have known have flung a particularly vivid phraseology ent of { er w h Thad control. I’ve beer f berth and car, and had rejoined me. I had exerted a But the idea was theirs and it was accepted as gospel b the ‘ polit ever ri have no illusior pull. It was one based wholly on friendship and the social many excellent citizens, some of whom still accept it oncerning polit nd no partisan or factional emotionsto relation, but it gave me a very decided advantage over the One afternoon, four or five days prior to the date of the he stirred t ence: I have no hallucinations on the sub man who did not have a close personal acquaintance with convention, Dudley Pitcairn Ellis came into my room it ect of idealist , ent Better st I have no griev- that general passenger agent the newspaper office and sat down to exchange quip and ince of at rt aga t polities or polit ur Once when I was in public office it was bruited about persiflage for such ingredients of conversation as I had ir | en { the eras ter polit presents the that I intended to fire Sam Smith. And I did intend todo — stock Dudley Pitcairn Ellis has been the high priest ol pect of . te is procee ng for the nty that ver thing Sam was a policemar No grievous every progressive movement ur leashed in the state He f government, which has been conceived ir n and ffense of omission or commission was marked against his is the authorized voice and interpreter of every beautiful conducte niqauit lo that type of mind the pol record. He was just lazy and lacking somewhat in general prospect unfolded to its voters. And he is much more than f n—pa ila t n of the so-called standpat « en the high priest of mere state movements. He is a dis- iriet 1 low, disrey e pe é rt Dick Hoskins heard about it and came over to see m¢ tinguished writing man with an established reputatior the Government. As a itt of fact t inized Dick was one of my most zealous supporters and had cor on two conti ts, and he is something approximating effort. plus as mu er ‘ as much venom. as « tributed much to my electior a national figure in politics hn tirred t te t pbreast 1 the te P t I wish he said, ‘you wouldnt fire Sam f you can Dudley Pitcairn Ellis everybody calls him Dud exactly as respectable business or societ Disreputable ee your way clear to keep him. I am under obligations quite a fellow I have a tremendous admiration and a characte vet into eve expre f} in activit A to him.’ genuine fondness for the man. He is honest, sincere, inde- elsewhere, they get into polit Sometimes they clean uy Dick had a pull. I didn’t fire Sam. Probably it was just fatigably in earnest and entirely unselfish in his political politic I f ‘ ticiar is honest as the is wel Likely the man I should have appointed in his activities. I don’t know a finer citizen or a better fellow iverage business man. Asa rule he pays more attention to place would have been no more efficient than It is But, as I see the light, he is always wrong politically eeping his word tha the man who blindly erticize nin vossible he would have been less efficient BE ry two years he directs the attention of the voters toa And he is not. ta " } ind large. out to loot the I think the thing I most deeply resent in the progressive ts new set of vital and burning issues And most of the vital, Government. He t to win the electior the fiction of nobility, uprightness and deep concern for the burning issues to which he has directed attention in the ghts of the people, under which he conceals his political past fifteen years are either dead and forgotten, or are Pulls in Politics and Elsewhere activitic His calm assumption of superiority irks me. I dull coals buried in the ashes of yesterday am a decent citizen. I am as much interested in clean and fs Rt pu tik | there pu n busine and efficient government as any man a d would go as far to Unbridled and Unbossed , aried il re t he man who can exert ea ‘ t But every so-called progressive movement ] influence. or who | t ir game, or who comes to you have known functioned largely upon an unguent composed — ENTLY, after Dud and I had exchanged the custom- with impeccable crede " ttle the best of it. He n about equal parts of bunk and bathos Now the ary amenities and asperities, I leaned forward and said to fa red above ( ge of } ind In proportio tandpatter is not above the use of bunk and bathos, par him: “I hear an unbossed and unbridled convention of the to the pull he e ft exert It e net effect of the ticularly in the heat of battle rhey have become standard people Is to be Neild in this city next week You are pretty purely human el ent n the affa mer The humar emollents of politic They are medicaments designed close to the people Have you any notion as to what the. element is the false re the computation of those to stir the emotions of the voters, and no political faction will say touching the gre sues of the day? And have who belheve ! f t will bring about corns their use But the standpatter emp! vs bunk and ou any idea as to the tude towar i the infection that leal gove Vt | ‘ i int the fact bathos as medicament He does not make 1 ol is now eating at the roots of the Republican Party?” that their plar ‘ t be adr tered by plait ther As far as method is concerned, every political “I think I can te tu about what the people will say,” plug, tw gyed me e | e to err, and who are organization, no matter what its alia , employs the same he replied isceptible greats esser degree to all the cro tactl It has the same end in view that of winning the And } we t tne ! ‘ ling latforr plank by rent ! vught t i ther electior And every political movement, no matter what plank and enlightened me bo as to its substa e and. its Im the | e | \ W he t is bossed by a boss or a set of bosse The ph log Pre lent Taft already was a bone of con- I got the box hee fa the tol tickets to the overeign voter has the option of picking | boss. Except tention in the party I asked him what the people would nerf , e | say about the take what | President yet. which i “Well,” he said, dinar t! lea “the indorsement ng Kh t of the President sdvertising ma will be mild “m* ‘ : mild.” paper on w h | It was. He also il ‘ ploved told me the name ired { hoe of the tempor: V eat ne ind permanent ‘ t ithe chairmen of the eate He convention and tn- position to exert a dicated those who ‘ . flrs ‘ would sit on the ne i t ‘ ommiuttee on reso- the theate He lutions i . Ss I I le mpa I ¢ the tru ymewhat the which I suspected ‘ t at the moment One Dud had the plat- wt June | form in his inside the i pocket. He had { wo hot written it at home vy AW he pe and had come to if whic the state capital to c ! bedewe confer with two or \ i three of the pro- imenta gressive bosses as I w 1 sweat to certain moot The R i} , points. When it Nat ( ‘ was offered for w eri he adoption the un- | ew i bridled and un- yme 1k ! ‘ ‘ bossed conventior vould fade fron accepted it with- firmament | out a murmur. wanted very mu When I Found Two or Three Progressive Bosses With Their Heads Together I Knew the Peopie Were (Continued on to leave Chicago About to Demand Another Great Reform Page 102)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST LiK & A TREE By Hugh MacNair Kahler 2200 see ALFWAY across thi sloping field Luke MacNaughten lifted l 1 war his glance from the furrow do something worth while with your life? You talk as if and saw her waiting for him ILLUSTRATED BY as if it didn't matter whether you slaved away out here tr at the fence, a figure some Ww. H. D. KOERNER threw yourself into something big, something splendid, and how disti and salier made your life count fe mething! That's been worry- against a background of ing me more and more. You're twent we dulled autumn color in tune “Twenty-six.” with the heather tone of her He put in the correction thoughtlessly, anxiou only to dress. In spite of the d break the flow of a familiar, deserved reproof tance he was conscious of All the worse!’ When your Uncle Wallace was your age her erectness, the confident he'd already started in for | elf. And your 1 e Jo almost impatient carriage of was in the legislature before he was twenty-five Why, her shoulders, and it wa Stow Barton’s only twenty-five now, and he’s assistant not altogether the plow’s to the adyertising manager in the biggest demand for close attention tore in Bufort! And you haven't ever : : Try ' 1 : : se o which brought his eves back made up your n 1 where to begin! to the gashed soil and the He shook } head slow, toiling hoofs. There was a reproach it her pres e, he realized: a that he had reminde you the country’ ful of scarcely seen her since she chances for anybody had come back to the glen who wants one It’ for her vacation. He wa that you don’t know what you want to do nly uneasy, defensive, iself that Emil that you haven't dreamed any dream, not have wanted him to iven’t got yourself : come under the circum- iwuke to your possibili ‘ Ambitior ‘You're m ambi ances She new how much he had to do now, and \The relentlessness of the farm mechanism now littie time in w! h to do it. to her as to Luke him- é i him to i ‘ self He didn’t have to tell her that t gs to Emi Eve S] ness and death couldn't be allowed before she left the gler to interfere with it while they were still o And yet the fa t that she had crossed the fields from her: father’s farm to ee him, knowing that she would find him here at the plow, persistently sug 1 l gested a failure on her part to feel the ‘Yes, but that’s not pressure which drove him. And if she the end of it —or rathe didn't understand, he told himself, she of it | I've believed in you, lerst: ld had aright to feel hurt at what must seem negle« t Luke, haven't 1? I’ve waited and kept my He turned and stopped at the field’s edge, and faith because I've alway eemed to know t body, relaxed ar i pliant to the jolt and sway — that that you were worth tt that you'd of the wheeled plow, straightened awkwardly as a wake up some day and do things that would make me he slipped 1) the seat and moved toward her ae proud of you. Butif you don’t, if I’m wrong about you, He was st ur table in his coarse, stained worl why, you aren't the man I’ve—I've cared for Don't clothes et 1 over the loose earth, clumsy you see? If I'm mistaken about you . and heavy in the cov boots. He lifted a hand to the : “You're mixing things. It isn’t what a fellow doc open throat of } hirt and buttoned the collar, awake to “Don't You Ever Want to Get Out, Margie? You Satisfied that matters t’s what he is.” the contrast between them, a little ashamed that she should to Go On Like This Aiways?"’ “They’re the same thing. Oh, Luke, I’m beginning see him so. to be afraid! You you'd be perfectly contented to ‘I walked over, Luke.” He stiffened under the crisp, He kicked at the crumbling loam, his eyes evading hers. settle down here in this deadly backwoods and waste your distinct speech, the direct, businesslike tone. “I had to He'd been expecting this ever since she'd left the glen. It life running a little farm—the way your grandfather’ gins to look as if you’d have no time for wasn’t in reason to hope that she’d keep on feeling thesame wasted his! There! Think about that! Do you want to me while I’m here.” about him. Only—he wished that she’d wait. There was look back, when you're eighty, on a lifetime with nothing He fumbled for words, and compromised on a gesture enough to think about now without that more in it than his? Why, you might as well be a tree! toward the red roof of the house, set in its border of dying “We've got to look ahead now.” Her voice was brisk He glanced at the sun, his eye measuring its height with leaves near the foot of the slope again. “It won’t be long before you're free to get away anxious accuracy. Even now, with the girl’s vivid face “Oh, I know it’s not your fault, of course! Don't mis- from this.” kindling a slow fire in him, with her eager speech in hi understand! But we’ve got to talk, Luke.’’ Her tone He met her eyes, surprised out of his timidity by the ears, he remembered uneasily the idle team, the acres still oftened, lowered. ‘‘ How is he?” hint of a reprieve. They were soft and shining, and there to be plowed and fitted and sown, the relentless, sinking He shrugged was almost tenderness in the smile. The old wonder re sun. ““About the same, the doctor says. Just old age, you possessed him, the awed contemplation of the miracle that She read the gesture truly. know. He’s eighty-two.” Emily should care. ‘See? You can't help thinking about the petty farm She nodded, idow in her look. “It looks like it,”’ he said, and a cloud seemed to move routine when we're trying to settle your whole future “Does he realize x across a sunlit space as he remembered the means and our future! Luke “Yes, he knows, all right—better than the doctor, I price of his release. ‘“‘I—lI wish it didn’t have to come this ‘I do one thing at a time mostly,”’ he said, soberly de guess.”” way, though,” he added. “I’m going to miss him, Emily.” fensive. “Right now I'm supposed to be a farmer, and ‘How horrible!”’ He felt the pitying repulsion in her “Of course! I'll miss him, too. But we've got to face I’ve got his joh to do besides my own, you know. I never tone, and his eyes widened. Death was part of it all; you that anyway, and we've always foreseen this You realized how much he did till he had to quit. But I gues accepted it as you accepted everything else—the seasons, couldn't leave him before. I've admitted that right along, I see what you mean, all right. I'll think about it, and the weeds, the sun and rain. He did not share or under-_ even if I’ve disagreed with you about not going to college maybe I can hit on something I'd like to do.”’ tand her attitude, and she seemed to know that he did when he’d have sent you. That's not the point. You're She spread her hand : to lie there, helpless, and watch it coming. going to be free pretty soon. I want to discuss what you're “Oh, it’s no use—no use! You don’t care, that’s all! It errible to die that way!” going to do with your freedom when you get it. Have you You don't know what ambition means! You'd be per- L w. He doesn’t seem to mind it. He acts thought it out?” fectly willing to stay right where you are ig well, sort of interested. Talks about it as if he kind of Again he stirred the soil with his foot “T would if you'd stay too.” wanted to see what it’s like.”” He hesitated, bashful be “Some. I guess Uncle Wallace would give me a chance “Yes, you'd even do that! You'd let me throw away fore the confession of a fancy. ‘‘ Makes me think of the if I asked him. He talked some about it last time he was all I've made of myself, let me drudge away in your time we bought the gas engine—he was curious to see how _here.”’ kitchen till I died, if I'd doit! You don’t care what hap it worked.” : She drew in her breath with an impatient sound. pens to you—and you don’t care what happens to me!” She frowned a little, as if in rebuke for some callous “Is that all? You haven’t made any plan? You His hands held her shoulders tightly levity. haven't made up your mind to do some one thing?” “Look here, Emily—that’s all wrong! You know it! “IT wish you wouldn’t speak of it like that. I'd rather “How could I? All I know is farming. I'll have to Why, I’d do anything—anywhere for you. I'm crazy to not speak of it at all—or think about it. And after all, begin all over again, whatever I do, won't I?” I’m so wild to begin living—it hasn’t been living yet. I came to talk about—us Again her indrawn sigh rebuked him. Don’t you ever think I'd let you spoil your life for me!”

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that. Luke I’m sorry.” She vielded ometimes I think ou cant care a tagain then! I like this with me ( me whe | t about going u e fellows know it like I know { nter f hing makes the big succe the t ! | at the big men in a busine t professior and I them bega farn just the wa eo { that itter! Didn’t I grow tnat ne eded I gue ou re f it that way. Funny, too, whe The far t ‘ used to work, f and pre tle fun and le healt} 0. and that nt make me feel a whole t better g scared. You see, it’s coming prett , minute v it the ed of i! caugnt a e old man dying below it. As he it bel t slow! the oper i i ng It had yung ba ul lifted he boor ime up ove th id a idder ense f guilt, a f } ter is fashi« actuated the cr note nnounced ‘ iid, turning “He worse yp er the trace chain When he ur ind straightened he saw her eye her There was dread in them—the ith he had felt in her before And ay mething else something whicl i t triumpl! us if she had fought 1 mar } vn there a if, now that va erce glia eal ed curtl ‘Come along? 1 quick] ‘ ‘ Just thinking about i 1dder iperi i man tolerating " | e 1 aS soon a i ¥ tne re i ny ‘ eu east lowered it Alwa t v. he id lo f ‘ ! the t nt | t “ ! fuse ea the far wit! é , er the ver hill a the he { t! A le were shar] He was ¢ gtot e Emil But e to fire | His mind moved gt i mething for he H hefore i t pelled m to see to } went to the house It did not eve em stand while he answered the sun He could hear their jaws at work, ce us he moved aw from the stall t ed the effect of the bel VAS dying ifter eighty vears: but ree heeding Luke remembered f MacNaughter had lived in the ew turr The ime bell had called fathe father from the eld ere wa 1 faint reassurance the i ‘ ‘ gf I t MacNaughter where he \ 1 ‘ ind look at whether he w ld face it a Andrew Nit i ished, half-repre ed i V iwue pict t i he climbed 1 great. st tately roor ish of ve w light on white liner t ea; is t that backgrour 1 nurse the shadow, and some eal Em would be in another ‘ il he'd scream wher hey tol ed Da o the present as he paused mm 1 ole the appetizing smell t nostrils, faint sounds from the | ting room where they ha bed when he grew too fee grand- lift into falsetto n relaxed as he heard his i strong for all the THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Halfway across the kitchen Luke stopped short, startled by the unexpected appearance of Margie Toland in the doorway For a moment the sight of her overrode the graver question. Ever since the quarrel over the line the Tolands had borne a grudg« Luke had rather enjoyed this. The winner earned his bite and the loser was entitled to his bark, in |} The cool nod, the reluctant spr ilosophy frosted word with which Margie Toland acknowledged his enduring tokens of the MacNaugh- ourt John Toland hadn't managed to shear away an inch of MacNaughten land jut to face existence were merely ten triumph ir reminders that the girl here and now was a sharp surprise, not wi pleasant. He felt a iden ugly suspicion—-she mignt have ome to gloat over a dying enen But her look put an end to the thought. He recognized the sincerity of her concerr He met her eyes squarely ind read them traight, fearle eyes, whicn somehow eminded him of Em He had ar tant of wonder er thi The two women were utter inlike, and yet for once he felt a resemblance Perhaps it was a faint MacNaughten that when she reserved decision about Luke Emily had looked like ared had challenged him for his plans a few minutes before mean he wa worse,” wall, and I ting to send word to town I heard the bell and knew it mu ‘I've you'd be war he explained got the car down at the thought perhaps ' I can go back just as we i] Margie Ne as no Thanks, ighborly of you How does he ee Tr) i He’s weak, but that’s all I think he just wanted you G I'll wait out here He nodded and passed | yut of the bedroom as he entered If you need the doctor I'll go.” Aunt Allie Breck slipped ostling him in the door- vay, her fixed habit of getting in the way as irritatingly in in thi hou somber evidence moment as in her trivial keeping routine. He brushed past her and strode toward bed, grand- r and beard should seem gray instead of white, the high-posted wondering dully why his father’s ha and accounting for it methodically by the whiteness of the old head No need to fus I had Allie call you, you while pillow whi h lifted the ‘Sit down, Luke but I’m good for a spell longer. I want to talk to my he “ad clear, that all.’ Obedience was old habit with Luke He pulled a chair to the bedside and waited silently Andrew MacNaugh ten’s pauses required no prodding commonplaces One waited while he arranged his wor one poke when he demanded an answer, not otherwise I guess you'll make out well enough most way You yw the land and what it'll do But there’s more to irming than making crops.’ He hesitated longer than isual ‘Kind of hard to get it into words—what I mear Mavhe ou’ ve felt it urself The land yme folks think ist dirt; treat it that way. It ain't, Luke It’s u of u not just you and me, but eve bod We all sort | ot} it Everything ‘t live has to come out of it and ro back to it Understand? Ye l e wa i 1 ed tnat he nould see ) ear he labored ight It seemed as if he had alway felt a sort of respect for the soil something like his feeling r his grandfather, indeed. It ruled him, demanding his ervice; but it fed him, housed and clad hirn too “*houg you did, bu akes all Thought 3 lid, but M ll I wanted to be sure the difference—how a man looks at the land. You can rob it if you want to work it out in no time at all Or you can treat it right—same as you'd take care of your body. We been farming this place a hundred and thirty vears, and it’s better land now than it was when old Johr MacNaughten cleared That's why Luke waited, t. Treated it right He topped again and seemed to consider his interest wakened. This was all no more than a begin- And he wondered what would follow m and the future f out of his freedom ‘Guess you understand without being told But | No harm s coming. You never mind ng, he understood he was to ind how it would concern } nstruct for himse« \ ' pack father telling me—forty years you, now your turr the crop—you think about the land. Treat take ire of you His lips lifted faintly nouth, his familiar, reluctant smile which he had alway eemed to restralr Get to feeling as if you grew up out f it, as if you had roots down into it. Take care of it Luke I IKe T on it practical ¢ € ranted hat he meant to stay on and work the farm. Oughtn’t he to say frankly that he had +h intention? Was it yuite fair t the old mar mself? It might make a diffe ‘ein | will. Luke braced himself for the explanatior ‘Grandfather, I *Don’t talk, Luke I can guess what vou want to sav. Get the Book and read a spell Feel like it." He closed his eves ‘Read something about trees, Luke Always liked the places where it talks about ‘em.’ Luke fumbled helplessly with the thin pages. His Sun- hair-splitting theology of Mr. Geikie had January 22,/92/ brought him no close acquaintance with the Bible for such a task as this. Something about trees—he tried to remem- ber a passage, his mind suddenly blank. The old head moved slightly, a familiar gesture of impatience, admoni- tion. He went tothe door of the kitchen. The two women sat by the table, Aunt Allie in full current, gabbling hap pily, the girl listening, her face turned to the door. Luke answered the question in her glance can’t think of I've got to humor “He wants a verse about trees and I I guess he’s wandering a him anyway. Remember anything, Margie?’ ‘You might try the First Psalm,” she said quickly He was puzzled at the sudden glow in her. All the hard- ness seemed to melt from her eyes, and her voice wa He carried a new impression It was easy enough to find thi He had known the books of the Bible by rote long ) one ittie ly warm and round and deep of her into the sick room place. before the multiplication table And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper. He lifted his glance from the print as if to verify a com- parison suddenly recognized as apt. He felt th always thought of Andrew MacNaughten as like a tree, ir his lean height and strength. The old man lent His love of the soil out of whic! ’s word fresh power to the figure he grew, his sense of debt toward it —he was like a tree now in his prone helplessness, Luke thought; seeming taller faintly, and ips moved uu than ever, and straighter. The Luke leaned close ‘Tom Farrell The voice drifted into silence man slept. He laid the oper Queer that his grandfather should have thought He’d always disliked the brisl held aloof from his amiable advances wit} he preferred edge of life Luke saw that the old book on the table and tip toed out of Farrell nurseryman ; the grave, formal courtesy he reserved for men to keep at their distance. And he prospe rou now. on the he interrupted the Word to name him. Probably, Luke thought, the word “tree” had suggested nurseries He came into the kitchen quietly “Asleep,”” he whispered ‘I guess he’s all right for a while No need to send for the doctor anyway Margie Toland moved toward the door. He followed, aware of a certain self-reproach, as if his brevity had beer ungraciou On the gravel walk which dipped toward tl retaining wall at the foot of the lawn he tried to mak« amend ‘I—I‘d like for you to know that we appreciate tl Margie e way things stand, it’s more than we could expect She moved her head mpatiently Oh, don’t! Let’s forget that! We're neighbors.” Somehow the word pleased hin He nodded Yé that 4 ; He held out his hand a there had been a compact She took it readily, returned a firm, brief ure Let uS KI , if Ve al lo il thing epnone cing most n twenty minutes in the He thanked her, vaguely di modern luxuries which Andrew bornly refused to adopt. As she observed her dress for the first pleased at MacNaughten had stub went the mention of the down the walk he and found himself He went back to the kitcher time ontrasting it with Emily’s jully puzzled before a divided mood. He’d never beer at Y pains to dislike Margie Toland before Now, trangely, he felt a certain need of effort to accomplish it He seemed to search for defects in her, to be glad that sh« looked awkward when he compared her with Emily He had the same feeling at daybreak when he faced her at the doorway of her father’s kitchen and asked her to telephone for Doctor Carroll. When he came back to the bedside Aunt And Andrew MacNaug! lips lifted ever so little at the corners, as if he had tried Allie wept noisily ten’s not to smile over his final thought HE carriages and cars which filled the long, curved lane from retaining wall to road and flanked the white wooden fence provided Luke with a mild sense of ple asure He t to which his grandfather had taken him, and the fa justify his private belief that Andrew Ma had been a big man—a ce which he'l arned to distrust r seen a larger gathering at any of the funeral seemed to Naughten mviction t lad | t and suppress in Emily’s company. There had been, too, a perceptible flavor of condescer sion in the speech of his uncles during their stay at the farm- house, under whict Luke had felt a kind of helpless anger He stood in frank awe of both of Andrew MacNaughten’ They almost demanded it in their friendly men who wore their prosperity like a livery; ft y surviving sons patronage who exhibited success and the consciousness thereof tone and attitude and gesture. And yet, listening to their speech about their father, Luke had felt a dull host to tell them that An worth them bh th, times over toward them; a sullen desire MacNaughten had beer

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ir at l s tongue had seemed to assent ¢ r tolerant admissions that there had beer ne qualitie an who lay still in the big, stiff, cere monial parlor, admissio which clearly mveyed the opinion that he 1 ¢ ese edly | ns 1d to tne 1 tne é ebelle eT as i é ve and ag ew a al. He , W aila st ge » ‘ ‘ He resented their tone with Er i anne which seemed to exclude him from the brief conversatior as if they had something in common which was denied to him. And her eager deference irritated him even more She needn't have been quite so respectful, he thought, remembering her it ient half scorn of his grandfather It was to Andrew MacNaughten’s memory that respect was due this day it to the magnificence of his sons He felt a dim satisfaction wh the Toland car turned into the drive. He would have liked to explain to his uncles that the Tolands’ presence meant something; that ever n Toland, who had hated Andrew Mac Naughten alive, was constrained to d “Here come the He saw both men stiffer for it. im honor now Tolands,”” he whispered instead a little, and was angry at them He was angrier at their manner when John Toland, lean and gaunt and rugged in his dusty black, paused be- fore them, his faded wife and Margie following. They managed to be offensive in their politeness, Luke felt—to let the Tolands see they were here on sufferance, in uce of mourning “Neighborly of you to come, Margie,” he when his turn came. “I to say so, if he truders tolerated under a tr said softly guess he’d like “ys could He saw a quick, w in her look; a surprise which Their hands met for a moment, is of the strength in hers. pleased and puzzie 1 him ind again he was ¢ THE SATURDAY EVENING POST He could not follow the discourse in the gloomy parlo Mr. Geikie’s sermons were always mathematical, exercises logic. He spoke in the fashion of one who argues a diffi and enjoys its diff t Luke's glance strayed ‘ room He wa t Wa ict Ma Naug vely att e face il I fed and portant above the carefu ner he surveved his | Joseph, carrying the dignity of his three terms in Congres is ama might bear a weight of medals, a plain hint of self-consciousnes posure of face Siowly intipathy r) kin about their father with what these neighbors thoug! ff, he He couldn’t see Emily; but now ar shifted his position, he caught a glimpse of Margie ¢ hie thought er] l again, as her f ind her profile held his interest. There was in it something dered whether she dissented it Andrew MacNaughter ‘ein paradise. It be that, he concluded didn’t bear malice any more Afterward, bearing his share of the burden, he walked slowly behind his Uncle Wallace, following the trimmed path which led out past the garden to the stone fenced plot above the orchard where the MacNaughtens laid their dead A thin, heatless sunlight lay on ike anger, sternness He from Mr. Ge had earned wot e’s logical proof th a legal title to a shi ‘ouldn't She new The leaves which sifted down on the column were gay in gold and red. A stately White Leghorn cock led a train of hens across the path, undisturbed by the solemn pace of the procession, and Luke’s collie brushed and trotted unconcernedly on ahead. the countryside his leg It seemed to Luke as if all this had happened to him before, again and again. A sense of acquiescence, almost of approval, possessed him It was all as it should be, he felt; all decent and in order; all in harmony with some rule and scheme infinitely bigger than Luke MacNaughten and his desires He listened without to the drum of There was nothing repellent in the thought of Andrew MacNaughten’s return to the earth he loved. Luke felt that his grandfather would be content to be there. sadness words Aft Va WW ’ é at the i ( uw tine i ig i¢ ea ed that a wn affa il t iw Scar ‘ iw wait ) i ‘ mall * i 4 vw ‘ il a Char I t 4 l ‘ ed iV ¥ 1 ( M4 iy i i i! eu 4 S riow alwa i e day era e reading id ) ea q t l é ‘ i ! Ke yr t W ) easor He eit MY it ‘ ry e cere ) kr irew | to one le 7 I e, Wa Cit 3 l Ww " ey e—thene ymant eral He frowned ‘I do yw I eemed a s I ik wa kind of f comforting.” He saw her eye mtract and he houlde nove t ttle shiver “How could mu”? =6oL never saw anvytl y »> drab and bleak and cheap! There wasn’t a ur lignity about it It was —common! Hardly anybody ui ind chicken and dogs running about unde vour feet and a grave ir his own land His anger quickened ‘It’s what he'd have wanted he said fiercely l was just thinking that he'd have liked it this way best No fuss, and the neighbors here, and everything rt of natural.” wor Sh “You'll let me know a ‘t you? He e shook her head and dropped the topic On aS you can L'll be interested r nodded, ar All thi grier than before eager cur about thre He car will, posity back from the wa and about dead men’s shoes, when he shrank formal division —living in the city changed people some how; his uncles, for instance, and even Emily relieved when he had helped her into her father's watched her down the drive Continued on Page 106) Always, Titt Now, He Had Looked Forward to His Release With Only the Thought of Emily Beyond It

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"p HEIGHAM GREEN tried to give out 7 the impression that he was con ® matter thoughtfully Hi mall feature vere gathered into a mild frowr *] suppose he said, “we ought to get at the trut! It’s dinner time,”’ remarked Hibbard ‘ g dow ita bbled envel VW ’ ell t e the firet of the ddresse¢ Watson Hibl : youngish man of ( t} uit t i I he state legislature on the Prohil et At the present time he wa f a self-apy ed ( nittee of O i ired and O that wa estiga I lations of the prohibitic ame ent iH fami] Nid vealthy He i e president of the \ e-Hibba Company, whic P. Heigham Gree ed asa} nble bookkeepe Pert be further explained that was of slender build, with a thin, seriou ice, and with hair growing down on | om sin front of his ear You could: whole-heartedly ll these appendage le whiskers, yet the told something fa stor As the two young men alighted from a North Side street car and walked west ward through a drab, darl treet. P Heigham found his breath oddly short His small but earnest brain picture cenes to come within the hour o oO it might border on the desperate Che criminala engaged in the illicit traf fie in liquor would hardly welcome it estigation by re pec table and wealthy, persons from the Drive His own appearance was modest enough in hi ready-made suit; but Mr. Hibbard wa unmistakably upper cla from the custom-made shoes to the imported felt hat, and he carried a walking stick of a highly polished wood with a top of carved 0 It would have been better, P Heigham thought, to wear old clothe Before a row of dark houses they topped. Two men—stocky Italian rose out of the shadows of a high stoop and confronted them. Over a door P Heigham noted the name, “Salvarotti.” Mr. Hibbard gave a name confident! One of the men lipped within, returr ny shortly with a third, Still with that cor fident air, Hibbard repeated the name Followed a discussion in excited whispers among the three Italians. P. Heigham, is his nervous eyes followed their ges L — tures, felt his scalp crinkling under his hair. He wished he were stronger. The resolve came to take up gymnasium work in the Sunbury Y. M. C.A. Butat least he could be brave. He thought of men—great men—who had died for great causes. P. Heigham found himself glancing curiously at an extremely sporty roadster that stood across the street. Even, in this light he could see it was vermilion in color. The discussion ended in their favor. The door swung pen. Then an inner door opened, and closed behind them. P. Heigham noted with a shiver that it was made of heavy oak, with extra bolts. The stockiest of the Italians led them through a long front room where five or six couples eating and drinking Beer and wine bottles stood indisguised on the tal les. Two or three other « ouples were dancing to the rhythmic noise of a mechanical piano, P Heigham observed with another shiver They went. on through a kitchen that was also a bar and down a flight of teps to a sunken garden in the rear that was crowded with merry folk and gay with talk and laughter lves at a side table. P. Heigham found himself flushing now A strong inclination seized him to bow his head in fear of being Grimly the two young men seated thems ognized, for many of the crowd—nearly all, in fact were the sort that would appear elsewhere as nice people Almost certainly there would be acquaintances. The dis overy was confusing. If all classes of society were to defy the law, then things had come to a pretty pass. It de pressed him to see so many young girls, hear so many bright young voices. He fell to thinking about hell. Could ? Doubtless! Sodom and a’ whole civilization go there Gomorrah Mr. Hibbard ordered wine with the dinner. P eepened e had vend down over his pli ILLUSTRATED Br MAY WILSON THE SATURDAY EVENING POST SAVING SI atringtwe LB Samuel Merwin PRESTON January 22,192! STEER wine, he was oddly likethe drunken menand women about them. Mr. Hibbard decided to get him out. As they approached the stairway, P. Heigham, who was in the lead, stopped short. His face lost its nervously high color; went white. Following his gaze, Mr. Hibbard saw a | remarkably pretty girl seated with an older, stoutish man in a light gray pin-checked business suit. The girl was freshly, exuberantly young, with luxuri- ant really blond hair, and eyebrows that were plucked down tothinlyarching lines. Her eyes were wide and frank. There was a slightly bold look about her that | was by no means unpleasant, a touch of striking personality. At the instant of recognition she was removing a cigarette from her pretty mouth and smiling up at them with an expression curiously near delight. P. Heigham stood a moment in utter indecision, then he moved a step toward the girl. Then, as the man in the pin- checked suit glanced up and somewhat unpleasantly knit his brows, P. Heigham raised his chin and with grim dignity of manners marched upstairs. Out on the street he spoke, his voice choked with emotion “Can you wonder that I’m battling for reform?” he cried. “That was my —sister !’’ “Oh!” cried Mr. Hibbard, deeply moved in his turn. “But how can you leaveherthere? I’'llgoback if yousay so.” Instead of replying at once, P. Heig- ham moved slowly along the street, looking askance at the vermilion roadster across the way. “It’s difficult,”” he managed finally to ay. “The moderr girl is crazy—just crazy.” Mr. Hibbard laid a kindly hand on his shoulder and said further, “But we should make the effort.” “T have made the effort. But my hands are tied. It is so difficult to ex- plain. Goldie is independent of us. She used to work at the motion-picture theater in Sunbury, selling tickets. I never approved of that—she had*to talk with everybody—but then she got the new automobile insurance agency. That man with her’s the district agent. That's his car across the street—the red one. I opposed this thing once and he struck me—injured my eye. She’d say now it It Was Odd How Pretty Things to Wear Stirred Up One's Setf-Respect it. Never had he tasted wine, beer or spirits. Never before had he been placed in the position of accepting it. Come to think, though, Mr. Hibbard would have to do that to make the evidence valid. It had been good of Mr. Hibbard to ask him along. It was a definite advance, even if it should lead to nothing directly in the business way. The talk and laughter about them grew louder and merrier. A girl with bobbed hair leaned across her table and kisse" a man. Four army officers, in a corner, reached the point of singing not unmusically with the mechanical piano. Couples danced between the tables The almost convulsive impulse of the born reformer to protest strongly rose within P. Heigham, grew out of all reason. He said, “This is too dreadful! Can't we speak to them? Point out the wickedness of it?” ‘I don’t know that we’d accomplish “But isn’t it our duty? Can you sit here without a word and let this debauchery go on?” In his fervor he momentarily forgot that he was address- ing the vice president of the company. Mr. Hibbard regarded him seriously; considered the light of blazing indignation in his eyes; glanced at the wicker-covered botile of Chianti on the table and the two full glasses that sparkled so redly “It is usually best to confine oneself to the broader aspects of so large a problem as this,”’ he said. “But Little Mr. Green's voice was rising. He was good clear through, all conscience, a meticulous worker, faithful to every minute duty, but —the scene was plainly working on him nervously. Though he had not so much as sipped the was business. I’ve tried reasoning with her, but it does no good. I ean’t think what to do. She isn’t gentle and modest as girls used to be She’s hard. They’re all hard. It’s terrible to have to stand by and see her going like e “We'll have to try to save her by attacking the problem in its broader aspects,” said Mr. Hibbard with feeling. “Oh, if she’d only get married!” groaned P. Heigham. a T TWO minutes to five on the following afternoon Goldie Green began clearing the flat-top desk that stood in a corner of the spacious lounge of the hotel—the new Beach Hotel down at the foot of Simpson Street in Sunbury. She was precise in the matter of office hours; and as inefficiency annoyed her, loose ends of all sorts, there was never much to clear. For the rest of it, Goldie was of the sometimes appallingly fresh generation of girls. A small part of her education—as it stood at this time—had been acquired in the public and high schools, and all the rest from the strangely vivid world of motion pictures in which the foot-loose young of the past decade and a half have grown up; with an exten- sion course in the alarmingly primitive songs with which shrewd and unscrupulous aliens continually flood the country. The fears and moralizings of the five previous generations had simply not touched her clear young brain She knew more now, by absorption, of the roughly human side of life than her languidly incompetent mother had ever learned. Nearly every girl of her acquaintance possessed and prized a degree of economic independence. All regarded the ancient institution of marriage with a cynicism based on extraordinary opportunities for observation. And all, when attracted by a particular man, vamped him

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| as a matter of Her own went liness and a us of the { certain thou ignts sne ex never happier thar ing about in a

nable impediment arms and legs As she locked of stuff tl at was a ' with neat leather be irew on her leatl

furtiveness personal prol ne of them had any religion. an extreme physical clean- activity of mind. Nothing

of those five generations in »blems of life had a place among her ted ir robust body, and was

id swimming and play- vathing suit that offered the least imagi- to the free movement of active young lesk smoothed her trin fitting suit shade or so darker than horizon blue ly + ind SKII as any in towr

y am-o’-shanter and walked ‘ brisl ut, she knew } ly that all the occupants of the numerous eas ri irs about the spacious room, womer and men alike, we following her with their eyes The subtlest power he world was hers, and she knew it. When she first embarked in this curious business—curi § ous for so young a girl, or so all the men said who made such a point of talking to her; that was how they usually began— there een crudities in her appearance. But with the change ture Palace to wealth had longer lid she we concentric ring ib : the puffs over the é fications. She wa the deligt thougt never [or her exuberar per { quiet At times, a é ol brows drew together

f that prin ea irott place aid had alw bee went into mr t isher in chur i found herself to-da of him. It hadn't omewhat on ! was the sort tha e€ no act I not g at} 1 She asked he ¢ had wine he saw was worried about

n the noisy and gaudy Parthenon Pi place of juieter transient ce. No gathering ne changes in her appez

nneiy eparated curls plastered in iinst a boldly white forehead. Ever i id gone througn a series f modi t t ear i ry to contro ° for occa or ers in slang picturesque phrase $ Her menta olor, tne heer force « i \ was too great tor ontinuou ed er Simpson Street and turne ( t be mid e tract ne prett nto a thoughtful frowr The picture é ttle elder brotner f hers Sal rst touched her sense of humor. He I ele ¥V proper H S spare ever! y e work at the ¥ M. ¢ \ He was ar 1a teacher in Sunday school. She had nowever, a littie blue as she thought re « irred to her that she leaned juaint old-fashioned rectitude He vent blindly about th violent world, { i ng » deductior learr ing hardest reflected vho } rich friend might be. The n t table after they left. Goldie P. Heigham THE SATURDAY EVENING POST of the blues strengthened its hold as she wet h of Hazel wooden This toucl reac of Avenue, where stood had on into the dingier the crowded rows houses that seen so

many casual fan come unwelcomed and depart un- mourned The place oce ipied by the Gree eemed to he mood, dingier even than u kets were out: of the fence here and there ng off the clapboard

of the house. The screen door stood open, letting in the September Grave she losed it behind her ind stooped to } ck up a sweater from the floor of the hal The younger brother, Anderson Green, plaved football on the high-school team. It was the only interest for which he hibited the faintest apt swe may inclu imitation of a saxophone ed down n« tiny room upstairs, where he was booming out a jazz tune and mimicking wit yme accuracy the clicking sound of the keys ascended the crooked stairway, with its rail of As she lathe-turned golden oa ind it ittle high window o stained glass, red, green and blue, Goldie controlled a sig! The shiftless household, with its loose ends an:

little debts strung out everywhere among the le r trades people of the town, was getting on her nerves. Every su cessful day among the pleasantly prosperous folk at the hotel aggravated the difficult Papa Henry ¢ Greet had eemed o ite » te breaking; at least the w kles were deepening o } face, and he had lo nt i tel ardening thet ard and doing, rather nea odds and ends of carpents work. Very lately he had complained of headache ur pa nhis back. It wasatreadr for papa, keeping the fa going. Goldie saw that Mamma would be lying dowt w. She always spe the late afternoons that wa with one or another sent mental novel from the public library and a paper bag of

the kind with the soft centers ever ng Anderson oy The twins, girls ot eleven, W thick legs, would be he \ ind there was alwa i gumarops She was send er to the drug store for those th flying vellow pigtails and the street with the neighbo irly always late off down hood childrer were nei for upper, send them to bed Goldie opened the and then armless rocking-chair by te pped withir For in the litth Winging to and fro, gloomy of countenance, sat P, Heigham Not had Perce caught earlier train twenty-six door of her own roon abruptly ciosed it Dehind her *} the window nervou once in two or three year an than wild evening had been too much for him the tive Perhaps that one he looked as if ‘ hea

P.

Heigham Stopped Short. His Face Lost its Nervousty High Color;

e nad a ea re ap ( ( ‘ ew i swil weighe < seq ue t the ‘ ne the fan he had lost | ». But ev ‘ the pathe e, tor t ul e 81 ees B' r \ were Have dy ‘ Phe t i | ‘ ‘ A qui git n ‘ eve l ‘ he ote d er the ‘ ‘ ere ‘ old brother ‘ ft of ne 1 ’ might hort me to ur? Al { at et i et W i be se i As | gas | OWT Pe © at 7 were it wit hat W t Pe ‘ ‘ ‘ W ‘ at she had he hat ff now ind ( ta beilore the bureau arra y ner i ‘ Wh i eu i! eve ‘ “ t he powe Yo e been « wit Une ver i ‘You've hit on the sad t } I'm tr g to keep 1 te ‘ Goldi you re na g it difficu You're | “ re It ! ! ) inge Une t deat Wi wa e other ma Mister Whe M ing W er He was st t ng desperately hat was our Mr. Watson Hibba Oh! H wide blue eye ed brig And ( Mr. Hibbard was on the loose! Hew t' We were— we were He felt tha wouldn't do to go » deep to tl } ter. eve vith Gy lie or Ti neg wr present untor ite a itior perhaps pa | with Williamson it least a partial explanation began to seet ‘ irs Mr. Hibbard is secretary of the Committ f On H lred and One He rea had to order the wine the Goldie mut mured around a cluster of | | Yes, of course! He the type!’ He did have to!” ened P. Heigham hotly Chen rally y hi cattered mental forces he doggedly resumed the offensive here’s really no need of our d u g that The question is, Goldie, are you going t« ul ‘ ke thi or are you not That certain little questior “You were smoking. [ saw you. Have I t to admit to my friend ve to myself--that my own { nas n character? Went White Continued on Page 113

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10 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 22,192! Twelve Good Women and! True I] ' t gener ealized that womer have been serv y e United States for half a centur . The , taining women to be paneled in ar 1 ! | Vil iraw? n La al e, Wyon Vv Mar 870. I he | t it was the heyd es Hot gs, gas, the Eden Musée a ! I ‘ ‘ fact, of M Whartor Age of t i re jue ght lew not yet eve lL) Ma W ‘ ind W ‘ ght vit ‘ r " flrage the ediat ire { ‘ ghts to a cde e laugh from ar lence ‘ i t had beer ne ‘ uned e Fede t ' e was the e unk 1 t e he t I t wa is | i the | t hutin the We Railhead or e | Pac eached Cheyenne in "6 { Wyor ind 69 Pre lent Grant secured the enate approva f ip} tet Lor ve or, chief ‘ it ted State ittorne ind things began te ( Out on the Overland there Vil 1 conspicuoUu wence of tvie n gentiemer weal ind heart were and the ability to hit a tir in at least twice in mid-air before it fell was rather to he re imerous than coronet ne liner Chey called Chevenne e Magie City. because of the way whole streets of si Th built of tar paper ath and scantiing sprang up rnight. There wasn't much law, and people were care t about what there wa You could hear the Indiar vhoor f u tened, and watch the bad men being bad But, the total population of both sexes being limited, yvoman had alread had an unusual opportunity to demor trate her clair ( ty with man, and, up at the ning camp of South Pass City, Mrs. Esther Morris had ved a ter 1 justice of the peace with ability and di netior The rst territorial legislature, consisting of twenty-one members, of whom twelve made up the house f representative met almost immediatel ind, almost nmediately, passed a bill granting women the right to ite and hold public office. For Wyoming sure needed the idies in her business ! it difficult to ippreciate the furor that thi simple precursor of the Ni.eteenth Amendment had upon the effete East, if not the world. The territory of Wyoming nstantly made its début upon the map in spite of Mr. Web- ter’s lack of accuracy in officially describing the Overland Trail as fit only for prairie dogs and Indiar Woman's iffrage owes a lot to Wyoming, but—Wyoming owes a i to woman uffrage Lackadaisical Saratoga ladies vho had never heard of Montana or Idaho, began to refer » Campbell's Gertrude of Wyoming, innocently unaware that the Wyoming in question was in Pennsylvania, and iid Campbell an English poet of the vintage of 1810. It vas the first big hit of the suffrage game, and there seemed to be something almost uncannily prophetic in the motto } ye—Let arms ipon the territoria eld to the gowr The First Jury Women in America \! ITTLE farther west along the Union Pacitic line was LA Laramie, another shed, shack and shanty city, not yet he Athens of Wyoming by a jackpot full, but a typical novie frontier town of dance halls, saloons and gilded dens f vice, swarming with desperadoes and the nightly scene of every sort of violence. The ordinary juries wouldn't convict lhe better element resolved to take matters into their own hands, put down the anarchy that prevailed and establish rder They did this by calling to their aid the women of Wvyoming: and when the grand jury for the regular term {f court of the First Judicial District was drawn in March, 1870, there appeared upon the panel the names of Miss Eliza Stewart, a school-teacher, and others, the first women to be ummoned to serve on a comm orded in theworld. Thereupon Chief Justice John H. Howe, law jury anywhere re who, having been appointed by Gene ral Grant, seems to have borne a rather striking resemblance to him in physiog- omy and characte arveda the jury in words never vefore | eard on sea or and, beginning ‘I adies and gen tlemen of the Grand Jury.” He told them that the eves of the world were upon them, declaring: “It will be a sorry lay for any man WwW o shall so far forget the courtesies due and paid by every American gentleman to every American rdv as even by word or act to endeavor to deter you blak ¢ } } e exercise hose nights with w e law ha By Arthur Train ILLUSTRATION BY HARVEY DUNN Stephen W Downey and moved to quash the panel on the ground that hereupor arose Prose« iting Attorney composed of male citizens, as re- not ex Sive quired by law But the chief justice swept him aside and leclared boldly that he regarded women as eligible and nosed so to hold, munication already requested Mr. Prosecutor Downe having theretofore in a formal writter to those ladies who have been sum- ed on the jure that thev will be rece ved, protected he respect and courtesy due, and ever } paid, by true American gentlemen to true American ladies, i! il ind that the court by all the power of the Government w ecure to them all that deference, security from insult, or anything which ought to offend the most refined woman, whi accorded to women in any of the walks of life in vhich the good and true women of our country have here- tolore been accustomed to move How the Ladies of Laramie Made Good — gallant judge continued ‘Thus, whatever may have been, or may now be, thought of the policy of ad mitting women to the right of suffrage and to hold office, they will have a fair opportunity, at least in my court, to demonstrate their ability in this new field, and the policy or impolicy of their occupying it.” And so the chief justice overruled the prosecutor, and the ladies of Laramie, under the wgis of the law, set them- elves to work to help clean ip the town, indicting horse and cattle thieves, murderers and illegal branders, in bills beginning ‘We, good and lawful male and female jurors, on oath do say ’ The fact that the system was being tried on the Laramie grand jury and would shortly be tried on the petit jury created a sensation throughout the civilized world, and no less a potentate than His Majesty King William of Prussia ibled General Grant his admiring congratulations. Re- porters and crayon men swarmed into Laramie, caricatur- ing the lady jurors as repellent masculine creatures holding It was at this instant that ome inglorious Milton invented the deathless couplet or nursing unattractive babe Baby haby, don't get in a jury; Your mamma's gone to sit on the jury Yet those who came to scoff, even if they did not remain to pray, were forced to admit, in the language of the time, that the women had turned the trick; or, in to-day’s parlance, had delivered the goods For those same women jurors, as far as can now be ascertained, were a success in Laramie. They served; they indicted; they convicted The first criminal jury trial at Laramie for murder illus- trates practically all the pros and cons involved in any popular discussion of the present question. For the de- fendant —the murderer— was a tall, blue-eyed, handsome, law-abiding young man of good reputation, named An- drew Howie, who had no business to be loose among the cutthroats and garroters in the tent town of Laramie, where a vigilant vigilance committee had the greatest difficulty in keeping even a semblance of order by the most liberal of hangings Pat Doran had reached Laramie before the railroad, and his Shamrock Hotel had been the scene of revelry by night since the memory of bad men ran not to the contrary Howie, who had for unknown reasons selected the Shamrock as a place of temporary sojourn, had gone to bed upstairs, but hearing an uproar below had innocently wandered down to see what it was all about. A certain Mr. Hocter had thereupon pointed a pistol at his head and playfully remarked: “I am going to shoot you!” Whereat Howie, as some might feel, rather prudently, had—well, when the smoke cleared Mr. Hocter was no more. Later Howiemodestly admitted that he had fired first Now here, if at all, the cynic might say that we had all the elements that would, as he would claim, demonstrate female jury service a farce. We have a man, “tall, blue- eyed and handsome” to quote the record of good repu tation, in an evil place, his life threatened by a ruffian, in a district where murder at the time was not regarded as by any means as serious as cattle stealing It is safe to say that no jury of men would in those days have found Howie guilty of anything Not so the sturdy dames impaneled by Sheriff Nat K. Bdswell, sole custodian of the public peace in a little county then reaching from the northern boundary of Colorado to the southern boundary of Montana. Sheriff Nat, ex-Indian and government scout, was the proud ex- tor of arrow scars on his face had a record as a fearless and dashing deputy United States marshal from Mexico to Canada. Without delay he summoned to try Andrew Howie for the murder of John Hocter the follow- ing: Retta Burnham, Nelly Hagen, Mary Wilcox, Mary ‘lynn, Mrs. I. M. Hartsough, Lizzie A. Spooner, Jenny few men. Then with much discernment he ison, and é » appointed, as a bailiff, Mrs. Martha Boies, who usu- ally ran a lodging house but had lost two of her star boarders “when the Vigilance Committee disposed of thre: outlaws’’—to quote the sprightly narrative of Miss Grace Raymond Hebard, former librarian of Wyoming Univer sity, to which we are indebted for the facts herein set forth l At any rate, Bailiff Boies was and still is a woman of inusual capacity and experience. Her chief duty consisted n standing on guard all night in front of the room occupied by the six womer irors finally selected The jury listened to the ¢ nee, took the case, and, retiring, struggled to h a verdict —for two whole day and nights. At last one of the ladies, who happened to be the wife of the Methodist minister. introduced a new feature into petit jury service Dy inviting the jury to jor her on their knees in an appeal for divine guidances The then arose and cast their ballots as follows, the minister’ wife voting promptly for murder in the ft WOM lu t de l lurder, seco 2 Manslaughte } Not guilt It is interesting to note that neither the defendant good looks nor the fact that he may have been in danger of his own life when he killed Hocter stood in the way of the women on this jury, unanimously voting for conviction, finding him guiity of unjustifiably taking human life. It is prob able that the case against him was stronger than appears from the available records, for the verdict seems to have been a popular one and he received a sentence of ter years at hard labor. Two years later he was pardoned But any idea, such as was apparently entertained before the jury had been selected, that women were chicken hearted and could be easily won over was quickly dis sipated The women, although shedding copious tear nevertheless took the position that a man had been killed and no excuse should relieve the killer from the con sequences. It is conceivable that they were, perhaps, undul) resolute in refusing to consider the plea of self-defense Still, as the minister's wife constantly reiterated: ‘‘ Whoso sheddeth man’s blood, by man shall his blood be shed.”’ When Women Were ‘Male Citizens”’ HE verdict filled the bad men of Laramie with dismay, and there was an immediate exodus of crooks and gun- men. Many other verdicts of guilty were rendered by the same panel, for the court term was a long one, and at its conclusion it was unanimously agreed that the law had been enforced, crime punished and property protected. Indeed, Chief Justice Howe was lavish in his praise, assuring Mrs Sarah W. Pease, one of the jurors chosen later, that they “would make just as good jurors as men, if not a great deal better.’ Reading between the lines one might suspect the dis- tinguished judge of being something of a feminist. Further ground for this impression may be found in his ruling that, because the Wyoming statute regarding jurors was passed three days before the statute granting the suffrage to women, the words “all male citizens’? contained in the former should be interpreted to include women! However, as the saying is, he was the judge. And as he was judge both of the district court and also of the supreme court, to whic! appeals lay, he had things pretty much his own way Indeed, he warned the disgruntled attorneys that he should certainly sustain himself, for when the Hon. W. W Corlett, who had assisted in Howie's defense, threatened such an appeal he said: “Small comfort you will obtain from that, for a majority of the supreme: court —Judge Kingman and myself —will sustain the ruling of the district court, inasmuch as the judges of the two courts are iden- tical.”” “Well, in that case, Your Honor,” retorted Corlett, “as is a possibility of their dying, and judges don’t resign, the all we can do is to wait.” IlIness soon forced Judge Howe to resign. With his departure from office women ceased to be summoned for jury service. The question of whether the word “ males”’ means also “females’’ in Wyoming has never been finally settled by judicial opinion In retrospect after fifty years we may surmise that the women in the Howie case felt that they were equally on trial with the defendant, and that Wyoming expected every woman to do her duty; at least, that the chief jus- tice did. Besides, as his photograph suggests, Judge Howe a ee |

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Even men, n from the bench, g persona ndicate the maiestv of the law aid, the trouble w the vy svstem yuent igeé Women | erved on juries ir arious states the Union off and on ever sit Now, although of « the mght to vote does not necessarily carry with it the right or duty to serve upon | the jury and—except from the point of view of political consistence f there be such a thing—has nothing to do with it, with the passage of the Nineteenth Amendment we may reasonably expect to see a constantly increasing . number of states extending the duty or privilege of jury The Legal Status of Women Jurors — H state has and always has had its own statute 4 regarding the composition of its juries, which usually v hall consist of “‘male citizens.” It would seem that tl hrase hardly needed or was sus eptible of more than one construction, even by lawyers | or judge It true that the Latin word “homo,” the egal equivalent of our word “male,” was used for both } sexes, but even so, as Blackstone explains, at common law i under the word ‘*/ »”’ the female was excluded “‘ propter 4 defectu : Be that as it may, to-day a “male i er ! and not a woman, incredible as that i ry ) Or Neverthele t i fact that a large number of other- vell formed pe é even “homos’’—assume that because women have the suffrage they will forthwith | a i? ter ol irse begin, ipso facto and ipsa le ye, to sit the jur I wish they could and would, but unfortu ! f tine \ The ! t and will not do so unt ( ‘ each state, pass the necessary brutoe ¢ , them to do which I t , ‘ | ‘ ! er that THE SATURDAY EVENING POST women should have the right, if not the obligation, to enforce t » laws which they put upon the statute books. there equal-suffrage states, largely owing to the fortuitous cir cu ‘e that, as has been just narrated, in Wyoming, the first of the United States to embrace woman's suffrage, the condition of society rendered it desirable, if not imperative that the women, who naturally represented the best element, should be utilized as jurors; and that there was, as Mrs. Mary Summer Boyd says in her careful and ac bject, a local judicial repre sentative of the United States who ‘frankly took the law curate discussion of this su into his own hands” and “deliberately stretched the right to vote to cover jury duty and drew women on his juries on the ground that in the outlaw communities of his state they were the only solid and reliable ci There are as she points out some states where women zens have the legal right to serve on juries, but there are others illegally where they have served—perhaps still serve n clear contravention of thestatutes. But women donot serve and never have served on juries in all the equal-suffrage ] states. There is only one such state—Idaho—where the word “male” has been judicially so interpreted as to com pel women to do jury duty; and there, according to the attorney-general, they serve very rarely indeed. Of other equal-suffrage states, Kansas, Nevada, Utah, Washington and California permit but do not compel women to serve; Montana, Colorado, Arizona and the territory of Alaska interpret the law so as to exclude them; while in Illinoi Wyoming and Oregon, although th one time, they were deprived of the right later on. That suffrage and jury service do not necessarily go hand in hand is to be seen in the fact that one of the first laws relating to women introduced into the New York Legisla ture, after tl had b bill prepared by the Woman Lawyers’ Association to give *"y actually did serve at en given the franchise in 1917, was a women the right to serve on the jury, and it was defeated, ut nd The de f e Supreme ( W t Harland vs. Ter r l Pa 15 quoted on the that ecial | necessa to give wome the ynt to serve on the the have the age. Suc ‘ it va i | | women now are ineled ‘ é é ‘ which case they must be excuse the iW ~ Jury Law of 1911—providing that womer t be mmpelled to e. Six men and six wome sed the jury which sat Seattle in Mar 19 ut ‘ il of Thomas H. Tracy, charged with the murd f Deputy Sheriff Jeffer is that, a on juries, man 1 son Beard, of Everett, Washingtor he attorney-gener ough women are p eged to retu » serve y of them do serve. We have » informat at hand wherewith to make any reliable estimate o actual proportion serving, but would gue roug that about one-fourth of the iror who serve ire wome Serving by Judicial Appointment _— time to time various judg certalt iffrage states have assumed, a Judge Howe W vor g to take the law into their own hands, even whe the law had been const i by the attorne yeneral to ex le womer from jury service. Some of these judges were eccent ome merely arrogant, and some, conscientiou believing that it was a good thing to do under the circur tance did it Thus in Iinoi Judge Owen made at t t 1913 of impaneling women juries to sit on case ‘ ny insane women. He was much interested in social w« ind believed that women in such cases could act 1 e inte gently, or at least more sympathetically, than men. Cor equently he simply assumed the responsibility of appoint ing them But Judge Owen failed of reélect nand womer no longer serv [ know of n There Wasn't Much Law, and Peopte Were Careless About What There Was. You Could Hear the Indians Whoop, and Watch the Bad Men Being Bad ‘ As to his course the attorne eneral said » authority in this state which authorizes tl Continued on Page 44

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YO M that morr proceeded to ac n. % 1 *homa irringtor Before she f irv of peec] *Mr : to a aid with scorn as sl bore away paraphernal to the | ng, though with repeated went bacl many at dinner last into that fasci hed the foundation iperintendent of the 1, fired and men. He . technical nearly every jol ibout t | fron ng the engines to doing analysis the job ol eemed to be looming just ahead n the lal married, issistant general n f him. That meant me, ral manager. Then Doane, the directors | uddenly: and from the East came the personal He was a highly edu after his two 7 ree new é papers for hnical He disc} ich had grown up with ipplian: journal and convention most of the office force, wl the plant them with techni himself lied also an elaborate yetem on things a 8\ Tom Harri never oughly to e days of ypped with down, Harringt nthat wea “Mt Harrington Indeed!"' She Said With Scorn as She Bore Away Thomas Harrington Jr THE SATURDAY EVENING POST J d when Mattie January 22,/92/ WILL IRWIN 5 T RA T E OD B r Cc LA R K F A Yr B L When it was all over, and the Carson-Coolidge was Tom reported this conversat her. working again, Tom brought home news from the plant ‘Yes, I cue ; that gave Mattie a sleepless night; a matter o agination, ‘Of course you thanked hi during which, ir she twenty times jerked the glasses off the of Maurice Philbin. The directors had met, tions highly commending Mr. Philbi management g times,”’ and + but made-over had had a new However, three up to the point of would see Philbir > ext! deep recesses pr € ‘om reache¢ yar ore » graveyard shift ’ Y off, did not leave unt he day shift was gone, slept ais se l a biting off her words I And le his bed he torce of the one ear open to the telephone es the war—the period strikes. T "exploded Mattie on-Coolidge works, rivals to the Mandrill, went out. . 10ow how r we came to having a strike last Mandrill forces refused to follow, though there f and with the down to straight month,”’ con 1 Philbi “And o course, ominous murmurs twice Tom stayed at the period of wa ‘ night “We're safe, I guess,”’ said breakfast after the second of these com- agalr If for humar Otherwise, we may have . “Did you te it was you who stopped that last etrike “No,” said petition increase our expenses ut settled down to mater watches Tom as he it into the laboring force. another strike >ee “Well, maybe it’s wasn't said Mattie, with an expression as grim as possible for a youn t+ person with sof well | there,”’ just as brown eyes and a mouth red fuchsias. Then Tom said something a being essential. bout management of t} labor “ Harrington,” cientifically replied M1 hilbin, “in a thoroughly organized plant, management of the I grant, must be out among ne nake little adjustments; but labor largely t: Someone, such vancement in technical knowledge—the Your technical educa- Are you keeping up with the c de velopments? ated. Are you taking There lies your added ion on } rtl and found himself Mattie dragged from him, broken after broker he suddenly came out ol himself — he did that about twice a year, and usually when the subject Cl was his job He produced an old envelope and a pencil, began to sketch a diagram; and he grew almost articulate. “Our organizatior “This is it: he assistant superintendent and his quoted with a superintendent

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running like that down } ' ee P : <etched a series of links assistant, into 05 Ws <a a Too many of ’em; all fancy-

jobs. Wher ything goes wrong who's respor sible? Nobody Or me, maybe. There has to be a goat If anything breaks or anything's needed it } ta ones al gh the organization to get a de YY Of t happen that wa Of cou , wa Half the time I don’t report it What’s the ‘ i “It ought to be t way, continued Tor He stopped to sketch out another diagran ‘A responsible head to ever department He ru ind ge result If S } or if to low, v i £ a eX- cuse for a_ bre "A i he’s responsible—vyou car call him onto the carpet \ and jack him up. Ther a wild deuce under the uperintendent who i) knows all the processs i and wa ne eve t y y If the head of a denart he can fil man like “Like ) ‘ rupted Matt He did not answe a moment; and when | oke vas more low even than was |} Ww Ther too, Matti« tice he had d ped his eye | aid; l ar ly T Now e rare 1 ne hu revealed himself peect not ne | did, by ference , tior were Mattie ) portunit he touched there e te der spot, whose existe ¢ he had f 1 ik me half guessed. Shev fairly hold er bre ee if he w t He said no 1 ul when the possible m« ment of speech had] é e prompts 1 } ‘ You me eve ‘ 1 Tor He nodded I don’t ge i ‘ pect It Mr. Phill i Mr. Deer nd M Seymour Even that oung cub just out of nieve the e pu nthe laboratory the me call him Mr. Mason. I’m just Tom.” | Mattie Harrington elded to an impulse verhay ul lomat whit e had bee esisting for me moments. She rose, rounded the table, threw both i her arms round his neck and nestled her head beneat} s cnn He made no responsive motior j “If they say that, it’s because they love you, and they " don’t love any of those’’— Mattie was searching her young idy’s vocabulary for an expression sufficiently scathing ‘those college-bred stiffs!’’ she concluded It’s because rumbled the voice of Tom above her, J tne jon't respect me *‘Tom,” said Mattie, “I wish you'd go right over to the Carson-Coolidge people and have a talk with them. They know—after that strike they must know Here Mattie, her head lying close to his heart, felt a muscular reaction wl 1 woman she would hay der. And she under The Mandril blood of his blood: to leave not onl was downright disloyalty | " } tood | plant was the were tearing up all is roots: it She shifted her

affectionate atta “Tt’s because they love you, Tom,” she repe ited “Well, that don’t get me anywhere apparently,” he said. Gently he disentangled her arms, rose, strolled into the living room and picked up the evening newspaper l She forbore to follow him She knew that he had so

broken away in order to avoid showing too much emotion

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST A fortnight later the heard it u out directly from old Matt) few people n the office lores le ft over from the Doane great perturbing news came. Tom at first as a rumor among the men; then it came ews, the l ead clerk, one of the régime and Tom’s sole intimate link with the office. The Mandrill wo had beer ld —to the trust. The sale wa an accomplished fact. The office force was putting things

¥!

Before He Couwtd Catch Phithbin's Opening Remark Tom Had Muttered “Excuse Me" and Swung to the Ladder of the reor- for the trar fer. The was coming to look into the plant and to in order managing director trust gar

No job’s safe, even Philbin’ “Better look round, Tom. We're That’s why I’m telling you.” concluded Matthew all running to cover Mattie took this news at first with a spurt of joy. Now justice was to be done! Now everyone would know who was who in the Mandrill works! It was only after a day or so that she caught the infection of her husband's mood and began to reason along his line of thought. ‘He’s mighty good at one thing—holding hi Tom one evening, apropos of nothing. ‘They'll know who's really making the plant go— prob- ably they know already—you can’t tell me they haven't watched the place,”’ said Mattie bravely. ‘Then they’ve found,” replied her husband with an air of finality, “that I’m just old Tom.” Two we The news that the plant had been sold was now an open secret. Had it might have guessed from the bustle of preparation, the with the card index in the clean-up in the plant. It reached, at last, the newspapers job,” said

S$ passed. not been so, one activity office, the general

And two er that, M ew eeting Tom in the garage as he wi art vi home ed | snot} ect ! tal ew Next wee e we r he vo } eget ‘ f ‘ Wa I i I have f 4 t 0 I ‘ each | é foi ( ne il aragge found Tx vithdraw t into 4 A ‘ ted all he re { t When she rose next morning she did not, a { ] proceed with the eu ure it eXig Tho 4 Ha netor }y but peeked into her hu band on He was al ead I A faucet sang ‘ if ym at the ‘ lof the hall Che door WAS UDel He word be fore the n r. his great 1 la ir bare, | race thered He wa be gy to shave Wi rom! he called

i istic 1 tart tw ‘ 1d ‘ Known uch a thing to happen Hi nerves usually had the matt ( matical ce« rts a well-tuned machine You could touch him un expected] n the dark and he would make no This perfect, manly control of hi was one ol which Mattie a thrill ia glow whenever she thing remembered witi, | tunate enough t " B he time he reached a little trickle of blood was tingeing the lather on his face ‘Here, Tom,” dear! a wash rag, let me poor he flew for caustic, court-plaster, away the blood the bleeding sand mouth took on look of wiped topped hve their tender

imusement a he ited } ittitude, like that of a ttle bo having | ear washed Did the great big girl care him?” she iid a e worked But whe her surgery was ove nd he had resumed i , e sat down on the edge of the bathtub and drew histrionicall icross her face the expression of a school: tre who le tures a i ht cholar Tom,’ he ud € notto W Lo i t | Chose me ire no for KI \ more pout ti Husine than even than <« ! ( They know that the war was the reason that the plant paid, and that it won't pay now

Philbin can't fool them! Now to-day just go on wit everything though they weren't there at all!” Tom spoke pluttering through the lathe ‘Yes, and everybody, even the water boy, will call me Tom | won't get ar respect The shade in Mattie’s eyes proved that in spite of her bold front her husband's fears had been a little contagiou ‘It’s too late, of course,”’ she said judicially, ‘to change that, and you can't order them to eall you Mr. Harring ton.”’ Her eve lightened now, a with the birth of an idea. “Do you generally call the men by their first names?”’ “Generally,”” he said If he had replied ‘‘ Alw he would have been more

after any man entered the Mandrill emembered his first name and By two day knew truthful Tom \ | worldly (Continued on Page 121) worl something of hi circumstance

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14 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST WEEDS vu STRATE DO KE ALWAY % called |} {f Monsie Jacque It ma e been the é give nim i baptisr ! mie ce which 1 one eve beer ‘ t But mo tr e if ne irding house he eved that WAS a ime he } a i i ea or wi ! naybe clung to hin tion Ur perhap otheyspeculated there was hidder inder it a name far re \ tly bette ib forgotten and a discreet! buried But from habit more than anything els« hey called him Monsieur Jacque Not that he seemed French. He spoke English perfectly But there was a ertain immaculacy about his dress and ence Possil he ity-five certain! not more ina athe hort and bald, with a tend batne vould erie wide, and the eemed stretc! white and thin over it; and his eyes were gray and deep, and rather searching and fearlk He appeared to be particular about his clothes; not that he dreased to fashior (in the contrary, he seemed to wear old clothes—-a blue lounge suit usually, which somehow by ittention and manipulation was always respectable and clean. His shirt oo, though a little behind the fashion in lor, bore no real antiquit and the cuffs, if somewhat worn, were carefully trimmed with a pair of scissors each norning. Indeed in this boarding house, where life seemed 1 little soiled and spent, he had a modernism that clung ather particularly to him. That gave him style In looks he was perhaps ordinary A little pointed gray beard, a mustache carefully waxed. In his left eye he wore i monocle with a broad black ribbon attached. But he wore the monocle and its attachment with ease, as though were an appendage rather than a nece ty, but without iffectation or conceit Monsieur Jacques was, in fact, an essential part of thi hoarding house; as much a part of it as the early Victoria furniture, which struggled now to appear Georgian, and ir the darkest corners seemed to achieve its aim. He occu pied two rooms in the house, a sitting room facing on the main street and a bedroom adjoining; and he always sat at the window of this sitting room. They sometimes said that he sat there from breakfast time till the darkening of the gas announced that Monsieur Jacques was going to bed If he were not at the window during the day some of the marders waited for him rather anxiously at dinner, when he came down to the main room In short, his habits, if peculiar, were never startling. They were merely ordinary, vith a tendency toward eccentricity Miss Flannery un elderly person wit! lvering hair and i hooked nose, wi sat beside Monsieur Jacques at dinner and as regularly ate his bread in mistake for her own, took him to task on this particular evening about his habit of y s open window. She lisped a little, and Mor S WAS in consequence overattentive to her, be- cal handicap always hurt him and softened a h in many ways had become hardened “Don't Play the Giddy Foot! You're a Funny Sort You—You Old Rip!” drawing-room that evening peated the conversation about “ Monsieur Jacques never went to the drawing-room, for a s dinner had ended he always sought the solitude of look for you firth dithappear I am lotht. thit at windowth?’ Miss Flannery excitedly He smiled with the geniality which they knew so well ‘Have you ever looked into an orange sunset at the end ?” he asked rather quietly. lifted her eye brows ing to speak but shuffling for words m'sieu seemed a little peculiar and unusual. * she said nervously. face round the edge of the Damned balmy!” ‘He thits at windowth and thinkth of thips!’’ mocked a youth, running his fingers up and down the piano. exclaimed Miss Flannery, flus} , dayth youth wath cor “You are rather rude!” ‘But what a peculiar I didn’t mean to be. nd the youth rolled into a jazz tune Monsieur Jacques, sitting beside his window in the dush autumn evening, was supremely unconscious of this It never occurred to him that he ubject of criticism, even of remark. He was > withdrew from his solitude was that of a man who had fallen from the people who happen into a crowd—and the rest of the time » show each other round our lives as if the » apologize for the weeds. and Pirkei at meals his attitude knew that life was good, who had a wonderful good nature which seemed to radiate contentment and sometimes was more than a little soothing. But ultimately the first whisper of scandal closed about he who had so long neglected it a stream inevitably close round a passing twig. And then Monsieur Jacques suddenly became aware that they had » at him when he appeared at meals; that they appeared to draw more toward themselves and leave “hey talked together and nodded as he passed frigidly aloof. Even Miss Flan- , you have never known them in aconeivus a answered I suppose the soil was bad But shen can be great beauty in weeds.’ » chicken’s drumstick round the !”’ he said with emphasis of thingth do you thee from your Others merely held t Monsieur Jacques’ face c , ‘down there in the street. and again I see some thing I suppose it is imagi- , or the faa that stirs a hael’s Chur h I ofte January 22,192! By NEWMAN FLOWER ERNEST F UH R “Thips?’’ said Miss Flannery in a foolish,distantecho ‘Yes, ships—my ships. We all have ships, which belong to some day that is going to follow an orange sunset, when we'll get up, glad in the morning, to greetthem. I watct for my ships just as the light is going, when the street lamps begin to glim- mer like harbor lights and the houses in the dark look like lumps of rock with horrible edges. Sometimes I see these ships of mine, but I usually lose them in the dark.” ‘“*The dark ith very bad for thome thips,” Miss Flan nery agreed. He nodded. ‘Always for mine,” he said, and turned the subject The dinner-tabk conversation at Bel mont House was ever like that. It led to nowhere. It was a great solemr river, heavy, slow flowing. And one floated down upon it, only to become becalmed in a side water. The reasor may have been that everyone in Bel mont House lived on memories and never on ambitions Miss Flannery re * to those assembled asked the company what the funny m’sieu had meant when he spoke of his “thips.”’ ” exclaimed Major Tremaine, pushing a florid evening paper. “‘Balmy Only most infernal just as bubbles ir The story became conviction in the boarding house that Monsieur Jacques was known—frequently known—to call those of the other sex who passed by in the street up to his g room, where he would talk to them, usually with the i those in Belmont House visitors were friends of his, or poor relations whom he wished to secrete in some manner, since

Page 17

ntroduced

passed on the stairs They shunne Thus driven, he now rarely appeared at meals, a odd by-stree ts

nem to h pecame convinced that all was not well were bevond e pale o ething of a terr seemed to blast to the ve le in Belmont House, and ] ‘ hyiyt oO leave, but there was no « Jacques

small rest a gana gt £ ont House they rem: society was oper someone remarked of quest ” al le re cord pectability and wa er i t ! Thu , out er! © yur t certall hat all < more than was really good for them, bu night ‘Of course he « Monsieur Jacques heard these t m hear them UR JACQUES padd rding | e toward be d him was a 1 the he errand at from the d the pa glad to be

me px ople is fellow boarders, But now by some curious intui- they appeared suddenly to Monsieur Jacques was not quite the person they had supposed hi

le calamity and upheaval

. , ecame a tainted

him, and there by forced him tos rants and eating houses in rather happy with his cutlet and half flask and his evening paper, and a little soothed by ing of

Presently even his ey

ul had become ne thought abou he realized the folly » these things and

to him so difficult. ould not have been more

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST that drooped over her ea beneath the brim of her hat Her eyes were deep brown, with very black lashes; her mouth small, with firm lips rather red and with a promise of ripeness; and she had a p attracts men—-a prettiness which in odd flashes

aintive prettiness which

is sugges-

tive of beauty that on closer attention is ever elusive, but f , the presence of which is haunt She was quietly a

well dressed in a tailor-made costume, with short skirt and rather bold open-work stockings terminating in suécde shoes that moved nose essly on tne stairs They entered Monsieur Jacques’ sitting room, and he let the door st: neton custom

“Sit down,” as a little abrupt, but pos- sibly nervousness or the threat of discovery had caused it. “T want to go on talking as we did in the tea shop.” He ' sat down in the armchair facing her and crossed his legs. “I’m not adventuring really, but you talk differently from other women— most women. You know he opened the cigarette box on the table beside him and held it out to her, but she shook her head *you know, it did me good, your brave view of things, hearing vou talk. You've a wonderful courage.” She did not seem to be lister ng “T don’t know why I came here,” she said. She looked aimlessly round the room, out at the window, and then lowly fixed her eyes upon him. “TI really don’t know why I came. Bit of a mug’s game.” ‘I know why you came,” he replied, drawing happily at

his arette “We'd been friends for two hours. That’ why you came.” She laughed. She liked the camaraderie in his mood He looked rather fat and happy, perched in the chair, and he amused her. She knew the dour moods in men, and he was anything but dour. He almost seemed to be sincerely glad because he had her to talk to “Are you a lonely sort of bird?" she asked w “T say!” “What's the matter? He got up and kne It dow? quich ly before her Your shoes are infernal wet. I’m going to take them off.” ‘The devil, you aren’'t!’’ She twined her legs round the chair. “Don’t play the giddy fool! You're a funny sort of ; vee flunky, aren't you? You-—you old rip

He sat back on hi els and looked up at he r, la ighing ‘I think you said your name was Alice—and I’m not a rip! And I’m not philandering. You gorgeous bit of yout Alice!”’ ‘Miss Royds to you, if you’re going to muck about with my shoes

” he «

For a Few Seconds Monsieur Jacques Smoked on, Glancing Now at Louis and Now at the Revolver

Continued on Page 64

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16 GOVERNMENT THE SATURDAY EVENING POST sY If January 22,192! Lhe Story of Corporation Rule in Rhodesia OR fifty-eight hours the train from Johannes burg had traveled teadily northward, past By ISAAC F. MARCOSSON of the section acclaimed by a dozen enthusiasts. Everyone in Rhodesia is a born booster. Again you get the parailel Mafeking and on through the ipparentiy endless stretche of Bechuanaland Alter- nately frozen and baked, I had swallowed enough dust to stock a small-sized desert Dawn of the third day broke. ind with it came a sharp rap on my compartment door l had been dreaming of a warm bath and a joltless life when I was rudely restored to reality. The car was sta tionary, and a blanketed Matabele, his teeth chatter- ing with the cold, peered in at the window “What is it?” I asked “You are in Rhodesia, and I want to know who you are,” boomed a voice out in the orridor. | opened the door and a tall, rangy, bronzed mat the immigration inspector tepped inside He looked like a cross between an Ari ona cowboy and an Austra lian overseas soldier. When l proved to his satisfaction that I was neither Bolshevil nor boche he departed with the remark We've got to keep a watch on the people who come into this country Such was my introduction to Rhodesia, where the limou ine and the ox team compete for right of way on the veldt ind the ricksha yields to the motor cycle in the town treet Nowhere in the world can you find a region that ombines to such vivid and picturesque extent the romance ind hardship of the pioneer age with the push and prac cality of to-day Here existed the King Solomon’ Mines of Rider Haggard’s fancy; here the modern gold eckers of fact sought the treasures of Ophir; here Nature gives an awesome manifestation of her power in the Vic- toria Falls The Impress of Cecil Rhodes 4 IS the only country where a great business « orporation rules, not by might of money but by chartered authority Bound up in that rule is the story of a conflict between hareholder and settler that is unique in the history of colonization It is the now familiar and well-nigh universal struggle r self-determination, waged in this instance between all- British elements and without violence Cecil Rhedes ‘Left and One of His Secretaries, J. Grimmer, Camped on the Rhodesian Veidt All the way from Capetown I had followed the trail of Cecil Rhodes, which, like the man himself, is distinct. It is not the succession of useless and conventional monument reared by a grateful posterity Rather is it expressed in terms of cities and a permanent industrial and agricultural advance ‘Living, he was the land,” and dead, his im- perious and constructive spirit goes marching on. The Rhodes impress is everywhere. Now I had arrived at the capstone of it all, the domain that bears his name and which he added to the British Empire Less than two hours after the immigration inspector had given me the once-over on the frontier I was in Bula- wayo, metropolis of Rhodesia, which sprawls over the veldt just as a bustling Kansas community spreads out over the prairie. It is definitely American in energy and atmosphere. Save for the near-naked blacks, you could almost imagine yourself in Idaho or Montana back in the days when our West was young. Before that first day ended I had lunched and dined in a club that would do credit to Capetown or Johannesburg; had met women who wore French frocks; and had heard the possibilities with our own kind. To the average American reader Rhodesia is merely a name, associated with the midnight raid of stealthy savage and all the terror and tragedy of the white man’s burden amid the wild con- fines. All this happened, to be sure, but it is part of the past. Though South Africa still wrestles with a serious native problem, Rhodesia has settled it once and for all. It would be impossible to find a milder lot than the survivors and sons of the cruel and warlike Lobengula, who once ruled here like a despot of old. His tribes- men—the Matabeles— were put in their place by a strong hand, and they remain put f wy i Summary Methods JULAWAYO was the ecapi- J tal of Lobengula’s king- dom. Theword means “ Place of Slaughter,”’ and it did not belie the name. You can still see the tree under which the portly potentate sat and laily dispensed sanguinary idgment. His method was juite simple. If anyone irri- tated or displeased him he was haled up under the greenwood and sentenced to death If gout or rheumatism racked the royal frame the chief executed the first passer-by and then considered the source of the trouble removed. The only thing that really de- parted was the head of the innocent victim. Lobengula had sixty-eight wives, which may account for some of his eccentricities. Chaka, the famous king of the Zulus, whose favorite sport was murdering his sons—he feared a rival to the throne—was an amateur in crime alongside the dusky monarch whom the British suppressed, and thereby gained what is now the most prosperous part of Southern Rhodesia The occupation and development of Rhodesia are so comparatively recent— Rhodes and Doctor Jameson were fighting the Matabeles at Bulawayo in 1896—that any account of the country must at the outset include a brief historical approach to the time of my visit last May Probe into the beginnings of any African colony and you immediately uncover intrigue and militant imperialism Rhodesia is no exception For ages the huge continent of which it is part was veiled behind mystery and darkness. The northern and southern Remains of Lobenguta'’s Kraat at Bulawayo

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extremes early cange into the ken of the explorer and after him the builder. So, too, with most of the coast. But the vast central belt, skirted by the arid reaches of Sahara on one side and unknown territory on the other, defied civili- zation until Livingstone, Stanley, Speke and Grant blazed the way. Then began the scramble for colonies. Early in the eighties more than one European power cast covetous glances at what might be called the south-central Thanks to the economic statesmanship of King Leopold, Belgium had secured the Congo. Between this region, which was then a free state, and the Transvaal was an immense and unappropriated country—a sort of no man’s land, rich with minerals, teeming with forests and peopled by savages. Two territories, Matabeleland, ruled by Lobengula, and Mashonaland, in- habited by the Mashonas, who were to all area. intents and purposes vassals to Lobengula, Another immense the present British protectorate of Bechuanaland—was immediately south, and touched the Cape Colony and the Transvaal. Portuguese East Africa lay to the east, but the backbone of Africa south of the Congo line lay ready to be plucked by venturesome hands. were the prize portions. area Kaiser and Kruger Blocked OR were hands lacking for the enter- prise. Germany started to strengthen the network that had already yielded her a million square miles of African soil, and she was reaching out for more. Control of Africa meant for her a big step toward world conquest. Paul Kruger, president of the Transvaal Republic, which touched the southern edge of this unclaimed domain, saw in it the logical extension of his do- minions Down at Capetown was Rhodes, dream- ing of a greater Britain and determined to block the Kaiser and Kruger. It was largely due to his efforts while a member of the Cape Parliament that Britain was _per- suaded to annex Bechuanaland as a crown Forestalled here, Kruger was de- termined to get the rest of the country be- yond Bechuanaland and reach- ng to the southern bor- colony. der of the Congo. - His emissaries began to anexpedition to invade the ter ritory. Once Rhode ne in more The Grave of Cecil Rhodes Matoppo Hilts beat him to it, thi history-making fashion. Following his theory that it is better to deal with a man than fight him, he sent C. D. Rudd, Rochfort Maguire and F. R. [Matabele] Thompson up to deal directly with Lobengula. They were ideal envoys, for Thompson in particular knew every inch of the country and spoke the native languages. From the crafty chieftain they ob- tained a blanket concession for all the mineral and trading rights in Matabeleland for twelve hundred pounds sterling 4 year and one thousand rifles. Rhodes now converted this concession into a commer- al and colonizing achievement without precedent or par- all It became tne Magna Charta of the great British South Africa Company, which did for Africa what the East India Company did for India. Counting in Bechuanaland, en hundred thousand square miles it added more than se, he Britist E'mr eriris AFRO THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Like the historic document so inseparably associated with Clive and Hastings, its charter shaped the destiny of empire and is associated with battle, blood and the even- tual triumph of the Anglo-Saxon over the man of color. Other chartered companies have wielded autocratic power over millions of natives, but the royal right to exist and operate bestowed by Queen Victoria upon the British South Africa Company—the Chartered Company, as it is com monly known—was the first that ever gave a corpora tion the administrative authority over a politically active country with a white population. The record of its rule is therefore distinct in the annals of big business. It was in 1889 that Rhodes got the charter. ception of the Rhodesia that was to be In his con- it was first called Zambezia—he had two distinet pur- poses inview, One was the larger political motive which was to widen the empire and keep the Ger- mans and the from annexing terri tory that he believed should be British. This was Rhodes the impe- a rialist at work. The other te aspect was the purely com- = mercial side, and revealed the same shrewdness that had regis- soers orn f tered so successfully in the creation of the diamond trust at Kimberley. Thi Rhodes the business man on the job. The charter itself was a visualization of the Rhodes mind, and it matched the Cape-to-Cairo project in bigness of vision. It gave the company the right to acquire and develop land everywhere, to engage in shipping, to build railways, telegraph lines, to establish banks, to operate mines and irrigation undertakings and to promote com- merce and manufacture of all kinds. Nothing was over- looked. It meant the union of business and statesmanship. Under the charter the company was given administra- tive control of an area larger than that of Great Britain, France and Prussia. It was divided up into Northern and Southern Rhodesia, with the Zambesi River as the sepa- rating line. Northern Rhodesia remains a sparsely settled country —there are only two thousand white inhabitants to eight hundred fifty thousand natives—and the only in- dustry of importance is the lead and zine development at Broken Hill. Southern Rhodesia, five thousand white persons and eight hundred thousand was where there are thirty natives, has been the stronghold of chartered erests at the battle ground of the struggle to throw off corporat control. It is the Rhodesia to be referred to henceforth ir this article without prefix The charter is perpetual, but it contai: that at the end of twenty-five years—1914 t end of each succeeding ten years the imper t has the power to alter, amend or rescind the instrument s ation of Rhodesia far as the administr vital change in the original document has been made far, but by the time the that the next cycle expires in 1924 it i certain Rhodesia will ¢ Africa or a self-determining colon) Excavating the Tomb of Rhodes directed by a board of directors in but no director reside The company is London, at the beginning the in the country itself. Thu made in With the approval of the Foreign Office, the company names an administrator. The present one is Sir Drummond Chaplin, fundamental mistake wa attempting to run an immense area at long range little to say and thi you will see later on who, like the average governor-general, has The company exer¢ ised a copper-riveted control rigid control led to its undoing, a A Stirring Drama of Development after five million dollar but that i pact ie comenie remy wersang five million dolia wards increased to forty sterling that has been only a part of the stream of pound poured into the country. In all the years of its existence the company has never paid a dividend. It is only sines 1914 that the revenue has balanced expenditure More thousand shareholders have invested in the To-day the fate of the country rests practically on the issue between the interests of these shareholders or than forty enterprise one hand and the thirty five thousand inhabitants on. the the of astrongly intrenched vested é other pectacle o common to American financial history interest, with the real exploiter, or the consumer, arrayed been hi profit Once more you get against it. The company rule has not irsh, has been animated by a desire to make a homesteaders want liberty of movement without handicap An irreconcilable conflict ensued now go the story of which not « nly unfolds a or restraint We can Rhodesia, velopment but discloses something of an epic of adventure With most corporations it is an easy matter to get dowr to business once a charter i It is onl to subscribe stock and then enter upon active whether they produce market is established for the product into the oe iIpatiol of tirring drama of de granted, y necessar oper ihior soap, razors of automobile Continued on Page 91

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18

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 22,192! WHITE SHOULDERS vi r W betwee eve y ' abn thre« off ' ne Tau a i ar there Cole Hawki We I i , ert ' ce | ‘ " ng t M e 1 did W hat ‘ ea I asked W hat tarted inyway? ‘Itold s.didr I didn’t like tl of his fa ‘You'll kill ore body in this towr I iid, “before you get through It’s God mere you haven't ilready, in some of the thing you ve heer mixed up in,” I told him. Forhe hadbroker up one or two mer ilready omething candalous. “Wher are you going to tet the liquor alone,”’ I aske him, “and stop being the town devil ‘Look here, judge he said, giving me that black devil tare of hi

nswering me “what irre these cackling vomen here trying to do to that girl | told him as mucl is I knew about the tory tne ituatior crime tn this state to owe lor? There'd be TA

that was law,” he told [here ome trutt got to remember l ire maker! by iwi mur g st And £. ca i plent { e wore Col l " i tw i I'm sorry f i e of thought a , henrd the ew 1 cn ea ed ‘ No, sir. 1 de (; i Cy alled off che ma ! eur 1 exp i can gue LHe jult he tle I at a t N Col 1 told Who said A what | going t t iy ot ‘ I ‘ ‘ et me I eoche he , lg ned at tl hey be gre r racter, Cole I sa elation 4\ ic i i »” | aske him belonged one of the lo |} witha of t itt ea » " to spite ther lot of then 1 know Vad you go abou { I il ve } ‘ iha more ha G \ ‘ t i ‘

bout that dressmaker Since when,” he wan

Must be Desperate, T'tt Say That for Her, to Go Out in That Death

Yo 10 expect | asked hit in ite that oud get ar woman in her right senses to ie Out wit! su in that murder car?” Well he don’t have to If she don’t want t i he ve »> ao 1s to i oO ne told me nd he went out and t the door af } Ll had to smile a small fraction of a sr e alte seeing watcl g and defending the girl the da ¥ victory vithout the lea provocation; and vet I knew it wasn’t t the rot 0 eg her beaut either He wa ilwa that wa i rene is great-hearted type of bo the ne he t into g pant always w g and eady t t ban hing that he believed was getting worsted—and more than ever e that yuble of | pite ( tid abo Cole, I Vu ed tne ) Ww ior him ind more i ever ( t eal disapp tment he id had nat a ient at the beg ng ol the wa In war, | always held, the first line out is made up of the itural hehter the one who are reall look ng to tight Chere alwa\ a certain percentage of roving, toot loose, aevil-may-care | who just imp at war as the one great big adventure It wa ist the same with us In this war as the old Civil War oung boys begging ind cheating and ng to the Government to get out and get shot to death. rt C< Hawkir was one of that kind always—a itural-born, reckless, dev take-the-hindmost, harum irum fighter He was a double orphan, with all the money that was good for him and a little more. One of the kind that always go in for speed For horses, it was, in my day —fast horse but now it’s gasoline. Ever since the automobile came he had been round breaking speed laws in one So the first thing he did, naturally, when war came, was to go or this aéroplane flying— death not being sure and cer- tain enough on the ground He was especially suited for t, they claimed— too good, too anxious and reckless. One as they explained it, he stole in and got out his

ainst orders, before he'd hardly learned to rut

t; and he was down on the ground again, it seems, about as soon as he was up; through flying and all other warlike pursuits; one leg shorter than the other, and lucky tv ge } } i off—after months spent in the hospital —with his life Since then he had been drinking too much, to put it plain and bald; driving in that big red car of his, that

child of hell, that he had bought himself on fF = § By George Kibbe Turner staying by himself and reading the newspapers on the war; and getting blacker and uglier and ILLUSTRATED BY CLARENCE PF. UNDERWOOD louder, sitting at home, nursing his wrath, like 1atural fighters have, when they can’t get into a fight, ever since the days of Achilles He got worse and worse as the war went on without his assistance; every battle fought was a personal insult to him because he wasn’t in it. He was a public menace to the town, riding round in that roaring speedster, half drugk very likely, trying to forget that wa‘ He was right—I believed then and as it finally turned out—in what he had said about Gordon, and what he had thought about him and the girl. Gordon was gone, nobody knew for how long or how far He had not committed himself publicly to any engagement to the girl, no matter what might have been agreed be- tween them for an- nouncement on that day of victory Anyhow, whatever your theory might be, the fact was that the situation was entirely changed Almost at once Gordon was gone, and the girl, White Trap" Shoulders, whiter faced and stiller yet, was taking her first ride with Cole Hawkins, the Lame Duck, is Cupid Calvert kindly called him, but only occasionally, toa select few, not desiring, Lassume, that appropriate and <indly name to get back to its bearer as originating from his lips. Yet if you are a humorist, I often notice, humor W out regardless of consequences ‘She must be desperate, I'll say that for her,” said Julia Blakelock, “to go out in that death trap with that drunken murderer.” ‘Without even taking out a death warrant,” said Cupid ‘Let me tell you something, Cupid,”’ said Belle Davis than

Cole Hawkins can drive better drunk and asleep

u ever will with all your faculties I only wi he me tor but he never will, 1 expect I’ve given up all hope now!” Speak for yourself,” said Julia Blakelocl ‘IT will. Don’t you fret ‘I don't want to die yet said the Blakelock womar ‘But at the same time you can’t blame her, either It was a godsend to her, after that exposé—after that scandalous thing about the dressmaker. If it wasn’t for this new man they'd both have been laughed out of town the next after the day of victory

‘It was a bi Ella Armitage ‘It was a rout, I should say,’ Cupid Calvert contrib- d to a hard-fought campaign,” said uted, “with just one avenue of esca pe ‘A poor avenue,” said Julia Blakelock. “You know a well as I do how likely that devil of a Cole Hawkins is to marry her or any other womar And how long they could live together if he did. But what I don’t see,” said Julia Blakelock, going on, “is how those two can stay here at all —after what's happened “Why not?” Belle Davis asked her. ‘After what has come out?” “What has come out? What do you know?’ “We're practically certain,’ said the Blakelock woman, ‘that they are just two adventuresses who came up here }

to marry off the girl, with a wardrobe they'd bought on installments from that terrible creature from St. Louis, who came up here looking for his money ‘How do we know even that much about them?” asked Pelle Davis agair “We know it—practically speaking,”’ the other woman rh

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“We don’t know a thing that we can prove,” repeated Belle Davis, “except a stolen telegram and a stolen busi- ness card—and what we saw of this mar “Wasn't that enough?” ‘No We know there's somet!} ng very strange ver\ funny there. But that’s all we do know “It was enough for Gordon Gordon, evidently,” said Julia Blakelo« ‘We don’t know that either, felle Davis insisted ‘For all you know he’s on a business trip—as he says.” “We can guess,” said t “Yes. That’s 1 he whole thing.” “There’s one thing sure, anyhow,” said the other woman, “and that’s the reception they’re getting every where since the thing happened.” “I’m not so sure cerne d i. Be lle ‘I'n n ire about that either—as far as I am con- Davis told her, snapping | myself, anc er black eyes. sorry for them, i especially for the girl. She looks more like a girl of ivory than ever—stiller and whiter. And her face has got that kind of haunted look on it, deeper than ever.” grand idea! Haunted by a dressmaker!’ ert vou think judge,” Belle Davis came out ing over there, wiser than a barrelful of old owls, | g , The re haunted, I expect, all right, Be le,” I told her, with you all after them. They’ve got that look. They look to me now like two lost souls, as old Sam Barsam used rt hops ahead of the devil.” Cockatoo sounds like, anyhow, since r gayety does grow,” I said, “‘a little excruciating, I'll have to say.’ ‘Gordon Gordon may come back,” said Mrs. Penny- worth, the Boarding-House Pessimist “Or they may be getting ready for a good old breach-of- ‘* ted Julia Blakelock THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ‘More business for you, judge,” said Calvert ‘I believe we had all better shut up and keep still t now more,”’ said Belle Davis, who was taking the girl's art more and more row she was dowr The exact fact was that there was nothing in the testi mony yet sufficient to warrant more than a genera arraignment in the wome courts of the two women a suspicious characters, which they had been all along the other hand, there was somet} Ing more tothe point now n evidence—a warning to the men, especially to a man of Gordon Gordon's finer sensibilitic and so the probabil t the women were rigl heir belief that we were witnessing the last stages of tl e matrimonial campaign The ay and manner of the Scarlet Cockatoo were the best evidence of this. Her rouge was redder thar sin, but not red enough to cover up the purple circles round ? almed at those who would still She the eyes; and her gayety, lj , listen to it, was more hysterical than ever was y attention mostly now to the delicacy of Whit« Shoulders in that ur ! hat terrible happenir her speech since fortunate indisposi- dreadful day y reverted in detail } tion on that She to this— how natural it after was, who had beer all, in a gir so delicately reared, so sheltered nature her next from everything that would disturb a sensitive night a this She was discussin that before fortune fell “What can you expect, sir,” she was saying to me ] h the shel mis- “when you care for them and ter them we Southern folks do? She might be an impostor from St way I said to my *self, watching her and listening to her, did not sound like it; she talked like the genuine old-time South ern country woman. And then to get again. And just precisely at that minute Cupid Calvert was coming in, grinning. I saw him enter ““Come over here,” he called in a low voice, and cocked his finger at Belle Davis and grinned a kind of secret way. Louis, but sne she went upstairs ready for dinner “Come . t i ( | ‘ g to ‘ The ige w i,” said Belle Da , VE i i of y ena } It ne € ‘ t ! act ‘ i ‘ ve i it that ewritt ett *W t Belle Day isked |} wi he eve yu ‘ hes , " y Re »J 1 Cup ef he hlow ent ' So sh Just a we iid ya wise if \ woking fo ea ere i that W it if a ei Mr Fairb ! e eve eard of the | in f the celedrat Pitma ! ‘ *Murder!”’ whispered Julia Blake ‘It t signed isked Belle Dav No N lated ‘Just typewritter The plot curdle iid Calvert, ¢ t , ‘ { } happiest gril from ear to ear ‘Just an anonymous lett iid the Da ; | don't believe it “Don't yo inderstand yet?" Calvert asked then And the two looked at him ‘You're slow,”” he said Of said Belle Davis, flushing uy The telegram! ‘Certair ure Don't you remember What w couldn't understand at that time?” “How wasitit ran? I forget,’ said Belle Da ‘Like this,”’ he told her, taking it out of his 1 ket once more and reading it **So you would make a get-awa Now you come through. Five hundred-—by Saturday Or letters start. Wire answer. A. G “Letters start!”’ said Julia Blakelo nodding her head “That dressmaker!” They were all naturally talking Davis said Belle Continued on Page 77 fhe Lay With Her Arm Trailing Down Upon the Floor and Her Head at the Extreme Edge of the Bed es ae

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26 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE WRONG CHAPTER XVIII WEEK later one of the New York evening papers printed an inspiring view of Merl Dalton Whipple in what wa aid to be b of the workingman. He staunch] TLLUSTRATE DO Br FP. By Harry Leon Wilson R. GRUG January 22,192! TWIN ‘“‘More’n likely,” declared the judge. ‘War makes ’em forget their home training. Wouldn't surprise me if she went from bad to worse. ER It’s just a life of profligacy she’s leadin’.”’ ‘*Nonsense!”’ snapped the j on a handker hnief knotted at throat il ‘ i flannel shirt and 1 somew it prole t ul ipsetup i well po ea ead Ihe cCaptior ‘Young Mi ionaire Socialist Lea ‘ Life ! Luxu to be n e Toiler.” A copy of t ‘ prising sheet wire ed hi I inknown hand Place, to further distress the bereft amily Oni haron Whippl vas not distressed Ile remarked that e toiler was not 0 imple a ome people might thin! and he urged that an ir quiry be set on foot to discover the precise nature of the toil now being engaged in by thi recruit tothe rank of labor. He added that he himself would he glad to ninety dollars pa a month and board toany toiler worth I alt, because Juliana was now his only reliable helper, ind it did seem as if she would never learn to run a tractor, If Merle Whipple wa bent on toil, why should he not come to the home farm, he having no gift for machinery where plenty of it could be had for the asking? Both Harvey D. and Gideon rebuked him for thi levity, reminding him that he did not take into account the extreme sensitivenesas of Merle haron merely said: “ Mebbe so, mebbe not.” There came another issue of the New Dawn. It was a live issue, and contained a piece by the associate editor entitled Fhis Unpopular War, in which it was clearly hown that this war was unpopular It was unpopular with evervone the writer had questioned; no one wanted it, everyone condemned it, even those actually engaged i: it at Washington. The marvel was thet an army could continue to go forward with existing public sentiment a the New Dawn revealed it. The time was at hand wher an end would be put to organized exploitation and murder, which was all that the world had thus far been able to evolve in the way of a government In a foreword to the readers of the New Dawn, however 1 faintly ominous note was sounded. It appeared that the nterests had heinously conspired to suppress the magazine because of its loyalty to the ideals of free thought and free peech. In short, its life was menaced. Support was with drawn by those who had suddenly perceived that the New Dawn meant the death of privilege; that “this flowering of mature and seasoned personalities” threatened th« upremacy of the old order of industrial slavery. The mature and seasoned personalities had sounded the prelude to the revolution which “here bloodily, there peaceably, and beginning with Russia, would sweep the earth.” Capital, affrighted, had drawn back. It was therefore now necessary that the readers of the New Dawn bear their own burder If they would send in money in such sums as they could spare—and it was felt that these would flow in abundantly upon a hint—the magazine would continue and the revolution be a matter of days. It was better, ifter all, that the cause should no lor ger look to capital for ave Contributors were to sign on the dotted line ‘here were no more New Dawt The forces of privilege had momer , prevail or the etaniat ad | eet mother. “* And whom do you think I had a nice little visit withtwodaysago? He was on his way up to the Front again, and it was our Wilbur. He’s been in hot fight- ing three times al- ready, but so far unscathed. But, oh, how old he looks, and so severe and grim and muddy! He says he is the worst-scared man in the whole Army, bar none. He thought at first he would get over his fright, but each time he goes in he hates worse and worse to be shot at, and will posi- tively never come tolikeit. Hesays the only way he can get over being frightened is to go on until he be- comes very, very angry,and then he can forget it for a time. You can tell by his face that it would be easy to anger him. ane It is Onty Important That He Keep on Being a Fighting So-rand:+So, as They Say in the Army’** insufficiently roused to its plight. The New Dawn stopped, and in consequence the war went on. Fora time, at least, America must continue in that spiritual darkness which the New Dawn had sought to illumine. Later it became known in Newbern that the staff of the New Dawn would now deliver.its message by word of mouth. Specifically, Merle Whipple was said to be ad- dressing throngs of despairing toilers not only in New York but in places as remote as Chicago. Sharon Whipple now called him a crimson rambler um M* ANWHILE news of the other Cowan twin trickled s\ into Newbern through letters from Winona Penni- man, a nurse with the forces overseas. During her months of training in New York the epistolary style of Winona had maintained its old leisurely elegance, but early in the year of 1918 it suffered severely under the strain of active service and became blunt to the point of crudeness. The morale of her nice phrases had been shattered. *‘D-—n this war!” began one letter to her mother. “We had influenza coming over and three nurses died and were buriedatsea. Also, one of our convoy foundered in astorm; I saw men clinging to the wreck as she went down “Can it be that I once lived in that funny little town where they make a fuss about dead people— flowers and a casket and a clergyman and careful burial? With us it’s something to get out of the way at once. And life has always been this, and I never knew it, even if we did take the papers at home. Ha, ha! Yes, I can laugh, even in the face of it. ‘ Life is real, life is earnest ’— how that line comes back to me with new force!” A succeeding letter from a base hospital somewhere in France spelled in full certain words that had never before polluted Winona’s pen. Brazenly she abandoned the seemly reticence of dashes. “Damn all.the war!” she wrote; and again: “War is surely more hellish than hell could be!” “Mercy! Can the child be using such words in actual talk?"’ demanded Mrs. Penniman of the judge, to whom he read the letter “*But do not think he is cow- ardly, even if habitually frightened, because I also talked with his captain, who is an outspoken man, and he tells me that Wilbur is a regular fighting so-and-so. These were his very words. They are army slang, and mean that he is a brave soldier. A young man,a Mr. Edward Brennon from Newbern, a sort of athlete, came over with him, and they have been constantly together. I did not see this Mr. Brennon, but I hear that he, too, is gallantly great, and also a regular fighting so-and-so, as these rough men put it in their slang. “*Wilbur spoke of Merle’s writing about the war, and about America’s being rotten to the core because of capital that people want to keep from the workingman, and he says he now sees that Merle must have been misled; as he puts it in his crude, forceful way, this man’s country has come to stay. He says that is what he always says to himself when he has to go over the top, while he is still scared and before he grows angry—‘“‘This man’s country has come to stay.”” He says this big American Army would laugh at many of Merle’s speeches about America and the war. He says the country is greater than any magazine, even the best. Now my rest hour is over, and I must go in where they are doing terrible things to these poor men For a week I have been on my feet eighteen hours out of each twenty-four. I have just time for another tiny cigarette before going into that awful smell.’ “Mercy!” cried the amazed mother. “There you are!”’ retorted the judge. ‘‘ Let her go into the Army and she takes up smoking. War leads to dissipa- tion—ask anyone.” “T must send her some,” declared Mrs. Penniman; “or I wonder if she rolls her own?” “Yes, and pretty soon we'll have the whole houses stenched up worse’n what Dave Cowan's pipe does it,” grumbled the judge. “‘ The idee of a girl of her years taking up cigarettes! A good thing the country’s going dry Them that smoke usually drink.” “High time the girl had some fun,” returned his wife ““Needn’t be shameless about it,’’ grumbled the judge “A good woman has to draw the line somewhere.” The unbending moralist later protested that Winona’s letters should not be read to her friends. But Mrs. Penni- man proved stubborn. She softened no word of Winona’s i i) |

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST a guilty hopeless strong language, and she betrayed something like pride in revealing that her child was now a tobacco addict later Wi A montt Y ““T think onlv abo man, ‘and I’m thinking now that the real plan of thi s something greater than either of them. It is rfot rounded our dying ht faith. Somehow it le and defeat. I used to thir igious faith was the only out by on and on, always in str of course, that our re true one, but now I must tell you I don’t know what I am.’’ groaned the horrified judge he girl’s ar s what people are when they don’t know First swearing, then smoking cigarettes now forsaking her religion. Mark my words, she’s coming home an abando ss “Stuff!”’ said mat shes having a ‘You should see great experience Catholics ll faiths In al many them aie Jews, Protestants, and very, ver) who hi: msolation of any enjoyed the c¢ religious te: » alike, and but I know the will come out of it about that, because it seems heme remember Dave ( unimportant you ‘owan always talking about the scheme—the scheme is so big that dying doesn’t matter one bit if you die trying for something. I couldn’t argue about this, but I know it, and when they without these wonderful boys must They Sometimes I get to thinking of my own know it go smiling know it anyone ever straight into deat] naving told them ittle set beliefs about a hereafter—those I used to hold and they seem funny to me! “There!”’ The judge weved triumphantly Now she's n’ fun of th hy h? r in tu é ire That’s what comes of gittin’ in with that fast army set Mrs. Penniman ignored thi “*Patricia Whipple feels the same way I do about these matter more intensely if that were possible I had a long talk with her yesterday. She has been doing a wor lerful work in our section. She is one of us that can stand anything, any sort of horrible operation, and never faint as some of the nurses have done. She is apparently at suct Vv ne ve © it aow! ‘*You wouldn't know he Thin and drawn, but car work twenty hours at a stretch and be ready for twent more next day. She is on her way up toa first-aid stat which I myself would not be equal to. It is terrible ¢ ig at this base hospital she has, gently nurtur is ing. And, as I death and the absurd od to pack re ligior back home, because would not be sur prised ¢ f what she has to f different. We won't ever be the same again.’”’ ‘d I tell you?” demanded the ‘The war increases in violence Merle’ ill fitted for this turmoil judge ] dreadful sights, dread eyes kept him out of it Wilbur wa am so glad He would have beer the one for it. I saw him a few minutes the other day, or his way to some place I mustn't write dow: He said “Do you know what I wis! I said: ““No; what do you wish?” He said ‘I wish I was back in the front yard squirting water on the lawn and flower beds, where no one would be shooting at me, and it was six o'clock an d ch ickKer fors ipper and one was going to be frie deep-dish apple pies wi turn upside down an 1 wisl “Always thinking of his “*But he though I know it is probable he will won't T make any diiference in the real "muttered the judge has gone on, at ld | never come back. | know it plan, and that it is only important that he keep on be Army. It is ng a fighting that I am to ge of death I said good-by to him for probably the last time with as little fee not so-and-so, as they say in the callous, but I have come a larger view mere death g as I would have said good-by to father on departing for a three-days’ trip to the city “Naturally she'd forget her parent suid the judge That's what it leads to.” m1 nee in June of that year the shattered remair fa small town soméwhere in France, long pe t} the peace of deat! ecame with a strange new life lwo opposing and frenzied lines of traffic clashed along the 21 roa 4 ni ‘ y é t t eY 1 ered a of ~ artilte hea, wa ‘ ‘ ambu ‘ wit! ‘ ( t e excit ‘ len ta ato 1 iT Art ( i we Wa ( i! i ‘ tems I 1 iN t and thet Cning ¢ gaunt shape were ent I'he Ti m a md to ‘ | g double - ol oe , graye hent der a ler field eq ment tel T W \ w, t al 1 tre ne 1 LOW a i he 1 iwe j lanked tl Way Rear ‘ i t? tu ed to D i makesnilt ¢t ih t de one { { that had " i the httle r but l eni illow bed. Be i this st vf wed a w! vad tw gently up a sé between row iasted | ) At the top of e two ining line ) helmet i ited hmica yw the view \t ‘ the undulations would cease and th ‘ d ‘ pPposing strea of tratlhic would merge ir ingle beyond ex ation ur 1 halt enabled each to ts wa \ hot 1 f fine dust softened all line int ym a little distance the figures of me und horse and vehicle were but tw ‘ ellowish pha n {range troubled, angely roa At these time he line f marching men, halted | ome ¢ ns\ ishing ol war m I antl became mere huddles of fatigue by the wa le, falling to eart like row Yt star ng blocl ey rver by a child’s toucl Facing the square was a small stone church that } been mistreated. Its front was barred by tumbled ma mry, but a well-placed shell had widely breached it ti wall. Through this timbered opening could be seen rows o cots hovered over by nurses or whit« irgeo The forms flashed with a subdued radiance far back in tl haded interior. Litter bearers came and went From the opening now issued a red-faced private, bull with fat. One of his eyes was hidden from the public by a bandage, but the other surveyed the milling traffie with a humorous tolerance Though propelling himself wi itehe e had contrived to issue from the place with air ol i ‘ 1untering lende y he ¢ ( his bul Continued on Page 49 “As You Were!"' Ordered the Fat Private

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST FOUNDED A°’D' 1728 PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY INDEPENDENCE SQUARE PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA, U.S.A GEORGE HORACE LORIMER, EDITOR Five Cents the Copy From All Newsdealers. By Subscription: —$2.5¢ the er to be by U.S Mvueey Order or Draft, payable in U.S. funds, on @ bank in the U.S Year, Remittances from outside the United States pre To Caneda—By Subscription, $3.75 the Vear. Single Copies, Ten Cents Poreign Subscriptions: for Countries in the Postal Union. Subscriptions $4.00 the Years Remittances to be by Draft on «a bank in the U. S., payable in US. funde PHILADELPHIA, JANUARY 22, 1921 Predictions That Fail to Materialize AIR uiling doe not train a steersman for roug! } weather Theor of economi are not tested out time f prosperit rhe contemplacence of the eighteent! centu isnotaf ition for twentieth-century practice The present crises test eve thing with strong acid. The hrinkage in inventories of commodities is no more marked than the hrinkage it tocks of theorie Theories that prove ¢ vd 4 ‘ iv probably trust for all time It is true the t sre a } The world has neve bel ext enced mh ae tion 1 mate ] Lue vitnessed ic} nflatior i the « ulat ng ! liu? exchange Eve fres} ventory of fact ! be mpanied | in invent of the« rhe quant the ! 1 time-honored hypot! en! With free { a ( prices were iIppose { Va lire t rrve { ( iting med n With currence ist’ be issed banking credit nee bot! ymbolize and facilit x inge of double the money and the | ed ‘ This hypothe wa ! \ the tatement ‘ moniv made t ‘ t prices could not recede ipidly because the v ! f « iting mediums could t be quickly cor acted hat increase in production of ¢ is ar trade lead to in ise in ng mec ! ind credit was ami demonstrated d g the pa ve yea That recessior in production of 5 ind trade w 1 lead t mntractior 1 « en q ‘ t va i | tulated, especially a related to ba ‘ t I i r ild fa heavil while ln urre wa being ncreased was not contained in the iantity theory of mone Yet that is exactly wha happening all over the world lr Novembe ind Decs t ( were ce ending preci tousi ain t eve vere t nite ‘ ot good } int overnight te und ntracted while one looked it them At the same the ime of te circulation and of banking mit Wa lated a ost to the bursting point Other facto ie t perate to maintain the volume I rte liat the ta prices does not ir fluence it In s e ol ‘ iropean countries fresh 1 ies ol pape wne ilize fa ‘ Someone mas interpose that he qua t f gold, not of paper ev, that elated t { mmmodit but then one THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Accompanying their efforts to demonstrate that equality may exist without liberty and coéperation without per- n order to transfer the nality, the Russian theorists, ls of production to the proletariat and the reins of dis- tribution to the government, have decreed that money hall be exterminated. This accomplished, producers and consumers would touch hands, no longer separated by the apitalistic dead man’s land of distributive agencies. By mited issues of paper money the Russian medium of circulation has been practically exterminated—the pro- icer would not sell for money and the consumer could not iy for money. Then barter of goods through the state ild have intervened According to their theory, when production was in the right hand and all consumption was in the left hand, distribution should have occurred ontaneously It did not materialize. What did happen was recession of production Wher goods could not be sold for a 1oney value that meant a commodity value, when oney wage meant no goods wage, producers lapsed into The bri ige of curren was indeed destr ved, but the goods did not swim or dive or flv over the piled up on the bank of the tream ind then ceased to ome This is the real reason for failure to nationalize the indus- archy. The hypothesis that the sign of currency parallels the substance ies in Russia; distribution has passed into a breaks dowr In Russia they have learned that of good there is no datum point from which barter of goods can be ised upon cost of production; goods are related to psy- , chological valuation instead When credits are frozen production hibernates; when irrency evaporates production still hibernates. Distri- bution is not parasitic on production; it is symbiotic Ihe hypothes« ; of monev that overlook these relations rreak down in times of stress. Success or Failure? S IT part and parcel of the sugar-coated new thought of | our time that failure is commendable? The question i not silly; it is serious, and the apparently fast-spreading ipport for such a belief makes the interrogation one vhich goes to the vitals of civilizatior If people are veer ng around to the view that mediocrity and inferiority are oO carry any penalty with them, it high time take stock of this attitude, and either combat or accep ind adjust ourselves to it The gist of this new and popular condition of mind is to wave aside as of no importance the ability of a few excep onal and superior individuals to attain success. What has been called the great-man theory of history is thrown wverboard with scant ceremor Greatnes t said, is nerely thrust upon men by fundamental social and e« « changes In an earlier or a later age the same peech and actions would stamp great leaders as harmless fanati or dangerous enemies of society. Why credit these leaders with causing the operation of forces of which they are on the results? Would not the same currents flow on if there were no such men? Fortified with this theory, the socialist is unconcerned with any except the inferior, or at least the average man, Nor are his argu When the workers strike for shorter hours they are told that g1 the masses of workers, the proletariat ments overturned by any superti al re joinder 1dministrators and successful captains of industry work twice as long. But the telling if only partial answer is that anyone is willing to work long hours, provided his work be —- & ntensely interesting, without deadening monotony, and carries with it influence, power over other men and a remendous sense of achievement The worker is often accused of being lazy, indifferent and grasping But the socialist replies that this is the yical outcome of money-making as the sole standard of modern industry. The average business concern, asserts the socialist, gets as much money for as little service rendered as possible. Why then should not the worker do The capitalist may call the laboring man a } > ie Same Bolshevist, but the laborer retorts by calling the capitalist expe cted to fly January 22,192! Even the invested capital, risks and losses of the em- ployer are waved aside with the statement that an em- ployee has ten times as much invested and risked—namely, himself. The employer may object to any given worker and let him go, but the worker usually has to take his employer as he finds him. The capitalist-employer rarely has his whole livelihood at stake in an enterprise, whereas the jot all that stands between the worker and starvation It is necessary and wholesome to understand the point of view of those who do not reach the top. Indeed it is more than unsound—it is positively malignant—to regard the success of the superior individual as the sole end and aim of civilization. But the reaction from this view has already gone to unwise extremes, and at present we are in } danger of losing sight of all individual responsibility b; } shouldering off upon an intangible social collectiveness entire blame for the ills of mankind. Neither wealth nor income can be created or main- tained by active public will. It is true that men in groups, in a regiment, possess a force quite different from the sum of their individual powers. But this sum varies with every leader. The worker accomplishes more or less, not only as his companions vary but to an even greater or les extent as his leaders change. The raw recruit under Napoleon the Great is vastly) different from his cousin under Napoleon the Little; and an army of sheep led by a lion will almost always defeat an army of lions led by a sheep. The employees of a street-railway company in a great city have a savings fund of a million dollars which would never have existed at all had it not been for the enthu siasm and persistence of the president of the compan The chief owner in one of the country’s largest corpo- rations recently said that the two cheapest employees he f two million dollars had were receiving a total income « a year A student of labor conditions, broad-minded and cer tainly as sympathetic to labor as to capital, says in the final chapter of his book, in which are surveyed the more hopeful experiments in industrial democracy: “During many years of journeying . . . I tried to find the origin of any conspicuous local improvement. So nvariably does one find it inspired and started by some person, that its later institutionalized or organic form eems secondary and derivative The world has always been and always will be plagued with folk who are glad to make use of its accumulated labor, which the same thing as its capital, but who do not wish to contribute to tl fund by their own labor There can be nothing for mankind to enjoy without the virtues which have been sneered at as bourgeois, such as foresight idgment, experience, observation of men's wants, precise persistence, enterprise rT idvent ire, thrif nformation, knowledge of human nature, capacity for managing men and organizing ability It is just as true to say that all wealth is created by these virtues, by these employing-managing qualities, as it is to assert with the socialist that all wealth is created by labor. Because in the struggle of free competition many average and inferior men have failed to succeed, the socialist proposes to abandon the struggle altogether. He clamors for a system in which the inferior shall be relieved from the inevitable results of inferiority. The gradua mprovement of the inferior, the modification of the truggle and the whole method of progress and reform are ar too slow for him He proposes that everythir move at the rate of the slowest unit. What we have to live on to-day, our neces- saries, comforts, conveniences, luxuries, the relativel) healthful surroundings and freedom from a_ thousand possible perils—all these have come to us, an accumulation through centuries of struggle under hard, severe condi- tions. Is it not a leap into the dark, a blindfolding of all logic, to assume a continued welfare with these condition wholly and suddenly changed? It is too much like Darius Green, who with wings at- tached to his arms jumped off the top of a building and

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 23 Salesmanship in Transportation wae

) { 4 | e| | J may have good freight facilitic but whi scorn it passenger trains, ooner YT nte by & Q, g Q 5 Q& Se S = a Q z (OL, isked for a round-trip et to Flushing drops out of sight of the shipper They have

| Long Island You'd better buy two single Ss &«€ €¢-o2 2 2 2 @ & BY J «= ¢ £2 ¢ i habit, unexplainable perhaps, but unfailing | trip t t iggested the ma behind the of preferring to route their freight over the line i t et window Ihe cost tl cer ect the I did rt see \ indre ‘ efore | had he itha ipon which they are in the ibit of traveling It i yu trip f ‘ fl four cent jaintive note in other businesses, each protesting its dif their mind its goodne appeals to them at first sight | prospe ( uugnht the tw Dp ference from a ther So they might have beer ill of As the ride u nthe ca the keep their ¢ om Ihe tnen a eda them and in greater o ‘ er deyree but not a singie one a i i gue I i he ft them was exempt from the virtue a necessity of sale 1 had better cut out eb i I the whol ‘ esitat manshij The man who prints a newspape he who sell wer the small n ul ‘ to } pt ’ U i | it I’ve be noes ¢ indy oO We or map, the lawye it | desh cler is he returt »t tore fr i trip to the seaboard i< ) ¢ t me ha 1 gz, and ao the preache pulpit, the ’ i ipon | dail ind tell ¢ manutacturers t hip to us ove tl xX, ¥ ing ? e it fit to the road gam rounds and he in whom ted the problem of finding & Z. That me road, boy! I came back over it, for the Some wet A ‘ ( igo I found 1 Sunday traffic for a railroad, all e or fall according to their al first time You ght to see the motive power! | ij t vy I t ible to ea ! tment { to understand salesmanship and to make good use of ! ri Gy \ I A tos Lo eA n that inderstanding I iliroader exemy Nonse e! I’ve al ntha ‘ ila 1OW t here tt l ever If he were, what would be the use of a traffic departme forty-eight irs better than the B. Sim} came ba 1 went note ) lied up it all? To make rat no! Under the operation of ) hat old eak of rust last wee He Lys neve gu the [ » « Pu n t ) 1 in tate ind Fede il iW i i se * ato mt I Ol to la 10 ! I Bef t the wi { four t ’ ut of Ne ‘ \ yt? that I s Cor airtime B in Car 99 t! has become a mere eri 10 Oniy tradition keep they were a i ! ir be 1 edule < e é é ‘ eve v t out of the audito fice, where it yw real belong ‘Don't now that you can’t cancel Pullman Ace One of the pet arguments of old-time railroaders, wher Two Great Traffic Salesmen ove e tele vied D ( isked in other vears to advertise their freight service, wa I explained that: 1 knew that perfect we nd that to explain a firm declination b iving that freight traffic [ I WERE to be asked whom | ud name ne ¢ vould nN r ‘ ne time ‘ the afternoor never an upbuilde that it exists alwa nh a more or the very great ex nent the ilu , ‘ it ‘ ‘ cance tne ea ( xed ime ir e to adve ew a trat rtation I should nomir vith i | t e | a rere me ‘ result in traf! ry tune i n from anothe hesita tha imme vine Pa 3 i ( t eut desperate 1 ‘ A t 4 St. I tha W hit irn would the ‘ t to the device of advert y hi mn, | W.H who ha eeded | ther he overt ¢ nt t i ! irt ! | ( ts own behalf the net re ] f al t t ng that management ) i I ( properte l 4 would be itew ! i y ‘ me ¢ t all the i wads would advertise, and that ther the elder H A new he 1 f iste muc! me mental ¢ i et ¢ would d e exact is it d led before any of mere gue " athe « 1 kn eat and iu ’ “We va na to them begar according to the routings and tions that freight traff l t ) eto! re he seta ‘ = our ru e 7 xz ft e] ¢ best suited the de t tf the individual shippe creating t rhe itte peciousneée yf 1 irgument need not be He fou tha the { eight ) e ( i How Freight Follows Passengers lilated upon. Freight traffic can be created, to say not} Northern was alwa ind forever eastbound. the product

ng of being held in these da when the motor truck ha of the ming ind larn of his beloved Northw f goannas tw within | ile for his rules I yecome a pretty active competitor of the box car. But he set about the establishment of the transpacit was not res} e, Dut a think that ar Dpusine even admit ing the pract il diftic ties of ere iting it i route in order to bring a profitable westbound moven eve iT oad, WV € ite t! iorethougnt and the large volume to-day the fact rematir that passenger of manufacture prod ts from the istern United Stats courtesy of a patr ng t the trouble and expense of traffic not only car be created, and in tremendous volume to the distant Orient It matte ot that Mr. Hill w telephoning it f hat me other person might not be but that in most cases it must be created; in which case it least two decade ead of time; that in 1900 he wa discomfited. As I understood it in my feeble way, this wa has a tremendously effective reflex action upon the freight doing a thing then unprofitable that could be done at a merchandising, salesmanship, and I had not before under- business, which in the opinion of many railroaders, even in _ profit to-da He had real vision. The failure of his great stood that transportation was exempt from the ordinary these supposedly enlightened day is not only the chief, pioneer nipping enterprise wa rendered all the more rules of salesmar p that apply to other businesse but practically the only excuse for the existence of the lamentable because of that fact railroad His sor as been a fervent belever in se ng transporta “Selling transportation?” said the old traffic man to me, The late James J. Hill, upon being asked by an er tion As an earnest of this, witne the Glacier Park of in answer to my innocent question, based upon my _ thusiastic traveler which was his favorite train upon hi Montana. Without a Louis Hill it probably still would be Chicago experience. “‘Why, bless you, my boy, there isn’t beloved Great Northern, replied, with hesitation, ‘A freight unknown to nine out of every ten Americar Now if you any such thing!’ Then he lowered his voice to indicate a train.’’ Yet Mr. Hill was not quite blind to the fact that a go down into the nearest freight yard you will see Great particular degree of confidence, and added: “You see, our railroad which maintains a passenger service so attractive Northern box cars which roll across the land from one coast business is peculiar; it’s spe i ly differe as to bring much competitive patronage to it, by that very to the other, from Winnipeg south to the Mexican line, and from most others. We're not m now.” step brings competitive freight business toit. Aroad which upon each of them tenciled coarsely but unmistakabl;

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der Utilized to i ve , two and a half cents a mile n THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ntry more and more closely lroad transportatior gland will know C i high degree of g possible. | t traffic w , urge degree A he W ‘ I g our perplexing group of forty-« ( ind eve t £ e cna té t state ne of t pnostal-zone stey it I put atic is t f The Ea hw te ire Tull of em it nere “ let me take vou far over- or al ning ever! i va le Ve l eat hig pla wi ied M t the ‘ Rome p. H Vii té \ { ‘ ‘ M \ ? 4 x Naple é | ‘ B é t ‘ t t . é Naple A Game That Two Can Play At per ( the in State R ‘ ‘ and of é ind the ve oor ithat ta nating p be Bla t | i Stat ‘ errand wl f the Hud ) Cle ew | ev \ e ag f portat ! ind t ‘ 1 t t 1 eT ( ead of tt terstate Comme i August of 19 seller does 1 d to go on from Toledo or own, Chicago,” he ng distance between them remember; from Chicago to the ig lap, down to | the com ven tner hundredths cents, January 22, 192/ Albuquerque or over to Cheyenne or Denver; lower all the time you go farther west—until that New York-Cleveland ticket that you are buying of me now, Mr. Blank, will carry you all through California at a cent and a quarter a mile. You cannot afford to keep out of California at And there is a strong probability that he will not. My friend, the old traffic man, snorts at this suggestion “What do you think that the California Railroad Com- } mission is ng to say about some fellow from Boston riding all « their state at a cent and a quarter a mile, ly because he bought a ticket from South Statior simply down to Providence and had it extended once or twice? he asks. Then add I don’t think—I know. They will good, Mister Southerr Pacific, if you can afford o carry him at a cent and a quarter a mile, you carry the an in Stockton who wants to go up to Sacramento or t arysville at the same identical rate a mile. That’s fair, ind it’s our business to make you be fair.’”’ At first glance it would seem as if the venerable traffi man is right; a second and third one, however, will show ite considerably wrong If the railroad commission at Sacramento has one-half the advertising sense that the rest of the Californians possess, t is ge gy to re wr e that the way to popularize ts state r e best and | sense of the word, to nationalize it. Moreover, it will know that the man who ket from San Francisco to Stockton, to Sacra- Marysvil \ | have his own opportunity t i way and upon exactly the same He can go riding all over Cape Cod at a cent and a mile, while the folk round about him will be paving their three and six-tenths cents Quid pro quo Turn about is fair play, and all the rest of the fine copy Nook maxims of our bovhoc | Side Trips for Next to Nothing N FRONT of me lies the handbook of the Italian State Railways in those blessed days of before the war t I find that I could have started from the Milan Unior ron ( “i lorence Depot and made a circu p through Bologr ‘ Rome Pisa, Ger 1 and Turin ba to Mila again for > ) 4 is i € il Or exchange tne t et solid exact tne ime ate from ar otne nt upon tl lesignated belt and from it was good ir exactly the same wa We are using Milan here merel a i nvenient point from which to study the system But suppose € et agent in that brisk manufactur ng f the nort ggested Venice—a little side tri; fl the ma lla ¢ p the ne from Padua 1 1 igait Pad pe e we were read to go ont Florence and to Rome. Th slain salt Shien a ‘ll " ed it 3.9 oO orig pasteboard, or le na wo dolla Suppose that we wanted not or Ve ‘ it Naple t ist t more Ol a side p. We etain Venice and iS a side trip m Rome i st nave 1 rst iss round-trip ticket r by one t » Rome and returt gb another and entire ferent one at 187.9 frar ) t $37.50 a ve were é \ tt g t \ e the ri d of avai ibilit { the ( vas lengthened from thirty to fort, e day i t go the deta ol e italian systen thnoug! ed a f the er countries of ( il E ype inder w i mann buv a ir ticket rresponding ve nuch to the annual card unde which American railroad officers travel—-and travel upor t as much as he pleases, for a da 1 wet imonth ora ea That is supertransportation salesmanship such a teven to be ght of i nection with our railroad il e present 1 ment We shall be quite glad enough i: t ( try to ge to irse t the piainer or more ga ler e fort of ea é he ew and great t eased passenge att ire 1 the mor it least s r? established by the mandate f the Interstate Commerce Comm on as not to be ea ed rhe | t f ext ling the pa enger opportu f Ar a through attractive specia fares dese eT et eve before i general and caref attentio not n the part of railroaders but also of the iblic at large I the moment, and unless one digs deep]; nto the iation, it does not look as if the railroads of tl country needed any form of special rates in order to fill their cars. On the contrary, their chief problem has beer for the past two or three years to get enough cars of almost every class to accommodate the folk who wished to ride 1 t once went begging 10 longer cavils at it. Yet the that this shrewder of the traffic > alre ady convinced abnormal situation is only transitory. 4 man who rode across the continent the past summer, ra good many past summers before f folk who were as he has been doing f ige in the type it, noticed a vast cl Continued on Page 26 ee eee

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “It’s a bull’s-eye!” Not merely “fair” health, but positively good health—abounding vitality and vigor— this i is the only health mark worth aiming at. And it can be attained if you aim steadily at the simple sensible living which insures it. Above all insist on plain nourishing food and a properly balanced diet. Serve good soup on your table every day without fail. Start today's luncheon or dinner with Campbell's tempting Tomato Soup. It is not only a delightful appetizer but it supplies elements which are positively necessary for complete nutrition. Such a soup served regularly is at the very iz foundation of the nourishing diet which builds } up energy and strength. Keep it on hand. 21 kinds 15c a can LOOK FOFS SrJZ LSD V19 YrJJ JS LADS

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Continued from Page 24 lunch upon the railroade: ¢ luxe of the tran from thi train | the abomina more than x has been the sogg ee . } ' een to prod nere were ne 7 ilimatr tourist e qua es of vont f I q i were The High Cost of Traveling far a faintly the wi the Albany and Buffalo en routs New England had a distinct r for the half-price tourist « itate to express it. But the tourist sleeper might outh of Albany on the New York Central blessed mile, not even in execu! ». Two big trunk and far-reaching lines that threaded and Pennsylvania o into Mar South and West had ruled against tourist one of RIST sleeper word to-d ha We remen »wend their 4 il tourtst ers t it acro main line of the New to wk Central between Thrifty Yi ind from Boston preference In yesteryea ar, and did not he not turn one emergent or ior 10r ervic New Jersey hattan from the and u n their way thousand and one gentle New York Central was forbidder e same th ing, even Boston-Buffalo lins wicked Canadian roads by doing Varied are the ways of blessed! cars are out of fashior not of thrift or ecor Yet sooner o The wise oO leepetr ndet the men's agreements the odo th thoug! it peted against variou f that selfsame tourist-sleeper trick railroad competition, as well ; For the moment, aL apparent wot It wants best, and hang the price hour will pass out of existence ts will tell ol I hrift : 1 spending alwa well-marked ey« l compiling for the past ( thr ries to prove thi mm ; wed rhe } returt ones, without wise old economist ~day be vir T rf travelers The sel » effect nationally the last week Augu mé to Washington and k from New ¥ t \ ‘ and cl j ! 7 for for ach direction l able et new nerTes in 00 th C ongre mvenience Ind 0 if you us ntere lieagre boo ine r fs here ide from New York to Washingtor ional Limited for $13.76, or onl > of $1.25 vere no wal © one&way taxes, and y« ind back i few cents on on more than the present one-way fare. passenger fares 1 ional already be bly crowded such increases are bour and } mou weeping UDO e Congres they are t. Other tell ning to sins still are terri wave has receded only the least bit as yet, ing: of that there can be no doubt. Neither can there be uny real doubt that it will follow the course of dothing and shoes and other staples of American life in a downward course, if not to the low levels of before-the-war prices, at ] oe } a months recer t but it is reced evel appreciably lower than that which has me uncomfortable ¢ uch an hour the canny railroader will have to find ng transportation. A little more and he 1d that his road fight for enough traffic, particularly passenger In course the art of s« ng of the pressure in t nav fir er may i its establishment even decs ntly remunera seeking the people instead of the Ar reasing the will be hed upor the > car 1 a new light wil flat-rate passenger fare in prac wi in Pullman , which long ose poor ¥ oO are and rge tax to the road so to ride of pottage one a ¢ tand lett ng, upon travelers, at enues to ab ionaire night pay without shrieking of a scandal than the ny-Ca;r ind economiu more pario re upon sleep o camouflage an earl) tl | are set down without the slightest criticism It is hardly to be good bargain been few times when it has not value for ived, though its tota n the last ten or fifteen ye excess of twenty-five per cent than favorably with that of other transportation The new per it will be } added to it not go even iT Hers things er of t f long ago it he Pullman Compa ucceeded in making a d there have money rece ; rs have not which compares u fifty cent surcharge, It it to the railroad nselves a fair proportion of the doe the , whict ougt tax which the art to 1ts co is 1 long ago neg- irougt for ther ’ullman re in a position to give utterance these thing rhoug! are railroaders rea t hat quite ym. the question apar ve to be vastly improved, and ir future, if the public i question of going out into the highways and g in the traffic when es to come going to pay the new and l gettir olition special rate the - the Pullmar flat are not rate. In fact, it irther ma going to be and not creased -muiue charge lowered; any is more than likely increased, h each step of advance a new an Y ot make him drink. if not f begin to-da ms as a mi dr ports railroad, and for longer and longe trength the d more forbid ers into the situation yu can lead a horse it you cant Similarly you r fare 3, already he reight tariffs, to a point riven away. the ere traffic, itant, to be wl motor f competitor ol was this more true e! re an itou > haul To combat railroad in this all of th ree halls, reduced its own ng popularity and as generally done one or things and lat ] * ML ISialive ‘aised its charges; and then has it in the court $ ervice or else ynndered perhaps why these unorganized transportation to refer as guerrillas ‘competing © them ind pat the railroads like ave gained still more popularity onage. The Field of the Motor Bus N?t all of these last have learned the secret of trar LN portation salesmanship. Not many months ago I ro« notor bus from the capital of a far Western state t chief cits distant. There was litth was attractive about the service of the motor car. It wa and neglected in its upkeep. It was a fine, bright da chill and the driver had put up the side is. They too were ver k ome forty mil that dirty but extremely irtains to keep off the north win result that all view of the fine scenery he two or three who the driver’s lirty, with the direct is shut off from the passengers save t fortunate enough to gain pl That would not do. I waited an hour for the next is. It was of the inclosed type, with the windows non clean, however; with the seats placed longitudinall: stead of crosswise, a most disagreeable featur: nal speed forty-mile trip. Chere is much in favor of the high-speed motor bu reasonably short-distance runs. Not only is it generall) run at more frequent intervals and at higher speeds than its competitors of the branch-line steam railroads, but it has an adaptability in running in and out of the hearts of towns, little and big, of being able to stop here and there ind everywhere within them, which its more bulky and iwkward competitor entirely lacks. But in the long run even the popular motor bus will have to study, and study irefully, not only the needs but the tastes of its patrons. It will have to try to discover what they desire in the way of seat arrangement, of schedules—and of clean windows. No matter what may be its natural advantages, it cannot live permanently against any real competition without a one of these seemingly slight things. upon too ir } ~ ir l ‘ l In consideration of every January 22,192! This, however, is not a preachment upon the motor bus It has come, and it has come to stay. The point, as I see it, is what was the railroad doing that served the two cities between which I rode upon the motor bus? There was a direct railroad track connecting them, a branch line of one of the important trunk-line systems of the land. Little or no through freight ran upon those rails. In the general offices, in a city many hundred miles to the east, it proba- bly was regarded as a liability rather than as an asset. Two passenger trains a dayin each direction moved between the two cities, and so far as I can ascertain this is the same chedule that prevailed when the line was first laid down 1 quarter of a century or moreago. Ifthe citizens of, let us ay, the smaller of the twocommunities had ventured into the offices of the general passenger agent of the big road at any time within the past twenty years or so and asked for more train service the agent probably would have received them courteously, opened a box of cigars and given a thou- and reasons why another train could not be added—and not one of them valid. That was his job. i y isn’t the traffic, gentiemen,”’ would prob- ably have been his final refuge. ‘“‘We know! We study the That is why we know.” This last with great finality Yet whence has come the traffic that completely fills those motor busses—twelve hours out of the twenty-four, and at ilar one-way passenger railroad rates? Could the railroad have put on a train for each of those ly filled them also? Probably a gasoline-unit car service ar a car or two eacl and so claimed for itself a well- That, as I see it, another phase of transportatior ituation the reg + } } twelve hours an But overhead-tro it might have devised or lley-wire two hours or thereabout ind steadi] on still Unfortunately, where the intensive stu not nt s¢ patronized vy growing service. would have hee salesmanship. our great systems have to-day grown to a size ly of their salesmanship possibilities has become all but impos- sible and are o extend their bulky unwieldiness tional ! however, y g we almlv considering permitting then ve calmly considering permitting the as a step down ot na efficiene The Slump in Railway Service few other day | rode upon a local train of an important and generall Lin ig to hig servic of that local fares from a three wit! the interstate well-managed railroad which is situate: rk,and which is to-day protestir ow Y the ne if thestate of Ne that state will not permit it to raise it neaven yal public- ‘e commission three and six-tenths cents, nted by ifternoon in late summer, cent-a-mile basis to the Pullman supercharges, recently a Saturday : ty from which it started there wa It wa from the ci f to near-by lakes and beaches of folk railroad might hav They did attached managers the 1 this outflow. To not coache completel been Both standing in the were minutes leave the station women had invaded it it Before it was ready to the smoking car and at the aisles‘of each of the two overcrowded coaches. The conductor of the t the situation. Were there at the important terminal? least sixty persons were standing in protested his helplessness in nal passenger coaches Then why rain , ves, there were were they ached? luctor, terribly honest in , ke important connecti If we re ‘ steel coaches to ou . 1) } engine 1s well-nigh worn out f these heavy hundred-mile run we would never make our And so folk stood for each of the hundred miles of hot aftert person for all of hun the oon: no one to one om eignty n his heart of course, but f And of transportation salesmanst orate and per » advertising when its service was pull that way each man raving at the p was sort ise was the railroad’s elal ng ? en salesmanship is to be They pull forever } railroad is no excep- has not wl separate from service and the yet come in double harness, never alone, , t » I have digressed, and offer no apologies for the digres- sion. It would have been futile indeed to have considered transportation salesmanship at any length and ignored the fundamental and eternal relationship of transporta- tion service to it. Return, however, to the direct questior in hand. How else can the railroad make its service mor financially attractive without. sacrificing too much 6f the rate increase which it felt—and still feels—was necessary to meet its increased outgo? A volume might be written on the increased bulk of travel that lowered rates might induce. But when all was said and doné; mach of this would be purely speculative. There are other things, however, that are less specula- tive. Consider for a moment, if you will, the question of Continued on‘ Page 129)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 27 Obib" Burra yar HAVE YOU TRIED ONE LATELY? Y, 8 easy to expla in| R" BURNS great popularity with modern men is easy to explain: His filler is full Havana of ia a particularly mild selection. Special ie 17c Be aa 0-98 curing mellows this Havana to a still more comfortable mildness. Around Robt. Burns we place a single thinness of the finest wrap- per leaf grown—neutral Sumatra. ' When you smoke your first Robt. Burns, the chances are you will say to yourself, “The very cigar I’ve been looking for—should have tried it long ago!” Most good cigar stores sell Robt. Burns Invincible and Longfellow. To- day is a good day to get acquainted. NATIONAL BRANDS NEW YORK CITY

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Metal-Mining Industries THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 22,192/ In similar fashion, it was the lure of the yellow metal that started the HE present serious wave of depression that has swept over the metal-mining indus- try of the world is of par- ticular interest to all civilized peoples, because mining is one of the two basic industries of man The other primary pur uit of the human race is iriculture, and, though of earlier origin than min ing, it is now almost en tirely dependent upon the manufactured tools made from the earth’s minerals Here in the United States in 1920 the farms of the country produced record crops, while the metal mines worked only part time or not at all That is the difference be- tween mining and agricul ture: The first is sensitive to every business fluctua- tion, while the second, as a general rule, goes on nearly full blast, whether development of North- western Canada and the Alaskan Peninsula. From pole to pole and from East to West, it has al- ways been the miner who has led the way to the opening of new provinces. After him has come the railway, thetelegraph and thesteamship. It has been the search for gold that has led to the discovery of most of the other great mineral deposits. Fur traders and others travel in the vanguard of the forces that extend civili- zation; but it has been only the miner who pene- trated to the heart of the lonely regions throughout the earth. Close on the heels of the prospector came the min- ing engineer, who, being more of an economist and something of a manufac- turer, saw values that the gold seekers overlooked, and which in the aggre- times are good or bad. Among the metal mining industries the pro- duction of gold is a business apart. Gold mines are not affected by adverse business conditions as are other mines The prosperity of the gold miner depends upon the purchas- ing power of the dollar, and this is sometimes least when pros- perity seems greatest. Gold, therefore, is a story by itself. Man's ascent to his present plane of intelligence was a slow process so long as he merely scratched the surface of the earth in an endeavor to cultivate food crops. His real advance did not begin until he discarded his stone imple- ments and his wooden bow and arrow and dug down into the earth and secured materials from which he made the plow, the hoe, the ax and the sword. Agriculture was a primitive pursuit until the coming of metal tools. Science and engineering were crude arts until metal devices made experimentation possible, the diffusion of knowledge an accomplished fact, and the control of steam and electricity a common reality. Without the metals there would be no great transportation systems on water, on land or in the air throughout the world. There would be no printing presses and consequently no literature. We should have no telegraph lines, telephones, cables, harvesting machinery or lofty skyscrapers. All of us would have to forsake the big towns and take to the woods, for without metals there would be no water or sewerage, and our cities would soon become dangerous pest holes It was the mines of England and Scotland that trans- formed the small British nation into the greatest of world empires during the nineteenth century. Up until 1871 Great Britain produced more coal than all the other countries of the world, and it was no longer ago than 1885 that the British produced more iron than all other nations The United States passed Great Britain in its total of yearly iron production in 1897, while in the matter of coal the American output did not surpass the British produc- tion until 1900. Early in the present century Germany commenced to forge to the front as an iron-producing nation, and in 1905 the Teuton output of iron ore first exceeded that of the British. Without doubt, civilization has been developed on a metallic basis, and the miner has been the real pioneer of industry and of empire. The story of the early progress of man is really a tale of the gold of Ophir, the silver of the Laurion Mountains in Greece, and the copper of Mount Sinai in Egypt. Hannibal, the famous Carthaginian gen- eral, would never have been able to conquer Rome in the Second Punic War had it not been for ¢he metals obtained from the mines of Iberia. When Carthage and Rome were Middle Ages commenced and the advance of civilization was halted. The discovery of a great New World beyond the sea in 1492 marked the beginning of a new era of ro- mance and adventure in which the hardy miner again came into being and played the principal rdle. First came Cortez, Pizarro and other pirates who looted the accumulated treasures of the New World. It was A Desert Gotd:Mining Camp Near Tonopah, Nevada unfortunate for Spain that many of her pioneers were filibusters who destroyed but did not. develop. Following the spoilers came the Cornish and Saxon miners, who in- troduced the art of mining into the New World. It is true that trade follows the flag, but far in advance of the flag was the man with the pick. No news that ever circled the earth created a greater stir or caused such a mighty tide of migration as the reports of the discovery of gold in California. It is fortunate for the United States that back in 1848 there were no speedy and efficient means of communication between the out- posts of civilization and the seats of government in this country and Mexico; otherwise the map of North America might be different from what it is to-day. J. W. Marshall discovered gold in California on January twenty-fourth, while California was not ceded to the United States until nine days later. Neither the Mexican nor the American Government was aware of the finding of the precious yellow metal in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Moun- tains until after the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo had been signed on the second of February. Three years later Cali- fornia was yielding gold at the rate of eighty million dollars a year. It was the discovery of gold in Australia in 1851 by a returned Australian who had just spent months in the newly opened gold fields of California that supplied the necessary impetus to the country’s development, to make this land of the South Pacific one of the world’s great sources of wealth. Next came the discovery of diamonds in South Africa in 1867, which turned the tide of miner adventurers toward the Dark Continent. Not long after- ward gold was discovered in South Africa, and although but a single generation has passed since then, the South African mines have increased their output until now the gold production of the Transvaal totals nearly one-half of the world’s gold production each year. Never was a na- tion better served by a loyal son than was England by Cecil Rhodes, the young Oxford student who went to Africa as a miner and returned to his native land the founder of the richest colony now under the British flag. The story of the development of gold on the West Coast of Africa is a tale of adventure and hardship no less roman- tic than the story of the opening of South Africa. M. J. Bonnat, first a bootblack and afterward a cook in a Paris hotel, went to Africa as an ivory hunter, was captured by a native chief who held the Frenchman a prisoner for three years. While a captive, Bonnat saw the gold treasures of the chief of the tribe, and discovered the location of the diggings from which precious metal had been taken. Later, when liberated, he obtained a concession from another native prince, and with a number of adventurous spirits started the development of certain rich diggings which later furnished such wealth to the subsequent owners that this portion of the West Coast of Africa is now known as the Gold Coast gate were greater sources of wealth than the gold deposits which had been the original lure. Copper and iron sound less romantic, and are not so spectacular as gold, but these two great basic metals have furnished the foundation for the build- ing of industries that far surpass in magnitude the business of producing the more precious metals. The control and exploitation of the world’s minerals during the next fifty years will provide the greatest political problem that con- fronts the nations of the earth. Every American should seek to become informed of the division of ownership of the world’s supplies of petroleum. In the years that are close upon us we shall need a clear understanding of the impor- tance of the international oil situation, so that we may be prompt in taking the initiative when action is required. In the matter of coal we are well supplied, and the ques- tion will not be so acute. These subjects, however, like the question of gold, are stories apart, and are only mentioned here because of their relationship politically to the metal- mining industries In the past the United States has paid small attention to the development of the metal resources of other nations. In future years we must not only take careful stock of our own supplies, but we must closely follow the exploitation of the mineral deposits of all the other countries in the world. The United States is the last of all the leading nations to comprehend the vital political significance of the commercial domination of the earth’s mineral wealth. Al- ready our slowness in grasping the importance of this matter has permitted other nations to take action that is even now affecting the international trade interests of the United States. With the rapid increase in the world’s population is coming an equally rapid depletion of the earth’s minerals, and the result will be a keener competi- tion in the future for all the natural resources that remain undeveloped. Vegetable materials duplicate themselves successively each year, but though there is a vague theory that there is a similar law of growth in the mineral king- dom, such propagation or duplication of the mineral re- sources takes place so slowly that for all practical purposes the law, even if true, is of small interest to man to-day If there are wars in the future it is likely that the bone of contention will be the possession or control of mineral deposits that are thought to be essential to the welfare and progress of the rival nations. It was the iron deposits of Alsace-Lorraine that made Germany a great world power. There is every reason to expect that the transfer of this mineral wealth will initiate a vast commercial growth in France which will make that country the leader of the Continental nations. The dispute between Poland and Germany as to who shall get Upper Silesia has not been a question of sentiment, nationality or acres. It has been merely a contest for the possession of the greatest coal field of Europe and for the ownership of important deposits of lead and zine. With Silesia under her flag, Poland can eventually equal Germany in importance and wealth. It is (Continued on Page 30

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EE

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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(Continued from Page 28

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

of European nations financially than any other great American business But let no one forget that copper 1s one of the chief essentials to the advance of civilization and the prosperity of the world Of the many problems the mining industry is now facing none is more important than the question of high freight rates. It is an astonishing fact that the total products of the mines of the United States form approximately sixty per cent of the normal freight carried by all the rail- roads of the country. During the first quarter of 1920 fifty-two per cent of the carload freight shipped in this country consisted of the raw products of American mines. Measured by the tonnage it produces, the American min- ing industry is the biggest industry not only in the United States but in the world. During the three months men- tioned there were four and a half tons shipped from our mines to one ton of products shipped from our farms. During the same period the shipments of mine products were two and one-fifth times greater than the shipments of all manufactured articles, and five times as great as the shipments of forest products. The tonnage of iron ore alone was greater than corn, wheat and flour combined, 1 three times as great as the total shipments of cotton ven salt, one of the minor products of our mines, is a e to }

E commodity of such importance that if we wer

January 22,192! for a ton of this ore from New Mexico to Colorado was twe-dollars and a quarter; to-day the freight rate on this same ton of ore between the same identical points is four dollars and sixty-seven cents. In other words, the freight rate is now more than twice the value of the ore at the mine. The reports of the largest fuel-and-iron company in the Rocky Mountain region show that the recent in- crease in freight rates has added about one million seven hundred thousand dollars to the company’s annual freight bill. Since this concern produces approximately four hun- dred fifty thousand tons of steel each year, it is evident that the freight-rate advance has added nearly four dol- lars a ton to the company’s finished steel. The situation in the production of iron ore is not so bad, and the outlook is less uncertain than is true of the mining of copper. However, the recent increases in wages, freight and the prices of equipment are so narrowing the margin of profit that closer attention is being given to discovering ways and means for effecting economies in the mining and metallurgical treatment of the raw ore. Some years ago important mining interests hit on the idea of converting the seemingly worthless low-grade copper deposits into wealth-producing resources by perfecting plans to handle this porphyry rock on a scale of magnitude heretofore un- heard of. The plan worked out successfully, and the copper- producing industry of the world was revolutionized. Now these same in-

f t t of j t i the minera { 1 te are . tent and T to be regretted that be e of our b he essential 1 Arne ive fi 1itu ece to invest their mone foreign fields as the Europear d ‘ t e are h bed by the slump that has | ein our etal-r g industrie As is the case times of de , the majority of the expressions of Ave g t a roseate hue. In Denver, t t ent meeting of the American Mining ( gress, the t of the metal-mining interests é much exercised over the dark out- f e imme iture of mining, and devoted hours to discu f nd remedies for the trouble. 1 prosperity, caused by the war, ettled down to a period of in marked contrast to a year ago. Gold mining he iva e of the pe riod of deflation and ot f eu nu ising power to the American er? y ir e properties where that metal t f vod shape, and continues to i] tu t t because of the relief afforded the t ‘ el V t I t es tneyl of ‘ ‘ } me f e at the level of a dolla W he ‘ to the iestion of ‘ t ‘ ‘ re t ( next to ‘ t y int i et { tes cor t ( | t t \ Next to t Unite ‘ me Jar f er come ¢ ‘ Me ( i, Af Peru, Au tra Practica ‘ DI " f < e is « te pital. Whil t! “ i t t the It ( ) \8 ' if} et t I t ( t lt : ' Lint e of a ‘ ‘ | Euro ‘ ( are we ‘ ‘ } ‘ | tirne ‘ it t mines t { ! ! the foreign P " P . J} | ‘ t r e hee ' t ed t! ghout ive { < bu ‘ eX ‘ i ‘ nave pre ‘ | ! t nott t metal ! t ‘ petition ‘ the United ha n of ‘ er | : ‘ Ir } ‘ the | ‘ one f of ‘ | j ‘ ear t fore \ es f t trea ( hi ir big ‘ I t l mie it f MGMT GY UNOERW ‘ ur ¢ te e foreign ’ t ‘ ed here the United ‘ ‘ eint nt it American capital actually ! Vv é per cent of the world producti of ‘ et ‘ ‘ " t i ‘ } of y ; i era ( f ‘ ep es \ , the 1 ‘ | | ‘ ‘ f pe ire aiso used 1 the ot i the wares, while I i ire ey tandard of the lows ] t e war Ge e of the world’s largest uw ‘ l ‘ i the remedie or the pre ent depre marke e practical arrangement wheret t ! e more be extended to Germany er-manufacturing industry here ma va ‘ ‘ mal purchases here in the

terests have turned their attention to iron ore in the hope that a similar scheme can be put into practical operation. The supposed large deposits of soft iron oxide which have been worked in the Mesaba range of Minnesota on what was considered a large scale are practically nothing more than little pockets of high-grade ore, sprinkled here and there in a vast geological structure of sandstone impregnated with a magnetic oxide of iron. The new proposed plan is to treat this whole mass of iron-bearing rock very much as the huge deposits of low- le copper rock are treated This

low-grade iron ore runs about thirty- } five per cent iron, and has never been looked upon as commercially valuable ore In the scheme contemplated the operators would have to handle no

less than three tons of ore to get one

ton of metallic iron. In copper hi

dling they are obliged to handle tons of material to get something like sixty pounds of copper. In securing the iron it is proposed to crush the low-grade ore to the fineness of flour or cement. This means that the ore would be crushed so fine that it would run through a two-hundred-mesh screen. The next step would be to run

¢ this pulverized ore over a magnetic

rator, in which process the iron is ed out by magnets, after which it is mixed with powdered coal and spread on huge gridirons and burned until all that remains is a spongy mass of iron oxide. Engineers estimate that in order for this plan to be successful will be necessary to handle a hun- dred thousand tons a day. rhe spongy mass of

ve obtained in the worki process is called sinter, and bears the

~OERW new TY Silver+Mining Camp at Cerro de Pasco, Peru a salt famine for a few mont the consequent suffering ‘ 1] ) os entalled would make t! iate s ive see i itter

of small moment. However, the mining industry of the )

nation is handled by one bureau of the Department of the Interior, just as Indian affairs and patents and pensions ure handled é 1 ed Few people realize what the rect t advances have meant to the mining industr F< e, if we figure in the recent freight increases, we find that the additional cost of sending a so-called Paris gown from Chicago to In like manner we f Amarillo, Texas, is sixty-seven cents can show that the increase in freight rates on a pound « er, a pair of shoes or a knitted necktie is a matter of small consequence when viewed onl) ) light of its } But when we start to effect on the cost of a single article additional costs that must be borne by the pro ducers and consumers of the products of American mines soon appears that the new schedule of transportatior charges 1s a matter of gre at concern to the mining industry.

For example, let us assume the case_of a miner who is roducing iron ore in New Mexico for shipment to the . } furnaces at Pueblo, Colorado. In 1916 the carrying charge same relation to iron in form that coke does to coal. It has a slightly higher value for furnace use than iron ore, and a slightly lower value than finished pig iron. We have heard mu the huge scale on which iron min- ing is conducted in this country, and yet if a plan of this

-h concerning kind becomes a working reality the iron-mining operations ff the present time will be small in comparison with the developments of the future. The principal additional worries of the metal-mining industry are concerned with tax reform, blue-sky legisla- tion, standardization and a protective tariff. In the mat- ter of state mine taxation the metal producers are on solid tention that the so-called ad valorem

ground in their con basis of taxation for mining property is not economically sound as comparable to the same basis of taxation for real- estate holdings or agricultural lands, because the value which is potential in the mining property can be realized only once. The ore that a company has in the ground is not usable wealth. Further, when the miner produces the ore it becomes of value, is sold, and thereafter can never be of value to that piece of property again. A mine can only show income by depletion of its fixed value, while a farm not only yields an annual crop providing a yearly income, Concluded on Page 121)

rs ee erence

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST MICHELIN TIR -how the common causes of tire destruction have been overcome the worlds oldest makers of pneu- matic auto tires No. 1 Tread Cuts = AROS / phy Extra thickness and toughness of the Michelin tread "foyer a tire is cut, dirt and moisture work ' in between the layers of cords, w eakening the tire and causing early decay. Michelin Tires offer maximum protection against such injuries. The exceptional toughness and thickness of the Michelin tread prevent many cuts from pene- MICHELIN riIRE CO, Other Factories: Clermont-Ferrand, France; London, Engiand; Turin, Italy. trating, but if a cut does penetrate, the injury is minimized by the well-known Michelin body- construction. In this construction every cord is impregnated with rubber and the tire becomes a single homogeneous mass that offers unique pro- tection against the inroads of dirt and moisture. , Milltown, NEW JERSEY Look for the Michelin sign on best garages everywhere. January 22,192! NOTE: No matter what make of tires you use it is wise to seal every cut with Michelin Mastic, a plastic compound that becomes part of the tire itself. Even when using Michelins it pays to have this positive assurance that cuts will not develop into greater injuries.

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er ee eee THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 33 T WILL be amusing to read the life of Marion Adaire if ever it be written; and written it should be, for hers is a life well worth the chronicling. She was, as every- body knows, the darling of the American stage for two decades; she was acclaimed in London, to which she carried the chief of her American successes; and in Paris even the most cynical of the critics were won by her charm when she made a brief appearance as Juliet to the divine Sarah’s Romeo. Marion Adaire had intelligence, a loveli- ness that combined the indestructible sheen of silver and the fragility of white rose petals, and she seemed to have discovered somehow —like the divine Sarah herself—the secret of perpetual youth. The tale of her life, however, with all its flaming color, its tempestuosity, its slightly hysterical quality, no matter who the biographer, will be considerably glossed over to suit our puritanic tastes, for, to put it at its kindest, Marion Adaire was no better than she should have been. But the curious instance is that no matter how her life is recorded, one of its strangest effects will never be incorporated. It is unknown. It concerns the lovely Marion's influence upon one, humble and ob- scure, of whose worship she never knew and even of whose existence she was entirely unaware It was Jennie Mint who persuaded William Fee to take her to see Marion Adaire in The Turtle Dove. Mrs. Bender’s boarders had a habit, when the weather per- mitted, of sitting out on the front steps after dinner, the men in their shirt sleeves, with pipes and cigarettes, the women with scarfs or fancies thrown over their shoulders: and it was on the front steps after dinner that Jennie, nestling a little against him, said to William: “Let’s go somewhere to-night, Billy.” She knew him quite well enough to say that. She felt that she knew William Fee well enough to say almost anything to him. He was to her an open book which she had read with love, devotion and avidity. Yet they were not formally engaged. He hadn’t asked her to marry him—not yet. But Jennie felt she could count upon him They had arrived at that stage where she was fond of clinging to him, of gazing into his eyes for extraordinary lengths of time, and just for the mere sake of gazing at him, while he received these attentions with the good- humored affection that is acknowledgment in a man that he is captive. And everybody in Mrs. Bender’s boarding house also knew that Jennie Mint and William Fee were going round a lot together and seemed fond of each other. They watched the youthful pair with the kindly and slightly disillusioned eyes of middle age and took the conclusion for granted. Billy was a steady, straightforward young feller, they said—mebbe a little dreamy, a little lacking in am- bition—and Jennie wasa quiet, pretty girl and would make him a good wife A bright girl, too, and practical. She’d wake Billy up if anybody could. Resides, Jennie’s fluffy light hair, her pink-and-white complexion in contrast with Billy’s thin, dark gravity, met the requirements of their romantic sensibilities. As Mrs. Bender herself put it: “It’s al ways the blonde that draws the brunet Seems like they’re more suited to each other. Funny, ain’t it? Yeh, they ought to be happy together.” RS By Ae ae a 2 oe A “Where do you want to go, Jen?” asked William Fee after a pause during which he had surveyed the familiar length of Cranberry Street with lazy unconcern The children playing in the powdered dusk of the Sep- tember evening; the truck with its tired horses plop- plopping to the stable beside the corner grocery; the gossiping cluster of women in front of Mrs. Everett's house—he saw these indifferently. They made little im pression on him. They were like rings of smoke that vanish before they are half seen. And that was the way William surveyed almost everything —as if through a veil, as if separated from actuality by a gossamer shell com pounded of his own apathy. As Mrs. Bender said, he needed wakening. “Oh, I don’t know,” Jennie answered hesitatingly, giv- ing him a sidewise, questioning glance. “Want to take a trolley ride down to the Island?’’—-a ride to Coney Island was one of their stock diversions. “It’s sorta late for the Island, Billy. It'll be cold down there’’—she shivered in anticipation— “and I haven't been able to get my new fall coat yet.” “Want to walk up to that place near Prospect Par! where they have that swell banana ice cream?” “Oh, have a heart, Billy! I’m half frozen now.” “Want to go to the movies?” “No, I'm tired of the movies. We went last night and the night before.”’ He turned to gaze at her inquiringly. The list of their usual diversions was about exhausted “What d’you want to do?” he asked with that drawling amiability so characteristic of him. She clasped her hands. “T’ll tell you. I saw in the paper that Marion Adair was opening her season in Brooklyn to-night. She's in The Turtle Dove. That ran all last year in New York, d’you remember? Oh, I'd love to see her!”’ “Where is it?” “At the Montauk.” “Do you think we'd be able to get seats?”’ “T guess so, Billy. Oh, I know it’s awful cheeky to ask you to take me there, but I'll pay for my own seat if you want. I’m crazy OSCAR GRAEVE D - N A N c Y F A i to see Marion Adair They say she wonde I’ve never seen her.” “Of course you can’t pay for your own seat, Jen. Wh kind of a feller d’you think I am? Let see!’’ He pushed his hand into a trouser pocket and drew forth a thin roll of bills. “‘Look! I've got twelve dolla That last me out the week easy, theater tickets an’ all. We get good seats.” “We can get grand seats up in the second balco i seventy-five cents, Billy.” “No, we'll get the best seats, Jer > I guess not pevel hive ‘Pay two dollars apiece cent seats are plenty good enoug! Jennie pressed her lips tightly together and nodded he small head emphatically. As she saw it, it was her duty to curb Billy’s flair toward extravagance. Soon, with a home of their own, she would be forced to do it. She might a well begin right now “T'll run up and fix my hair and get my hat,” she said For once William emerged from his apathy) = notice you got your blue silk dress or I bet you had this all planned,” he laughed Jennie pouted “Oh, you're an old know-it-all, ain't you?” she said and disappeared Until that night Jennie was justitied in thinking that she knew all there was to know about William Fee. He wa easy to understand because there was so little to unde stand—a placid young man, easy-going, thoroughly nice content with his station in life and his modest prospect Perhaps he was too content with them. Even the most casual student of human nature could have foreseen the course of his little life as plainly as if it had been charted o white paper, with squares drawn in black ink to outline the years and a thin red line to mark his career—a red line that varied only impercep tibly from the horizontal William was a clerk i: Randle’s Teaand Coffee Store in lower Fulton Street, caught and half hidden in the shad- ows thrown by the Elevated tructure. Randie’s was a dying shop in a neighborhood which had seen its best day Ever since — yea ago Brooklyn Bridge had bee: } opened and had carried the great stream of the publi Marion Adaire Had Intelligence, Loveliness, and She Seemed to Have Discovered Somehow the Secret of Perpetual Youth

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST neig! borhood had been set- s of sorne shops had others had stayed, it remained had tate, clinging patronage that ype of Randle’s location, was iV yj and coffees; it ge department stores, together ely in tea exceptionally low Randie’s out of prices, ich as Randle’s store for three different to the fate awaiting ed ir wd perception and head for dle’s fate, a little slow but polite would not have : eighteen dollars a week yut of that dead-'n’-alive store,” for she knew When it came good a job in one of the ubiquitous he did not worry, er jol necessary vartment of a department William’s being ar employee instead of jobs William's life jolted out of its wery dey in no way There are I inge in temporarily en ined char | sarri the great accidents of life ind death, that as follow He ar nnie would be married. They’d take a cheap wi on the installment plan with hiny oa They would count on a raise in There would struggle along bright, pay now might be a bal oO wo; and they with their shar o matter where he worked and compensating pleasures, s of reconciliations, of of gray hours and golden. Theirs dividend of happiness and sorrow little quarrel i | weetne illness and good health, would be the common granted to all the great bulk of humanity that toils for its not too much of to-morrow. marked—the course of Jennie sometimes sighed for a more daily bread and a Yes, it was all William Fee’ plainly | enough ambitious mate, one who would forge ahead, provide her with a little something more than the bare necessities of life, she suppressed these sighs. For she loved William, though she knew she could not expect too much of him. Jut the night that Jennie persuaded William to take her to ee Marion Adaire something happened to him—something profound and disturbing, poignant and ecstatic; something that stirred into storm the tranquil depths of his soul. He did not know it was love. How was he to know? If he had been able to analyze his emotion it would have seemed as ridiculous to him as to anybody who knew Marion Adaire, that he, a clerk in a store, making eighteen dollars a week, was in love with that dazzling idol of the American public! But he could not analyze it. He could only feel in some tremendously upsetting way this thing that had happened to him. Besides, he was supposed to be in love with Jennie, dear little Jennie, who—there was no doubt about this—was in love with him. Though Marion Adaire, wherever drew crowded houses, Jennie and William were fortunate enough to get seats in the first row of the second balcony. With a box of chocolates on Jennie’s lap, they hung there con- tentedly on the brass railing, munching away and gazing at the more opulent people who sat in the orchestra far below them. When the orchestra ceased playing and the lights were dimmed, Jennie sighed, snuggled up close to Billy and dropped her hand into his. That most fascinating moment in the theater had arrived—that breathless mo- ment when the curtain lifts slowly, when the reality of everyday life is forgotten and romance is revealed. The Turtle Dove was a claptrap affair, some sort of bowdlerized version of a French play adapted for the English stage and then readapted for the American; but it gave Marion Adaire an opportunity to play the most appealing of all rdles, a persecuted young girl who emerges through the trials of the first and second acts to triumph in pearls and a glittering white frock—in the final act. The audience did not recognize her at first in the shabby dark dress she wore, with a shawl over her lustrous hair; but when she spoke, when her voice, vibrant, tender, filled with all the pathos and longing in the world, echoed like a tiny ghost of lost happiness through the house, there was a spatter of applause, instantly hushed so that not a of that silvery voice might be missed “Oh, she isn’t so awful not half what I pected,’’ murmured Jen, but William did not hear her. she went, note pretty ex- January 22,192! It was almost as if he heard nothing, not even Marion Adaire’s voice. Or, rather, he did not know the words that the persecuted girl on the stage was uttering, but the voice itself caught at his heart, and like a silver thread bound his heart and then pulled taut. He felt suffocated. He withdrew his hand from Jen’s and loosened his collar. “Billy, what’re you doing?” she asked disapprovingly. And again William did not answer, did not hear. He was leaning forward now, intent, his arms crossed on the brass railing before him. The curtain fell on the first act. Jen settled back in her seat. She selected a chocolate from the open box on her lap and dropped it delicately into her small pink mouth. “Want one?” she asked. William did not answer. “Well, what d’you think of Marion Adaire?”’ she asked. “Oh, I think she’s pretty good,” he said. A sudden instinct had told him to dissemble, not to let Jen know of the depths of feeling that had been toucked within him. “She isn’t half so pretty as I thought she’d be,”’ repeated Jen complacently, “and when the light was full on her she looked kinda old. Did you notice that, Billy?” But that was too much for him. “Old!” he echoed scornfully. ‘‘Why, she doesn’t look old, Jen!’’ Some unexpected strain of poetry was released in him. “She looks young—young as the morning! How can you say she looks old?” Jennie was puzzled. She murmured to herself: “ Young as the morning!’’ Where did he get that? He must be going dippy, but she felt a little hurt that he had never told her, Jennie, that she looked as young as the morning. The curtain rose again and fell again and rose upon the final act—and upon Marion Adaire, her blond loveliness at last fully revealed in a ball frock of white, upon which glistened, as if it were powdered with diamonds, a million iridescent spangles. Her white arms and throat were like silver, her famous hair a halo of spun gold. And William Fee, the humble, sat enraptured, past any earthly sense or feeling. There are some strains of music, some certain chords, that have a curious effect upon a sympathetic listener. They seem to release the soul from the body and send it flying. So it was with William when Marion Adaire spoke, even when he gazed upon her beauty. The chains of his earthly habitation were struck from him; he was set free; he was awakened; he was heyond earthly Continued on Page 36) Everybody in Mrs. Bender's Boarding House Also Knew That Jennie Mint and William Fee Were Going Round a Lot Together and Seemed Fond of Each Other

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SSS ee THE SATURDAY EVENING POST N the Hupmobile of today, note- worthy new elements of value are added to a car-value already conspicu- ous by reason of remarkable perform- ance, economy equally rare, and staying qualities which bring renewed satisfaction each day. Its top has a new smartness of line; with plate glass in the rear curtain. Its upholstery is improved, its fenders display a touch of new grace, it 1s fitted with outside door-handles, a wind-shield cleaner, and a moto-meter; and it carries the rear light by which the Hupmobile 1s known all over America. Its finish is a beautiful new shade of Hupmobile blue. These details make the car more com- fortable, more convenient, and more desirable to own.

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(Continued from Page 34) ares’ and responsibilities; but also he was sense of his own ego. He was conqueror, a superman. If that moment yuld have been captured and held, William Fee would have dared anything and ac- nplished anything Billy and Jen walked silently out of the theater. Enchantment still enwrapped them; for Jen as well as William had suc- iumbed in that final act to Marion Adaire’s Jen's case it was but a e the spe ll cast over runk witha igic, though in ,r of me ments, whil y William was, in some degree, to last forever. till silent, they walked down Fulton treet, Jennie’s arm thrust through Wil- im’s. And as they walked, as the Ele overhead and the the jolly stream of and the shop win , the enchantment ited rattled cheerily irface cars clanged, us imanity jostled them flaunted their ware the theater, so far as Jennie was con ned, began to vive way before the trusion of the usual and the common- ice Well, I’m glad I’ve seen her, anyway,” Gert Moloney at the office's because she'd seen aid Jennie wen crowing over me her twice an’ I never had, But I don't ow but what you get as much fun out of the movies as the theat« f conside ring the lifference you have to pay,” she chattere« ! ‘Look at that hat, Billy! In the win low, I mean. Isn't it a freak? They say that that red's going to be all the thing this winter ™ Presently, for all her own bright ani- mation, she could not help but realize William's silence “Say, what's the matter with you to- ght, Billy? You haven't said a word ince we left the theater.” At the direct question William emerged with a start from the spell that held him, *What?” he asked “What's the matter with you? Can't you talk?” “Nothing's the matter, Jen.”’ But she found she. could not force him into any sort of response. Her own anima tion died. She still hung to him, however, though a little sulkily, and they left the lights of Fulton Street and drifted—silent, both of them—through the dark to the boarding house in Cranberry Street. That night William did not go to bed at once, He sat at the window and gazed at the stars. Never in all his life had he done this before. Never had Jennie had suffi- cient influence upon his being to make him do such a thing as sit by his open window and gaze at the starry heavens; and it was as if a veil were torn from before his vision—so bright the stars seemed, so close! Che fancy came to him that he might reach up and pluck a star from the heavens and hold it against his heart and in that way quiet its tumultuous rapture. A foolish fancy! He put it aside and went to bed, stlessly, for he could not for get Marion Adaire’s voice. It sang in his ears; and before his eyes, closed though they were, swam an indistinct picture of Marion Adaire, blurred silver and gold, as if indeed a star had descended and swung before him, half blinding him, The next night he went to see Adaire again. This time he procured a seat as near the stage as he could. What did he care about the cost? He did not tell Jen where he was going. He made some excuse or other about visiting a friend. And again he sat intent and worshiping at the actress’ hrine, and the spell upon him tightened ts meshes and sank into his very flesh and bone. Again on Wednesday night he went; and this time he was able to sit in the first ow of the orchestra, where he could see every movement of Marion Adaire’s lips, every play of light upon that mobile mask, nd where, it almost seemed, every separate trand of spun-gold hair was visible. On Thursday, when he announced to Jennie that he was going out again wit hout her, she said angrily: “1 don't know what's got into you, Billy! You don't act like yourself at all,” It was the beginning of the was to come between them, Saturday night brought the conclusion of Marion Adaire’s week in Brooklyn. By inquiring at the box office—and the man at the box office grinned at him knowingly William found that The Turtle Dove com- pany was to make a jump to Chicago to open a long season there. ‘Thinkin’ of following Miss Adaire up?” isked the box-office man. ‘No,” said William shortly, and turned to hide his embarrassment. only to toss re Marion breach that iway 80 as Yet he had been thinking of following Marion Adaire up. But Chicago! He didn’t have the money to get to Chicago, much less to stay there after he got there. If only he had all the money he needed! Why couldn’t he make more money? It meant freedom; it meant you could do as you pleased. After Marion Adaire’s departure his life fell back into its little groove. For a time he seemed more dazed, more apathetic than ever before, but at last changes began subtly to work in him. For the mad idea had come to him that some day he might go to see Marion Adaire wherever she played; that some day, even, he might meet ~ might press her hand and hear her silvery voice speaking to him. No more than that he asked, and yet even that was incredible folly. But this mad ambition could never be realized if he remained a clerk in Randle’s store making eighteen dollars a week. For the first time he aware of his environment. He realized the dwindling trade of Randle’s, the restric- tions of the decadent neighborhood in which it was situated. And then in the murky atmosphere of Randle’s, set beneath the interlacing shadows of the Elevated structure, he began to dream and to plan. Presently he tossed himself again and again against the immutable indifference of old Randle. Mr. Randle was fat and had asthma. He disliked movement of any sort. Mr. Randle grunted and wheezed when he had to lift a pound of coffee from the upper shelf for a customer. When he rose from his chair he grunted and wheezed. When Mrs. Randle, thin and acidulous, called him to lunch—they lived over the shop he climbed the stairs with a groan and a wheeze at every step. Winter and sum mer Mr. Randle wore a gray alpaca coat very much spotted. Beneath that were enormous trousers, baggy and of shiny black; beneath the trousers huge feet like elephantine pads. His face was coffee- colored, and small side whiskers stood out like patches of new snow on an old and rusty tin roof. On his bald head was a little square skulleap to protect it from drafts Mr. Randle’s one hope was that his busi- ness woulk in't entirely vanish before he did. Say, Mr. Randle, we've got to do some- thing to drum up trade,” said William Fee one day. “Why, Billy,” heavy, asthmatic into you % “I don’t know,” shuffled his feet nervously, “ get on in the world.” Mr. Randle looked ponderously roguish. ‘Thinkin’ of marrying, heh! I saw you with that purty leetle girl!’ ‘No, I'm not thinking of getting mar- ried —not now,” said William, and his con- science stirred as he thought of Jen; but then he turned savagely and pointed to the flyspecked signs in the shop windows: “*Let’s change them!” ‘Those signs!"’ gasped Mr. Randle. “Yes, let’s paint them over in—in red ink. Let's have a big bargain sale.” “A bargain sale! We're not making enough profit as it is.”’ “I know, but we’ve got to do something to draw the crowd, Mr. Randle.” But Mr. Randle was adamant. The signs were not to be changed. Red ink indeed! Billy forgot that Randle’s was a conservative, high-class old establishment. In the public library on Montague Street William pored over magazines for pictures of Marion Adaire, but when he had gazed and gazed at the pictures, and had ex- hausted them, his mind took another course, and he asked the librarian if there were any books to be had telling how to liven up a shop. She gave him a large volume called The Retail Store. William carried it home and spent night after night studying it. “Let’s give a dish away with every pound of coffee and tea we sell,’’ he sug- gested to Mr. Randle. “Why, Billy!” said Mr. Randle. “What's the matter with the idea? It’s an old one, I know, but it gets people.” became acutely said Mr. Randle with his breathing, “what's got said William Fee, and but I’ve got to “Not with our high-class trade,” said Mr. Randle. “High-class nothing!"’ said _ Billy. ‘They're a few old people from the Heights who still deal here. But look round you, Mr. Randle. This neighborhood isn’t high class any more—anything but! They're mostly cheap people, and we've got to get them with cheap tricks.”’ THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “T don’t want Randle’s to be a cheap store, Billy,” said Mr. Randle plaintively, for after all he had his pride. William proc ured more books from the library. Aiso, beside Mr. Randle’s desk was a mound of papers—copies of The Retail Merchant. All these papers were still in their wrappers. The only reason Mr. Randle subscribed for The Retail Merchant was that his father had done so. He him- self never read it. But now Billy plugged industriously through every copy, looking for ideas as to how to put energy into a retail business. But these ideas, no matter how vigorously he shot them at Mr. Randle, fell back like paper pellets before his huge, immovable bulk. William for a time tasted the bitterness of despair. He wanted so badly to get on. Almost six months had swung by since that magic night when he had first seen Marion Adaire, and in another six months, so he hud read, she would be back on Broadway in a new play. He wanted to see her. He wanted to go and see her every night. That would take money —he had to have money. If only Mr. Randle would be amenable to his—Billy’s—ideas! He knew they would stimulate trade, and then he might get an increase in salary. But Mr. Randle was like a mountain of flesh on the tracks over which progress must travel. William began to wonder how many Mr. Randles there were throughout the city immovable, deaf to ideas, blind to progress. No wonder so many little shops lighted their modest signs, flickered for a time and then expired. A Mr. Randle was enough to killany shop. And then he thought how much he, William Fee, could help all these little shops if he could only persuade them to accept the ideas he had dug up for them. His brain began to buzz with excitement at that vision—a hundred, a thousand shops stirred into activity because of the plans he could furnish them! If only he could do that there would be lots of money in it for him, there was bound to be lots of money in it for him. But he could think of no way in which to get this glorious, breathless thing started. And then inspiration came. The Randle Tea and Coffee Store bought most of its coffee from the great wholesale house of Martin Sacks & Co. Martin Sacks & Co did not think much of the Randle Tea and Coffee Store. Randle’s was barely worth their consideration, but they sold Randle’s for the same reason that Mr. Randle sub- scribed for The Retail Merchant—they had always sold Randle’s. And Randle’s was slow pay but sure. “IT suppose some day we'll lose a little money on ’em,” said the credit man of Martin Sacks & Co. philosophically, “but they always have paid, and I guess we can go on taking a chance for old times’ sake.” So Mr. Trapp, the bright young salesman who covered part of Brooklyn for Martin Sacks & Co., continued to call at Randle’s every other week or so and slapped Mr. Randle’s fat back and said half jocularly, half condescendingly: “‘ Well, old socks, what'll it be to- day? : a After William Fee had had his inspira- tion, the next time Mr. Trapp called Wil- liam went up to him and asked: “Can I speak to you a minute?” “Sure!’’ said Mr. Trapp, and showed his white teeth. Mr. Trapp and William stepped out of earshot of the somewhat indignant Mr. Randle, and William, trying to hide his excitement, said: “Listen, Mr. Trapp! I've got an idea—an idea about ideas. Look here.”’ He held up a thick packet of cards on which were pasted clippings from The Retail Merchant and other trade papers and typewritten copies of excerpts from the books he had borrowed from the library. “These are ideas on how to put ginger into a retail store. There’re dozens of ideas—hundreds! New ones are erep- ping up all the time. I’ve tried to get Mr. Randle to adopt some of ’em, but he can’t see it. Now I’ve been thinking a big con- cern like yours might have a service depart- ment to help the storekeeper. Don’t you see? Send 'em the ideas best suited to help their business. It wouldn’t cost much.” “But what does it get us?”’ asked Mr. Trapp. “Don't you see? Makes friends—helps em to sell your coffee too. There'll be hun- dreds of stores that'll be glad to get ideas in this way—all ready for ‘em to use. Saves ‘em the trouble of hunting for them them- selves—that is, if they would ever think of hunting for them themselves. You do see, don’t you? Not only little stores but big January 22,/92/ ones, department stores with grocery de- partments—everything!”’ Mr. Trapp looked thoughtful for a mo- ment and then showed his favor by slap- ping William on the back. “Say, I think there’s something in that!” he exclaimed. “I'll tell you what you do. Go see Mr. Bronson. He’s the bird that’ll get this. Here, I’ll give you my card and you tell him I sent you.”” He took a card from his pocket and scribbled on it. “‘Go soon. I’ll tell him you're coming.” William went to see Mr. Bronson the very next morning. He was afraid that if he waited his resolution might weaken. He dressed with particular care—his best suit, of course, a double-breasted blue suit, and the stripe d blue-and-black tie that Jen had given him for his birthday. And he was a little afraid when he saw the magnifi- cent offices of Martin Sacks & Co., offices with glittering glass partitions set in ma- hogany framework, mahogany desks with glass tops and real rugs on the floor. How different it was from the dusty, jaundiced atmosphere of Randle’s! He was quivering with nervousness after he had sent in Mr. Trapp’s card to Mr. Bronson, but he tried to assume an air of indifference, and with a slightly moist hand held tightly clutched against him his packet of cards as if it were a talisman which would open all doors. Mr. Bronson saw him immediately. Mr. Bronson was like a Mr. Trapp to whom had been added a few years, a few pounds and accordingly a little more dignity. He lis- tened with a sort of hushed energy while William explained his idea. Mr. Bronson nodded. “Pretty good! Pretty bright! Pretty r!” clever He gazed scrutinizingly at Wil- liam. “‘ What’s your game in this? Want to se ‘ll us the idea? ‘No, I don’t want to sell it exactly,” said William hesitatingly. ‘What then?” “T thought I might get a job with you taking charge of putting over this plan.” ““How much do you want?” William did not know what to answer. He had not expected events to move forward so rapidly. He wondered if Mr. Bronson might consider paying him twenty- five dollars a week; he wondered if by any possible chance he could be persuaded to pay him thirty. Finally, with a gulp, he compromised and said: “* Twenty-seven dol- lars and fifty cents a week.” “Twenty-seven dollars and fifty cents!” exclaimed Mr. Bronson. ‘‘How did you ever think of that?” “I thought I’d be worth that, Mr. Bronson, fe “Are you sure about the fifty cents?’ “‘Yes, sir.’ Mr. Bronson smiled and nodded. “IT never knew anybody before to have such an accurate estimate of his value, but—but I'll think it over. Ill let you know to-morrow.” And a letter did come the next day telling William to report for work at once. When William told Mr. Randle he was going to leave, Mr. Randle at first simply said: “‘Why, Billy!”’ But after a long, ruminating pause he added: ‘‘ Well, you're young. I guess you can take a chance, but it’s mighty risky, let me tell you, giving up a good sure job like this to go into some- thing you don’t know anything about.” To tell the truth, however, Mr. Randle was rather pleased that William was leav- ing. Of late William had been as annoying to him as a fly buzzing round his bald head —just about as annoying as that. And Jennie stopped him on the stairs of the boarding house to tell him how glad she was to hear of his new position in New York. It was really the first time they had spoken in weeks, except for the most casual of good mornings or good evenings. Eve ‘ry time Jen had passed him with averted eyes William had felt contrite and guilty. But what could he do? Better this than deceiving her—letting her think he loved her while all the time his thoughts were for another—that disturbing luminary who had cast light into the dark corners of his life, who had roused him into action that had torn him from his oysterlike exist- ence, But he felt sorry for Jennie. He couldn't help but feel sorry for her. It was deplor- able that he had fallen in love with some- one else, but after all he hadn’t done it purposely. He hadn’t wanted to fall in love with anyone else—if this worship of his for a distant star, ever unattainable, could even be called love. Concluded on Page 39) ed

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ae ge oP ae (Concluded from Page 36) Sometimes he wondered if Jen still cared for him. Perhaps she didn’t. It would be far, far better if she didn’t, and yet the thought that she might have ceased caring for him hurt him. Why? Oh, he was a rotter. He knew it! But when Jen stopped him on the stairs to say, “Billy, I’m awful glad you got that new job,” he was delighted. “It’s nice of you to say so, Jen,” he said; and indeed, considering everything, he thought how nice, how generous, it was of her to say this. Her eyes were wistful as she continued: ‘*Remember, I told you a long while ago you ought to get out of that dead-’n’-alive place.”” She hesitated, and then asked a little timidly: “‘Was it—was it that, Billy, that got you to thinking of going with this big New York concern?”’ William knew it wasn’t that. Nothing Jen had ever said to him had had much influence with him. Nothing she had ever done had served to waken him from his apathy—and he knew exactly what it was that had wakened him—but he didn’t want to hurt Jen. ‘I shouldn’t be surprised if it was that,” he said at last. She stepped a little nearer to him. “*Oh, Billy, I wish a But she saw that he was confused, that there was only pain in his eyes—nothing else. She turned away abruptly and walked down the stairs. ‘‘Good night, Billy,” she said quickly. His new life in the office of Martin Sacks & Co. was exciting. For a time it absorbed all his thoughts and energy. His system of supplying ideas to retail merchants was working out pretty well, but not nearly so well as he had expected. William had looked forward to a great army of retail merchants clamoring for the precious ideas he had salvaged for them; but nothing like that happened. A few merchants re- sponded to the circular Martin Sacks & Co. had sent out. These few had received ideas suitable to their needs and had held profitable ninety-nine-cent sales, bargain sales and dollar days, and had used other de- vices for whipping up trade; and these few were properly grateful to William and Martin Sacks & Co. But the great bulk of the trade did not respond. William had constantly to prod them into any sort of attention with letters beginning ‘Wake up!”” or “Why Not Seize This Oppor- tunity?” There seemed to be a great many Mr. Randles in the world. Mr. Bronson all this time kept a watch- ful eye on William and his system. Finally William was forced to admit to Mr. Bron- son that the plan was not going so well as he had hoped it would “Oh, that’s all right, my boy,”’ said Mr. 3ronson, and patted William on the back. “But wouldn’t you think they'd be anxious to use these ideas?’’ asked William despondently. “Tf every man got full value out of every idea that was offered him, why—why there’d be no holding this old world,” said Mr. Bronson. “Y our plan is going as well as I expected it to.’ “Then why did you give me the job?”’ “‘T gave you the job not on account of the idea but because you had it. We need young fellows with ideas in this business.” And William felt a passionate devotion to Mr. Bronson spring up within him. A few months later, when he became Mr. Bronson’s assistant, when his salary was increased and the great idea—except for certain fitful flickerings—was almost en- tirely abandoned, William found that he did not care nearly so much as he had thought he would. Mr. Bronson kept him busy and happy in other ways. Besides, he was cultivating .; w friends in the office of Martin Sacks & ( The new friend of whom he thought the most was Calvin Dodge, a gay young blade who prided himself on his knowledge of the world and the city. Calvin Dodge knew all sorts of strange places, all kinds of odd people. Among other things, he knew a surprising amount of theatrical gossip. He got this, he told William, from a pal who was a reporter on the Dramatic Daily. There was nothing about theatrical people that the pal didn’t know. “T’ll introduce you to him sometime,” said Calvin Dodge. ‘“‘Why are you so in- terested in the theatrical profesh?”’ “Oh, I don’t know,” said William un- easily. He had never mentioned to anyone his interest in Marion Adaire. It was sacred, a dear secret cherished and locked within the inmost recesses of his heart. He felt that neVer could he mention it to anyone. William continued to live at Mrs. Ben- der’s boarding house in Cranberry Street— chiefly because it was cheap. The salary that Martin Sacks & Co. now paid him would have enabled him to live in a slightly more pretentious way, but he wanted to save as much money as he could. When Marion Adaire returned to New York and opened in her.new play, he wanted to send her a huge bouquet of flowers—expensive flowers—orchids and gardenias. The flow- ers would be accompanied by a card merely stating that they were from a humble worshiper. Other flowers would follow on other nights, all sent anonymously. But finally Marion Adaire would be curious; she would want to know who this humble worshiper was. And perhaps—of this he wasn’t sure—he would reveal his identity, merely so that he could meet her, speak to her, hear her speak to him. But that momentous meeting might be years from now, when he was rich, enor- mously successful, when he would not be quite so far beneath her notice. After all, it was not such a preposterous dream. Al- ready he had almost five hundred dollars saved. Five hundred dollars! To him it seemed a stupendous sum. Fortunately he did not know that Marion Adaire would spend five hundred dollars on a simple gown or on a bauble that caught her fancy and that she would wear once and would then allow to lie forgotten in her jewel box. Though he continued to live in the Cran- berry Street boarding house, William saw less of Jennie than ever. The casual good mornings and good evenings were now not only casual; they were infrequent. When William was at home he spent his evenings in his room; quite often he stayed in New York for dinner. There were other girls now. There was, for instance, a stenog- rapher in the office whose voice reminded him of Marion Adaire’s. William was not happy until he had induced her to have dinner with him so that he might listen to that resemblance in her voice all evening long. But the girl was dark and had a sallow skin. He could only imagine it was Marion Adaire talking when he kept his eyes closed, and he could not of course keep his eyes closed all evening. When he tried it for a few minutes the girl said to him in that lovely voice: ‘Say, where d’you think you get off? Wake up or you'll pass your corner!”’ That party was not a success. never repeated. There was another girl, a friend of Calvin Dodge's, whose smile was reminiscent of Marion Adaire’s, but her voice was harsh and strident. The attraction she had for William died before they even reached the dinner-party stage. No, nothing—no one except Marion Adaire herself—could satisfy William. He began to count the days till her return. He had read somewhere that she would be visible to all New York again in her new play sometime in October. But William was never to see Marion Adaire in her new play. Calvin Dodge invited him one eve- ning to go uptown with him after — ‘I'm going to meet Sam in the Palace Café,” said Calvin, for this was in the sad, unregenerate days of cafés. ‘“‘Why don’t you come along? Sam’s a wiz!” Sam was the reporter on the Dramatic Daily. William was disappointed when he saw Sam. Somehow since that magic night in the Montauk Theater in Brooklyn everything connected with the stage had taken on an added glamour for William; but there was nothing glamorous about Sam. He was a thin young man, with white, sunken cheeks and brilliant, uneasy eyes. His shirt was pink silk with maroon stripes, his tie a blazing blue, his suit a tight-waisted affair that emphasized his drooping figure, his rounded shoulders. It was THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Three of them—Calvin, Sam and Wil- liam—sat at one of the little round marble- topped tables in the Palace Café. Sam and Calvin talked while William listened. It was true, William found, that Sam knew a great deal about theatrical people. His knowledge was amazing. It was also ap- —. William felt angrily that Sam's oose lips were ready to defile anybody, anything. He despised him. Yet he could not resist asking about Marion Adaire. He put his question lightly to hide the intense interest that lay behind it. “Have you heard anything about Mar- ion Adaire’s new play?” he asked, ‘“ Does it give her a good part? v2 “Oh, I don’t know,” said Sam carelessly, his brilliant eyes roving over the café. “She should worry whether she’s got a good play or not! We got a nice one on Adaire—going to have a little squib on it in to-morrow’s Daily. She’s milked old Martindale out in Chicago out of a million.” An iciness came to William’s heart—a foreboding, a feeling of sickness, nausea. “What do you mean?” he asked. “What dol mean? Nothing except that Adaire’s up to her old tricks—catching the old guys an’ makin’ ’em p: ay up afterward.’ “You mean she’s —— “Oh, everybody knows she’s rotten through an’ through,” said Sam, and laughed cynically. William rose to his feet, swaying a little. The lights of the Palace Café seemed to whirl. Then, almost as if it were apart from his own volition, his fist swung out. The fist landed somewhe sre on Sam's face. “You swine!” he cried. “You liar!” There was a rush of men toward them. Tables were overturned. Glasses fell crash- ing to the floor. But William was conscious of nothing except Sam's bleeding face thrust at him—a face that despite its dis- figurement retained its sneering cynicism. Yet Sam made no attempt to hit William. Instead, with a handkerchief dabbing at his broken cheek, he said: “Say, what's eatin’ you?” “TI don’t believe you,” said William. His anger was gone now; he was simply hurt—hurt and sick and disgusted. “Look in to-morrow’s Daily if you don’t believe me. Ain't stuck on Adaire your- self, are you? Why, she’s old enough to be your grandmother!” It was Sam’s method of retaliation. This, instead of a blow. Perhaps it was more effective than any blow could have been. The rush of men closed in upon William. He was thrust out into the street. Both Calvin and Sam had disappeared. He was alone. He was fervently thankful that he was—at last—alone. William did not go back to Mrs. Ben- der’s boarding house until late that night. He didn’t know where he had been. He had simply wandered round the streets as one dazed. The next morning, though through force of habit he rose as usual and went to the office of Martin Sacks & Co. as usual, he was still dazed. “What's the matter with you, Billy?” asked Mr. Bronson midway in the morning. “Are you sick? Perhaps you'd better go home.” Instead of answe ring that question, Wil- liam asked in turn: “Have you--have you any idea how old Marion Adaire is? “Marion Adaire, the actress?” = Yes.” Mr. Bronson looked at William a little aghast; but the boy’s white and anxious face made him decide to humor him. “Why, I don't know exactly,” he said. “She was _ the stage when I was a kid. She must be older than I am, and I’m thirty-nine.” ‘Thirty-nine!’ cried Billy. “Yes. Now you'd better go home, Billy. Call me up in. the morning and let me know as you @2re Billy went home. He did not stop to buy a copy of the Dramatie Daily to verify Sam's slanderous remarks. From Sam’s loose lips poured a vile stream ready to besmirch anyone it touched. Sam was a liar. All that he said could not be true William knew that. He wanted to con- tinue to think it, to know it. Yet verifica tion of Sam's slanderous tale might be in the Dramatic Daily—and he didn’t want to see it. He wanted to keep some of his {llusions About Marion Adaire. But the idol itself had erumbled In the boarding house he went to his room and threw himself across his bed face down. Mrs. Bender, alarmed at seeing him arrive at this untimely hour, had asked “What's the matter, Billy? Sick? Can I do anything?” But William had shaken his head “Just leave me alone, please,” said. He lay on his bed while the long day passed and night came. The room dark ened gradually. He did not bother to get up to light the gas. He wanted to be alone He wanted darkness. Nothing mattered now. All his bright hopes were gone. He didn’t care whether his rosy prospects with Martin Sacks & Co. were ever fulfilled. He didn’t care whether Mr. Bronson's kind ness and encouragement continued. He didn’t care about anything. Vague thought of going away to some small distant place, of hiding himself, of letting 1 ag or £0, filtered through his clouded mind. But later in the evening, when it was quite dark, there was a faint tap at his door William did not answer. But he heard the door creak slowly open. He did not look up, but he knew that someone stood beside his bed. He also knew that the someone was Jen. “Billy,” she said at last, and there was a cate h in her voice, “what's the matter?” “Nothing!” he mumbled. Another pause. Then he knew that Jen had knelt beside the bed, and a minute later her arms were about him. She had pulled him toward her; his head rested against the softness of her bosom. He felt her tears upon his cheek—and he was com forted; he was strangely comforted. It was sweet to have someone care for him, even though she must never, never know the cause of his misery. “What's the matter, Billy?" she re peated. ‘‘Mrs. Bender said you were sick Are you sick?” “No.” “Won't you tell me what's the matter He murmured something unintelligible. “Have you lost your job?” Again he mumbled, and she said: “ Don't you care if you have. You can get another one, Billy. You've bee *n so—so wonderful I never thought you'd get on so well end go up so fast. If you could do it once, Billy, you can do it again, and if you need some money —well, I've got a little saved up.” Billy half sat up. “Jen, you’re—you'’re an angel, but I haven't lost my job.” ‘Then what's the matter?” Once more the instinct to dissemble came to Billy. Jen must never know the truth “Oh, I'm just sorta blue, Jen,”” he said She whispered: ‘ Because—because of us?” “Yes,"" he said desperately, ‘because we—we are no longer friends, Jen.” “T want to be friends, Billy, I guess I've been as blue as you sometimes, hut a girl ean’t show it. I guess she’s got too much pride. I never could understand what did come between us. I-—I love you as much as ever, Billy. I always have.” Billy sat upright “Jen, I think maybe we married right away. I think maybe that that would end the trouble. I don’t se now—why we can't get married right away.” Her answer came very softly: “No, I—I don’t see why we can’t, Billy.” he had ought to ge It was after Jen had gone that Billy rose and went to the window, He kfelt the and, as he had done once before —oh, long ago!—gazed at the starry heaven r stars seemed so brilliant, so close, tl again the foolish fancy came to him t he could pluck one from the heave hold it against his restless heart Sut instead he lifted a pur illimitable expanse and, with a detia in his voice, he cried ‘ i tarte but—but I'll go on for Jer ike! tn as good to he r as any man ¢ ild be i and we'll be happy!” For he knew now that sta no matte how much we may dé re them, are it fo us poor mortals of the earth —and yet thes light our way

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST <

As clear as air! When | finish cleaning this mirror, it will be like an opening cut in the wall, looking through into the next room! You can't make a mirror as clear and speckless and unclouded as that by any wet-cleaning method. You need the wet-and-dry method of Bon Ami. Bon Ami goes on wet, dissolving the dirt. It comes off dry, leaving no smears. Did you realize that the reason why Bon Ami is the only mirror-cleaner is because it is the only thing that cleans perfectly enough for such a tell-tale surface? Why not clean windows and nickel and aluminum equally perfectly?

January 22,192! Powder or cake— whichever you prefer. “Hasn't scratched

yet!"

a

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} eo prewar aera THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 7 Tine Women of New German y HE was sitting on a trellised bench in her combination vegetable-flower garden. Cabbages, cauliflowers and potatoes grew in straight rows before her, By CLARA WHITESIDE while asters and wonderful dahlias hedged them about. On her lap were undarned stockings and, beside her, piles of folded ones ready to be worn again by the small boy who was romping with his dog and making new holes as fast as he could with his wooden-soled shoes. She looked up as I approached and I saw the bluest eyes eyes the color of the flower that grows between the corn. “Frau Professorin,” I began, “I have come with a letter of introduction. I am from America,” I continued with some hesitation, feeling that I was on uncertain ground. The weariness in her face disap- peared like magic. She was childlike in her pleasure and there was no mistaking the friendliness in those candid eyes that looked up into mine with a bit of inter- rogation. Whatever this German woman had suffered or experienced during the war had not dulled that quality of youth which so readily responds to new im- pressions. “T am so glad to talk to an American woman,” she said with pleasure, drawing me down beside her. “Tell me why you fought against us? We hold no resent- said a woman to me in Berlin, “that the whole nation has had to suffer because it has been misrepre- sented by a few of the men.” They also hold this against the Kaiser, whose habit of say- ing the wrong thing at the wrong time is well known, and long ago ceased to be a joke. whole world was jealous of our efficiency and that France had never forgiven us our past victories. We knew this war was coming and it has haunted us, so that when it really came we were glad, and said so. We wanted only to be let alone, but the other nations would not leave us in peace.” “Why did America help our enemies?” She turned to ms eagerly. The same question again, and I had been in Germany only two days. “Did you ever hear of the Lusitania?’ I asked her curiously. She raised surprised, questioning eyes to mine “Surely you know that that ship carried ‘grenade,’ and besides it had been warned not to enter the war zone.’ “But don't you think it was a terrible thing to sink a boatful of women and children?” again I asked her “Yes, terrible,” she replied. ‘But not any more ter- rible than England’s blockade of Germany, when our old men and women and children died by the thousands. All war is horrible, and the revolution has been also. The Entente has only allowed us one hundred thousand armed men and we cannot keep peace on our border with so few, nor keep out the Bolsheviki. It will be impossible to ment toward America, because there are so many Germans in the United States, and they always wrote home such happy letters before the war. We were stunned when we heard you had joined forces against us. Why did you doit? If you had not, we should have won the war,” she added pathetically, “‘and now, instead of all this turmoil within and without, we should be at peace.” “Your Germany began all this turmoil,”’ I answered quickly. “Began it?”’ she exclaimed in surprise. ‘‘Germany didn’t begin it. Don’t you know that months before we entered the war, Russia had mobilized her troops on the border? We all knew what that meant—it meant ‘look out!’ Then for a long time our papers had told us of the conferences that were taking place constantly between French and Belgian diplomats, and of a secret treaty be- tween them. In war the nation that wins is the one that gets there first. We know we violated the neutrality of Belgium’’—I had started to interrupt—‘“‘but it was the quickest way to France, and had we not crossed when we did, France would have done so, and with the permission of Belgium. We all knew this in Germany, but you see,” she continued with some patronage, “ you in America don’t understand things over here; you are too far away. That is the reason we hold no resentment toward you; you were either misled or you did not know all the facts.” The Stupid Phrases of the War “0!” T EXCLAIMED doubtfully. That “So!’’ of mine » was a wonderful help all over Germany. | used it whenever I found nothing else to say, or when I wished to be noncommittal, which was often. The German woman is only too glad to talk; it seemed to me that to the gift of suffrage had been added the gift of tongue. From the south to the north I had no difficulty in getting most of them into conversation, and when my ability to learn was limited by my knowledge of the lan- guage I resorted to pantomime, which to my dismay they understood quite as readily as my German. There is no doubt that the women of Germany love their country. But “my country, right or wrong,” I found was not the attitude of all, or even a large part of them by any means. Some told me that if they had been in politics there never would have been any war. Others said the same thing, but added, ‘‘ Perhaps we should have been as stupid as the men,” which certainly implied a doubt in their minds as to the wisdom of the war. I found a large number who, like the Frau Professorin, believed the war was forced on Germany; but whatever their belief as to the cause, they are now undivided in their desire to help one another. And their effort in this period of despair would win the admiration of anyone who believes that all are created equal; and not some equal, and others only German. Germany has always talked too much. The catch phrases that were quoted all over the world did the nation great harm. It is usually the women who do the talking, but the German women hold this against the men and refer to the “stupid phrases” of the war. “It is too bad,” maintain order. The Vertrag of Versailles is putting a rope round our necks. As long as we have to submit to its terms we can never again be healthy. We women believe if the people of the world understood each other, there would not beso much hate. It cannot be that the American woman thinks the German woman is different? Women every where must love their homes and their coun try, and wish to preserve them both.” Germany's Burden YHE leaned forward in her eagerness and J toucned my hand, and then added with great sadness: “I do not know whether we can bear the burden the war has placed cn us or not. It will be hard during the coming months, for it is not only ourselves that will suffer but the children and the old people We shall have little coal this winter —one family is allowed only two hundred pounds a month, and sometimes not even that France takes most of the coal; it is an in- demnity we have to pay. We can cook wit! gas, but we only have it at stated intervals during the day, and it is shut off every night at ten o'clock. And we have so little bread Five pounds to one person every two weel In the winter sugar will go up to three marks sixty pfennigs a pound. It was twenty pfennigs before the war “We were in full inspiration for the war when it began, because the world was going to destroy us if it could; and has not this heen proved? Are we not being destroyed now that the war is over? How can we live and submit to the terms of the treaty? It leaves us little life; we are struggling under A Bertin Hotel Housemaid, Above—Dr. Alice Satlo- mon, Founder of the Bertin Schoot of Social Work too heavy a burden, not only from without but from within, and the world only laughs !"’ Her eyes showed bright tears When I stepped out of the hotel that first morning in Munich, it was like entering a fairy tale. Marienplatz, with the old Rathaus on one side, was a fantastic back- ground of medieval towers, staged, however, with twentieth- century men and women and the ever-present tram car I hailed a droschke and was driven by a gnome of a man with a red nose, who miraculously avoided running into the trams, and crossed the path of all the automobile with sublime bravado. Nothing saved my life on that ride but the magic of a magic city. I had been invited to meet a young woman whose home was in the suburbs near the old castle. She had recently married a man who was prominent in the city, and I found her a very brisk and energetic person who had traveled extensively abroad, but whose comment on conditions at home and in the world at large had not been influenced in any way by this outside contact. She believed Germany was the under dog of civilization because it was misrepre- sented and misunderstood. “The women in my country love their homes above all else, and it is the homes that have tottered since the war,” she told me. “As a nation the German people never have made a study of politics, but every child can tell you that the The German woman is now entering the professional field, as the women of other countries are doing. Perhaps the war has hurried them out of the home, for the necessity of earning money is very Almost all the professions are open to her, but she remain a teacher in Southern Germany if she marries. Th« problem of living is uppermost in the minds of all the peo ple, for starvation lurks around the corner Germany’s inventiveness has been stretched to the great cannot utmost in providing substitutes for the necessitie The beer is about all it retains of food—beer is a food in Ger many—that is up to the standard; and even that, I ar Much of the food but less so now than during the war told, is not what it used to be Ersatz—substitute I stopped drinking coffee after my first cup, as it wa diluted with watered milk, and sweetened with tablets, and was a poor apology for a good drink. Ret ing to Munich some weeks later, I stayed at a first-cla hotel much frequented by foreigners and 1 found the greatest difference in the food. I was served excellent coffee with lump sugar, hot milk, and the rolls were of whit flour, and I had butter in abundance where the money was and who was doing the eating Among many things that impressed me in all the citi that I visited were the crowds outside the stores looking into the windows, though the st It Was Casy [to set ores themselves were

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42 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST empty. This was not hard to understand when you looked at the prices. Children’s stockings were sixteen marks, und women’s thirty-five. These were the cheap grades worn by the laboring class. Shoes were from three hundred and fifty to eight hundred marks, but the working people wore the substitute leather ones with wooden soles hinged in the middle to make them more flexible. The children wore shoes made of rope sewed together, or else ones made of felt. It was surprising to see how clean the children were although there is little soap; and the patches on their clothes were often as large, almost, as the garment. Not only were knees patched, but shoulders, and the aprons were made up of many patches. I saw whole fingers sewed int » gloves of a different fabric I was interested to see how a family of the better class lived since the war, so an invitation to supper was ac- cepted with alacrity. The big tiled stove in one corner of the room was the most characteristic thing in it, otherwise the softly lit lamp and the flowers might have been in any home of cultured people. My hostess spoke little English and her husband less, but they were both tremendously interested in hearing about conditions in America. This reaction in Germany, especially among the women, to things outside of Germany, is quite marked. The relief work carried on by the American Quaker all through Germany is a wonderful object lesson of American ideals. This Friends Service Committee is in no sense pro-German, but a religion of service is carried wherever there is need, and this black winter in Central Europe is made easier for the women and children by their sympathy and substan- tial uid The meai that night was plentiful, but restricted to a few things. There was no butter and the bread was black. We had tea instead of coffee, and saccharine tablets on individual butter plates were passed to each guest, instead of sugar. Although it was no feast, it prolonged itself well on into the night, and I learned much of postwar condi- tions. There was no bitterness toward America, although I was told again that all Germany felt our coming into the war had lost it for Germany. The hate is stored up, pressed down and running over toward France. The Suddenness of Woman Suffrage MMUHERE has risen in Germany a class of newly poor, as there has in other countries, and it is these women who are suffering perhaps as much as any. On account of the revolution their incomes have dwindled to almost nothing and because of the five years of war, which exhausted their stock of supplies, they now find themselves with scant clothing, with no stock to draw upon, no means of earning money and little prospect of better conditions to give them hope I had tea one afternoon with a woman who wore a linen gown cross-stitched in blue. It was very pretty and be- coming and the woman who was with me, knowing her well, told her so, and added that it was a rare thing to see a new frock nowadays “This ‘new frock’ I'm wearing was made from my last tablecloth,” she answered briefly. And we changed the subject The women are taking down their curtains and wrapping their babies in them; and among the poor, the little new babies are being laid in straw. There never was a greater need for linen, for there never were so many new babies. In the statistics from July to November the large birth rate is unparalleled. Passing through some feeding sta- tions I gained a comprehensive idea of the vast number of these new babies, as only expectant and nursing mothers with their undernourished children were fed there. I was told that it is a form of patriotism resulting from a propaganda of restoration to Germany for the loss sus- tained in the war Within the last year the women have had suffrage thrust upon them. I say thrust, because without the slightest effort or warning it was handed to them, and like little children who have received a gift they do not understand. It was viewed with something like curiosity. Some were indifferent, but the National Council of Women, the big progressive body of German women, was jubilant. The Conservatives in Prussia early in 1918 defeated a bill which was to give some political advantage to women the right to be official members of municipal committees and it was not till some months later that women received the suffrage for the elections to all political bodies. Ger- many has a natural gift for organization, but it has never been used in the direction of politics. Education along political lines was a thing unheard of. The brains of Ger- many have been used in other directions—in philosophy, in invention, in engineering, in economics—but politics as a profession has not interested many of its men. It but follows that if the men did not take the trouble to be in- formed along political lines, the women had little or no knowledge of events that preceded the war, and accepted in blind faith the reasons given for it. In England, France or America such a state of affairs could not have existed, for politics in these countries is more than a profession, it isa career, The great election campaign which was carried on during the winter of 1918, when both men and women voted for members of the Reichstag, was all the more extraordinary for these reasons. It can never again be said by the German woman that she can assume no responsibility for the actions of the state, because she has not understood. From one end of Germany to the other, almost every woman I spoke with on the reasons for the war, said the same thing, “‘ We did not understand.” Civil-service classes are now being formed in all the large cities, for the men are most anxious to bring into politics the feminine influence. This, too, shows a remarkable change of mind in the men, as no- where in Europe has woman's sphere been confined more to her home and children than in Germany. Will a new Germany rise out of the old? This is now up to the women. They have it in their power to make of their country what they will. They do not have to thrust their opinions upon political bodies as the women in America have had’to do; they are eagerly asked for, and gravely debated upon. Just what will the women do with their vote? Upon their share in public life depends whether the old standard of “an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth” will govern Germany’s international procedure, and whether traffic in, and exploitation of, humanity shall cease. The year 1920 was the first year in the life of the German Republic. On the first day of the revolution, equal suffrage for men and women from the age of twenty was pro- claimed. The women have not formed a separate party but are affiliating themselves with the already existing parties. The first election in which women took part was to decide upon the new constitution, upon the question republic or monarchy, democracy or socialism? Of course mistakes have been made, and will be made, but the very general interest shown by the women on all social ques- tions argues well for the future. There is much humor floating around among the men about the ignorance of some of the women concerning things political, but the jokes are told with a protective laugh which obliterates the sting. This seems to be a favorite story, for I heard it several times. One woman asked an- other how she was going to vote, and with quite an air she replied: “Oh, I think I will vote Centrum, it’s on my tel- ephone.”” Centrum happened to be her telephone exchange, as well as a political party. Fraiilein Dr. Alice Salomon, who is the Jane Addams of Germany, and whose book Twenty Years’ Social Work was published almost at the same time that Jane Addams pub- lished her book Twenty Years at Hull House, gave me much insight into the present conditions in Germany and the moral effect of the war on the women. She herself is a most interesting personality. She originated, and still is the moving force of the Berlin School of Social Work, and she has been for twenty years an officer of the National Council of Women, although she recently resigned. You would describe her in New England as a “spare’’ woman. Her hair is turning slightly gray and is brushed away from a forehead broad and unlined. What attracts and “holds you most is her eyes. They are the eyes of a zealot. She believes in the goodness of human nature and has worked all her life to establish ideals already existent, but unused in national life. Right now she is exerting all her influence to bring the women together on questions of national importance and already a renaissance of right thinking has begun among the ultra conservatives. The stronghold of century-old convictions is being undermined, although some of the women still say that Germany can only revive if they never forget for one minute the in- justice that has been done to her. The Spirit of Reconciliation UT even into this extreme right wing has come a spirit of reconciliation. A young girl who belongs to a mii- itary family, and whose reaction to the war was neither to forgive nor to forget, has had a complete change of heart. Believing absolutely that the war was forced on the em- pire; that to fight was the only course possible; that Belgium did not play fair; and that France had been barbaric and brutal to the German prisoner of war, she said only recently: ‘Christ never struck when a hand was stretched out to him.” This was her answer to a woman who had just reminded her of the spirit in which Christ had purified the Temple as a justification for Germany's striking out when she did. The stand for these new ideals is gaining ground in spite of the old ideals, and this very discussion among the women to whom only one course was open in pre-war days shows progress in the right direction. There is much optimism on the surface, but the keynote of all Germany right now is despair. Perhaps I should add to despair, the result of despair, confusion. I felt it in Munich, where the two extreme factions—the socialists and the imperialists —are working against the unity of the state. Bavaria has a strong leaning toward Prince Rup- precht, and a distrust of Red Berlin. It never was as enthusiastic for the war as the rest of Germany. You will hear chimes from church towers in Bavaria; in Northern Germany these were melted up for bullets. Throughout Ger- many you see posters which read: “ Lay down your arms.” January 22,1921! Whether this will be done in Bavaria is a much-discussed question. I felt it in Berlin, where I think the poverty is even greater than in the south. North Berlin is poverty- stricken. Men cannot get work and are standing around idle. I found it was not wise to talk to a man out of work; he became too excited. Right into this spirit of unrest the women are bringing their influence. “ Very slowly the full truth of Germany’s complete defeat is being realized,” said Doctor Salomon. “The inerease of poverty; the reduction of money value; the uncertainty of the future; the almost hopeless out- look, were it not for the fact that woman has been allowed to enter the field of politics and direct some of the activi- ties—have aroused her to splendid effort. Instead of moral and spiritual numbness, she has assumed a full share of the burdens and is gaining strength by each renewed effort.” Women have already been appointed to influential positions, such as heads of departments for providing for war widows, the regulations of labor exchanges, labor laws, welfare work, questions of education, the school system, and the like. I found three distinct types of women in Germany: First, the woman who still believes the war was justified, because she was told so in the beginning, and she never changes an opinion when once formed. Since the excite- ment of stirring news from the Front has ceased she has become a little more tired and faded. The routine of pre- war days.again occupies her although under postwar con- ditions, and she sits in her little garden darning stockings, counting the cabbages as she mends the socks. The price of coal stirs all the wrath she possesses, and the kingdom of her four walls is the one interest in her life. Such good women are with us everywhere. They are not a distinctive type, but belong to any race and every generation. They make good mothers and good housekeepers, and they can be counted on to say “hurrah” whenever they are told. They laugh easily, cry easily, and make good wives for men who like their femininity served to them neither over- done nor underdone, nor too highly seasoned. Motherland as Well as Fatherland HEN, there is the second type, the ultra-conservative woman, to whom the war came as a realization of de- ferred hope. Das Vaterland is her religion, and her creed is to remember and strike. The fall of Germany was a crushing blow and she sits in the ashes of her humiliation. She is lonely and bitter, but already, even among this class, the leaven from the third type is working. This last type is the composite woman of new Germany, for the spirit of the new woman is everywhere, and it is contagious. She draws to her by the magnetism of her high ideals all who come within the radius of her person- ality. She is a product of the war and the inspiration of these days of despair. She is of no particular class, for I found her one day at a feeding station, and drank tea with her another day in a palace. At the feeding station she was taking the place of a mother to her grandchild and was painstakingly giving it its midday meal of bean soup. I sat down beside her and praised the baby. It was my open sesame to her heart, and from its wide-opened door I discovered her kinship to women the world over, and her birthright to an inheritance that does not rise or fall by the will of kings “T am too old to go out to work, so I do my best by staying at home and looking after the children,”’ she told me. “We are trying hard to get along, for the winter will be a hard one, and we have few supplies on hand. Per- haps, if we only hold out, things will be easier in the spring. We feel despair, but we try not to show it,”’ and tears rolled down her furrowed face. Rising with great dignity she wiped her eyes, stooped for the small boy, drew her woolen shaw] about her shoul- ders, and then said with some hesitation: “It is better not to talk of our misery. We women must use our time better. Thank you! Sie sind sehr gut! Auf wiedersehen.” No, I had not given her money—I had only smiled through my tears, but she understood, and so had I. I entered Germany with many misgivings. Its record in the war, if nothing else, had roused in me a distrust of the German people. I was prejudiced. I did not look for good, but in my scratching underneath the surface I be- came more and more interested, and dug deeper. The truth does not always lie on the surface, or even near the top. I left Germany, glad that I had gone; glad of the weeks of work spent in unearthing what I believe to be the truth—that a new Germany has taken the place of the old, but that the ship of state has now two pilots. To the Fatherland of the old order has been added the Mother- land of the German Republic. No longer will most of the women be content to let the world go by, nor be content to float on in blissful ignorance of internal affairs. They have been misled once too often, and they are now paying the price. The price is not only hunger and cold but the dis- trust of civilization, and that, to those who understand, is worse. The hope of new Germany lies in the wise direc- tion of its women, their equal responsibility with the men, and in the outstretched hand of those who have stood aloof.

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yw Ce ———— ee rn THE SATURDAY EVENING POST LT Re ee ee car ee rites Mas artes Dts tat oe SL! tay etal (Sig Se Sg So EB SEE ~— (Sg So DeNisulse seu iy Oy eo gy By Ee ee PARAMOUNT PICTURES listed in order of release | eee ea ee (November |, 1920, to March |}, 1921) Lt! A Wm. S Hart Production *Enid Bennett in “Silk Hosiery” Vy ve wae rer pve Production Nig ace d’ My Wife” 99 t32 . aS . Ethel ¢ heey in “Sins of Rosanne” 7 a Zin ‘ Wallace Reid in “Always Audacicus” O U t VW € 1 VW O VW t aA t Gj 27 \} J ay *Enid Bennett in MN e QE = “Her Husband's Friend” £ = Billie Burke in A = “The Frisky Mrs. Johnson” ze = Bryant Washburn in “Burglar Proof" OT one member of the family wants culty or danger to make your Paramount = = G F Prod ’ ATE = = — eee Clos aug to be left home when it’s Paramount schedule an unbroken tale of thrilling A | == Dorothy Dalton in : P . as - rx 3 A Reman Adventuress” night at the theatre. entertainment. s : Thomas Meigh a : , , as = “Seeded in ean al on cath” That's the night you are all sure to get Don't be among those people who let Ss . A Wm. De Mille Production , > e our ey's w , — ee ee ve 2 Dorothy Gish in" Flying Pet” y money's worth their photoplays choose them ; that is, they = gs A Cosmo vd pamea Paramount schedules romantic trips for go to the theatre without knowing what's on. Fe == R ( 1 , —trips g i = The Life ed = “3 you every few days—trips into the adven- Choose the Paramount Pictures, choose = Bryant Washburn in turous lives of the rich, the bold, the brave the Paramount Nights. ; = “An Amateur Devil” d th f = Lois Weber's Product an e fair. a a +f Picece' One Worsan™ So : d f life which might Those nights are as great as the nights = hee ws lock” me strange drama of life which migh z Wm. 5. Unet in Tie Senting Block 8 8 called Arabian, nights of pleasure so enthrall- Bs happen in a mansion of Mayfair, a chateau ppe y . ing as to take you completely out of yourself Maurice Tourneur’s Production in Normandy, a bungalow in Calcutta, a . , “The Bait” y 8 : into the enchanted land of Let's Pretend. With Hope Hampton country club on Long Island, or the savage Wallace Reid in “ The Charm School”’ ° ; ee ‘ . . 1 . George Melford's Production depths of Africa, is all visible in Paramount It is a simple matter to follow the he Jucklins” Pictures Paramount schedule Keep tab on the A ¢ comopciiten Production a The Inside of the Cup™ a ? . : Rittte Bushe ia Your craving for healthful adventure is "The Education of Elizabeth” being well planned for by Paramount. *“Douglas MacLean in “The ookie's Return” W lam De Mille’s Produc tion newspaper advertisements of your theatre and look for the phrase ‘A Paramount Picture.” ~ iW Mi WYN) MMMM YE Never forget that the very greatest motion : You will notice this also in the theatre's ! s , en we Produc : pictures, the kind you wouldn't care to miss, lobt = seorge Fitzmaurice’s Production : ° » iS renee oe iver” can only be made by an organization of Cony and on the posters. iS= omas Meighan in . ’ 7 . - . = “The Frontier of the Stars” world-wide scope, such as Paramount's, Those are the nights to go!—The nights ie A Charles Maigne Production . am > >: = Roscoe ("Fatty") Arbuckle in which counts no cost and shies at no difh- your theatre shows Paramount Pictures! (se “ Brewster's Millions” ss Dorothy Gish in 4 “The Ghost in the Garret" = = >= = >= V ad AS Charles Maigne’s Production The Kentuckians” Ethel Clayton in "The Price of Possession" oy! Cecil B. De Mille’s Production 7 ‘Forbidden F ruit’ *Douglas MacLean in “ Chickens” A Cosmopolitan Production "The Passionate Pilgrim" *A Themes H. Ince Production ry 7 ra ri i as Macnee w

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44 impaneling of women as jurors, and I am therefore at a loss to explain the legality of Judge Owen's procedure.” Such recourse to feminine knowledge or insight is not unknown in English juris- prudence, and from early days there are precedents in certain classes of cases for submitting various interesting feminine questions to juries of matrons and others. In the famous case of Essex vs. Essex, which the Earl of Essex brought against his countess in the time of King James for the annulment of their marriage in the consistory court such a jury was impaneled, and it rendered a special verdict. The same course was followed in other cases. And in colonial times in this country there is at least one established instance where a jury of women sat in judgment upon a woman charged with witchcraft. To this day the so-called witch dock may be seen in Lynn- haven, Virginia. It is too late to question the qualifica- tions of women to serve as jurors. Their physical limitations are no more a reason for their exclusion as a class from jury service than the physical limitations of men, Jurors of either sex may be dis- qualified at a particular time for a mul- titude of reasons, and only jurors with a free mind in a sound body need or should be required to serve. Whatever may have been the actual fact as to the character and competency of women in medieval times, any reflection upon their capacity to serve as jurywomen belongs rather to the Dark Ages than to to-day. We even have the temerity to question the soundness of the law attributed to Moses by Josephus, “Let the testimony of women not be re- ceived on account of the levity and audac- ity of their sex"’; and of those of Rome and of medieval Europe which excluded their testimony in certain cases. Nor have we the slightest sympathy with Mascar- dus, who said: “Generally speaking, no credence at all is given to women, and for this reason, because they are women, who are usually deceitful, untruthful and treach- erous in the very highest degree."” Even as late as 1821, in Bern, the testimony of two women was required to counterbalance that of one man, and a virgin was entitled to greater credit than a widow. Reserving decision upon the credibility of widows, I have no hesitation in asserting that I would rather prosecute a criminal before a jury of women than of men—if I wanted to convict him—for I believe that women jurors will be more apt to find verdicts in accordance with .the law as it is, and enforce the statutes as they stand upon the books, than men are to-day. Colonel Roosevelt's Theory No man knows anything about women, and very little about any one woman; but I should say from my limited opportunities of obgervation and experience that while woman individually is a somewhat lawless creature, regarding herself as privileged and exceptional, women as a class are re- specters of law and fierce champions of equality and justice. Woman, due doubt- leas to millions of years of oppression, often feels that in her own case anything is jus- tified to secure what she regards as her rights. She has a strong proprietary sense, and just as her possessions have for her a special sacred quality of their own, so where she is wronged it seems to her a special wrong. She is justly fearful of injustice, discrimination and brute force; and suspicious that her ignorance of busi- ness will be taken advantage of. For these reasons where she individually is concerned she is apt to see red and let the law go hang. But when she is called upon to ad- minister and enforce the law for others her very suspicions will lead her to apply it stringently and literally. It will now be possible to give Colonel Roosevelt's theory—that the best if not the only way to get rid of bad or undesir- able laws is to enforce them —a fair chance. Heretofore, where an attempt has been made to carry out this idea, the usual result has been that when violators of un- popular laws were arrested the juries before whom they were tried refused to convict. This used to be the case in many liquor-tax prosecutions. During a period of some six years in New York County, out of 1058 cases of various violations of the New York Liquor Tax Law, transferred by court THE SATURDAY EVENING POST TWELVE GOOD WOMEN AND TRUE (Continued from Page Ii) order from Special Sessions—where only misdemeanors are tried—to General Ses- sions—where felonies are tried—for sub- mission to a jury, 810 were dismissed by the grand juries who were asked to indict, and out of 176 cases actually tried there were only 4 convictions. Now I am willing to guarantee that if those big and little juries had been com- posed equally of men and women, not only would there not have been such wholesale dismissals and acquittals, but that a major- ity of the defendants would have been promptly convicted and sent to prison. Women would have enforced the liquor-tax law then, and women —whatever men may do—would and will enforce it now. It ma not be for nothing that the Nineteent Amendment followed the Eighteenth so swiftly. I believe that where women serve as jurors they will enforce the law whatever it is and that we shall have to stand for our laws or get rid of them. It is worthy of mention in this regard that the Laramie grand jury of 1870 was so insistent upon the enforcement of the laws relating to gambling, saloon regulation and Sunday observance that the legislature immedi- ately repealed the Sunday-closing law. A Warning to Judges With women on the jury, Colonel Roose- velt’s theory can now have practical appli- cation, for if juries are willing to convict under an unpopular law no mere judge is going to assume alone the onus of letting the defendants go scot-free. No judge, however it may be with a jury, can indi- vidually afford to disregard or negative the law. Remote on his dais he may compla- cently permit the jury to play , te we and drakes with justice, frankly condoning their willingness to violate their oaths out of their hostility to the law or their sympa- thy for the prisoner; for the responsibility for their lawlessness is divided among twelve, here to-day, gone to-morrow, and quickly forgotten. It is an entirely differ- ent matter when the jury has convicted and it is up to the judge to decide whether he shall publicly deride the law or enforce it. It is one thing for a judge to smile benignly at the irresponsible performances of his jury—implying “What can you expect with a law like that?’’—and another to stand up in the public view and turn the offender loose. He won't do it. With women on the jury the laws will be enforced. For women, at least at first, are going to take their civic duties very seri- ously. I say “at first,”’ because no one can tell whether their present intent earnest- ness will survive permanently to jack up the pepless male attitude toward jury service, so that we shall have a new and stimulating era in the administration of criminal justice, or, when the new has worn eff, women juries will become as lacka- daisical as the men. The trouble with the ordinary male jury is that unless it is controlled by a judge of vigor and intelligence it will go bad simply out of inanition. A capable judge can take the mediocre hodge-podge of masculinity before him and mold it in three days into an effective piece of juridical mechanism. But the judge-has got to be an idealist and believe in the legal system that he admin- isters. The ordinary run of jurymen are well-intentioned, good-natured, fairly con- scientious and ready to do their part as well as they can. They take their cue from the bench. They have heard a good deal about the farce of jury service, the higher law, the trickery of shysters, the corruption of the judiciary, the bloodthirstiness and venality of prosecutors, and that there is one law for the rich and another for the poor; they are diffident, self-distrustful, grateful to the “strong” man ot their number who knows it all and is willing to assume the responsi- bility for their verdict. They follow him like sheep, and like sheep hey often go astray. Or they follow the judge. And there, too, they often go astray! They have got to follow somebody. Rnd if the judge hap- = to be one of the jelly-back brother- ood, who does not dare to make up his own mind or to take a firm stand about any- thing, or is trying to make a reputation as a protector of the poor and he = as against the scornful plutocrat; or is playing the political or any other game; or cringes to the press—the jury goes astray very quickly, for the judge will allow them to get the impression that the whole perform- ance is just a cloak under which he and they purpose to “do substantial justice’ — that is, the justice that the judge and his friends, and the jury and its friends, or the newspaper proprietor and his followers, want in any particular case; and that the oath of the juror and the wording of the law are to be taken only in a Pickwickian sense, or at any rate with mental reservations—to be regarded as elastic things. Thus it has come about that jury service among men is accompanied by certain per- sistent fictions; such as that it is unchival- rous to convict a woman of crime; that certain laws were never intended to be enforced; that there is a peculiar higher law applying to what the French call the crime passionnel; that the plaintiff suing a corporation for personal injuries should always be given a verdict of some sort; that the judge doesn’t half the time really mean what he says—just has to say it; and so on. Well, if I mistake not, with women in the box these fictions, which to-day in practice are somewhat more than fictions, will be- come fictions indeed. foresee women jurors listening with rapt attention to the evidence and applying the law with literal exactitude; teaching their husbands and brothers lessons in fortitude, with the tears in their eyes; and exacting from lawyers and judges a standard of courtesy and re- finement which has to-day fallen shock- ingly low. The number of men who become boors by reason of a little authority on the bench is distressing. I don’t believe the women will stand for it. They will get back at such a judge somehow and sometime, and he will at all times be jolly well aware of that undesirable possibility. Judges, take warning! Women are going to vote as they please and they are going to vote only for those who please them. They will not vote for judges who do not fulfill their ideal of what the judiciary should be, and a siab- sided, easy-going political judge will shock them as much as a jazzing parson; per- haps more. Room for Improvement It is along the lines of political and social education, rather than any actual differ- ence in the working of the jury system, that I should expect results from the service of American women in the talesmen’s box. I have hinted at one aspect of this above— its practical effect upon the manners of the bench and the dignity of legal procedure. But their presence in and about our courts and jury rooms may have another influence more far-reaching in its ultimate effect. In the time of Pericles and the Hellenistic age the Greek cities vied with one another in erecting buildings the beauty of whose architecture should lend dignity and eleva- tion to the transaction of public business and the administration of justice. Such examples of the power and permanence of the state and the ideals that it represented were a constant inspiration to the citizens. Many of our own county courthouses, to say nothing of our police courts, are in- ferior in sanitary accommodations and gen- eral cleanliness to high-class kennels. The witnesses and spectators are herded together in evil-smelling rooms like so many cattle, and browbeaten and hustled until they smart with indignity and humil- iation. After one such experience many an honest and patriotic citizen prefers to lose his money, go without his day in court, or be derelict in his civie duty rather than undergo another. The whole physical as- pect of court procedure—at best not a particularly congenial sort of business- becomes something to be shunned and shuddered at. The effect of their surround- ings upon jurymen will be obvious in their conduct. Dignity and decorum will play their part in the jury’s deliberations and in their verdict. As Breasted says in his history of Ancient Times: “It is instructive to compare such a little Hellenistic city as Priene with a modern town of four thuu- sand inhabitants in America. Our modern houses are much more roomy and comfort- able, but our ordinary public buildings, like our courthouses and town halls, make but a poor showing as compared with those of little Priene over two thousand years ago.” Which naturally brings us to that other much-to-be-desired consummation which January 22,192! I, perhaps fatuously, am sufficiently opti- mistic to anticipate may follow as a natural consequence of the association of women with men in the administration of justice. I refer to the probable improvement in courtesy, consideration and general amia- bility among the participants, particularly the attorneys. ‘ Owoman! Lovely woman! Nature made thee To temper man; we had been brutes without you. One of the grave disabilities of lawyers, whose lives are largely spent in wrangling and argument, is that they tend to become abrupt, assertive, contundictery and man- nerless, snappish with their wives and children and cantankerous with their friends. Your lawyer—even a high-class one— is apt to bea social nuisance, y ma ing every statement and cross-examining everybody. He forgets that the purpose of going out to dinner is to have a g time, in his habitual insistence on accuracy and consistency. I even know one who has unconsciously formed the habit of inevita- bly making everybody repeat whatever he or she says—‘‘What’s that?’’—after which he sharply challenges the state- ment with “How do you mean—irresponsi- ble?” or “Howdoyou mean—sweetbreads?”’ It is even on record that when presented with an innocent gift by his wife he auto- matically inquired, “How do you mean— Christmas present?” Outworn Objection to Women Now I believe that just as women jurors will compel at least common decency from the Sendh. as the presence of women in the jury box, upon whom he must make a favorable impression, will exact from the trial lawyer a new code of manners. He will doubtless—even if mistakenly — believe that on the personal impression he makes upon the ladies before whom he is to appear his success will in no small measure depend. For courtesy wins women all as well As valor may. So instead of snarling and backbiting at his opponent he will ape the urbanity of a Chesterfield. Which is, after all, eo an- other way of expressing the platitude that the more men associate with women, no matter whether it is in politics, business or society, the better it is for them. The little dictator in his own house will learn that even if he can bully the woman who cooks his dinner at home he can’t bulldoze her friends on the jury. We need women in court and on the bench just as much as we need them elsewhere. It is needless to revert to many of the absurd objections that in the past have frequently been urged against jury service forwomen. They belong only to those long- past eras when women were supposed to be not only frail and frivolous but deceitful and demonic; or to those more recent times when they swooned at the sight of blood or had hysterics on the slightest excuse. Well, I personally never yet saw a woman faint. Nor, save on the stage, nave I ever seen a woman have hysterics. My dentist tells me that women are incom- parably pluckier than men under the ago- nizing burr of the drill, and upon those occasions in my experience which called for calmness and self-possession I have found the women fully as comp as the men. The idea that women lose their heads when engaged in serious business is ridiculous. It is all part and parcel of the nonsense in- vented to bolster up those dogmas of an- cient times, first that woman was but a chattel, later that she could be only a mistress, and more recently that she was a sort of sweet idiot who couldn't be trusted to go out alone. We are told that women are ultra- sentimental; that their emotions will get the better of them. Emotions? Senti- ment? There are no more emotional jack- asses in creation than the ordinary jury of men—grand or petit. Mister Comfortable Citizen, who at fifty leads a life of unevent- ful regularity consisting of about eleven hours of sleep, five hours of mild labor, a short walk home, three large meals, nine cigars and the evening paper, is like a fat ox led to sacrifice upon the altar of senti- ment. In the melodrama of the courts his sluggish blood leaps through his veins as it (Continued on Page 46)

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CO In Philadelphia U.S A Bel. with trade THE SATURDAY | (Continued from Page 44) | has not done since he was twenty; he thrills deliciously at the story of the de- tectives, but when the beautiful adven- turess or the child wife takes the stand he — figuratively — takes her in his arms, irrespective of her defense, and promptly acquits. If I am ever brought to the bar of justice may I have to decide my fate a fat male jury of my peers with no sprin- kling of thin-lipped, suspicious, high- minded females. Indeed, the question seriously suggests itself whether juries composed entirely of women would not be more effective than those made up of men, for the very reason that women would be far less moved by sentiment in applying the law as it stands than men would be. They certainly would deal more rigorously with members of their own sex. Men are not willing to convict women of murder; and it must be a clear | ease to persuade them to convict them of anything. Woman was the original cause of man’s fall, and he has been falling for her ever since, while, per contra, woman’s pose has always been that of indifference and coolness, from which she must be wooed. An attractive man on trial before a jury of women might excite more sympathy than one of their own sex, but I doubt it. And anyhow, who knows what sort of man is attractive to women? Why Woman is Illogical Naturally there is no reason to sup that most of the usual faults of the all-male jury would not be manifest in a jury com- posed entirely of women. They would still undoubtedly go outside the evidence and usurp the province of the judge, on the theory that they were there to do justice instead of, as is the case, to decide a limited question of fact. American juries of men are very prone to take the law into their own hands. The same tendency would probably show itself in women juries, but to a lesser extent. If they thought the prisoner ought to be given another chance they would very likely acquit, just as men | are apt to do now, instead of convicting | and letting the judge suspend sentence. But women would, I feel sure, have a less lenient attitude than men towards defendants accused of commercial fraud, such as making false statements as to financial condition in order to secure credit. So much sharp practice is winked at in business that men jurors are apt to look upon such prosecutions with averted eyes. It is difficult to persuade a tradesman who has padded his own stock account or hiked up his own orders on hand or bills re- customers or sold them inferior goods on glowing misrepresentations—to convict a fraudulent bankrupt or a retailer who has misrepresented his assets to his bank. He and his fellows don’t like to stigmatize as criminal what so many “good fellows”’ are doing every day. But women would have no such weakness. Dishonesty of any sort in business would, I am confident, appeal to them as deserving punishment, and thele disapproval would be swiftly evidenced in a verdict of guilty. And now having indicated the great spiritual benefits that would accrue to all of us by reason of the presence of women in the court room, and foretold how a golden era of dignity, courtesy and amiability would inevitably ensue, judges becoming gentle as sucking doves, and lawyers as sweet and lovable as lambs; and having furthermore shown that jurors instead of turning weaker by virtue of having women in their number would on the contrary show themselves adamant to the influence of either Apollo or Aphrodite and convict everybody of everything; having, I say, heralded with such enthusiasm the coming of the woman juror, may I now be permitted to suggest that the educational effect of her personality in court might not end with the bench and bar, but might even be felt in the jury box by the lady herself? With entire respect for the intellectual qualities of the sex to which I do not belong, I hazard the opinion that jury service will undoubtedly have a highly advantageous effect upon those women who participate in it. It cannot but be so. Familiarity with law and court procedure at first hand, personal observation of the actual working out of what otherwise would be but vague and only half-understood | academic theories, and, most important of | all, learning under the instruction of an | impartial and dispassionate judge the pen ge ceivable; who has shortweighted his own , EVENING POST meaning of logical argument, the rules of evidence, and the difference between the mere assertion of a belief or conclusion and the reasons upon which the latter are based—these are well worth while. Men are commonly supposed to rely upon their powers of reason, women upon their intui- tion. I do not apprehend that so far as results are concerned anyone would have the temerity to claim that, in this, woman was at any real disadvantage. What better than Lucetta’s: I have no other but a woman's reason: I think him so, because I think him so. All we really mean is that women do not take the trouble to try to apperceive the logical steps by which they reach their opinions. Men, on the other hand, are re- quired and trained todoso. Ifthe“ homos” were not such pompous idiots they would realize, just as women do, that the impor- tant thing is what a person thinks, not why he thinks so. And, anyhow, the men them- selves are chiefly responsible for women’s refusal or inability to give in proper logical form and sequence the reasons for every- thing they think. It began fifty thousand years or so ago, when the male vocabulary of our neolithic ancestors consisted prin- cipally of the equivalent of the modern “Shut up!” accompanied by a thwack by a stone club over the female skull. Until recently there has never been any disposition on man’s part to let woman reason. He assumed an attitude of in- tellectual superiority and was afraid to let her argue—lest the whited sepulcher of his own ignorance should be exposed; pre- ferring, so to speak, rather to be chivalrous than just. He insisted upon doing all the thinking himself, on the ground that it was his own exclusive business. Of course I am referring to the Stone Age and not to the present era of marital courtesy, where the husband inevitably surrenders the news- paper to his wife at breakfast and listens attentively to all her views, expressed in detail, on religion, politics and philosophy. All I venture to assert is that in the old days women were not given half a chance to learn to reason, and we are now suffering the consequence. Adventures on the Witness Stand Well, why not give them the chance now, by putting them on the jury? I don’t say the world will be any happier if women learn to be entirely logical, or justice be any more adequate, but at least both sexes will learn to talk the same fool language in the same fool reasonable way, and the family breakfast table will not echo so frequently to the masculine ‘Well, what of it?” ““Suppos'n’ it does?”” “What's that got to do with it?” and “‘ Why didn’t you say so, then?”’ For between ourselves, ladies, all this talk about man’s reason is bunk and van- ity. The chairman—male—of a board of directors — all male—the toastmaster — male—at the chamber of commerce ban- quet, or the presiding officer —-male—of any male gathering is usually merely the com- placent personification of man’s idea that he is the whole cheese. No woman would have the patience to listen, as her long- suffering consort does, to the interminable, prosy, masculine harangues at board meet- ings, where the chief concern of the speaker seems usually to be far less in what is going eventually to be done than in the pedantic and tedious expression of his views, wherein he sets forth every step in his reasoning processes, floundering pon- derously along from premise to conclusion until his listeners have long since com- mitted manslaughter in their hearts. Yet that is how it is done, and if women are going to participate in affairs they must learn to do it, too, and not merely to say, “Well, I’ve looked into this and I think it’s a good thing to do.”” No, no! You mustn’t! There is an esoteric, an adept way of doing these things. You must be weighty in meeting and logical in court, which means that you must be able to explain to the jury —remember- ing that they are only “homos”’-—that if a horse is an animal, and a man isan animal — then a man is a horse. No! Pardon! The typesetter got that wrong! What I mean is—you know what I mean! Anyhow, the point is that women really ought to be taught to express them- selves logically and to give the facts upon which they base their conclusions—in a word, to be accurate thinkers instead of mere asserters. The jury box is a good January 22,192! place to do this. After they have heard a few of those illuminating interchanges be- tween judge and counsel they will discover how ignorant they have been heretofore of the difference between fact and mere conclusion—for of course a conclusion is anathema to a judge! They may see an intelligent-looking witness take the stand, be sworn, and testify that he observed the prisoner upon the sidewalk and that he was runk. “Object! Conclusion!” cries the pris- oner’s lawyer, springing out of his chair in horror. “Strike it out! Don’t say he was drunk; that is merely your own opinion! We don’t want your opinion! We want facts! Tell us what you saw!” admonishes the judge. “ Well,’’ answers the witness, “I seen this feller on the sidewalk and it was clear to me he’d been drink——”’ The judge interrupts angrily: “Do you want to be committed for contempt? What did you observe? Give us facts!” The witness repeats stubbornly: “I say I seen he was drunk.” “There you go again!” the judge ex- claims wildly. “Strike it out! Look here, if you don’t give proper testimony I'll have to lock you up! How do you suppose we can come to any decision about the man’s con- dition if you don’t tell us what you know about the case?”’ The Danger of Intuition After a few weeks of this the newly im- paneled female juror will learn that she should never intimate to a court that a man was irrational or intoxicated, but that in these rarefied assemblies dealing only with pure and scientific fact she must carefully state that she observed the defendant rotat- ing in a semivertical posture across the side- walk diagonally to the building line as laid down in C. VIII, Sec. 473, Sec. 4a of the City Ordinances of 1907, and that an odor ema- nated from him similar to that previously smelled by her when on a certain occasion her husband had opened a bottle labeled “whisky”—with a slight suggestion of clove. Now it is obvious that when our wives and daughters learn the art of logical con- verse home life will be an entirely different thing for us. The unseemly wrangling in which paterfamilias has hitherto patiently sought to demonstrate to the indignant female members of his family that what —_ claimed didn’t follow from what they said, will become a thing of tradition —of cuneiform comic supplements. If women are to participate in the governmental functions of men it is well that they should train themselves to restrain their inclina- tion to take intellectual short cuts and their impatience at the cumbersome way men have of doing things, and learn to argue according to the Marquis of Queensberry Rules as laid down in Wigmore’s Law of Evidence, Vol. 1-6, Sec. 1—5891. Afterall, if a doubtful question must be decided or a disputed fact determined, analysis is better than “‘ Well, I say it is!” For the habit of relying on intuition carries with it one obvious danger—a will- ingness to overlook or even to sweep aside inconsistent or contradictory facts; with the result that woman’s testimony is often along the lines of what she thinks ought to be rather than what is, like Saint Paul's definition of faith, “‘the substance of things hoped for.”’ Since our courts are organized on the principle that testimony not de- duced by the syllogistic method from the observation of relevant fact is valueless, woman as a probative force has in the past testified at a disadvantage. The honest woman may have quite as good a basis for her opinion that the prisoner is guilty as the man witness who can tell the court why he thinks so, but in many instances she has never learned to reason —having never really found it necessary to do so—and has wandered through life by inference—or, more frankly, by guesswork — until she may no longer be able to point out the stages of her most ordinary mental processes. Jury service has taught men to be more exact in their own court testimony, public utterances and private conversation. It has taught them to analyze their own im- pressions and distinguish observation from mere opinion. It will do the same thing for women, making them of inestimably more value as witnesses in court, administrators of public and private affairs, and possibly even more satisfactory social companions. (Conctuded on Page 49)

Page 49

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 22,192! a Se ot Today women look upon conveniences as necessities, but insist that these improvements have one paramount advantage—simplicity G-E Tumbler Switch HEN you buy elec trical goods look for a store that displays the G-E orange and blue labelled line of electrical conveniences—this label isanindication of quality ilies 14 + ype General Office Schenectady, NY. See How Easy— Just a Touch O the touch of a finger or the sweep of an elbow, the G-E tum- bler switch responds instantly. This switch works up and down instead of in and out like the ordinary kind. The lightest touch operates its sturdy mechanism. It is just another way of doing things a bit better— another little refinement in electrical equipment. Such convenience is easy to obtain. If you’re building, see that your wiring includes G-E tumbler switches. ‘If you are already settled in a home, ask the electrical contractor-dealer in your bao Mac Adak > 2” kth a Maat MS oh is C © nn p al my ar uur oaion 41-119 community to install them to replace your present switches. It’s an easy job with no muss or litter, and you will at once appreciate the improve- ment. And when you have any other wir- ing done, be sure that your electrical contractor uses G-E Reliable Wiring Devices—there are 3000 of them to meet every wiring requirement. Meanwhile, write for our interesting and helpful booklets on the subject of house- wiring and how to get the most service out of your electrical equipment. Address Sec- tion 4119, General Electric Company, Schenectady, N. Y. We Bn - ade d

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Se eee | | | | 4; (Concluded from Page 46) But having secured for themselves the privilege of jury service, will women regard it as a duty and submit themselves to it? I doubt if they will do so to any great extent. When they have heretofore had the -_ they have not done so, and, when all i said, it must be admitted that women as a class have preoccupations which naturally interfere with consecutive absences from home. The trial attorneys whose confi- dence I share all seem to agree that there are no genuine reasons against and several in favor of women as jurors, some of the latter of which I have indicated; but they regard it as unlikely that jury service, ex- cept among ardently “ civic’? women, will be generally popular. Recent trials in which they have participated demonstrate that they can perform their duties with entire satisfaction, and I have never heard their ability or qualifications questioned in those states where they have acted as jurors in the past. The Problem of the Mixed Jury Much has been made of the fact that it is often necessary to lock up juries overnight or keep them together for long periods of time; as if this presented grave physical difficulties and might if the proprieties were observed, by furnishing separate sleeping accommodations to each sex, render ver- dicts illegal. The papers are rather fond just now of running stories about Woman Jurors Causing Worry, Fair Sex Presents Court Problem, and What Will the Sheriff Do? In point of fact, the keeping together of a mixed jury in accordance with the law until they shall have returned their verdict affords no greater problem than in keeping legally together a jury of men. The case that has stirred up most of the rumpus is State vs. Pascal—85 So. Re- porter 621—decided by the Supreme Court of Louisiana, the opinion being written by Mr. Justice Sommerville, in which the court holds that the verdict of the jury, which was an exclusively male jury, should be set aside for the reason that two groups of jurors— comprising eleven in all—spent the night entirely by themselves beyond the sight of the sheriff, and so not con- structively within the presence of the court. Says Justice Sommerville: “The evidence shows that the jurors during the course of the trial on repairing to their room at night separated into three several groups. Seven were in one room with the door closed, leading into a com- mon hallway, and without a deputy sheriff; four were in a second room, without a deputy sheriff, with a door leading into the common hallway, and the twelfth juror was in a third room, with the deputy sheriff, and the door of that room entered into the common hallway. There were no connect- ing doors between the three adjoining rooms. The reason given by the deputy sheriff for separating the jurors was that no one room was sufficiently large to accom- modate the twelve and himself. But under such circumstances a deputy sheriff should have been placed in charge of the jurors in each room. “The separation of the jury was entirely contrary to the common-law manner of conducting a trial for a capital offense. The courts have lately given a liberal construc- tion to the requirements that jurors shall not be permitted to separate in a capital case at any stage of the proceedings, or in any other criminal trial from the time the case is submitted until the verdict is ren- dered. And courts have held in cases where the jurors, though somewhat separated, were all under the eye of the judge or the sheriff, that such separation was not fatal. But this legal requirement cannot be done away with entirely, particularly in a case where seven of the jurors were separated from the others, four of the remainder were separated from the others, and one was separated from all the others, and he was the only one in charge of a deputy sheriff through the night. Eleven of the jurors were thus from under the eye of the deputy sheriff, and they were all entirely out of the presence of the court. ““Mr. Wigmore, in his work on the I aw of Evidence— Vol. 4, Sec. 2352, P. 2384 states the rule and gives the history there of as follows: ““*The deliberations of a jury must be conducted with strict regard to certain formalities of conduct during retirement formalities which though not vital in a particular case, yet are indisputably whole- someasrequirementsof general policy. A particular will may have been genuine THE SATURDAY EVENING POST and deliberate, though not executed in the presence of attesting witnesses; but the propriety of attestation as a fixed rule can- not be doubted. So, a particular jury's verdict may be a just and well-reasoned one, when the jurors during retirement have separated or talked with the parties or drunk intoxicating liquors; yet as a general rule it is proper to invalidate ver- dicts marked by such conduct. Now, the law of trials in general, and of verdicts in particular, must prescribe these requisite formalities of conduct for the jurors and define those formalities and irregularities which per se invalidate the verdict.’ “The jurors having been separated into three several groups, and the sheriff during the night having been in charge of only one of these groups, misconduct is presumed. Under such circumstances the jurors were accessible, and the separation is fatal to the prosecution.” The Lawyers’ Chief Worry It is, of course, unnecessary to mention that the “misconduct presumed” by the court was communication with persons out- side the building, contrary to the law. The effect of this decision is merely to require a female bailiff or deputy sheriff to be in charge of the women impaneled on any mixed jury which has to be kept to- gether overnight. But, so far as that goes, it is not imperative to compel women to serve on such cases. If they do so it would not seem much harder to find accommoda- tions for them in accordance with the requirements of the law than for a jury composed exclusively of men. What appears chiefly to worry my bar- rister friends is the question of how they mere ‘‘homos,”’ as they are— can form any adequate estimate of a female juror’s pre- dispositions, prejudices and general atti- tude of mind and character by questioning | her upon what is called the roir dire—that is, the examination preliminary to her being sworn. Long experience usually en- ables the lawyer to form a pretty accurate impression of a male juror after he has given him the once-over half a dozen searching questions, but my associates freely confess that they will be quite at sea when they attempt to apply and put to him | the same sort of analysis to jury women. | THE WRONG TWIN flat stone, aforetime set in the church's facade, and dropped a crutch at either side. He now readjusted his hat, for the bandage going up over his shock of reddish hair had affected its fit. Next he placed an inquiring but entirely respectful palm over the ban- daged eye. “Never was such a hell of a good eye anyhow,” he observed, and winked the unhidden eye in testimony of his wit. Then he plucked from back of an ear a half- smoked cigarette, relighted this and leered at the spreading tangle before him. “Naughty, naughtykins!”’ he called toa driver of four mules who had risen finely to an emergency demanding sheer language. ‘First chance I had to get a good look at the war, what with one thing and another,” he amiably explained to a sergeant of in- fantry who was passing. Neither of his sallies evoked a response, but he was not rebuffed. He wished to en- gage in badinage, but he was one who could entertain himself if need be. He looked about for other diversion. To the opening in the church wall came a nurse. She walked with short, uncertain steps and leaned against the ragged edge of the wall, with one arm along its stone for support. Her face was white and drawn, and for a moment she closed her eyes and breathed deeply of the dust-laden air. The fat private on the stone, a score of feet away, studied her approvingly. She was slight of form and her hair beneath the cap was of gold, a little tarnished. He waited for her eyes to open, then hailed her genially as he waved at a tangle of camions and ambulances now hlocking the bridge. ““Worse’n fair wee ‘+k back home on Main Street, hey, sister?”’ But she did not hear him, for a battered young second lieutenant with one arm in a sling had joined her from the dusk of the church. “Done up, nurse?” “Only for a second. something pretty fierce. he demanded. We just finished (Continued from Page 21) She pointed back of her, but without looking “‘Why not sit down on that stone?”’ He indicated a fallen slab at her feet. She looked at it with frank longing, but smiled a refusal. “‘Dassent,”’ she said. no time.’ “C heer up! We'll soon finish this man’s job.’ The girl looked at him with eyes already freshened. “No, it won't going on forever. that —inside.”’ Again she pointed back without turning her head. ‘Another jam!” The second lieutenant waved toward the makeshift bridge. The girl watched the muddle of wheeled things and stiffened with indignation. “That’s why it’ll last so long,” she said “Because these officers of ours can’t learn anything. Look at that muddle—while men are dying on beyond. You'd think they were a lot of schoolboys. Haven't they been told to keep one road for their up traffic and another road for their down traffic? But they wouldn’t do it, because it was the British who told 'em. But the British had found out, hadn’t they? Catch them having a senseless mix-up like that! But our men won't listen. They won’t even listen to me. I’ve told one general and six or seven colonels only this morning. Told the general to keep certain roads for troops and wagons going to the front, and other roads for traffic coming back to camps and depots, and all he could say was that he hoped to God there wouldn’t be another war until the women could staff it.” “Hooray, hooray!’’ squeaked the listen- ing private in a subdued falsetto not meant to be overheard. Then he turned to stare up the street of broken shop fronts. One of these diverted his attention from the nurse. Above its I'd be asleep in ever be finished. It’s Nothing but war and ” door protruded a bush, its leaves long since withered. He knew this for the sign of a wine shop, and with much effort regained his feet to hobble toward it. He went far enough to note that the bush broke its promise of refreshment, for back of it was but dry desolation. “Napoo!”” he murmured in his best French, and turned to measure the distance back to his stone seat. To this he again sauntered carelessly, as a gentleman walk- ing abroad over his estate. The second lieutenant was leaving the nurse by the extemporized portal of the church, though she seemed not to have done with exposing the incompetence of | certain staff officers. She still leaned wea- rily against the wall, vocal with irritation. ‘**Bawl ’em out, sister! you think,” called the private. Then from his stone seat he turned to survey the double line of marching men that issued from the street into the square. They came now to a shuffling halt at a word of command relayed from some place beyond the bridge, where a new jumble of traffic could be dimly discerned. The lines fell apart and the men sank to earth in the shade of the broken buildings across the square. The private waved them a careless hand, with the mild interest of one who has been permanently dissevered from their activities. One of them slouched over, gave the private a new cigarette and slouched back to his resting mates. In the act of lighting the cigarette the fat private noted that another of these reclining figures had risen and was staring fixedly either at him or at something beyond him. He turned and perceived that the nurse and not himself must be the object of this regard. The risen private came on a dozen paces, halted hesitatingly and stared once more. The nurse, who had drooped again after the departure of the second lieutenant, now drew a long breath, threw up her shoulders and half turned as if to reénter the church. I think anything | Jim Henrys Column Home Brew I use that headline because it has what advertising men call “atte don't think vou are going to get a formula ntion valu The idea is that soap at home — pretty good do it carefully shave with —under protest anyone can mak soap if vou Soap you could ever Yet the making of perfect soap lik Mennen Shaving Cream — wherein ingredients are blended to absolut purity —is a process so involved and intricate —so scientific—-demanding such costly equipment and deep knowledge of chemistry and such ex acting watchfulness —that there is only one laboratory in the world that ts able to produce Mennen Shaving Cream j 4 But Mennen’sismore than absolutes pure soap —that 1s just the beginning You must have marveled at the impossible quantity of water you can pack into Mennen lather and at the way the lather never dries on the face: It took years of study and experimenting to accomplish that result. This is the way our chemists explain it to m¢ Lather consists of millions of micro scopic soap bubbles. The outside ot these bubbles in Mennen lather ts vers elastic. As a result, the burstandthereforeretain theirmoisturt bubbles don ¢ ‘Very interesting,’ you say —" but why isit that Mennen’ssoftens the beat so marvelously without rubbing in? Frankly, I don’t know —or at least the reason is too scientific for my somewhat pragmatic style. pragmatic” (I hope that word “ | have means what [ think it does. always wanted to use It.) But after all, isn’t it and enough that Mennen’s oft shave —so bland, so gen Miawinr tle, so good natured ? Jalewm. My 15 cent demon strator tube contains fe Men enough argument to {4 dotan't convince any beard loes give youa gloriou bearing man who knows comfort when he feels it . bene (Mennen Salesman) THE Mennen Company Newaan, WJ. USA,

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THE irmen Sole Duluth “Bigger MACKINAWS for Men and Boys I ts tilore rom the famous Patrick cloth, these Patrick j combin armth, comfort and long service with lines no other cloth j like Patrick cloth. It is as distinc \merica as are frieze to Ireian che ots to Scotland to L:nelan It is made from the thick long-fibre untry wool fron heep that thrive in the snow inufactured exclusively in Patrick woolen mills an into garments in Patrick factories. Patrick oe nanufacturing proce from raw wool to finished rut if ul reen an lech Patri k label l kRforiton lackinaw, Great ut veater or other 1 pr at ‘ are ‘at / “u ile? not handle Patrick Pure Wool rite | rect ifoor who do Patrick 1920-21 Style Book with the Patrick-Duluth in natural colors PATRICK-DULUTH WOOLEN MILLS Manufacturers of both i Weather ” loth and Garments Minnesota 4 Pure Northern Wool i — Rep from Sheep that thrive in the Snow& SATURDAY EVENING POST The hesitating private, beholding the new angle of her face thus revealed to him, darted swiftly forward with a cry that was formless but eloquent. The nurse stayed motionless, but with eyes widened upon the approaching figure. The advancing private had risen wearily, and his first steps toward the church had been tired, dragging steps, but for the later distance he became agile and swift, running as one refreshed. The fat private on the stone observed the little play. The couple stood at last, tensely, face to face. The watcher beheld the girl’ Ss eyes rest with wild wonder upon the newcomer, eyes that were steady, questioning green flames. He saw her form stiffen, her shoulders go back, her arms rise, her clenched hands spread apart in a gesture that was something of fear but all of allure. The newcomer’s own hands widened to meet hers, the girl’s wrists writhed into his tightened grasp, her own hands clasped his arms and crept slowly, tightly along the dusty sleeves of his blouse. Still her eyes were eyes of wild wonder, searching his face. They had not spoken, but now the hands of each clutched the shoulders of the other for the briefest of seconds. Then | came a swift enveloping maneuver, and the girl was held in a close embrace. The watching private studied the me- chanics of this engagement with an expert eye. He saw the girl’s arms run to tighten about the soldier’s neck. He saw her face lift. The soldier’s helmet obscured much of what ensued and the watcher called softly: “Hats off in front!” Then fastidiously | dusting the back of one hand, he kissed it | this applause. audibly. Behind him, across the square, a score of recumbent privates were roused to emulation. Dusting the backs of their | hands, they kissed them both tenderly and audibly. The two by the church were oblivious of Their arms still held each other. Neither had spoken. The girl's face was set in wonder, in shining unbelief, yet a little persuaded. They were apart the reach of their arms. “As you were!”’ ordered the fat private in low tones, and with a little rush they became as they were. Again the girl’s arms ran to tighten about the soldier’s neck. The watcher noticed their earnest constrictions. “T bet that lad never reads his dice wrong,” he murmured admiringly. ‘‘Oh, lady, lady! Will you watch him June her!” He here became annoyed to observe that his cigarette had been burning wastefully. He snapped off its long ash and drew tre- mendously upon it. The two were still close, but now they talked. He heard sounds of amazement, of dismay, from the girl. “Put a comether on her before she knew it,” explained the private to himself. There followed swift, broken murmurs, incoherent, annoyingly, to the listener, but the soldier’s arms had not relaxed and the arms of the girl were visibly compressed about his neck. Then they fell half apart once more. The watcher saw that the girl was weeping, convulsed with long, dry, shuddering sobs. ““As you were!” he again commanded, and the order was almost instantly obeyed. Presently they talked again, quic k, short speech, provokingly blurred to the private’s ears. ‘Louder!” he commanded. hear at the back of the hall.” The muffled talk went on, one hand of the girl ceaselessly patting the shoulder where it had rested. Now a real command came. The line of men rose, its head by the bridge coming up first. The pair by the church drew apart, blended again momentarily. The soldier sped back to his place, leaving the girl erect, head up, her shining eyes upon him. He did not look back. The line was mark- “We can’t | ing time. The fat private saw his moment. He reached for his crutches and laboriously came to his feet. Hands belled before his mouth, he trumpe ted ringingly abroad: . Let the war go on! An officer, approaching from the bridge, seemed suddenly to be stricken with blind- ness, deafness and a curious facial paralysis. Once more the column undulated over the tawny crest of the hill. The nurse stood watching, long after her soldier had become indistinguishable in the swinging, grayish- brown mass, “Hey, nurse!” the fat private, seated, called to her. To his dismay she came to stand beside him, refreshed, radiant. again January 22,192! “What you think of the war?” he asked. He was embarrassed by her nearness. He had proposed badinage at a suitable distance. “This war is nothing,” said the girl. “No?” The private was entertained. “Nothing! A bore of course, but it will end in a minute.” “Sure it will!” agreed the private. **Don’t let no one tell you different.” “T should think not! This man’s war won’t bother me any more.” “‘Not any more?” demanded the private with insinuating emphasis. “‘Not any more. The private felt emboldened. “Say, sister’’"—he grinned up at her— “that boy changed your view a lot, didn’t he?” “You mean to say you were here?”’ She flashed him a look of annoyance. “Was I here? Sister, we was all here! The whole works was here!”’ She reflected, the upper liv drawn down. ““Who cares?”’ she retorted. She turned away, then paused, debating with herself. “You—you needn’t let it go any farther, but I’ve got to tell someone. It was a surprise. I was never so bumped in my whole life.” The private grinned again. “Lady, that lad just naturally put a comether on you.” She considered this, head. ““No, it was more like—we must have put one on each other. It—it was fierce!” “Happy days!” cheered the private. She lighted him with the effulgence of a knowing smile. ‘Thanks a lot,”’ she said. The war went on. then shook her iv N HER next letter Winona Penniman wrote: ‘We moved up toa station nearer the Front last Tuesday. I spent a night with Patricia Whipple. The child has come through it all wonderfully so far. A month ago she was down and out; now she can’t get enough work todo. Says the war bores her stiff. She means to stick it through, but all her talk is of going home. By the way, she told me she had a little visit with Wil- bur Cowan the other day. She says she never saw him looking better.” CHAPTER Xix ‘WO lines of helmeted men went over the crest of the hill. Private Cowan was no longer conscious of aching feet and leaden legs or of the burden that bowed his shoulders. There was a pounding in his ears, and in his mind a verse of Scripture that had lingered inexplicably there since their last billet at Comprey. His corporal, late a theological student, had read and expounded bits of the Bible to such as would listen. Forsaking beaten paths, he had one day explored Revelation. He had explained the giving unto seven angels of seven golden vials of the wrath of God, but later came upon a verse that gave him pause: “And there appeared a great wonder in heaven; a woman clothed with the sun, and the moon under her feet, and upon her head a crown of twelve stars.” It seemed that everything in Revelation had a hidden meaning, and the expert found this obscure. There had been artless speculation among the listeners. A private with dice had professed to solve the riddle of the Number Seven, and had even alleged that twelve might be easier to throw if one kept repeating the verse, but this by his fellows was held to be rank superstition. No really acceptable exposition had been offered of the woman clothed with the sun, and under her feet the moon, and upon her head a crown of twelve stars. Wilbur Cowan, marching up the hill, now sounded the words to himself; they went with that pounding in his ears. At last he knew what they meant—a great wonder in heaven, a woman clothed with the sun, and under her feet the moon. Over and over he chanted the words. So much was plain to him. But how had it come about? ‘They had looked, then enveloped each other, not thinking, blindly groping. They had been out of themselves, not on guard, not held by a thousand bands of old habit that back in Newbern would have restrained them. Lacking these, they had rushed to that wild contact like two charged clouds, and everything was changed by that moment’s surrender to some force Continued on Page 52)

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“SHAVE: To make bare or smooth by scraping.” STANDARD DICTIONARY shaving means ‘“‘scrap- ing,’’ the Enders Razor does not shave: it removes the beard so smoothly that it’s ‘just like wiping your face with a towel”’ Two million men dis- covered this fact before I ever advertised. Wie buch rir SAFETY ENpers Sates Company 17 Battery Place, New York ENDERS SELLS FOR $1.00 with six blades of the best quality Swedish-base steel. Packed in black Keratol box, velvet lined. Extra blades, package of 5— 35 cents. FOR SALE BY BEST DEALERS EVERYWHERE | something | had, for its victory, | creek, its course marked by THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 50) beyond their relaxed wills. Something be- tween them had not been, now it was; compelling; something that needed only that they confront each other, not considering, not resisting, biddable In his arms she had cried: ‘‘ But how did we know— how did we know?” He had found no answer. Holding her fiercely as he did, it seemed enough that they did know. He had surrendered, but could not reason— was even incurious At the last had said: “But if it shouldn't be true; if it’s only because we’re both worn down and saw someone from home. Suppose it’s mere zs She had broken off to thump his shoulder in reassurance, to cling more abjectly. It was then she had wept, shakingly, in a vast impatience with herself for trying to reason “Tt is true! It is true—it’s true, it’s true!’ she had told him with piteous vehemence, then wilted again to his sup- port, one hand stroking his dusty cheek When the command had come down the line she seemed about to fall, but braced herself with new strength from some hidden source. When he released her she stood erect, regarding him with something of the twisted, humorous quirk about her lips that for an instant brought her back to him as the little girl of long ago. Not until then had he been able to picture her as Patricia Whipple. Then he saw. Her smile became urer “You've gone and spoiled the whole war for me!” she called to him she 7 HE war, too, had been spoiled for Pri- vate Cowan. He was unable to keep his mind on it. Of the Second Battle of the Marne he was to remember little worth telling Two nights later they came to rest in the woods back of St.-Eugéne, in the little valley of the Surmelin, that gateway to Paris from the farthest point of the second German drive. It wasa valley shining with the gold of little wheat fields, crimson- specked with poppies. It recalled to Pri- vate Cowan merely the farmland rolling away from that old house of red brick where he had gone one day with Sharon Whip- ple— yesterday it might have been. Even the winding creek—though the French called theirs a river— was like the other a tangle of shrubs and small growtl and the sides of the valley were flanked familiarly with stony ridges sparsely covered with second- growth timber. Newbern, he kept think- ing, would lie four miles beyond that longest ridge, and down that yellow road Sharon Whipple might soon be driving his creaking, weathered buggy and the gaunt roan. The buggy would sag to one side and Sharon would be sitting “‘slaunchwise,”’ as he called it. Over the ridge, at Newbern’s edge, would be the bony little girl who was so funny and willful They moved forward to the south bank of the Marne. Beyond that fifty-yard stream lay the enemy, reported now to be stacking up drive impedimenta. The re- ports bored Private Cowan. He wished they would hurry the thing through. He had other matters in hand. A woman clothed with the sun, and under her feet the moon, and upon her head a crown of—he could not make the crown of stars seem right. She was crowned with a nurse’s cap, rusty hair showing beneath, and below this her wan, wistful, eager face, the eyes half shutting in vain attempts to reason. The face would be drawn by some inner tor- ment; then its tortured lines melt to a smile of sure conviction. But she was clothed with the sun, and the moon was under her feet. So much he could make seem true. The dark of a certain night fell on the waiting regiment. Crickets sounded their note, a few silent birds winged furtively overhead. Rolling kitchens brought up the one hot meal of the day, to be taken to the Front by carrying parties. Company com manders made a last reconnaissance of their positions. For Private Cowan it was a moment of double waiting. Waiting for battle was now secondary. In a tiny slit trench on the forward edge of a railway embankment Private Brennon remarked upon the locomotion of the foreign frog. “Will you look at ’em walk!” said Spike. “Just like an animal! Don’t they ever learn to hop like regular frogs?” Said Private Cowan: ‘I suppose you saw that girl back there the other day?” EVENING POST “Me and the regiment,”’ said Spike, and chewed gum discreetly. “‘She’s a girl from back home. Funny! I'd never taken much notice of her before.” “You took a-plenty back there. You’ve raisedlyour average awful high. I'll say it!” ““T hardly knew what I was doing.” “Didn't you? We did!” “Since then sometimes I forget we're here for.” “Don’t worry, kid! You'll be told.” “It’s funny how things happen that you never expected, but afterward you see it was natural as anything.” what Pee N MIDNIGHT the quiet sky split redly asunder. German guns began to feel a way to Paris. The earth rocked in a gentle rhythm under a rain of shells. Shrapnel and gas lent vivacity to the assault. Guns to their utmost reach swept the little val- ley like a Titan’s sickle. Private Cowan nestled his cheek against the earthen side of his little slit trench and tried to remem- ber what she had worn that last night in Newbern. Something glistening, warm in color, like ripe fruit; and a rusty braid bound her head. She had wat:hed, doubt- fully, to see if people were not impatient at her talk. A rattlepate, old Sharon called her. She was something else now; some curious sort of woman, older, not afraid She wouldn’t care any more if people were impatient. At four o’clock of that morning the bom- bardment of the front line gave way to a rolling barrage. Close behind this, hugging it, as the men said, came gray waves of the enemy. It was quieter after the barrage had passed; only the tack-tack of machine guns and the clash of meeting bayonets “Going to have some rough stuff,” said Private Brennon For a long time then Private Cowan was so engrossed with the routine of his present trade that the name of Whipple seemed to have no room in his mind. For four hours he had held a cold rifle and thought. Now the gun was hot, its bayo- net wet and he thought not at all. When it was over he was one of fifty-two men left of his company that had numbered two hundred and fifty-one. But his own uni form would still be clean of wound chevrons. Two divisions of German shock troops had broken against a regiment of American fighting men loose “TI don’t like fighting any more,” said Private Cowan “Pushed ‘em across the crick,”’ said Private Brennon. ‘‘ Now we chase em!” So they joined the chase and fought again at Jaulgonne, where it rained for three days and nights, and Private Cowan considered his life in danger because he caught cold; it might develop into pneu- monia. He didn’t want and die—not now. It had not, of late, occurred to him that he would be in any danger save from sickness. But he threw off the men- acing cold and was fit for the big battle at Fismes, stubbornly pror ounced “‘ Fissims” by Private Brennon after repeated cor- rections. Private Cowan thought now, when not actually engaged at his loose trade, of his brother. He wished the boy could have been with him. He would have learned something. He would have learned that you feel differently about a country if once you fight for it. His country had been only a name; he had merely ached to fight. Now he hated fighting; words could never tell how he loathed it; but his country had become more than a name. He would fight again for that. He wished Merle could have had this new feeling about his country. to get sick iv T WAS before Fismes, being out where he had no call to be, and after winning a finish fight with a strangely staring, spec- tacled foe, that he stumbled across the inert form of Private Brennon, who must also have gone where he had no call to go. He leaned over him. Spike’s mask was broken, but half adjusted. He shouldered the burden, grunting as he did so, angered by the weight of it. He was irritated, too, by men who were firing at him, but his greater resentment was for Spike’s unrea- sonable mass. “You son of a gun—hog fat! Over- weight, that’s what you are! You'll never make a hundred and thirty-three again, not you! Gee, gosh, a light heavyweight, that’s what you are!” He complained to the unhearing Spike cll the way back to a dressing station, January 22,/92/ though twice refusing help to carry his load. “Mustard gas,” said the surgeon. He was back there when Spike on his stretcher came violently to life. “What a dark night!’’ said Spike be- tween two of the spasms that wrenched him. ‘‘Can’t see your hand before your face! “Say, you’re hog fat!” grumbled Private Cowan. ‘“ You weigh a ton!” “It’s dark, but it feels light—it’s warm.” Private Cowan leaned to shield the sun from Spike’s garbled face. “Sure it’s dark!” said he. “Can't see your hand before your face!” Spike was holding up a hand, thumb and fingers widely spread, moving it before his sightless eyes. “You got to go back. be up here.” He rested his hand on Spike’s forehead, but withdrew it quickly when Spike winced. He went on with the war; and the war went on. You’re too fat to Vv Pe ps would never guess,’”’ wrote Wi- nona, “‘who was brought to this base hospital last week. It was the Mr. Bren- non [ wrote you of, Mr. Edward Brennon, the friend of Wilbur’s who went with him from Newbern. He is blind from gas, poor thing! Our head surgeon knew him. It seems he is one of the prettiest lightweights the head surgeon ever saw in action, a two- handed fighter with a good right and a good left. These are terms used in the sport of boxing “Of course he knows he is blind, but at first he thought he was only in the dark Wilbur had told him of me. The most curious misunderstanding—he is positive he once saw me at home. Says I am the prettiest thing he ever looked at, and don't [ remember coming into the post office one day in a white dress and white shoes and a blue parasol and getting some mail and going out to a motor where some people waited for me? The foolish thing insists I have blue eyes and light brown hair and I was smiling when I looked at him in pass- ing; not smiling at him, of course, but from something the people in the car had said; and I had one glove off and carried the other with the blue sunshade. And I think he means a girl from Rochester that visited the Hendricks, those mill people, summer before last She was pretty enough, in a girlish way, but not at all my type. But I can’t convince Edward it was not [hesaw. I have given up trying. What harm in letting him think so? He says, anyway, he would know I am beautiful, because he can feel it even if I come into the reom. Did you ever hear such talk? But I am looking a lot better, in spite of all I have been through “I had a week in Paris last month, and bought some clothes, a real Paris dress and things. You would not know me in the new outfit. The skirt is of rather a daring shortness, but such is the mode now, and I am told it becomes me. Poor Edward, he i patient, except for spells when he seems to go mad with realizing his plight He is stilla man. His expression is forceful He doesn’t smoke, and warns me against it, though the few cigarettes I allow myself are a precious relief. But I have promised him to give up the habit when the war is le is a strong man, but helpless. He still believes I am the pretty thing he saw in the post office. The skirt is plaited and falls in a straight line. Of course I have the shoes and stockings that go with it.” “There!” exploded the judge. “ Taking up with prize fighters—traipsing round in a regular French dress, looking like some- thing she’s not supposed to be!” “Lysander!”’ rebuked his wife hotly. “He tells me lots about Wilbur,”’ con- tinued the letter. ‘‘He hints that the boy is in love, but will say nothing definite. Men are so close-mouthed. I hope our boy doesn’t marry some little French anybody His face is not exactly pleasant to look upon for the time being, but he has a very winning personality.” ““Who’s she mean that for?’’ demanded the judge truculently. ‘‘The Cowan boy?” Is so over. CHAPTER XX N A DAY late in June of 1919 Wilbur Cowan dropped off the noon train that paused at Newbern Center. He carried the wicker suitcase he had taken away, and wore the same clothes. He had the casual, incurious look of one who had been for a little trip down the line. No one about the Continued on Page 55)

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a HAT is the automobile prob- lem today? It is product more than price! The public today searches for the most value. Our conviction that leadership lay only in building even Jefter cars is responsible for the Ansted Engine, perfected without regard to cost. Already we have been justified by the attitude of owners and dealers, many of whom aptly call this engine ‘the miracle motor.”’ Its power is fifty per cent greater than in conventional engines of its same size! This is largely due to the creation of the exclusive Lexington ‘rocking chair” rocker arm, which gives a valve lift as Aigh as in power- ful racing cars! This greater valve opening en- gineers have long considered vital to THE SATURDAY EVENING POST utmost efficiency. The gas gets into the cylinders quicker, just as opening a faucet further fills a glass faster. But the valves must snap shut like -lightning. Heretofore, increased lift increased the noise—intolerable in passenger cars. Here the Ansted Engine is revo- lutionary. Extreme valve lift has been made exfreme/y quiet. That is the ideal Lexington engineers actu- ally achieved when they created the ‘rocking chair’’ rocker arm. They made other vital improve- ments. Vibration is virtually »7/ even at 3,200 revolutions per minute. The advanced Ansted oiling and cooling system maintains the most efficient temperature constant/y throughout the speed range—wup to 60 miles an hour or more. Totally unlike common methods, the Lexi-gasifier does not permit the engine heat to expand the entire gas charge—often preventing some of it entering the cylinders. Only un- vaporized fuel is affected. The Lexi- gasifier gets a fiu// charge in—keeps raw gas out. How has Lexington alone been able to develop all these phenomenal betterments? Only through com- mand of its private motor plant—one of ten factories, affiliated with Lex- ington, specializing in motor car units. The striking production economy is manifest in the exceptional value of the new Series ‘‘T’’ Lexington. The seven-passenger Touring Car, on a 128-inch wheelbase, has a thrill- ing beauty! It will give you a new definition of power and economy. Lexington Motor Company, Connersville, Indiana, U. S. A. Subsidiary United States Automotive Cor poration

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST AVAV4 clo) (Hn Oe) (o (=) Peanuts ~ Salted ee In Glass Jars for Home Use ' Gverywhere in the S5 IE ESUT Bag ,

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— (Continued from Page 52) station heeded him, nor did he notice any- one he knew. There was a new assemblage of station loafers, and none of these recog- nized him. Suitcase in hand, his soft hat pulled well down, he walked quickly round the crowd and took a roundabout way through quiet streets to the Penniman place. The town to his eye had shrunk; build- ings were not so high as he remembered them, wide spaces narrower, streets shorter, less thronged. On his way he met old Mr. Dodwell, muffled about the throat, though the day was hot, walking feebly, planting a stout cane before him. Mr. Dodwell passed blinking eyes over him, went on, then turned to call back: “*Ain’t that Wilbur Cowan? How de do, Wilbur? Ain’t you been away?” “For a little while,”” answered Wilbur. “Thought I hadn’t seen you for some time. Hot as blazes, ain’t it?” He came to the Penniman place at the rear. The vegetable garden, lying between the red barn and the white house, was as he had known it, unecared for, sad, discour- aged. The judge’s health could be no better. On bare earth at the corner of the woodshed Frank, the dog, slumbered fit- fully in the shade. He merely grumbled, rising to change his posture, when greeted. Feebly he sniffed the newcomer. It could be seen that his memory was stirred, but his eyes told him nothing; he had a com- plaining air of saying one met so many people. It was beyond one to place them all. He whimpered when his ears were rubbed, seeming to recall a familiar touch Then with a deep sigh he fell asleep once more. His master took up the suitcase and gained, without further encounters, the little room in the side-yard house. Yet he did not linger here. He kept seeing a small, barefoot boy who rummaged in a treasure box labeled ‘‘Cake.”” This boy made him uncomfortable. He went round to the front of the other house. On the porch, behind the morning-glory vine, Judge Pen- niman in his wicker chair languidly fanned himself, studying a thermometer held in his other hand. He glanced up sharply. “Well, come back, did you?” “Yes, sir,” said Wilbur, and sat on the top step to fan himself with his hat. ‘Warm, isn’t it?” . The judge brightened. “Warm? Warm ain’t any name for it! We been having a hot spell nobody remem- bers the like of, man nor boy, for twenty years. Why, day before yesterday Say, I wish you'd been here! Talk about suffer- ing! I was having one of my bad days, and the least little thing I’d do I'd be panting like a tuckered hound. Say, how was the war?” “Oh, so-so.” “You tell it well. Seems to me if I'd been off skyhootin’ round in foreign lands how about them French women? Pretty bold lot, I guess, if you can believe all you - The parrot in its cage at the end of the porch climbed to a perch. “*Flapdoodle, Flapdoodle, Flapdoodle!”’ it screeched. The judge glared murder- ously at it. “Wilbur Cowan, you bad, bad, bad child—not to let us know!” Mrs. Penni- man threw back the screen door and rushed to embrace him. ‘You regular fighting so-and-so!”’ she sobbed. “‘Where’d you get that talk?”’ he de- manded. Mrs. Penniman wiped her eyes with a dish towel suspended from one arm. “Oh, we heard all about you!”’ She was warm, and shed gracious aromas. The returned one sniffed these. “It’s chops,’’ he said—‘‘and biscuits.” “And radishes from the garden and but- termilk and clover honey and raspberries and—let me see ia “‘Let’s go!” said the soldier. “Then you can tell us all about that war,”’ said the invalid as with groans he raised his bulk from the wicker chair. “What war?” asked Wilbur. mu E SPENT the afternoon in the little room, where he would glance up to find the small, barefoot boy staring at him in wonder; and out in the Penniman front yard, where the summer flowers bloomed. These surroundings presented every assur- ance of safety, yet his restless, wide- sweeping gaze was full of caution, especially after the aéroplane went over. At the first say, and hot ominous note of its droning he had broken for cover. After that, in spite of himself, he would be glancing uneasily at the Plummer place across the road. This was fronted by a hedge of cypress—ideal machine-gun cover. But not once during the long afternoon was he shot at. He brought out and repaired the lawn mower, oiled its rusted parts and ran it gayly over the grass. At suppertime, when Dave Cowan came, he was wetting the shorn sward with spray from a hose. **Back?” said Dave, peering as at a bit of the far cosmos flung in his way. “Back,” said his son. They shook hands. “You haven’t changed any,” said Wil- bur, scanning Dave’s placid face under the straw hat and following the lines of his spare figure down to the vestiges of a once, noble pair of shoes. “You only been away two years,”’ said Dave. ‘I wouldn’t change much in that time. That’s the way of the mind, though. We always forget how slowly evolution works its wonders. Anyhow, you know what they say in our trade—when a printer dies he turns into a white mule. I’m no white mule yet. You've changed, though.” “I didn’t know it.” “Face harder—about ten years older. Kind of set and sour looking. Ever laugh any more?” *‘Of course I laugh.” “You don’t look it. Never forget how to laugh. It’s a life-saver. Laugh even at wars and killings. Human life in each of us isn’t much. It’s like that stream you're spreading over the ground. The drops fall back to earth, but the main stream is con- stant. That's all the life force cares about the main stream. Doesn’t care about the drops; a few more or less here and there make no difference.” “Yes, sir,”’ said Wilbur. Dave Cowan scanned the front of the house. The judge was not in sight. He went softly to lean above the parrot’s cage and in low, wheedling tones uttered words to it. “‘Flapdoedle, Flapdoodle, Flapdoodle!”’ screeched the parrot in return, and laughed harshly. The bird was a master of sarcastic inflection. Dave came back, looking pleased and proud. ‘Almost human,” he declared. “ Kept back a few million years by accident—our little feathered brother.”” He gestured toward the house. ‘Old Flapdoodle, in there, he’s a rabid red these days. Got tired of being a patriot. Worked hard for a year trying to prove that Vielhaber was a German spy, flapping his curtain at night to the German Foreign Office. But no one paid any attention to him except a few other flapdoodies, so then he began to read your brother’s precious words, and now he’s a violent comrade. Fact! He's expecting any day that the workers will take things over and he'll come into money—money the interests have kept him out of. He kind of licks his chops when he talks about it. Never heard him talk about his wife’s share, though. Say, that brother of yours is making a plumb fool of himself!” “He didn’t understand.” ““No—and he doesn’t yet.” “Where is he now?” “Oh”—Dave circled a weary hand to the zenith“ off somewhere holy-rolling. Gets his name in the papers— young poet radical that abandoned life of luxury to starve with toiling comrades. Say, do you know what a toiling comrade gets per day now’ No matter. Your brother hasn't toiled any. Makes red-hot speeches. That Whipple bunch reared at last and shut off his magazine money, so he said he couldn't take another cent wrung from the anguished sweat of serfs. But it ain’t his hands he toils with, and he ain’t a real one, either. Plenty of real ones in his bunch that would stand the gaff, but not him. He's a shine. Of course they’re useful, these reds. Keep things stirred up— human yeast cakes; only they get to thinking they’re the dough too. That brother of yours knows all the lines; says ‘em hot, too, but that’s only so he'll get more notice. Say, tell us about the war.” “Tt was an awful big one,” said his son. ur S' JON after a novel breakfast the follow- bs) ing morning-—-in that it was late and leisurely and he ate from a chair at a table—he heard the squealing brakes of a motor car and saw one brought to a diffi- cult stop at the Penniman gate. Sharon Whipple, the driver, turned to look back THE SATURDAY EVENING POST at the machine indignantly, as if it had misbehaved. Wilbur Cowan met him at the gate. It became Sharon’s pretense that he was not hugging the boy, merely feeling the muscles in his shoulders and back to see if he were as good a lightweight as ever. He pounded and thumped and punched and even made as if to wrestle with the returned soldier, laughing awkwardly through it; but his florid face had paled with the excitement. “T knew you'd come back! Old Sammy Dodwell happened to mention he'd seen you; said he hadn’t noticed you before for | most a month, he thought. But I knew you was coming, all right! Time and time again I told people you would. Told every- one that. I bet you had some narrow escapes, didn’t you now?” Wilbur Cowan considered. “Well, I had a pretty bad cold in the Argonne.” . “T want to know!” said Sharon, much concerned. He pranced heavy-footedly before the other, thumping his chest. “ Well, I bet you threw it off! A hard cold ain't any joke. But look here, come on for a ride!”’ They entered the car and Sharon drove. But he continued to bubble with questions, to turn his head and gesture. The passen ger applied imaginary brakes as _ they missed a motor truck. ‘Better let me take that,”’ he suggested, and they changed seats. “Out to the Home Farm,” directed Sharon. ‘You ain’t altered a mite,” he went on. “Little more peaked, mebbe kind of more mature or judgmatical or whatever you call it. Well, go on—tell about the war.” But there proved to be little to tell, and Sharon gradually wearied from the effort of evoking this little. Yes, there had been fights. Big ones, lots of noise, you bet! The food was all right. The Germans were good fighters. No; he had not been wounded; yes, that was strange. The French were good fighters. The British were good fight- ers. They were all good fighter “But didn’t you have any close mix-ups at all?” persisted Sharon. “Oh, now and then; couldn't get out of it.” “Well, my shining stars! Can't you tell a fellow?” “Oh, it wasn’t much! You'd be out at night, maybe, and you’d meet one, and you'd trade a few punches, and then you'd tangle.” “And you'd leave him there, eh? “Oh, sometimes!” “Who did win the war, anyway ?”’ Sharon was a little irritated by this reticence. The other grinned. “The British say they won it, and the last I heard, the French said it was God Almighty. Take your choice. Of you did hear other gossip going round— you know how things get started.” Sharon grunted. “T should think as much! Great prunes and apricots! I should think there would of been talk going round! Anyway, it was you boys that stopped the fight I guess they’d admit that much—small-towners like you that was ready to fight for their country. Dear me, Suz! I should think as much!” On the crest of a hill overlooking a wide sweep of valley the driver stopped the car in shade and scanned the fields o grain where the green was already fading “There's the Home Farm,” said Sharon “High mighty! Some change granddad came in here and fit the Injuns and catamounts off it. I wonder what he'd say if he could hear what I’m paying for farm help right now—and hard to get at that I don’t know how I’ve managed. See that mower going down there in the south forty Well, the best man I've had for two years is cutting that patch of timothy. Who do you guess? It’s my girl, Juliana. She not only took charge for me, but she jumped in herself and did two men’s work sometimes you TT) course since m “Funny girl, that one. So quiet all these years, never saying much, never letting out. But she let out when the men went I guess lots have been like her. You can see a woman doing anything nowaday Why, they got a woman burglar over to the county seat the other night! And I just read the speech of a silly-softy of a con gressman telling why they shouldn’t have the vote. Hell! Excuse me for cursing so.” Unconsciously Wilbur had been follow- ing with his eyes the course of the willow- bordered creek. He half expected to hear on the utensils same. “ ALU Se (A Well-Known Trade Mark and What It Means HE “Wear- Ever” trade mark appears | Write for booklet | Kitchen. ”’ | | bottom of all] genuine “Wear-Ever” al- | uminum cooking utensils. It is to your interest to | look for it—to insist upon | getting utensils that bear | it—because aluminum are nol all the Time and again the metal used in making ear-Ever Aluminum Cooking Utensils is passed through gigan- tic rolling mills and huge stamping machines under tons and tons of pressure. That is why “Wear- Ever” metal is so hard, dense and serviceable— much more so than metal of the same thickness which has not been sub- jected to equal pressure. j | Replace utensils that wear out | with utensils that “Wear-Ever” **The *Wear-Ever Address Dept. 18 The Aluminum Cooking Utensil Co. New Kensington, Pa. In Canada; Northern Aluminum Co., Lid oronto WEAR-EVER am, MINUM BLY TRADE MARK MADE IN U.S. A.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Hotel Sherman, 1919 Hotel Sherman, 1920

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—< = a a im a ar a —_ o ™ Fe the crisp little tacking of machine guns from its shelter, and he uneasily scanned the wood at his left. It was the valley of the Surmelin, and yonder was the Marne. “TI keep thinking I'll be shot at,” he explained. “You won’t be. Safe as a church here— just like being in God’s pocket. Say, don’t that house look good to you?” He cocked a thumb toward the dwelling of the Home

| gone so many years before. | chinery nowadays. Farm in a flat space beyond the creek. It was the house of dull red brick, broad, low, square fronted, with many windows, the house in a green setting to which they had Heat waves made it shimmer. “Yes, it looks good,” conceded Wilbur. “Then listen, young man! You're going to live there. It'll be your headquarters. |,You’re going to manage the four other farms from there, and give me a chance to be seventy-three years old next Tuesday | without a thing on my mind. You ain’t a | farmer, but you’re educated; you can learn anything after you've seen it done; and farming is mostly common sense and ma- So that’s where you'll be, understand? No more dubbing round doing this and that, printing office one day, garage the next, and nothing much the up your future, see?” “Well, if you think I can.” “T do! You're an enlightened young |} man. What I can’t tell you Juliana can. | I got a dozen tractors out of commission | right now. Couldn’t get anyone to put |’em in shape. None of them dissipated noblemen round the Mansion garage would look at a common tractor. You'll start on them. You're fixed—don’t tell me no!” “Yes, sir,”’ said Wilbur. “You done your bit in a fighting war; now you'll serve in a peaceful one. I don’t know what the good Lord intends to come | out of all this rumpus, but I do know the | world’s going to need food. We'll raise it.” “Yes, sir.” | Sharon glanced shrewdly at him sidewise. | “You're a better Whipple than anyone else of your name ever got to be.” “He didn’t understand; he was misled or something.” | “Or something,” echoed Sharon. “Lis- | ten! There’s one little job you got to do | before you hole up out here. You heard | about him, of course—the worry he’s been | to poor Harvey and the rest. Well, he’s down there in New York still acting squam- | ishy. I want you should go down and put the fear of God into him.” | “T understand he’s mixed up with a lot of reds down there.” “Red! Him? Humph!” named an equally well-known color—not red. Wilbur protested. “You don’t get him,” persisted the old man. “Listen now! He cast off the family like your father said he would. Couldn’t accept another cent of Whipple money. Going to work with his barehands. Dressed up for it like a hunter in one of these powder advertisements. All he needed was a shotgun and a setter dog with his tail up. And everybody in the house worried he'd starve to death. Of course no one thought he’d work—that was one of his threats they didn’t take seriously. But they prom- ised to sit tight, each and all, and bring him to time the sooner. “Well, he didn’t come to time. We learned he was getting money from some piace. He still had it. So I begun to get my suspicions up. Last night I got the bunch together, Gid and Harvey D. and Ella and Juliana, and I taxed ‘em with duplicity, and every last one of ‘em was guilty as paint—every goshed last one! Every one sending him fat checks unbe- knownst to the others. Even Juliana! I never did suspect her. ‘I did it because it’s all a romance to him,’ says she. wanted him to go his way, whatever it was, and find it bright.’ “Wha’ d’you think of that from a girl of forty-eight or so that can tinker a mowing machine as good as you can? I ask you! Of course I'd suspected the rest. A set of rush heads where that boy is concerned! Maybe they didn’t look shamed when I ex- posed em! Each one had pictured the poor | boy undergoing hardship with his toiling | workers or whatever you call 'em, and, of course, I thought sc myself.” “How much did you send him?” de- manded Wilbur suddenly. “Not half as much as the others,’”’ re- | turned Sharon in indignant triumph. “If | they’d just set tight like they promised and | let me do the little I done ——” | . | next. You're going to settle down and take | | Sharon here primary January 22,192! “You were going to sit tight, too, weren’t you?” “Well, of course that was different. Of course I was willing to shell out a few dol- lars now and then if he was going to be up against it for a square meal. After all he was Whipple by name. Of course he ain’t got Whipple stuff in him. That young man’s talk always did have kind of a nutty flavor. You come right down to it, he ain’t a Whipple in hide nor hair. Why, say, he ain’t even two and seventy-five-hundredths per cent Whipple!” Sharon had cunningly gone away from his own failure to sit tight. He was proving flexible-minded here, as on the links. They were silent, looking out over the spread of Home Farm. The red house shimmered in the heat waves. The tall trees about it hung motionless. The click of the reaper in the south forty sounded like a distant locust. “Put the fear of God into him,” said Sharon at last. “Let him know them checks have gosh all truly stopped.” “Yes, sir,” said Wilbur. “Now drive on and we'll look the house over. The last tenant let it run down. But I'll fix it right for you. Why, like as not you'll be having a missis and young ones of your own there some day.” “T might; you can’t tell.” “Well, I wish they was going to, be Whipple stock. Ours is running down. I don’t look for any prize winners from your brother; he’ll likely marry that widow, or something, that wants to save America like Russia has been. And Juliana, I guess she wasn’t ever frivolous enough for marriage. And that Pat—she’ll pick out one of them boys with a head like a seal, that knows all the new dances and what fork to use. Trust her! Not that she didn’t show Whipple stuff over there. But she’s a rattlepate in peacetime.” “Yes, sir,”’ said Wilbur. iv E LEFT a train at the Grand Central Station in New York early the follow- ing evening. He had the address of Merle’s apartment on lower Fifth Avenue, and made his way there on foot through streets crowded with the war’s backwash. Men in uniform were plentiful, and he was many times hailed by them. Though out of uni- form himself, they seemed to identify him with ease. Something in his walk, the slant of his shoulders and the lean, browned, watchful face—the eyes set for wider hori- zons than a mere street—served to mark him as one of them. The apartment of Merle proved to be in the first block above Washington Square. While he scanned doors for the number he was seized and turned about by a playful creature in uniform. “Well, Buck Cowan, you old son of a gun!” “*Gee, gosh, Stevie! How’s the boy?” They shook hands, moving to the curb where they could talk. ““What’s the idea?’ demanded ex-Private Cowan. ‘Why this dead part of town for so many of the boys?” Service men were constantly sauntering by them or chatting in little groups at the curb. “She's dead, right now,” Steve told him, “but she'll wake up pronto, Listen, Buck, we got the tip! A lot of them fur-faced boys that hurl the merry bombs are goin’ to pull off a red-flag sashay up the Avenoo. Get it? Goin’ to set America free!” “T get it!” said Wilbur. “Dirty work at the crossroads,” added Steve. “Say, Stevie, hold it for twenty minutes, can’t you? I got to see a man down here. Be good; don’t hurt anyone till I get back.” “Do my best,” said Steve, “‘but they’re down there in the square now stackin’ up drive impedimenta and such, red banners, and so forth, tuning up to warble the hymn to free Russia. Hurry if you want to join out with us!” “*T’ll do that little thing, Steve. See you again.” He passed on, making a way through the jostling throng of soldiers and civilians. ‘“‘Just my luck,” he muttered. “‘T hope the kid isn’t in.””. Never before had he thought of his brother as the kid. He passed presently through swinging glass doors, and in a hallway was told by a profusely buttoned youth in spectacles that Mr. Whipple was out. It was not known when he would be in. His move- ments were uncertain. (Continued on Page 58)

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} } i | | | THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 5008-306) How Hudson and Essex View the Future The buyer again is a judge with selective power. He does not stand in line, figuratively, for just any car the market can deliver him. Manufacturers again compete for his patronage. That is his distinct gain. Once more the demand for automobiles falls within the producing capacity of those companies whose constraints of tradition and reputation could not permit ‘‘speeding up’’ to sacrifice quality in the pro- duction race, now fortunately ended. And that, too, is the buyer’s gain. But is it not even a greater benefit to the auto- mobile industry? Frankly, we think it is. Why He Acclaim the New Competition Certainly Hudson and Essex do not regret the new situation. Nor, do those other great companies who established the worth of their product in that sharply competitive period when outstanding merit was the only title to survival. It is natural that such organizations greet the return of real competition with the keenest satis- faction. Surely their intimate share in the destinies of the industry has given them an interest and obligation toward it quite apart from the profits with which the HUDSON MOTOR CAR COM PANY—— MICHIGAN DETROIT, years have rewarded them, and which the future promises. They see, safely past, a period that held dangers to the permanent good of the industry. They see restoration of the only healthy, forward-looking condition, which is competition that must seek the favorable judgment of the buyer for its reward. That is a situation, mutually self-respecting between builder and buyer. No manufacturer, who has faith in his product, can regret it. This We Account Full Repayment And now, our watchfulness in cleaving to every principle that guards the quality of our product, is repaid in the knowledge that Hudson and Essex cars, built even under the pressure of overwhelming demands, reveal faithful, unhastened adherence to the standards that gave them such a high place in the good opinion of motorists. Our reputation is in the cars we build. That is to say, our business, and all the millions of our invest- ment. No protection is too great to give them. How we have succeeded is perhaps best shown by the public’s acceptance of our products— Essex with $0,000 cars in service, though just two years old— the Hudson Super-Six for five years the largest selling fine car in the world. ESSEX MOTORS

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SATURDAY EVENING POST (Continued from Page 56) “He might be in or he might be out,” said the boy. | He was back in the street, edging through the crowd, his head up, searching for the eager face of Steve Kennedy, late his sergeant. Halfway up the next block he found him pausing to roll a cigarette. Steve was a scant five feet, and he was telling a private who was a scant six feet that there would be dirty work at the crossroads when the fur-faces started. “We're too far away,” suggested Wilbur. “Tf they start from the Square they’ll be mussed up before they get here. You can’t expect people farther down to save ‘em just for you. Where's your tactics, Steve?” They worked slowly back down the Ave- nue. It was nine o'clock now, and the street was fairly free of vehicles. The night was clear and the street lights brought alert, lean profiles into sharp relief, faces of men in uniform sauntering carelessly or chatting in little groups at the curb. A few ive days under water— but the bank’s records were still legible! H a (, , Carte ae y Rid, k ; ; , } Aood without a single business failure ] CARTERS ARTER Ink helped West Point, ) through a million-dollar / INX PRODUCTS s Brow Atlanta ran this warning to the little town of West Point on that December wht The floo coming! Look out for a foot rise of the Chattahoocl! River And betore midnight it began—up over its normal high mart to the town’s street up into the homes and busin hor With th vater swashing over the floor of the First National Bank, tl theers pile high the records and left in bye tor hiahe ro ber t\ iter they! turned Ther cord books were there, ! id veered, soak i thre ugh in i through; sure ly nota single entry cou | possibly be 1 \ fevery ingle line as read! With those same mud-stained records, written with Carter's, the | t National ¢« pened tor business again, helping the town to fight its wav back to normal—without a singl by t farlure r OU may ver have a flood or a fire that will put your Cart to th verest test But isn’t it a satisfaction to use an ink so right and so enduring that even the routine records of your datly business life are made permanent not only against time, but against the verv elements themselves THE CARTER’S INK COMPANY Manufacturing Chemist New York Boston Chicag Montrea f unseeing policemen, also sauntering care- ——_ et oe lessly, were to be observed. “Heard a fur-face speak last night,” said Steve. “It’s a long story, mates, but it seems this is one rotten Government, and everybody knows it but a few cops. If someone would only call off the cops and let the fur-faces run it we might have a regular country.” From the Square singing was now heard. “Oh, boy!” murmured the tall private dreamily; “am I glad I'm here?” Stretch- ing a long neck to peer toward the Square, he called in warm, urgent tones: ‘Oh, come on, you reds—come on, red!” They came on. Out from the Square issued a valiant double line of marchers, men and women, their voices raised in the Internationale. At their head, bearing aloft a scarlet banner of protest, strode a commanding figure in corduroys, head up, his feet stepping a martial pace. “I choose that general,”’ said the tall private, and licked his lips. “Not if I get to him first,” shouted Steve, and sprang from the walk into the roadway. But ex-private Cowan was ahead of them both. He had not waited for speech. A crowd from each side of the Avenue had surged into the roadway to greet the pro- cession. The banner bearer was seen to hesitate, to lose step, but was urged from the rear by other banner bearers. He came on again. Once more he stepped martially. The Internationale swelled in volume. The crowd, instead of opening a way, condensed more solidly about the advance. There were jeers and shoving. The head of the line again wavered. Wilbur Cowan had jostled a way toward this leader. He lost no time in going into action. But the push- ing crowd impaired his aim, and it was only a glancing blow that met the jaw of the corduroyed standard bearer. The standard toppled forward from his grasp, and its late bearer turned quickly aside. As he turned Wilbur Cowan reached forward to close a hand about the corduroy collar. Then he pulled. Thestandard bearer came back easily to a sitting posture on the | asphalt. The crowd was close in, noisily depriving other bearers of their standards. The Internationale had become blurred and discordant, like a bad phonograph record. The parade still came to break and flow about the obstruction. Wilbur Cowan jerked his prize up and || whirled him about. He contemplated | | further atrocities. But the pallid face of his brother was now revealed to him. “Look out there!’ he warned the crowd, and a way was opened. He drew back on the corduroy collar, then sent it forward with a mighty shove. His captive shot through the opening, fell again to the pavement, but was up and off before those nearest him could devise further en- tertainment. Among other accomplish- ments Merle had been noted in college for his swiftness of foot. He ran well, heading for the north, skillfully avoiding those on the outskirts of the crowd who would have tackled him. Wilbur Cowan watched him out of sight, beyond the area of combat. Then he worked his own way from it and stood to watch the further disintegration of the now leaderless parade. The tumult died, the crowd melted away. Policemen became officious. From area- ways up and down the Avenue forms emerged furtively, walked discreetly to corners and scurried down side streets. Here and there a crimson banner flecked the asphalt. Steve and the tall private issued from the last scrimmage, breathing hard, ——— January 22,192! “Nothing to it!"’ said the tall private. “Only I skun my knuckles.” “‘I was aimin’ a wallop at that general,” complained Steve, “but something blew him right out of my hand. Come on up to Madison Avenoo. I heard they was goin’ to save America up there too.” “Can't,” said Wilbur. ‘Got to see a man.” “Well, so long, Buck!”’ He waved to them as they joined the northward-moving crowd. “Gee, gosh!”’ he said. v si O, SIR; Mr. Whipple hasn’t come in yet. He just sent word he wouldn’t be back at all to-night,”’ said the spectacled hall boy. But his manner was so little in- genuous that once again the hand of Wilbur Cowan closed itself eloquently about the collar of a jacket. “Get into that elevator and let me out at his floor.” “You let me alone!” “T was going to.” He knocked a third time before he could hear a faint call. He opened the door. Beyond a dim entrance hall the light fell upon his brother seated at a desk, frowning intently at work before him. The visible half of him was no longer in corduroy. It was incased in a smoking jacket of velvet, and his neck was conventionally clad in col- larand cravat. The latter had been hastily tied. “Why, Wilbur, old man!” cried Merle in pleased surprise. He half rose from the desk, revealing that below the waist he was still corduroy, or proletarian. Along his left jaw was a contusion as from a glancing blow. He was still breathing harder than most men do who spend quiet evenings at desks Wilbur advanced into the room, but paused before reaching the desk. It was an invitingly furnished room of cushioned couches, paintings, tapestries, soft chairs, warmly toned rugs. The desk at which Merle toiled was ornate and shining. Ex- Private Cowan felt a sudden revulsion. He was back, knee-deep in trench bilge, tor- tured in all his being, looking at death from behind a sandbag. Vividly he recalled why he had endured that torture. “You're all out of condition,’”’ he an- nounced in even tones to Merle. ‘‘A little sprint like that shouldn’t get your wind.” Merle’s look of sunny welcome faded to one of chagrin. He fell back in his chair. He was annoyed. “You saw that then?” “T was in luck to-night.’ “Did you see that drunken rowdy strike at me, and then try to get me down where he and those other brutes could kick me?” Wilbur’s stare was cool. He was feeling the icy muck about his numbed legs. “I was the one that struck at you. Too many elbows in the way and I flubbed it.” He noted his brother start and stiffen in his chair. ‘‘And I didn’t try to get you down. When I saw it was you I got you up and shot you out where you could run— if you wanted to. And I wasn’t drunk, and I’m not a rowdy.” Merle gazed with horror upon the ap- parently uncontrite fratricide. Twice he essayed to speak before he found the words. “Do you think that was a brave thing to do?” “‘No—but useful. I’ve been brave a lot of times where it didn’t do as much good as that.” “Useful!”’ breathed Merle scathingly. “Useful to brutalize a lot of brave souls who merely sought —"’ He broke off with a new sense of outrage. ‘“‘ And not a police- man there to do his duty!” he finished resentfully. Wilbur Cowan sat in a carven chair near a corner of the beautiful desk, hitching it forward to rest his arms on the desk’s top. He was newly appraising this white-faced brother. “Whining!” he suddenly snapped. “Get up and boast that you're outlaws, going to keel the Government off its pins. Then you get the gaff, and the first thing you do is whine for help from that same Govern- ment! You say it’s rotten, but you expect it to watch over you while you knock it down. “If you're going to be an outlaw, take an outlaw’s chance. Don’t squeal when you get caught. You say the rules are rotten, then you fall back on them. What kind of sportsmanship is that?” (Continued on Page 61) said the hall boy. disgraceful outbreak a ee ~~

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST TUTTI-FRUTTI ~/ CHICLETS The essence of luscious fruits from the | purest cane sugar —Adams Chiclets, the | gardens of the world, blended with | original candy-coated chewing gum, in a pure chicle from the sunny tropics, | wonderful new flavor. A “really delight- coated with a delicious icing made of | ful’’ confection. And healthful too. yellow

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 22,192! 217 Operations Make a Selz Shoe 24 are Inspections F you could follow a shoe through a Selz factory you would learn that there are 217 operations in making it. You would see that 24 of these— more than 17%—are inspections. You would see the construction of each shoe Inspec ted 24 times. Such extreme care has two objects: Kirst, to protect your interests—the interests of millions of Selz customers; to insure the production of a perfect shoe for you, as far as is humanly possible. Second, to protect the name Selz. To protect the principles of fine shoe making that all men know it stands for. For fifty years the name Selz has marked good shoes. It is accepted every- where as conclusive pre of of excellence. This public faith in Selz is the force that has built fourteen great Selz factories. To deviate knowingly in a single pair of shoes from the principles that have created this faith would be unthinkable. After fifty years these principles are as much a part of the Selz organization as the workmen they guide, or the inspectors who see that they are followed. 30,000 dealers warmly recommend Selz Shoes. They are glad to give you such complete satisfaction in style, comfort and long wear. lz ““Roval Blue’’ Shoes for Alen and Women Selz “Liberty Bell” Shoes for Children 11% of manufacturing operations are inspections en SEL B 020 CHICAGO PITTSBURGH A,

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a poner Pome ta ty oe (Continued from Page 58) Wearily but with a tolerant smile Merle pushed back the fallen lock with one white hand. ‘What could you understand of all this?”’ he asked gently. ‘‘We merely claim the right of free speech.” “‘And use it to tell other people to upset the Government! That crowd to-night did what you tell your people to do—went against the rules. But you can’t take your own medicine. A fine bunch of spoiled children you are! Been spoiled by too easy a government at that!’’ He broke off to study Merle again. ‘‘ You're pasty, out of condition,”’ he repeated inconsequently. Again his brother’s tolerant smile. “You have all the cant of the reaction- ary,”’ he retorted, again gently. ‘‘It’s the spirit of intolerance one finds everywhere. You can’t expect one of my ——”’ He hesi- tated, showing a slight impatience. “I’ve been too long where they are thinking,” he said. “Aren't you people intolerant? You want to break all the rules, and those same rules have made us a pretty good big country.” “Ah, yes, a big country—big! We can always boast of our size, can’t we? I dare say you believe its bigness is a sign of our merit.”” Merle had recovered his poise. He was at home insatire. “‘ Besides, I’ve broken no rules, as you call them.” “Oh, I'll bet you haven’t! You’d be careful not to. I see that much. But you try to get smaller children to. I'd have more patience with you if you’d taken a chance yourself.”’ “Patience with me—you?” Merle rel- ished this. His laugh was sincere. ‘“‘ You— would have more patience with—me!” But his irony went for little with a man still at the Front. “Sure! If only you’d smashed a few rules yourself. Take that girl and her partner they arrested the other day. They don't whine. They’re behind the bars, but still cussing the Government. You've got to respect fighters; like that Liebknecht the Germans killed, and that Rosa What’s- Her-Name. They were game. But you people, you try to put on all their airs with- out taking their chances. That’s why you make me so tired—always keeping your martyr’s halo polished and handy where you can slip it out of a pocket when you get just what you’ve been asking for.” “You're not too subtle, are you? But then one could hardly expect subtlety 26 Merle was again almost annoyed. “Subtle be jiggered! Do you think you people are subtle? About as subtle as a ton of bricks. All your talk in that maga- zine about this being a land of the dollar, no ideals, no spirituality, a land of money- grubbers—all that other stuff! Say, I want to tell you this is the least money-grubbing land there is! You people would know that if you had any subtlety. Maybe you did{know it. We went into that scrap for an ideal, and we're the only country that did. France might have gone for an ideal, but France had to fight anyway. “England? Do you think England went in only tosave poor little Belgium? She her- self was the next dish on the bill of fare. But we went in out of general damfoolishness for an ideal—this country you said didn’t have any. We don’t care about money less than any of those people. Watch a Frenchman count his coppers, or an Eng- lishman that carries his in a change purse and talks about pounds but really thinks in shillings. We carry our money loose and throw it away “If this country had been what your sniveling little magazine called it we'd never have gone into that fight. You're not even subtle enough to know that much. We knew it would cost like hell, but we knew it was a great thing to do. Not an- other nation on earth would have gone in for that reason. That’s the trouble with you poor little shut-ins; you decide the country hasn’t any ideals because some- one runs a stockyard out in Chicago or a foundry in Pittsburgh. God help you peo- ple if you’d had your way about the war! The Germans would be taking that non- sense out of you by this time. And to think you had me kind of ashamed when I went over! I thought you knew some- thing then.” He concluded on a note almost plaintive. Merle had grown visibly impatient. “My dear fellow, really! Your point of view is interesting enough, even if all too common. You are true to type, but so crude a type—so crude!” THE SATURDAY “Sure, I'm crude! The country itself is crude, I guess. But it takes a crude coun- try to have ideals—ideals with guts. Your type isn’t crude, I suppose, but it hasn’t any ideals either.” “No ideals! No ideals! Ah, but that’s the best thing you've said!” He laughed masterfully, waving aside the monstrous accusation. “Well, maybe it is the best thing I’ve said. You haven’t any ideals that would get any action out of you. You might tear down a house, but you'd never build one. No two of you could agree on a plan. Every one of you is too conceited about himself. If you had the guts to upset the Government to-morrow you'd be fighting among yourselves before night, and you’d have a chief or a king over you the next day, just as surely as they got one in Russia. It’ll take them a hundred years over there to get back to as good a government as we have right now. “You folks haven't any ideals except to show yourselves off. That’s my private opinion. The way you used to tell me I didn’t have any form in golf. You people are all gesture; you can get up on a plat- form and take perfect practice swings at a government, but you can’t hit the ball. You used to take bully practice swings at golf, but you couldn’t hit the ball because you didn’t have any ideal. You were a good shadow golfer, like a shadow boxer that can hit dandy blows when he’s hitting at nothing. Shadow stuff, shadow ideals, shadow thinkers—that’s what you people are—spoiled children pretending you're deep thinkers.” Merle turned wearily to a sheaf of papers at his hand. “You'll see one day,” he said quietly, “and it won't be a far day. Nothing now, not even the brute force of your type, can retard the sweep of the revolution. The wave is shaping, the crest is formed. Six months from now—a year at most Fa He gestured with a hand ominously. Wilbur briefly considered this prophecy. “Oh, I know things look exciting here, but why wouldn't they after the turnover they’ve had? And I know there’s grafting and profiteering and high prices and rotten spots in the Government, but why not? That’s another trouble with you people; you seem to think that some form of gov- ernment will be perfect. You seem to ex- pect a perfect government from imperfect human beings.” “Ah,” broke in Merle, “I recognize that! That's some of the dear old Dave Cowan talk.” “Well, don’t turn it down just on that account. Sometimes he isn’t so crazy. He sees through you people. He knows you would take all you could get in this world just as quick as the rest of us. He knows that much,” Merle waved it aside. “Six months from now—a year at the most! A thrill of freedom has run through the people!” Wilbur had relaxed in his chair. He spoke more lightly, scanning the face of his brother with veiled curiosity. “By the way, speaking of revolutions, there’s been kind of a one at Newbern; kind of a family revolution. A little one, but plenty of kick in it. They want you to come back and be a good boy. That's really what I came down here to say for them. Will you come back with me?” Merle drew himself up—injured. “Go back! Back to what? When my work is here, my heart, my life? I’ve let you talk because you’re my brother. And you're so naively honest in your talk about our wonderful country and its idealism and the contemptible defects of a few of us who have the long vision! But I've let you talk, and now I must tell you that I am with this cause to the end. I can’t expect your sym- pathy, or the sympathy of my people back there, but I must go my own way without it, fight my own battle _" He was interrupted in a tone he did not like. “Sympathy from the folks back there? Say, what do you mean—sympathy? Did I tell you what this revolution back there was all about? Did I tell you they've shut down on you?” “You didn’t! I still don’t get your meaning.” “You cast them off, didn’t you?” “Chi” A white hand deprecated this. ‘‘That’s Sharon Whipple talk—his famous brand of horse humor. Surely, you won’t say he’s | too subtle!” WYTHE WILLIAMS EVENING POST who cabled to the Public Ledger 12 hours ahead of every other paper in the world the biggest news story since the armistice —the Pasteur Institute’s discovery of an anti- tuberculosis vaccine for cattle. Scientists declare this ‘‘the beginning of the end of the great white plague.”’ Williams saw every great battle of the entire war. The day the war began he was in Paris, and was with the armies from the first shot to the day of the armistice. When General Pershing set foot on French soil, Williams was there to meet him. After the battle of Verdun, he was the first person to enter the fort of Douaumont. After the ‘‘Somme”’ he was the first correspondent to cross the recaptured territory. He now covers Paris and southwestern Europe for the Public Ledger Foreign News Service. UBLIC LEDGE PHILADELPHIA At Your Club At Hotel Newsstands Find out whether there is a news- paper in your city which publishes Public Ledger Foreign News.

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62 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST M ee * ¢ ‘ . : t ’ . : 7 . : Ma 4 . : . 4 - : =eee~ eater Testing House where Hercules Explosives ure prepared for the tests whiel verify their sensitiveness andl ate of detonation The Testing Ground In ev ery high explosives plant of the Hercules Powder Co. the éesting of dynamite plays an im portant part in the day’s work, Just as the most modern and efficient dynamite machinery is never considered infallible; just as the simplest and most obvious process is never taken for granted; so th« accuracy and uniformity of the finished product are never conceded without complete verification. Every lot of dynamite, after it has passed the chemical laboratories, must be tested repeatedly for sensitiveness by actual explosion before it 1s shipped. Upon the men in charge of this impor- tant work at the Testing Ground depends, in no ¥ , small measure, the uniformly high quality of Hercules Explosives. It is because of this constant testing—this skillful verification of quality that, wherever Hercules Explosives are used—in blasting out a stump or a mountain, in diamond mines or stone quarries, dig- ging a ditch or changing the course of a mighty river—their power can always be depended upon by those who seek their aid. HERCULES Explosives Naval Stores HERCULES POWDER CO. Chattanooga P,. Salt Lake City St. Louis i *tsburg, Pa Denver ae New “ork Chemicals Hazleton, Pa Joplin Wilmington, Del Chicago Pittsburg, Kan San Francisco “Well, anyway, you said you couldn’t accept anything more from them when you left; you were going to work with your hands, and so forth. You weren’t going to take any more of their tainted money.” “I’ve no doubt dear old Sharon would | put it as delicately as that.” “Well, did you work with your hands? Have you had to be a toiler?” “Oh, naturally I had resources! But might I ask’’—Merle said it with chill dignity—‘“ may I inquire just what relation this might have ——” “You won’t have resources any longer.” “Eh?” Merle this time did not wave. He stared stonily at his informant. “That was the revolution. They called each other down and found that every last one of them had been sending you money, each thinking he was the only one and no one wanting you to starve. Even your dear old Sharon Whipple kicked in every month: No wonder I didn’t find you in a tenement.” “‘Preposterous!”’ expostulated Merle. “Wasn't it? Anyway, they all got mad at each other, and then they all got mad at you; then they swore an oath or some- thing.” He paused impressively. ‘No more checks!” “‘Preposterous!”’ Merle again murmured. “‘ But kind of plausible, wasn’t it? Sharon wasn’t any madder than the others when they found each other out. Mrs. Harvey D. is the only one they think they can’t trust now. They’re going to watch that woman’s funds. Say, anything she gets through the lines to you—it won't keep you from toiling!” “Poor Mother Ella!’’ murmured Merle, his gaze remotely upon the woman. “She has always been so fond of me.” “They're all fond of you, for that matter. I think they’re fonder of you than if you’d been born there. But still they’re rank Bolsheviks right now. They confiscated your estates.” “I didn’t need you to tell me they’re fond of me,” retorted Merle with recovered January 22,192! spirit. Hesighed. “They must have missed me horribly this last year.” There was contrition in his tone. “I suppose I should have taken time to think of that, but you'll never know how my work here has engrossed me. I suppose one always does sacrifice to ideals. Still I owed them something—I should have remembered that.”’ He closed on a note of regret. “Well, you better go back with me. They'll be mighty glad to see you.” Merle frowningly consulted the watch on his wrist. “We can make that eleven-forty-eight if we hurry,” he said. ‘I'll have to change a few things.” He bustled cheerily into a bedroom. As he moved about there he whistled the Marseillaise. Ten minutes later he emerged with bag, hat and stick. The last item of corduroy had vanished from his apparel. He was quietly dressed, as an exploiter of the masses ora mechanic. He set the bag on the desk, and going to a window peered from behind the curtain into the street. “Some of those rowdies are still prowling about,” he said, “‘but there are cabs di- rectly across the street.” He pulled the soft hat well down over his brow. Wilbur had sat motionless in his chair while the dressing went on. He got up now. “Listen!” he said. “If you hear back home of my telling people you’re a dan- gerous radical, don’t be worried. Even the Cowans have some family pride. And don’t worry about the prowling rowdies out there. I'll get you across the street to acab. Give me the bag.” As they crossed the street, Merle—at his brother's elbow—-somewhat jauntily whistled with fair accuracy, not the Mar- seillaise but an innocent popular ballad. Nor did he step aside for a torn strip of red cloth lying in their way. (TO BE CONCLUDED) The Poets’? Corner Once on a Time “7 NCE on atime” was a magical phrase, Thrilling with promise of marvelous slories, Tales of the pixies and nixies and fays, Princes and fairyland kings in their glories ; I was a boy, and these chronicles, all of them Bere me away to a mythical clime Ruled by strange wizards, and I was in thrall of them Once on a time! Once on a time I was slender and young, Love was enchantment and life was a dance, Youth was but coin to be squandered and flung, Days were all sunshine and nights were romance. Now when I think of those days and the fun of them, When I see youngsters still flush in their prime, I can sigh, “‘Well, at least I was one of them Once on a time!” Once on a time I had wonderful dreams, Made up of rainbows that glowed in the distance; Once I sought life, but to-day, so it seems, All I have won to is merely existence. This is the fruit of the blithe and the merry tales Middle-aged plodding through work- aday grime Still, thank the Lord, I believed in the fairy tales Once on a time! Berton Braley. Sea Gulls GAINST the evening sky Hosts of great sea gulls fly In slanting bars. Is it not strange that they Should know a trackless way Among the stars? — Mary Dixon Thayer. The Wind From the Long Ago 1TH swirl of leaf and of clover And chanting of brown-gold bees, The sweet south wind comes over With the pulse of the southern seas; The south wind bearing the chalice To the lips of the summer pressed, Till she sleeps in her golden palace With the red rose on her breast. The west wind rides to the battle Where the heavens are torn by the lance Of the lightning’s flame, and the cattle Have fled from the storm’s advance, Washed pure with a primal cleanness Till the morning sky is aglow, And the mantle of earth and her greenness Is fringed with the hoarfrost’s snow. The east wind whines at the lattice Like a sad soul lost in the dark, And the shivering dry clematis Slips down; and the poplar stark Is gray as a ghost for the keening When the strange east wind goes by; And the weary ships are leaning Gray sails on an ashen sky. The north wind’s cruel as hate is, Or life to the weary heart ; The wild aurora his mate is, Where the white stars shiver and start From the ice-cold blue of the heavens To light with their pallid fire The souls of the unforgiven In the land of lost desire. But there blows a wind that is ever A sweet wind soft and fair; And its whispering voices never Pxan an old despair ; Sorrows have lost their sadness, Pain has its afterglow; And youth has forsworn iis madness On the winds of the Long Ago. The laughing lips that have left us Too sad since their song is done; The dreams of love that bereft us *Twixt the twilit hour and the dawn; The fallen rose by the portal, The tryst that was kept in the snow— Oh Memory’s voice, and immortal, Is the wind from the Long Ago! Mary Lanier Magruder. i —n- ee a = ————

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a an Sila as ge mn, fre og ee THE SATURDAY EVENING POST BSA OS tse Introducing an Old Friend With a New Personality hiemniis has said that after a man returns from college he must be re-introduced to every member of his family. That statement is probably more picturesque than true, but the re-introduction of old friends is at times quite necessary. Today, for instance, we again present the Paige five passenger “Glenbrook” model—a car that has been on the market for slightly more than a year—a car that has won a sensational reputation in every section of this country and in many foreign lands as well. But the explanation is really quite simple. The “Glenbrook” has been refined, developed and amplified until it has assumed an entirely new personality. What was an amazingly fine motor car one year ago has become the perfected mechanical product today. Our ambition has been a high one. We have deliber- ately set out to produce the most thoroughly efficient five passenger motor car on the American market. Our engineers have worked unceasingly to attain that end and the New Series “Glenbrook” is their answer and challenge to the automotive world. For the actual results of this immense work, we must refer you to the car itself. Glenbrook “6-42” Five Passenger Touring Car Ardmore “6-42” Four Passenger Sport Model Lenox “6-42” Roadster Two Passenger Coupé “6-42” Fou» Passenger Sedan “6-42” Five Passenger There, in terms of Power, Speed, Economy and vel- vet riding qualities, you will discover the difference between “old school” mechanics and strictly modern science. It will require a ride in the new “Glenbrook” to tell the complete story—no mere words can ever do justice to that experience. If you will but take this ride we predict that it will be one of the rare delights of your life—a revelation so far as luxurious motoring is concerned. The new “Glenbrook” is a six cylinder gasoline car but it rides with the smoothness of an electric. The impulses merge into a continuous flow of power that is almost magic in its effect. From 5 to 25 miles per hour in 9 seconds flat—that is standard performance, and a clear index of giant energy. But, we shall go no further with descriptions. At our local dealers’ show rooms you can see this remarkable automobile with your own eyes, and arrange for the demonstration that will prove altogether convincing. Don’t miss thisopportunity because it will prove not only a delightful experience but a liberal education as well. $1770 f. 0. b. Detroit 1990 f. o. b. Detroit 1770 f. o. b. Detroit 2525 f. o. b. Detroit 2645 f. o. b. Detroit All models will be exhibited at automobile shows throughout the country rAL@G & cB EB TA, OFF MOTO ROU CARB. COMPANY, DET RO Manufacturers of Paige Motor Cars and Motor Trucks l I

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04 “T was going to ask you that some day, he said. “But it’s "fernal cheek for a man to go butting nu on things which a woman iws to her soul.” He approached and sat the arr m of the cnair ‘Look here, Alice, do you think I got you to come here?” 1] thought 1 guessed,” she said, iway from him looking tut you didn’t. I wanted you to tell me about that chap in the wine biz.” ‘Oh, Lord, I'm wasting my time! But what's it to you? ‘Nothing really be of a little help.” ‘I don’t want hel; ‘Your pride doesn’t.” “No; I don’t.” “But you hate your life. You know hat ve ‘All girls do, unless they've grown dead to things » ‘But you haven't weary of men, to say properly fed up with me ‘Possibly. Only I'd like to know what the game is. I'd much rather you let me go. A girl can’t muck about—and it’s nearly seven.” “When did all this happen?”’ he asked, picking up the shoes and propping them up in the grate. Very carefully he kept his back to her. She did not answer, but sud- lenly she jumped to her feet “What's the game?" she asked angrily. Monsieur Jacques turned slowly. Her youth flung on the defensive pleased him, gratified some secret. sense that loved courage. ‘The game? My dear, there is no game.” “Don't fool me! I'll raise hell in the house before you try your silly kid tricks on me. Of course there's a game. There's always a game. Men don’t take sudden fancies to women out of charity—your kind doesn’t—not the men I've known.” ‘Your tirade contains one gross mis- tatement,” he replied quietly “IT suppose you're going to say you're in love with me, or rot like that.” “No. Because—forgive me a fact.” “Give me my shoes!” He ~" nothing, but picking up the shoes felt each one carefully. Then he handed them back to her “T think the right one is still rather damp at the toe,” he said in a tone of apology. She snatched them from his hand and, bending over the chair, began to put them on. He watched her, drop- ping his monocle, then carefully re- placing it ile coughed ‘What did you do with the child?” he asked But I thought I might You are only very nothing of being it w not The fingers lacing the shoe ceased their movement But she remained bending over the shoe, and he saw her cheeks blaze. He heard her quick in- take of breath ‘The child?” ‘Yes, Alice. There was a child Don't let’s play ducks and drakes with facts, my dear.”’ She stood up then, the shoe still un- laced, and went closer to him and looked into his face. She was still on the defensive, but afraid “Who are you?” she asked “Who am I? Quite an ordinary person 80 they say of me—with a pretty taste in neckties People don't always take to me, you know.” ‘I can believe that!"’ she back ‘I suppose really I'm a dreamer.”” He looked away from her. “I think dreaming is my trade in life.” Blundering!"’ she corrected ing in on other peop ile’ s affairs. parker kind of person! His lips tightened ‘I am sorry,” he said weakly, “but I'm afraid you're right. I do blunder. A bull in a china shop sort of business. And yet : *Yes?” she said, waiting here are things | want; things I’ve always wanted. I'm desperate in my effort for an ideal, a dream. D’you know what I'd like them to put on my tombstone if I died to-night?” lhe incongruity of the question brushed aside her temper. She became a little afraid of him, Jean Jacques threw “Blunder A nosey- THE SATURDAY EVENING POST WEEDS (Centinued from Page 15) “I'd like them to put, ‘He was always kind to women.’ I've tried to earn it. I’ve failed, but I've tried—hard—desperately hard. I don’t want those stereotyped eulogies of virtues I never had. I don’t want suggestiqns of a heaven I may never find. You know, I don’t believe all the Bible. For me the Bible is a rather beau- tiful dream, just as one goes in one’s sleep into a very beautiful country, exploring and satisfied and soothed. But there is one thing in the Bible that is not a dream to me. It’s real; to me an almighty thing. It’s that bit in the Gospel about the treat- ment of women. Oh, I’m not preaching. But every man has an ideal in his life, and that’s mine!” She watched him as he turned and flicked the ash of his cigarette into the grate, waiting there and looking into the flames as if he were thinking. She felt she must say something, but her thoughts were aimless and elusive. He seemed in a few minutes to have grown completely apart from her. She could not understand, but she had had to listen. “I knew you'd had a child,” he said, switching round and balancing himself on the curb. “Never mind how I knew.” “But how could you know? I've tried to hide things—tocleantheslate.” “T found out,’’ he an- swered. “That's why I followed you, why I came and sat at your table, why I got you here.” ¢ 7 7“ ‘Why you got me» here?”’ He nodded “And I lied to you. I told you there wasn’t a game, and there was.” “Then what is the game?” “To find out about that child—and its father. Suppose it was the chap in the wine biz?” “Can't you shut up about it?” she ex- claimed with vehemence. “It’s no good groping in the mud.” “But you loved him? “Yes, till it all smashed. I tell you, I've cut it out. He’s probably dead by now. Come to think of it, he was consumptive.” Monsieur Jacques stroked his little beard. He became very serious. There were things he would have liked to say, but ” “I Hoped I Should be Alone. Sentiment — No More Than That" which with an effort he kept in suppres- sion. There was in him a rising sense of injustice that in cutting it ali out, as she had said, she had cut the child out. For Monsieur Jacques had a quaint and rather different tenderness toward children. He did not understand them; he was over- whelmed with self-consciousness in their presence. But their claims, their needs were a demanding influence in his life. “This child, my dear.” He began fuss- ing aboutgwith his cigarette holder, fum- bling, it seemed, for words. “I wonder why people shut away the memories of old passions that have had bad endings, much as they would put away old luggage in a lumber room. Giving beauty to dust and cobwebs, I call it. For a real love affair that is real—hallows itseif. I don’t mean coarse passion. I’ve no use for that. But love that sanctifies a place and leaves its fragrance long after the temple has been torn down. The sort of thing you can look back upon and say, ‘I’m glad it happened!’ That child remains to you as the memory of those days, and they were good days; you know that.” ‘*T suppose they were.”’ She relapsed into her chair, tired and irritated. ee . _ ~ I Suppose it Was Just “Of course they were! And that child’s your treasure. Where's it now?” She hesitated. “Kept by a widow person. really I do.” ‘Grudgingly? “ Of course, if you must be a pig and put it like that. But one doesn’t want encum- brances.”’ “Encumbrances? Memories!” He leaned over the chair. “‘ You know, life’s a great garden. Do you know what they call you women in the garden?” I pay her— January 22,192! “Weeds, I should say. Oh, I know how little we count! I’ve no mistaken ideas about things. I’m only twenty, but I’ve explored hell since I was seventeen.” “And have you never seen beauty in weeds?” he asked. “I have. As a kid I hated to pull up a weed. I loved their little pink-and-white eyes, showing when all the flowers I cultivated slept. They reminded me then that things lived. The flowers I'd striven for failed me in the bad moods of spring. “They wanted the sun. But the weeds yielded me fiowers when the sun had missed its place in the sky. I never destroyed a weed.” “And spoiled your garden!”’ she ex- claimed, catching his mood. “No, I just made Nature my gardener and sacked my man.” She laughed back at him. “You dear fool!” “Was Ia fool? I wonder!” “You're a bit mad—seeing beauty in weeds. I’m a weed. One of those long straggly ones! Society would tear me out by the roots. I suppose I ought to be torn out by the roots. I’m poisonous. Were you ever married?” “No, I was never married.” “But just imagine! What would your wife, if you’d had one, have said to a person like me?”’ “If I had married, my wife—would have been very kind to you. Because well, because: she would have under- stood.”’ ‘That's a bit more of your beauti- ful dream.”” She leaned forward, her chin on her hand. “What made me a weed?” He talked to her then, very seriously a quietly; almost light-he artedly. He ypeared as a person without a mission. F is talk wandered on as a river might ramble aimlessly toward no sea. But suddenly he got up and went back to the fire, and stood there, his legs apart, and studied her for a few mo- ments without speaking. “I’ve got two hundred children,’ he said at length. His silliness made her cynical and quick to retort. “Of course you number them? Rather like the kings of England— James the First, James the Sec ond a “No,” he replied, ‘“‘not quite dike that. I mean that two hundred—I think, to be precise, two hundred and seven—children call me father.” “ My child magnified two hundred and seven times!’’ she laughed. ‘Great Jerusalem !”’ “And I wish I'd got a million!” “You ought to have lived in Old Testament days. You're a few thou- sand years behind your time. They would have cottoned onto )«ou as some lad! Fancy you and your lot in the ark! Old Man Noah would have got into a row for having no Plimsoll mark.” He did not reply, but walked across to the bookcase and unconsciously be- gan to gather some books. She got up and crept to his side and touched his arm. “T didn’t mean to hurt; ical beast. But “ A little rush of wind in the gather- ing dusk without pushed the ivy with a scrabbling sound across the window- pane. He heard it and gripped her wrist fiercely and turned toward the window. “Whenever I hear that noise it al- ways seems to me like finger nails on glass little fingers—children asking to be let in. She drew away from him, frightened. Yet nothing would have compelled her to leave the room, though the door was ajar behind her. She knew that she could not go away; that something about him, some force invisible and binding, was holding her. Had he touched her again, or even come near her, she might have screamed—or been infinitely soothed. Whatever he had asked her to do she would have done. Whatever he had asked her to give she would have given—through fear. He turned toward her, smiling. “I want your child,” he said. The demand was so unexpected, the break in the tension so definite, that she almost burst out laughing. “You want—Jim? (Continued on Page 69) I’m a cyn- 8 ee re ~ ee rer ae at ee a

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 22,192! * In these days when you’re uncertain » about clothes—prices, qualities, values— * one fact stands out strong: 3 We guarantee satisfaction or money back Soman CO a) RA art Schaffner fa Marx Wes XY ats . ~ a oe A ~ .

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6s THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 22,192! — ee This diagram shows the interior of the Maytag aluminum cylinder in operation. The cylinder has only 5 openings, each one designed on the Millrace Principle. As it revolves, the hot sudsy water rushes through these five millrace gates with greatly increased force—and actively flushes the dirt out of the clogged meshes of the fabric. ~and less soap,too! HE Maytag does a big washing with an unusually small quantity of water. This is due to the action produced by the Millrace Principle, which requires a minimum of water in its work. This makes possible an important saving in soap because a sma!ler volume of water requires less soap to thoroughly saturate it. The Maytag is winning more admiration every day. The way it handles cylinders full of heavy pieces, the way it turns out delicate things like blouses and lingerie and even dainty laces, is simply amazing. It has converted thousands of women to the idea of washing by machine because it cleanses in a scientific yet absolutely logical way, and at such a trifling cost for electricity and soap. Investigate this great blessing today. See a demon- stration, If you don’t quickly locate the Maytag dealer, write us for hi$ name. Tue Mayrao Company, Derr. 100, Newton, Iowa Branches at Philadelphia, Pa.; Indianapolis, Ind.; Minneapolis Minn.; Kansas City, Mo.; Portland, Ore.; Winnipeg, Man., Can., and The Maytag Company of England, 323 Caledonian Road, King's Cross, Londo Makers of Maytag Multi- Motor, Elec- tric, Belt and Hand Power Washers Cabinet ELECTRIC WASHER This picture shows a typical miil- race designed io increase the velocity of the lowing water before it strikes the millwheel. Q0) “*The Gray Machine with the Red Stripe

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— ee a (Continued from Page 64) Lai Yes.”’ “What for?” “I want him for keeps; to bring him up; make a inan of him; make him sterling English—real weather-beaten English.” She starea at him wide-eyed, and again came the desire to laugh. “I want you to think round things— not frivol about,” he said. ‘‘You’ve never thought much about humanity, because to you humanity has always been hard, brutal, inevitable.” “Yes, I think it’s always been that way with me.” “And you've got nothing out of it but sadness; sadness with little splashes of color that were more vivid because of the contrast. Humanity has done its best to make you a weed. But you know— though probably you've never thought of it quite like this—God made weeds to be the runners-up to the flowers in the garden, to set the pace to sweetness. So He gave an infinite sweetness to some weeds to hasten the sluggard violet, the nurtured and care- ful thing that wished to flower in its own chosen day of sun and in its own appointed time. That’swhy I want youtogiveme Jim. I'll make him good for you. I'll make him’’—he threw out his hands—‘‘so that when he’s grown up you'll be proud of him. You'll want him then. He'll be protection; a big strong thing. And I'll make him kind; I promise you that. You know, he won't love you through the widow person, because children love direct or not at all. But I'll make him love you as the most beautiful thing in the whole garden of humanity as he ever finds it.”’ There was nothing sympathetic in his voice. He spoke calmly and passionlessly. But he made her wonder. She had never thought of Jim like that—-growing up, or Jim thinking of women at all, or about anything that really mattered. After all, he was something loaned out; a piece of household furniture on which she was pay- ing for storage. And the possibilities of Jim—had Jim possibilities? He was only a little chattel. A very unconsidered and unwanted chattel. Had Monsieur Jacques been less matter- of-fact Alice Royds would have collapsed in tears. She shrank still closer into the corner of her chair. Monsieur Jacques seemed to become taller and wider and more commanding as she looked at him. He went on talking, though she heard very little of what he said. But at last she asked, ‘‘What do you fancy you're going to get out of it?”’ “Didn’t I tell you I wish I had a million children? Some people collect china or books or pestage stamps or other trump- eries. But I collect life. I find it so much more interesting.” So it came about that James Royds, aged four, passed into the care of Monsieur Jacques, who appointed himself his legal guardian, and vowed by the law to do end- less things for James Royds until the child should become twenty-one years of age. Then was James Royds spirited away to a large house in the country, where there were scores of other children of about his own age, where there was a wonderful gar- den, and swings, and donkeys to ride, and every toy ever known to childhood. And occasionally his mother came to see him, till presently her visits became more fre- quent. Once she cried over him, which made him wonder, and ever after that he knew that she was more and more loath to leave him, and he felt somehow that he was more and more loath to see her go. But when she had passed beyond the big iron gates his heart seemed to cease from bothering him. Not that he cared for her any the less, but to James Royds there was no world outside the deodar at the end of the garden hedge. With Alice Royds it was different. She became irresistibly drawn toward the place, and sometimes in the stillness of night she would wake up and lie in the dark, wonder- ing about it. Ultimately, with the help of Monsieur Jacques, she secured a post as a warehouse clerk. At first the life was colorless and dull; she became fretful irritable. But eventually the mood passed. From the world which had been hers a new world appeared to be flung off which gravi- tated toward and ended in circling round a child Then, noticing this for the first time—it was her moist eyes which he observed one day when they met in the garden that did it, one August bank holiday— Monsieur THE SATURDAY Jacques smiled again to himself, a self- satisfied smile; rather like that of a man who stands on the flags of a quay and sees a sail that he cherishes bear down toward home. ui BOUT three months after the first visit of Alice Royds to the boarding house Monsieur Jacques was sitting at his open window in the dusk. Autumn was still lingering, and the pavement below was gold with a litter of plane leaves. For the first time in many years Mon- sieur Jacques felt intensely lonely. It was as if he now discovered that he was a being unto himself; that there was no one with whom he could converse other than in ordinary platitudes. And he felt more acutely than he had ever done the bitter- ness of his fellow boarders which had grown about him like a stockade. He wondered if he should change his place of abode, or if the power of pushing aside intended hurt had really left him. “One gets old; one feels things,”’ he said to the open air. ‘Fifty-five! And yet it’s not a great time. If one could start life with one’s plans made; without having to grope for knowledge. This weary groping for understanding * He lit a cigarette and watched the smoke coil out on the still air. He did not hear the opening of the door. But presently he became instinctively aware that he was not alone in the room, and when he looked round he saw a lean, cadaverous youth standing in the darkest corner. Monsieur Jacques started upandswitched on the light. The youth—he could not have been more than twenty-four or so advanced into the room and stood blinking across the table, his hands straight at his sides and his fingers moving uneasily as if he held something in the palms. His face was very white, and contrasted to its dis- advantage with the long black hair swept back from his forehead. He threw his hat and coat into a chair. But he said nothing, and as Monsieur Jacques studied him curi- ously he noticed that he looked hungry and ill. Even the eyes, blazing as they ap- peared with fire, were sunken and drawn under the thick black brows. “I wish you'd sit down,” Jacques said. In a way the boy's face was vaguely familiar, but Monsieur Jacques swept the thought aside. Nevertheless he felt that he had been brought into touch with calamity. There was something ruffled and unusual about the youth that suggested calamity. “You—know—me?" the youth asked quietly. Monsieur Jacques adjusted his monocle, peered at him a little and hesitated. “T don’t think * he began. “Oh, don't quibble! I’m Louis.” “Louis!”’ Monsieur Jacques drew back a little toward the window. “Yes, Louis, I said.” “I'm very glad “Oh, don’t lie! I’m not in the mood for lies. I’ve lived on lies. What do you think I’m here for?’’ He came to the table and leaned across it and sent a sheaf of papers flying with his fist. ‘What do you think I'm here for?"’ he repeated. “Really, my dear Louis,”’ said Monsieur Jacques very calmly, “‘I haven't the first idea.”’ “I think that I’ve come here to kill you!” Without a word Monsieur Jacques went to the sideboard, dug in his trousers pocket for his keys and unlocked the tantalus. “Have a brandy and soda,” he said. “And for heaven's sake sit down! I've a queer sense of discomfort which torments me horribly when anyone visiting me re- mains standing.” “I suppose you think I'm mad?” Louis said, groping for a chair and dropping into it without removing his eyes from Mon- sieur Jacques. “No, dear boy, only a fool to talk like that. People don’t walk into decent men’s rooms at this late hour and talk about killing them. Believe me, it isn’t done!” “Decent men’s rooms!” “Yes, that was what I said.” Monsieur Jacques closed the tantalus with a snap. He crossed over to the fire, his hands in his pockets. “Decent men’s rooms! And you my father, who was never married to my mother! Decent men’s rooms!” “Isn't it a little undignified to talk like that, since—since your mother—is dead?” asked Monsieur Jacques. Monsieur EVENING POST “But the wrong you did to her lives on,” the other haw oe “I stand for that wrong. And the vengeance of men, the just vengeance, has fallen—-not upon you to whom the burden rightly belongs, but upon me. That's why I’m here!” “What do you mean by vengeance? “The taint of illegitimacy. I’ve fought against it, but it’s got me down. It’s beaten me. It’s not so long ago that I dis- covered the truth, and I've been looking for you ever sine €. 1 waited for this meet- ing, lived for it. “If you had not run from shelter Monsieur Jacques began “You mean, if I had not disappeared nine years ago?” “Yes. You were approaching manhood, and you were sensitive to hurt. I wanted to protect you.” “I didn’t want mollycoddling, if that's what you mean. I wanted to play a decent part in life. But I did not know the stigma under which I lived. I got a job and kept it. I worked. I was going uphill; 1 meant to go uphill. Then one day someone discovered something. “I was flung out. Once again I started, but my work kept me in the same circle, and in the end the same thing was re- peated. And all the friends I cared about just dropped me outside their smug little lives. That's your work.” “*T suppose I ought to have told you. I suppose ’’-— Monsieur Jacques hesitated and stood looking away and pulling at his beard— “I suppose there is no more diffi- cult task in the world than to tell a boy of sixteen that he is illegitimate; that he must ever shirk discussion of his parentage. I felt that, for parentage is the escutcheon of a boy of sixteen.” “You mean that you were afraid to tell me? : iol “Yes, Louis, I was afraid to tell you.” “That's pretty rank cowardice, isn't it? The sort of low-down trick I might have expected from a man like you, now that I know everything.” Monsieur Jacques flinched a little under the sting, but he was perfectly calm “If L had told you it would not have held you back, Louis. You meant to go You were always restless, moody, sup- pressed energy trying to force through its barrier. I believed that you would have been stronger, better equipped by the lack of knowledge. You didn’t understand the world then, Louis.” “No! And I've paid for it ever since Wherever I went the truth struck me down And there was no lack of proof, for the husband of my mother— God pity her! was living. I know he drove her to the streets. | learned all about that. It made it more hideous. And you coming along, the destroyer stamping out what little chance she might have had to rise again!" Monsieur Jacques held up his hand “Say what you like about me,”’ he ex- claimed, “‘but be faithful to the memory of your mother! Some of the last words she said were, ‘Look after Louis.”, And you robbed me of the chance by disappearing till now.” A patch of flame appeared on the boy's cheeks. He sprang to his feet. “I'm glad!” he exclaimed passionately. “To have been brought up by you~ the idea makes me sick! And I've been haunted by the viciousness of you ever since I went Isn't that enough, without having it plas- tered over me by living under your charge They've never reckoned me fit for decent society- thanks to you!” Monsieur Jacques did not stir “Sit down, Louis. And, Louis’’— the youth remained staring at him-—“‘just put that thing which’ you hold in your hand in your pocket out here on the table.” Louis’ eyes blazed, but he did not stir “Put it on the table!"’ Monsieur Jacques roared at him. “‘In this room you obey me!” Slowly Louis withdrew his hand from the pocket of his reefer coat and put a small glimmering revolver on the table. For a few seconds Monsieur Jacques smoked on, glancing now at Louis and now at the re- volver. He let the revolver lie between them, but presently he stepped across and picked it up, and emptying the chambers Cal the cartridges between the paws of the orange-china dog asprawl on the mantel- piec 2. ‘At any rate I've done you one good turn in my life,” he said. ‘You would have felt very uncomfortable when you had killed me, Hanging is a pretty cheap kind of death.” Go “No worse than living in hell!’’ Louis flung back. “You have been unfortunate, Louis You have been a fool. Let us for the sake of argument put it like that,’”’ Monsieur Jacques said. ‘And it would have been easier—very much easier— if you had let me make it so. I would have stood by you. I'd planned all sorts of things for you, Louis. And you alone forbade ful fillment. Sit down!” Louis dropped inert into the chair. Then his head fell forward into his hands. He was shivering horribly “You talking about decent treatment! Preaching like the proud father,’’ he ex- claimed without looking up Monsieur Jacques set his lips. His fingers played nervously with the ribbon of his monocle. “Did you ever know your mother to have one unhappy moment through me?” he asked. “I don’t remember The boy's head went back to the corner of the chair, and his face, upturned so that the light fell full upon it, was wet with sweat. “But you know!” “I don't remember, | tell you!” Monsieur Jacques hesitated. “I loved your mother,” he said quietly and in a voice of tenderness that was changed and unlike himself. ‘1 loved her. I worship her memory now ‘Love! Worship! It’s been pretty won- derful as a heritage for me, hasn't it?” “Louis, you cannot understand these things. Y ou hove been outside the call of them all.’ Monsieur Jacquesloungedheavily against the corner of the table. He pitched his half-smoked cigarette into the grate irri- tably and locked his fingers across his knee And he looked away beyond Louis’ head to the blank space of hideous wall paper, till presently his face lighted as if a screen had been lifted and showed him things he had almost forgotten “I don’t think I want to understand,” Louis said. “It’s all very sordid and ter- rible, and I hate recollections of ugly things.” “But you have never known love,” Monsieur Jacques responded. “Not your sort of love, thank God!” ‘T mean love that is beautiful,’ Monsieur Jacques corrected. ‘‘Our love was beauti- ful—- hers and mine. And what do you know of love like that? You judge every thing from the standpoint of sex. And sex——-what do you know of sex? What do any of us really know of sex in its relation to that which is beautiful in our lives? Sex has been beating against humanity through the centuries. It's a great surging tide, a human suffering. Sometimes we think we push it aside, but we never do. ‘But you can make of sex a very beautiful thing, and it can make a very beautiful thing of you.” Monsieur Jacques hesitated “| think she would have liked me to tell you,” he went os. “When your mother was passing she said very quietly, and the words were broken: ‘It was sunlight when you came. And being small, | was always afraid of the dark.’ Louis, a woman who regrets never says those things.’ Louis turned a little in his chair ‘| didn’t know she felt— like that,” he said ‘Because she--she wasn’t quite a good woman.” “People might say —she wasn't a very good woman,’ Monsieur Jacques replied ‘They might say she was a very beautiful weed. But human standards are so hard for the exceptions, Louis.” Louis sat very still, his eyes half closing as if he were trying to remember something, to arrange a perspective that had become distorted *T wonder why you speak of her like that,”” he said-—‘‘as a weed.” ‘A weed, dear Louis, was the only flower that blossomed in my window box last summer. The heat killed the plants I set so true to root and had nurtured so care fully But the weed survived the blaze, and put forth a beautiful pink flower as a token of ¢ ourage and she was very beauti ful, Louis.’ The boy node Bs a. ‘Yes,”” he said, “I remember * And so for an hour-—two hours— they talked. All the storm that had come be- tween them fell away as the heart steals out of the tempest with the break of morn- ing. They talked at first as people rather restrained; as if they each sheltered some hurt. But presently a companionship, or

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For fashion and fit, for comfort and economy nothing beats them. All styles and leathers for men and for women. First class shoe stores sell them. Write us for the the Arnold retailer name of nearest you. M. N. Arnold Shoe Company North Abington, Massachusetts VASSAR MODEL No. P807 — a | } tell me, | upon whom good women look down, good | women who have never been tempted, | years; the essence of understanding, seemed sud- denly to become present—an understand- ing that was the effort of neither the one nor the other. In the quiet of the room an influence moved that brought them to- gether. Once Louis turned round as if he oe someone was standing behind his chair. “You know,” Monsieur Jacques said at last, in a tone that would brook no con- tradiction, “this country is all wrong about memorials. There is only one memorial to put up to those we love, and that is life; preservation of life; kindliness to life; not massed charity, but something individual. At least I always look at it that way. And, these weeds, these human weeds never driven—would you say that a stone stuck anywhere in the ground is all they have earned? They have paid with tears. Have they no claim to rather special re- membrance?”’ “I think she had,” replied Louis. “I remember the things she used to say to me when I was small to make me brave. They were different somehow to the things one reads about. When I was a nipper I re- member her telling me always to choose the hard road because it made the feet hard. To my kid’s mind that sounded like horse sense.”’ Monsieur Jacques leaned forward from his perch. “Louis,” he said, “don’t you know that there was never a woman in this world quite like your mother?” “She was the only memory I have worth keeping.” “A memory that ought to go on for I might say for hundreds of years.” “Which of course is impossible.” “No, Louis, I have built a memorial to your mother, and endowed it so that it will go on for hundreds of years.” “A memorial?” “Yes. I have collected two hundred and eight children as a memorial to her. I know she would have wanted that.” Louis stared at him. He wondered if this were some sudden freak of eccentricity, or if the grief, which he realized now was a living thing in the soul of Monsieur Jacques, had turned his head. “Two hundred and eight “Children! Weeds, Lcuis, weeds! Chil- dren who have had to rough it before they had the strength of a common beetle. Little kids! Children of mothers who'd been tempted, and “I know,” said Louis. ened. “It’s rather a topping idea. know hi “What?” asked Monsieur Jacques as he ” His face bright- I didn’t | paused. “IT mean—I didn’t know—you were well, quite that sort of man.” “‘But then, Louis, you were so foolish. Hopping off like Springheeled Jack before you'd had time to understand me, and I you.” He got up and put his hands on the boy’s shoulders. ‘‘If we’d been together we would have built a memorial to your mother that would have moved the world. But I’ve had to do it alone. It’s been a lonely job; too big for a man who's dis- covering little unexpected bouts of pain. My dissolute youth, Louis—that’s the cause of it. I lived a very dissolute youth because I had money and no occupation. If you know of another man who has no occupation go on your knees at night and pray for him. We'll go down there to- morrow.” “W here?”’ ‘To your mother’s memorial; the place we're constructing to her. It’s not a marble mausoleum, no fanciful decoration, no blatant sorrow in extravagance— none of that. I've hidden all that in trees. A won- derful building—-Tudor, Louis, Tudor! A knight once lived there. In fact the rap- scallion built it for his ladies! Odd that it should become a palace for the children who are the descendants of those ladies. You can imagine the vicious old rascal won- dering how he could build something that would entice the heart of a woman, and the gods laughing in the knowledge that years on, long after the old rascal’s dust had joined the forgotten things of the world, other women, as beautiful as his, would come there and find treasure in the knowl- ~ of motherhood! What a jest of the gods! Think of it! And the greater God laughing!” Louis stared at him agape. “ Are you running a a home or a hostel for incurables, or what?” he inquired. January 22, /92/ Monsieur Jacques shook his head. ‘A place where they capture youth,” he said. ‘Youth is so fleeting unless one looks after it. It’s a big nursery, this place, where mothers come—those mothers whom God blessed without their asking for it and who do not know the wonderful thing they’ve got till we teach them. Every woman rediscovers herself through mother- hood, Louis. There’s no Columbus busi- ness about it, with limited frontiers. It’s bigger than that. It’s like getting all the world clutched in your arms. To me it’s splendid experiment; like watching ants come out of the depth of the earth in the sun and think they’ve conquered a garden. I watch them change, these mothers. watch them hate the old things. I watch the broken ships come home.” ‘*You mean you rescue these children?” “Yes; and through the children those who brought them into the world. But wait till you've seen the place. It’s some- thing to dream about; a most amazing garden, with ponds and goldfish. Children love goldfish—at least, I thought they did. And the garden — it took five hundred years to grow it. But it takes an age to be worthy of youth.” “But if,”” began Louis haltingly, “ you’ve got a place like that, why on earth do you live in this poky hole? You're not a pauper.” Monsieur Jacques laughed till the mon- ocle bobbed about on his chest. “‘T once knew a man who lived in Charing Cross Road because he collected books,’’ he said. Louis nodded as if he understood. But there was a vague expression on his face. **I always sit at my open window here,’ Monsieur Jacques added as if by after- thought of explanation. Louis still stared at him. “You are terribly dense, Louis,’’ Mon- sieur Jacques said—‘“‘unnaturally dense. But then, you see, you are not my son!” The following day Monsieur Jacques and Louis traveled a long journey by train into the country, and all the while Mon- sieur Jacques chatted at random about the most inconsequent things: the approach of winter, the shortage of butter, t m6 drop in oil shares and the futility of parliamentary committees. But never once did he refer to the conversation of the previous evening. At the station a car met them and took them to the heart of a wood. It drew up at a big iron gate and they got out. “*T like these gates, Louis,”’ said Mon- sieur Jacques. “ They are Italian. 1 bought them at Genoa, and brought them here on a ship I chartered for the purpose. That rising sun coming out of a cloud bank rather a remarkable idea in iron, I think appealed to me. It is sc hard to be original in iron. The stained windows I got at the same time. They are fifteenth century. You'll see them in the schoolroom. Rather imaginative. In a way they are quite re- markable. I think they must be, for I was offered nine thousand pounds for them only a short time ago.” “You mean you put windows like that in a schoolroom?’’ “And why not? Youth must have the most beautiful things,’’ Monsieur Jacques said as if stating a dogma. He lapsed into silence. Not till they reached the carved door of the building and stood in the porch did he speak again. Then he said: “‘I] would hate anything tawdry; any suggestion of what had been. Only the ancient Greeks understood youth.” He held open the door for Louis and fol- lowed him in. They walked down the tiled passage side by, side. And everywhere was richness, with wonderful carpets that ended in snug dormitories and cubicles with saxe-blue hangings. The light of a late autumn sun came through the windows weakly and scattered the color in rich pools on the floor, and flung warmth across the little beds through the heavy orange cur- tains at the windows. ‘IT always have the curtains changed on the thirtieth of October,”” Monsieur Jacques explained. ‘We are pink in summer, and in winter we just borrow from the sun with orange. A decent old fellow, the sun. Bait him with orange when he’s wabbly, Louis. Bait him with orange! He's a surly old devil, but he’s got a soul.” They wandered aimlessly about for half an hour; then Monsieur Jacques paused at the end of a corridor on the first floor, and looked out through the mullioned win- dows to the lawn beyond. For a while he (Concluded on Page 72)

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Rae. pm Spree a mn | Ba ie i ne es THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Cominc as they are, in ever growing numbers, expressions lauding the LINCOLN Car afford convincing § testi- mony that motordom discerns a rare achievement —in which even high ex- pectance has been surpassed. They provide conclusive evidence that motordom perceives intrinsic better- ments—refinements which could not be evolved except thru rich and ripe experi- ence, and which could not be accom- plished except thru many years’ devotion to high ideals. It was purposed that the LINCOLN be a car superior in its roading ableness. But motordom observes a range of versa- tility for which it knows no precedent. It was purposed that the LINCOLN be a car exceptional in its ease and com- fort, unusual in its fascination and in its charm. But in the estimate of motordom the LINCOLN Car gives new interpretation to these terms. LINCOLN MOTOR COMPANY It was purposed that the LINCOLN be a car of swiftness in abridging distance, a car to vanquish hills and neutralize deficient highways. But motordom perceives a car which conquers rough and scraggy going with unapparent efort and achieves with facility that is amazing. It was purposed that the LiIncoLN Car be rugged and enduring. But motordom concedes a car wherein the elements contributing to those qual- ities—always pronounced in_ products that are Leland-built—are conspicuous now in even greater measure. The citations could be multiplied. But the essence is— that motordom has recognized the LELAND-BUILT LINCOLN Car as uphold- ing fully the tradition of its makers. And that tradition is— that their each and every new achievement shall surpass achievements that have gone before. DETROIT, MICHIGAN Leland-butlt Lincoln Motor Cars will be exhibited at The National Automobile wre . Chicago, January 29 — February 5, 1921 The Leland - built Lincoln Eight- cylinder Motor Cars Comprise Eight Body Types aageoage WNL SEE

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72 Cenciuded from Page 70) gazed thoughtful it the bilan patel of grass, |} eves half wed, till at last Loui th ght he e} But idder ne illed himself ip witl a jerk and said I wist ou'd go down and ce the hildrer the two hundred and eight | mother mausoleum I'd rather i went alone “Of course I'll go But won't you come?” Louis asked. ‘I think perhaps but maybe it t guesswork the chil lren would like it Monsieur J jue eemed not to hear [hat deodar there,” he said, and pointed across the great lawn. He stood foot up on the locker beneath the with one fo« window an i? ‘ ow resting on his kne« ‘That deoda made me buy this place 7 ‘You bought it because of one tree Louis wa : little incredulou “Yes, because of one tree It was just like that at Erringtor The deodar was exactly in that position. You remember he used to sit under it when the days were hot And the bee there where those laurels are Yo had put there; the bigger children tend them. And that patch to the right. in the break be tween the trees That's where she used to nut your cradle in the sun You see I've had a sundial put there. She said that on the day you were born July was weeping our coming brought the sun, and she were u se I've hives but never knew winter afterward. That's what he thought of you, Louis.” | don’t understand,”’ said Louis ‘I'm illy, but I don't understand.” “You don't understand? No, I suppose you wouldn't. Only God understands why ] say these things. He knows.” “Not that— not quite that,” said Louis ‘But you told me only a few hours ago that you were not my father, and yet you Know Monsieur Jacques glanced at him for an instant “She told only one person, Louis. They were the secrets of her soul. She told me Now perhap vu know *h, 1 don't know i you ould really understand— why | loved your mother. No, perhaps one has to live these things. Go down and see the chil dren. They'll amuse you. And I would like to stay here a little by myself. I’m rather tired. I think perhaps we shall have rain.” iv ys rH later, Monsieur Jacques, sit ft ing beside his open window in the hoarding house, went to sleep, as it might have been in the cool of the evening, and forgot to wake up Louis found him so when he came with the evening paper, his little tubby form leaning low over the win dow sill, as if the eyes that no longer saw were watching the turmoil of life in the treet below The boarders, when they heard it gath a huddled flock of like ered toe ther rath er THE SATURDAY sheep inside the dining-room door when the dinner gong sounded, and moved to their places with a stiff attitude of melan- choly They spoke in whispers, some a little afraid. And they ate the meal quietly, speaking now and then in tones conscious of happening—happening that had, un- ought, impinged upon them “I thuppose,” began Miss Flannery to her neighbor, “that thimple people are al- wath retherved. I thought it wath tho with Monsieur Jacques.”’ She spooned her soup noisily. “I mean, Monsieur Jacques wath—oh, that beathly cook hath burned the thoup!”’ ‘Soup, my dear Miss Flannery, was cre- ated to be burned. To be strictly accurate it was a discovery made in the Garden when Adam, looking after more tender things, burned the dishwater. That is the history of soup in a tureen!”” And the major carefully uncorked his bottle of sherry Miss Flannery gave a little gurgle that might have been a laugh ‘It ith not about the thoup I wath think ing, but Monsieur Jacques. I thought I thaw him in the doorway ath we came in Imagination of courth.”’ “Of course,”” said the major. ‘ You're jumpy, my dear—nerves. You've got to whack nerves. Nerves are hell, Miss Flan- nery. We lost ’em in the army—buried ‘em —buried 'em slick under. Try the jelly when we come to it. It looks bilious, but I think it might be nice. The sideboard suits its complexion. And possibly the custard is unburned. If so, God save the ruddy cook!’ “TI hate jelly. Cold and wabbly,”” Miss Flannery replied. ‘‘I thuppothe we didn’t mithjudge him? I mean Monsieu’ Jacques That thrange youth thaid the little man wath too good for thith place. The thauce! He wath going to take him away.” “Let him!" the major retorted. ‘‘I hate plumes and hearses. Let him!”’ “IT think tho. But I would like to know to be thure——that we didn’t mithjudge him I think he mutht have been a very weak man, major.” “Weak? Jehoshaphat! You know, I do know men! I've ruled 'em, my dear —ruled ‘em like iron. Hell and fire water and the King’s Regulations!"’ In the small blue room kept for very spe- cial visitors in the Tudor house Louis watched beside the little crumpled figure of what had once been Monsieur Jacques. He found himself in a room silent with death, that yet seemed stirred with the greatest magic of life. Sunshine blazed; a bird sang in the larches beyond the window the last lament of a lost summer. Somewhere a lone bee droned on a windowpane Some foolish person had placed a clock on the mantelpiece. As if time, or the count of time, could ever mean anything to Mon sieur Jacques again! Louis turned at last, conscious that he was not alone in the room. And he looked EVENING POST across the coffin at Alice Royds. Her face was white and tired, but what he noticed above everything was the unnecessary mourning she wore. He felt unconsciously that it would have hurt Monsieur Jacques very much if for one moment his weary eyes could have opened “I felt I must surveying Louis a wanted to. I hoped “Hoped for what?” “I hoped I should be alone. been alone with him once before. I wanted to talk to him —tell him things.’’ She smiled weakly, believing that he might have thought her foolish. ‘‘I suppose it was just sentiment—no more than that. I felt some- how that he still lived.” A burst of children’s laughter came from the lawn below. come up,” she said, little uncertainly. “I I had only “He is still alive!’’ Louis said signifi- cantly “Those children don’t know what they've lost.” “But you know what he ordered. The children were to have a day’s holiday and a gorgeous tea, because one of themselves had been fortunate enough to set out on the greatest of all adventures—so he put it.” “I know. Yes, 1 know all about that. He was rather wonderful.” ‘“*And I never knew how wonderful till I first heard those children laugh.” ‘But I hate it!’’ she exclaimed. he did so much for them!” “He wanted it so,”’ Louis replied. “‘ You know that. He wanted every child to real- ize that there is nothing to be afraid of in death. It was his great desire to tone down the conception of déath in a child’s mind, so that it appeared as no more than an ordi- nary happening. Fancy our trying to live up to that!” “We couldn't do it, Louis.” “Not youand 1. We've been weak. But we thought we were giants once.” *Yes—-we thought.” “‘And I wanted to kill him. I've never told you about that. I thought him a des picable little person. I wanted to hurl his tubby body out of the window. And yet I don’t know how—he carried me away by something he said. He didn’t preach, but he taught me in one hour to understand humanity.” “As he taught me,”’ she broke in. “It was like being taken round a picture gallery and shown the most beautiful as- pects of humanity in rich colors,”’ he told her. “‘He hypnotized me—that’s what he did——hypnotized me, and never let go.” Alice Royds bent her face over the sleep- ing eyes of Monsieur Jacques, and when she lifted her hand Louis saw that she held in it a small bunch of wild flowers—no, weeds; weeds with little pink eyes and bits of white and yellow blossom. Very carefully she put the bouquet on his pillow. “He had always seemed to me, till I really knew him, such a little man,” she ex- plained, as if to cover her action. “When January 22,1921! Louis sat down on a trestle and watched her. The piteousness of her offering held him silent. He felt drawn toward her, as if he would gladly carry her burden for her as Monsieur Jacques had carried it. ‘‘ And I remember all the things I wanted to do to him,” he said, looking away from her, “‘because I thought he’d hurt my mother. But I was all wrong. Really he had saved her from a Pentecost of suffering, and made her life very beautiful. No, he didn’t marry her. He couldn’t. But when one loves deeply, I wonder—if it matters. I don’t know.” “If a man makes a woman’s life beauti- ful,’’ she began, “and if there’s a God He’d pick the secret out of the woman’s heart. He'd know.” “I’m glad you think that way. It may not be true convention—and you know he wasn’t my father really.” ““Not your father?’”’ She came round to the trestle. ‘‘Not your father? Louis, I didn’t know.” “‘No. My mother wasn’t quite good till he made her good. Moralists will say that his doctrine was all wrong. I don’t care He made my mother good. You see, Alice, there are some men—a few men—who make women very beautiful. Many men have the chance, but few take it when it comes. Mostly they trade on the ugliness. But he was more than a little kind. His love made him kind. He took her burden, and he gave me his name. That's why I hate myself; I went back on him. Un- knowing, it is true, but I went back on him.” They stayed there for a while, talking across the still figure that separated them, exchanging confidences, hopes, beliefs. Maybe that in their ordering this was to be the one chosen place in which they were to exchange beliefs. And he spoke to her with a natural ease, as if he had assumed the right to guard her, as if by some heritage he had stepped into the place of another. “I wonder what you'll put on his stone,”’ she said to fill in a pause. “He hated stones,”’ Louis said. ‘‘I don’t know. Just the name and date, I suppose.” Yes—plain. He'd want it plain.” She got up. “But I remember something he once told me. I remember now how fright- ened I was when he said it; somehow I thought he was mad. He told me what he would like on his stone if he died that night.”’ “He told you?” te “What was it?” ‘Just these words: ‘He was always kind to women.’” “He meant it?” “Yes, Louis, it was his creed.”’ ““T know,” he said. He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and jotted it down “It’s your tribute to him, that bit of memory,” he said thoughtfully. “Alice, we'll put that.’”” He smiled gratefully. “Yes, I think we'll put that.”

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: THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 13 FLORENCE STOVES MORE HEAT LESS CARE IES hen | LT } ORENCE - | = f For Scheduled Meals F your family must have meals right on schedule time, you will never disappoint them if you use a Florence Oil Cook Stove. For breakfast, dinner, or supper, the Florence is always ready to do its work. Touch a lighted match to the asbestos kindler. In a few min- utes you get powerful heat under the cooking which is easily regulated for fast, medium, or slow cooking. Burns kerosene, an economical and easily obtainable fuel. Thoroughly cooked cereals; rich, long-simmered soups; golden-crusted bread; feathery cakes; and all things you cook turn out right when cooked with the Florence. Know for yourself the many me- chanical advantages of the Florence. Find out more about a Florence- equipped kitchen. If your dealer cannot supply you, write us for name of nearest dealer and free illustrated booklets. CENTRAL OIL & GAS STOVE CO., 348 School St., Gardner, Mass. Makers of Florence Oil Cook Stoves (1, 2, 3, 4, and 5 burners), Florence Portable Ovens, Florence Tank Water Heaters, Florence Oil Heaters Made and Sold in Canada by M‘Clarys. London, Canada With an intense blue flame. odorless smokeless. close ur under the cooking

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74 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 22,1921 ‘ A f 6 oh glee T/ in actual phot graph of the dpa he Trail, driz na, wu here, ason other famon Copyright 1921, by The Goodyear Tire & Rubber Co. hiphwways, you il find written the signature of the Goodyear All-Weather Tre UHI

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 75 More than Ever, their Economy Deserves your Preference VER the past few years you have seen Goodyear Cord Tires for passenger cars win steadily upward step by step to a position of urfquestioned leadership. In all that process there has been nothing that is not explained in the stemple goodness of the product, and in | 4 the fine kind of service it has given its users. Important in such service have been the added comfort and security these tires deliver, but the basic factor in their popularity runs far deeper than these. It consists 1n nothing less than the demonstrated fact that under average kinds and conditions of employment Goodyear Cord Tires are more economical to use. On this very practical basis, Goodyear Cord Tires for pas- senger cars have never so well deserved your consideration and preference as they deserve them today. Against increasing costs of production, by repeated and serious improvement, they have held intact their superior measure of usefulness and value. Goodyear Cord Tires deliver today a kind and extent of performance that for reliability and final economy ts un- approached in any earlier type of tire. Because Goodyear Tires and the sincere conservation service behind them afford uncommon satisfaction, more |} people ride on Goodyear Tires than on any other kind. Tut GoopyraArR ‘Tire & Russper Company Offices Throughout the World pT =f A=) vuALI HU

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST [NE RGY directed by the brain of 4 man has changed him from a plaything of the elements into a master of forces. Impelled by desires; hampered by super- stition ; surrounded by ceaseless, conflicting inHuences; the human mind has yet conceived and governed constructive action. Vithin this compass of the mind there have been generated religions, laws, philosophies, languages, arts, sciences, commerce — prod- ucts of mental energy. Che first demands on energy came from the body. It required preservation and develop- ment. Action inthe service of production and trade logically followed. Establishment of industrial properties ex- acted stability for the protection of investment. Commercial permanence demanded insurance of consumption. Knowledge of the things produced must be spread abroad. The crier with his bell grew to the publication with its simultaneous distribu- tion in every center and byway of popula- tion. A great force developed. It was named advertising. Advertising has become the energizer of sales; the power inthe distant market place; the appeal in the home. Advertising searches out the receptive consumer. Advertising is today, more than ever before, the force making for stability of sales. N. W. AYER & SON, 4vrertvisine HEADQUARTERS NEW YORK BOSTON PHILADELPHIA CLEVELAND CHICAGO January 22,192!

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“Look,” said Cupid, and turned the envelope of the anonymous letter so they saw the postmark. “St. Louis!”’ said Julia Blakelock, read- ing. “*And if he wrote it,”’ Calvert went on, “there’s probably something somewhere behind it.” “Do you mean to say you think they are murderers,”” asked Belle Davis—‘‘those two women?” “Well, no. They wouldn’t have to be, would they, to be mixed up in it some way?”’ “Did you talk to him?” asked Belle Davis, eying him a little close. “No; only just for a minute,” Cupid Calvert told her, his eyes turning off from hers the way they did sometimes. ““ Long enough so you exchanged names?” THE SATURDAY EVENING POST WHITE SHOULDERS (Continued from Page 19) They sat down in the dining room, Julia Blakelock watching them under her eye- lids from her seat across the table, waiting for the proper time for her attack. The second course was almost over before she launched it. “Oh, Mrs. Fairborn,”’ she said in that sweet, high, dangerous voice that women use in verbal warfare. The Cockatoo looked up. She would, naturally. The other woman almost never spoke to her. “T almost forgot,” the Blakelock girl was going on, with her sharp eyes looking across above her smile. “I had a friend from your state I was writing to about you the other day s “Yes, ma’am,” said the Fairborn woman, waiting in anxious silence. I could see the asked Julia I didn't quite ‘‘Wasn’t there something,” Blakelock, ‘“‘about a trial? understand it.” The Cockatoo, her eyes set on her face, her mouth in a crescent-shape grimace, jumped out her answer at once+-almost before the words had left her mouth. She had courage anyhow. “There was something—something,”’ she said. ‘“ But I forget now just what it was. I was away visiting at the time. I'm afraid I can’t tell you,” she said, keeping on. “I’m sorry, but I never pay much attention to such things.” And just at that moment the girl's hand, fumbling, knocked her glass of water over on the table Belle Davis, on jumped up the other side of her, “Why, yes, I expect so. I ex- pect we did. We would.” ‘“‘What’d you ask him? What'd you talk about?” “Oh, nothing,’ he told her. “‘We just passed the time of the day. Honest—that’s all we did!”’ he swore to her. ““Murder!” said Julia Blake- lock under her breath. “Look, judge,” said Cupid, handing the thing tome. “‘ Here’s something in your line.” “Not yet. Not on anonymous letters,”’ I said, looking it over and passing it back. “Did you ever hear of any Pitman murder case?”’ “*Not to the best of my knowl- edge and belief,”’ I told him. **He wouldn’t,”’ said Belle Davis. ‘‘ Not if it was committed in Dell County, in another state.” “Which it wasn’t,” said Julia Blakelock. “‘T’m not so sure about that,” Belle Davis answered. “Why? What makes you say that?”’ “Oh, I don’t know,” she told them. “I just feel thataway somehow.” Julia Blakelock stood still, her thin lips closed down, reading over the letter that she had taken from Calvert. “Who'll do it?”’ she came out finally. “Who'll do what?” “Who's going to ask them that?” “You mean to say,” Belle Davis cried, ‘“‘you’d have the nerve?”’ ‘I certainly do,” stated tue Blakelock woman, setting her lips together tighter than ever. “It would be good and amus- ing, that’s sure,” said Cupid. “It would be more than amus- ing,”’ said Julia Blakelock. “If we've got that kind of characters here we want to find it out and run them out.” ‘*What characters?”’ Belle Davis asked her. ““That’s what we're going to see,”’ said Julia Blakelock. “You wouldn’t og “T certainly would! And I will,’’ said Julia Blakelock— “and right off!’ “‘T should say, perhaps — I started telling her. “‘Never mind what you say,” she told me. ‘I’m old enough to take care of myself and do what I thinkisright. You watch me.” We did, naturally. That’s all we could do; we waited and watched and saw the blow start- ing to fall, if it was to be a blow! The mother and daughter came down the stairs in the usual order—the mother chattering gay nothings to her daughter, following her, apparently not even hearing her; just coming with her eyes down, silent and white and even delicate looking now, in spite of her size. There was a new way about her since her ‘unfortunate in- disposition’? on Victory Day; there was weariness and silence and a certain look of shrinking, as if, I thought sometimes, she felt someone was going to strike her—or worse. Her great eyes were certainly wider and her skin whiter than ever before. “What's This?" Belle Davis Asked Him, After Reading It girl, that White Shoulders, stiffen in her chair. **And she told me,”’ went on Julia Blake lock, as sweetly as she could, ‘‘to ask you if you ever knew a Pitman family in your county — Dell County, isn’t it?” I saw the girl’s hand go out, fumbling for her water glass, and the frozen smile freeze harder than ever on the face of the Cocka too—as full of mirth as the smile of a mummy “Oh, yes,’ she said after a “There was a family of that name there But I didn’t know them—not well.”’ stop eating and second “Oh, I'm terribly sorry! I’m terribly mad at myself for that,” she said ‘I must have hit your arm.” The lips of White Shoulders moved ir ome sort of murmur. And everybody the women on both sides of her —were bu mopping up the water After the y were through and the usual apology and small excitement over such ar accident were done, the meal went thr ugh And after it both the mother and daughter got up and went up to their room ‘I’m afraid Virginia spilled some of that water on her frock. I'm afraid it will stain in silence I'm going to have her go up and take it off anyhow,” the mother volunteered, and they went upstairs together “Did you see that girl—how she ate the rest of the meal?” asked Julia. Blakelocl “She was free and natural in all her motions as the cuckoo on a cuckoo clock!’ said Cupid “Do y doing to asked Belle Davi ou know what that woman w he r wher ‘She was pinching her under the table.”’ “Why Blakelock she’d do?” “We saw enough,” Belle Davis told her, lock woman TI wr ne au as it wa ‘They’ e wome should you break in,” asked Julia back—‘‘before we aw what recertainly guilty,’’s sidthe Blake ‘It was written all ove “ Guilty of what?” Belle Da asked her in that blunt way of hers. “Of murder?” * What would yousay, judge Cupid Calvert asked me “T doubt if they have com mitted more than two or three murders at most,”’ I told him “Tt wouldn't seem likely to me { rthem.’ if they had killed too many we'd see them wandering round at large.” ‘You needn't tell me,” said Belle Davis, ‘‘that they are mur derers or criminals especially that girl. She looks to me like a great frightened child. That’ what she looks like to me.” * Well, they look very differ- ent to me, I can tell you that!" said Julia Blakelock. “And they always have!” ‘We'll have to look into thi case further, eh, judge?" said Cupid Calvert ‘You will,” I said. “It'll be quite a field for your talents.” Neither of the women cams down again into the hall that night—at least I didn't see them before I went up to bed. vir T WENT to my room that night «rather late, as usual. A boarding-house bedroom is not I have always held, a place to heighten the spirits of men well on in life who have the misfor tune to be alone in the world. I always preferred to cultivate my leisure either in my office or with the folks downstairs It must have been, as nearly as I can place it, about eleven o'clock when I went into my chamber and lit up the gas—the old house not being equ pped yet with electricity. When I had done this I was more or less sur- prise 1 to hear the loudness of the voices The room next adjoining m I had understood was that of t girl WhiteShoulders her beaut. chamber, as her mother, wit! her unusual gift of language called it. The mother, I had u derstood, slept by herself in a maller room beyond and leading out of this But 1 when I entered my room she v in the next room ne he second evidently in the girl's larger bed room talking. At the side of 1 bedroom, away from the } used before the bling old dwellir gwasa boardir which had been built to connect m ! omewt it rar house was a door with the chamber now o by the girl; a door now bolte on both. sides and covered my side, at least, by a drap *n must have beer tting f ere not far from tl The indistinct murmur of voices fr kt room ich a ofte Nnen;r it droom wall was fam r enough to me id even d nguished w i f ‘ »ken by persons ne } i I it night I wa irprised a e dist of the two wom ‘ They had t ed ( t yom ‘ “ ea ( ( ind the eTa A t ‘ 4 ¢ r Continued on Page 81

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 22,192! Get together all the ae up your printed forms. Look them over — see how many can be improved—which ones should be discarded — and whether your department heads can suggest new ones that will get your work done more quickly, easily, and accurately. Find this out, too—whether all the forms you use are being printed on one standard, reliable water- marked paper. If not —if you’re selecting paper for one job on a quality, basis, for another because of price, for a third because your Mr. Peters or your Mr. Davis likes that particular paper—then you are letting good men waste good time, in this repeated picking and choosing, and you are paying more than you should for paper. Scores of big business houses have proved the real economy of using Hammermill Bond for all their business stationery. It is the one paper which com- bines quality, color variety, price, and distribution so as to make standardization feasible. Made in twelve colors besides white, Hammer- mill Bond offers you the great advantage of color- classification for your various forms—the ‘‘ Signal Syster’” of business. Ask your printer—he’ll tell you that he can give you satisfaction’ every time, if you standardize on Hammermill, and let him choose the right weight and finish for the job in hand. And you'll save money, for Hammermill is the lowest-priced stand- ard bond paper on the market. Gos Portfolio of specimen forms, showing Hammer- mill colors and finishes, sent on request. S Uf Look for this watermark —it is our word of honor to the public , The Utility Business Paper HAMMERMILL PAPER COMPANY Eerig, Pa,

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Printed Forms You Use

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 22,1921 Get together all the 1 FE up your printed forms. Look them over— how many can be improved —which ones should be discarded — and whether your department heads can suggest new ones that will get your work done more quickly, easily, and accurately. Find this out, too—whether all the forms you use are being printed on one standard, reliable water- marked paper. [f not —if you're selecting paper for one job on a quality, basis, for another because of price, for a third because your Mr. Peters or your Mr. Davis likes that particular paper—then you are letting good men waste good time, in this repeated picking and choosing, and you are paying more than you should for paper. Scores of big business houses have proved the real economy of using Hammermill Bond for all their business stationery. It is the one paper which com- bines quality, color variety, price, and distribution so as to make standardization feasible. Made in twelve colors besides white, Hammer- mill Bond offers you the great advantage of color- classification for your various forms—the ‘‘ Signal System’’ of business. Ask your printer—he’ll tell you that he can give you satisfaction’ every time, if you standardize on Hammermill, and let him choose the right weight and finish for the job in hand. And you’ll save money, for Hammermill is the lowest-priced stand- ard bond paper on the market. Portfolio of specimen forms, showing Hammer- mill colors and finishes, sent on request. HAMMERMILL PAPER COMPANY Af, 7 ERrip, Pa. > / / Look for this watermark —it is our word of honor lo the public acts BON C The Utility Business Paper

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 79 Printed Forms You Use

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST » ae ae Hk demonstrated preference of more than a million women has established the “Hotpoint” Electric Iron as the largest-selling iron in the world. This preterence is due not only to the finer quality of ironing made possible by the “Hotpoint,”’ but also to the ease by which this is accomplished. The extreme point of the ‘Hotpoint’ is al- ways hot, as it should be, when constantly being pressed forward into damp goods. The patented “Hotpoint” thumb rest “rests the wrist’ and makes it easy to guide the iron into pleats, tucks and ruffles. > By And the attached end-rest makes un- necessary the lifting of the iron at any time during the ironing. Simply tip the iron on end whenever it is not in use. The “Hotpoint” Electric Iron is made in 3-, §- and 6-pound sizes and is a member of the famous “Hotpoint” family of electrical appliances whose depend- ability and usefulness have been demon- strated for more than a decade. Twenty thousand progressive dealers sell ‘Hotpoint’ appliances. They make it convenient for you to enjoy the advan- tages of a ‘ Hotpoint” Jron—now. EDISON ELECTRIC APPLIANCE CO., Inc., CHICAGO NEW YORK ONTARIO, CALIFORNIA Canadian Edison Appliance Co., Limited, Stratford, Ontari SALT LAKE CITY ATLANTA Foreign Department: 120 Broadway, New York January 22,/92/ —E—E

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4 ee IO ORR. att (Continued from Page 77) speaking loudest—in a strained, hoarse, hurried voice, which, in fact, I took at first to be the voice of a stranger. It was the voice, I then came to the conclusion, of a person under great excitement. And as I listened I could tell from occasional words that she was refusing to do something, in a voice that was growing more and more hysterical. I undressed and went to bed, thinking that they would soon stop talking; but in the dark and with the ceasing of noises about the house and in the street the voices grew louder and more plain—perhaps be- cause the women moved even nearer to that door. But more than all now, both women, I should have said, were losing their heads, in the growth of their excitement, whatever it might be. I moved as noisily as I could, lay down heavily in bed, to give them warn- ing, but now as I lay there I could hear with great distinctness these two strained voices of women beyond the door. The voice of the mother rose again sharper and clearer than before. I could hear her perfectly—arguing, apparently, with the girl. “I’ve told you, and I’ve told you, and I’ve told you, Virginia!’’ she repeated. ““We can’t! We're down to our last three hundred dollars.” “Oh, mother!” voices fell again. ‘They are through, then!” self, listening. tion is done for. The voice of this woman, that so-called Scarlet Cockatoo, rose again and reached me through the darkness: “We've got to stay. It’s here or never. It’s the last—absolutely the last chance, Virginia. It’s here or it’s ruin, for all of us for you, for Robert Lee, for your mother!" ““Robert Lee!’’ I said to myself. ‘‘ What is this? What sort of gamble is this?” I thought, listening now with all my ears in spite of myself. “But I won’t stay,” natural voice of the girl, Shoulders, answered her. “I won’t be stripped and dragged naked again—by that fiend. Never! 1 die first. It would kill me anyhow.” “That devil voice. “If I could only kill him! the one we ought to kill.” “You know what he'll do again—with those letters! He'll never stop—never! Oh, let me go! _ Let me go! Let me go, mother! Please! Please!’’ cried the girl’s voice, like a young child’s in a gener ral breakdown and craziness of fear. “I'll do anything if you'll only let me!”’ “You can’t go, Virginia,’’ her mother said—apparently taking hold of her, quiet- ing her. “‘You can’t, honey. You can’t. You’ve got to stay, for all of us. You can't leave. You can’t desert now. Think of Robert Lee—think of yourself —think of me—a little!”’ “Robert Lee!” cried the girl; and their I said to my- ‘Their woman’s specula- the strange, un- that White Gluber!”’ said the mother’s That’s I said to myself again. ““Who’s Robert Lee? What’s this new turn in this thing?’’ And in the meanwhile the girl's voice was going on. “Think! Think! What do I do but think?” she cried back. “It’s hopeless, mother. It’s hopeless!” she cried, a newer and higher tone coming into her voice. “We can’t go! We can't stay! It’s hope- less, that’s all! It’s hopeless! We can’t escape it!” ““No!”’ the mother’s voice came answer- ing her. ‘‘I’m going again to Gluber.”’ And then I lost the conversation once more. “But you can’t,’ “What can you say to him? The mother’s explanation I only partly heard. But there was a mention now and then, I could catch, of Gluber and then of Gordon’s name. “He won't believe that,” the girl spoke up. “It isn’t true, anyhow.” “How do you know it isn’t true?” the mother’s voice came back, growing sharp. “T know. He isn’t that kind.” ‘He'll have to come back—you'll see!”’ the sharp-voiced — or said, in the tone of arguing with herself. ‘‘He’ll have to. He'll never give you up. He’s just fasci- nated—by your beauty. “My beauty! My beauty!” the girl’s voice came back, the tone of hysteria com- ing back into it again. ‘“‘Don’t talk like that—don’t! When we are alone! Let me have that much peace. My beauty!” “And if not Gordon—then there’s that other man.” ““‘Who?” the’ girl was saying. 9 THE SATURDAY “The black one with the automobile. He’s crazy about you.” ““Oh, mother—he’s not!” ‘Why did he come out and do what he did to Gluber, then?” “T don’t know. But it isn’t what you say about me. He isn’t crazy about me, nor any of them, the way you say. They can’t be—especially after this.”’ “You trust me, Virginia. You trust me. I know men. Someone, somehow, is going to make you marry him here. I know men. When they see and get to care for a girl like you are, honey, they can’t forget her. They've got to come back—they can’t any of them give up your looks, your face, your gowns—your whole beautiful body.” ““Oh, mother!”’ cried the girl again. I could almost hear her cringing. ‘‘ Don’t! Don’t! Don't make it any worse than it has to be.” There was a silence then between them the woman, I imagine, quieting and trying to soothe the girl. Then there was a new sound. The girl apparently must have jumped to her feet. “T won’t! I won’t! I can’t any longer!” she cried out. “What?” “T won't be dragged round. gusting. Marriage!’’ she said. ‘‘I hate and loathe the name of marriage! I’ve been bred for marriage—like a horse for racing. I’ve heard nothing but marriage, marriage since I was a child—and began to remem- ber. It’s disgusting! It’s loathsome! I hi ate the word. It’s too dis- “‘Virginia!”’ cried the other woman's voice. But the hysterical voice of the girl went on: “Always it’s been what I could do, what we could all do—when I came to marry. What they should have said was-—-when I came to be sold. All these dresses! All those clothes! Clothes, clothes, clothes! Lovely hair! Lovely face! Lovely body! I wish I was dead!” “Virginia! Virginia!” saying to the frantic girl. ‘I won’t stay,” the girl insisted. “You can’t go,”’ said the mother, her voice hardening. ‘“‘How would you go? Where? You haven’t the money in the first place to go anywhere.” The girl lapsed suddenly did not answer. the mother was into silence; “What can you do?” her mother said again. ‘‘No, there’s only one thing to be done. We're Fairborns. We'll stay right here and fight it out-—that’s all that we can do. I can arrange with Gluber, I know, so he won't go on and write again. I know I can—when I go up to St. Louis and see him. I have a plan worked out to explain things to him—to show him how he will get no more than we by what he’s doing.” There was no answer now. “There'll be no more letters,”’ said the mother confidently, “from now on. And they'll never get any wiser—-these fool women here. They'll never go on and learn any more.” “‘No,” said the girl in a low obstinate vOICe. “Tt will all come all aie honey the woman, coaxing he “No,” said the voice " the girl. “You'll see.” “No,” said the girl again, in that dead voice. “It’s hopeless. I'll never go through that again. Never.” “Do you forget—everything? Robert Lee—and where he is now~—all for the protection of you?” “I don’t forget anything—ever. But it’s hopeless. I’m sure now,” returned the girl's dead voice again. “You're a wicked, ungrateful girl.” ‘Maybe I am. Maybe 1 am. But I won't stay here—to go through that again I’m through. We both are. Oh, can't you see, mother? I can’t stay here. I can't any longer—sit and smile and be silent and know every minute may be the last before I am dragged through that filth again. Just ashamed, ashamed, ashamed!” Her voice slid up again into high-pitched terror. And [ could distinguish now-- not so much by words as by tone—the voice of her mother trying her best to soothe a frightened child. ‘It'll come right, honey. It'll all come right finally,’’ I made out at last the for- mula she was repeating over and over again. “It will never come right. Never, mother. It’s hopeless, absolutely hope less—and you know it.” Their arguing went on—less loud, less violent—the woman trying to quiet the ”* said EVENING POST girl, but never, it appeared, convincing her. In absence of their exact words now my mind went off speculating on the prob- | able explanation of the matter—-trying to arrange and go over in my own mind the new evidence which had developed in the case during the past few hours, since the coming of that anonymous letter from St. Louis, from that dressmaker with the face of a criminal, or at least a criminal’s “fence.” It was quite apparent by this time that we were seeing developed under Mrs. Tus- set’s highly respectable roof a somewhat baffling and possibly serious chain of cir- cumstances. Women’s speculations in matrimony are not unknown—even in our somewhat romantic section of the earth’s surface. Even here, in every town, every oveaing from two-thirty to five- thirty o'¢ loc k, Sam Barsam used to claim, the women's matri- monial exchange is in session, watching the market from Texas to South Carolina, sharper than the Cotton Exchange at New Orleans ever dreamed of watching the cotton crop. These two women were doubtless, as the other womenfolks had caught at once, two speculators, two desperate gamblers in matrimony — playing the market on a shoe string, as the market term goes, I under- stand; probably, from the evidence so far, with the equipment and enhancement of feminine charms furnished on credit by this dressmaker or dealer in costumes, on installment plan—this man Gluber, with the singularly repellent countenance and manners, from St. Louis. This speculation seemed to me to have been fought to the last ditch—lost by the almost tragic course of events on that day of victory. Women—all but the most case-hardened manipulators of matrimony or worse—would scarcely have remained to fight along beyond that apparently hope- less ending. But here we found these two, or the mother, rather, still forcing the fight from sheer necessity, it now seemed, and not, as it might have appeared from the surface, because of mere hardness or lack of what might ordinarily have been termed a decent and proper regard for the opinion of others, such as is generally re- quired by sound human society. The new evidence lay still in an undi- gested mass, an inexplicable tangle in my mind. Could there have been a murder—a Pitman murder, as this anonymous letter claimed—in which the women were impli- cated? Assuming the letter to be written by this forbidding dressmaker, it would not necessarily be true—far from it, judging from my casual inspection of that face except that the apparent probability that he was now using this alleged crime for the purposes of blackmail would tend to the conjecture that there might be at least some truth in the intimation that he was making. And yet it appeared to me—especially after the enlightenment of the last few minutes from the women’s conversations most repugnant to the general probabil- ities that these two women were principals or deeply concerned in any murder. The attitude of the girl, the conversation of the mother, would both seem to deny this And, moreover, no mention, in set terms, had been made in all their talk, as one would naturally have expected, of any such overshadowing matter as a murder would have been in their lives On the other hand, who was this Robert Lee, who was introduced into my knowl- edge for the first time, who had, it ap- peared, established ew obligation — given this protection for wh . h the girl was now called upon to make her obviously relue tant sacrifice, the last with the exception of very few that any woman can be asked to make—the sacrifice of her soul and body for life in an utterly and frankly mercenary marriage It was certainly an abstruse and knotty problem— with the evidence so far at hand I saw I could not solve it with my present knowledge—-not until some further devel opment of events, or of further information, which the whispering women and their assistant, Cupid Calvert, would no doubt unearth later. The sobbing of the girl in the next room had died down and the mother had ap- parently gone into her own chamber and to bed before I fell asleep. The girl, I thought afterward that I re- called, sobbed again and stopped; and may have arisen and struck heavily against some object in the room. I am not entireiy clear on this. j Who Were Mark Twain’s Corncob Starters? Mark Twain's favorite pipe was a corn cob. Perhaps you've never heard how his new corncobs were broken in He said ‘I get a cheap man—a man who doesn't amount to much anyhow, who would be as well, or better, dead —and pay him a dollar to break in the pipe for me I get him to smoke the pipe for a couple of then put in a new stem, and con tinue Operations as long as the pipe holds together.” weeks, We wonder how many, if any, of Mark I'wain’s corncob starters are alive today If there ever were any, we don't believe that a great enough number survive to over- work our mail-desk. We're worth going to send samples of Edge Tobacco to any who send us their names and addresses We're not going to ask them to produce the stems as proof, We put writers on their honor. In fact, we're inclined to send samples to all who write to us that they knew the grand old American humorist and smoke He knew a lot of people, but we we can risk sending out a little more | dye worth It make worth guess seems to regular Edge smokers ina big majority of cases We promise not to publish their no matter how weil they speak of Edgeworth, no matter how good letters, are the smokers stories they tell us about Mark Twain and others unless the writers happen to say that they are willing to have said letters published, We've tories about pipe smokers, but there n't heard. heard number of good must quite a be a lot we have You may know some stories that others would enjoy reading in this column Probably they're worth samples of Edgeworth in both forms Ready-Rubbed Plug Slice and we'll send you samples, whether you have a good story to tell us or not Edgeworth Plug Slice is shaped into flat, oblong cake Through these cakes keen knives are run that cut them into ‘thin lice In its box it appears a solid cake, but each slice separates easily from the hen rubbed between the hands cake and wil furnishes an average pipeload. Edgeworth Ready-Rubbed is exactly the Plug Slice, except that it is rubbed up before packing and hence comes from the tin ready for your pipe Both kinds same a pack so well that they light quickly and burn evenly to the bottom of yur pips | dye worth is sold in various sizes to suit the needs and means of all purchaser Both Edgeworth Plug Slice and Edgewort! Ready-Rubbed are packed in small, pocket ize packages, in handsome tin humidors, ind glass jars, and also im vario handy in-between quantities We will send you postpaid Addre Larus & Brother Ce South 21st Street, Richmond, Va To Retail Toba Merchant If your jobber cannot supply you with Edgeworth Larus & nee ther Company will gladly you prep iid by a one- or two dozen carton of any size of Edgeworth Plug Slice or Ready-Rubbed for the same price you wo ild par the jobber mpany, 1 send parce I post

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Heres the famous YANKEE atchet Hand rill No.1530 Actual Size And it’s just as good as it looks. It was designed with one point to give you the great- est amount of drilling value It does just that. With the “YANKEE” 1530 you can drill a hole anywhere — in mind pe »ssible. no matterhowcramped the space. RATCHET No other The DOUBLE makes this possible. drill has it. Only 10} inches long, weighs 14 pounds, yet, like its | brother, has all five ad yustments. Controlled by a finger-touch. (1) Plain Drill (2) Left-hand Ratchet \ Rig he hand Ratchet +) DOUBLE RATCHET Gears locked N milar tool has the fulness—because no other same range of has thes ments Your vas taw SU “Yan kee" 1 “YANKEE’ Ri igid Screw-drivers, as il lustrated, never turn in the handle. You h the handles loose d like to show ymnderful little drilling tool the N R atc chet Hand Drill 1s. dealer woul you mp twist or wren without absolute destruction of the tool. No. 90. Standard Style. Fourteen sizes; blade lengths from 1'% to 30 inches. No. 95. Cabinet Style. Eleven sizes; blade lengths from 24 to 15% inches. Write for | “YANKEE” Tool Book, showing “YANKEE” Tools in action, and rating better ways of drilling, boring, tapping and drawing and driving screws Norru Bros. Mre. Co., Philadelphia JOLS edie’ Mechanica. | the | frond of le af moved back THE SATURDAY EVENING POST The next thing I remember with cer- tainty is the sound of light knocking and the low and agonized voice of the woman at my door—and then in a moment the faint sweet odor of illuminating gas. vir WAS out of bed and had snatched my dressing gown from the chair beside rm« before I was, I expect, entirely awake. The smell of the gas was a certainty now. [I could hear the low insistent knocki: g and the strained whispering of the woman guing on with that formula, like a reiterated prayer, which had awakened me: “Judge! Judge Dalrymple! For God’s sake, sir, open this door!” It was not the door into the hallway, I was sufficiently awake now to understand. It must be, then, the door into the ad- joining chamber. I ran over to it and started fumbling at the unusual task of opening it. It was fastened, I remembered now, on my side by an old-time iron bolt. I assumed that the same contrivance must have been upon the other side. For as I unbolted my bolt the latch apparently was unsprung and the door was forced outward, and by me; and the woman pitched forward with it and the sickish rush of illuminating gas burst in with her. “T couldn't lift her. She'll die!" she said in a hoarse whisper, and went down, half fainting, upon the floor. She was only partly overcome, for she could still talk. “Not me,” she said. her. Hurry!” I lifted her slightly aside and went into the room. “Lie there,’ I said. ‘‘ Wait.” If the door was once closed, I reasoned, being still able to speak, the woman would probably recover in the practically pure air of my room, In any case the obvious thing for me to do was to take the girl out of there. I took a deep breath, closed the door and went in. It was dark in 1! location of the furniture naturally unfamiliar to me. however, “Help her. Help at next room, and the of the room was I was con- fused—just shaken from sound sleep, not precisely in a normal state of mind. That heavy, nauseating odor of illuminating gas was in my nostrils; I could smell it even if I need not immediately take it into my lungs. I waited several moments, conse- quently, before I could locate the bed where the girl was probably lying. There was an electric street light not far outside, which shone in | hrough a window. This not unnaturally was the first thing that caught my attention. Its rays struck first upon some clothing, some woman's white clothing heaped upon a chair, lit a glint of light upon a glass ornament on a mantelpiece and painted a sharp, irregular oblong of light upon the plain unpapered wall. In the center of this patch was the sharply etched shadow of a branch or frond of a coarse-leafed tree. A brisk breeze was blowing outside, stirring the branches of tree; and the coarse and magnified and forth, reach- ing and retiring, it seemed to me for a sec- ond, like a black and clutching claw. Then, far quicker than the telling of this, naturally, I observed that the patch of light and its. sinister-acting shadow were close to the great old-fashioned bed, which lay, in contrast, covered by the dim shadow from its high black footboard. I groped into the shadow and my hand fell upon the bare arm and lightly clad shoulder of the girl. She lay, I could now see, with her arm trailing down upon the floor and her head at the extreme edge of the bed—a position into which her mother had dragged her un- doubtedly when she had reached the limit of her strength. I took the limp and yielding body of the unconscious girl into my arms and started for the door again. By this time the necessity for breath had become somewhat oppressive, and with the extreme effort of carrying the girl’s body it grew intensely so. I knew, however, that I could hold out somewhat longer, and fortunately, I could now see, there had been some use for my coming. The girl was still alive; I could feel her breathing in my arms—heavily and rather slowly—but still breathing regularly. Then, as I was noticing this, through awkwardness and unfamiliarity with the dark room, I walked against some low chair or stool—stumbled, staggered with the weight in my arms and before I had caught myself, struck my unguarded head against the wall of the room. With the jar I almost dropped the girl, who was not light and a January 22.192! not inconsiderable burden for me, I was finding. I caught myself, though, before going quite down. But another unfortunate development of my accident was that unconscicusly I had, I assume, expelled my breath and taken into my lungs some of that thick, sweet, nauseating gas which surrounded me. At anv rate, with this and the long holding of my breath and the blow of my head against the wall—and no doubt also from the effort of standing erect with my now quite suffi- cient burden—I lost for a second in the un- familiar room my sense of direction in the dark and the exact location of the door which I must find and open up again. I must have turned somewhat in stumbling. In any case, the chief impressions I re- tained when I straightened up were that I must get out of there with whatever it was I was carrying and that there was one chief ob- ject—one point of location—in the room an angular oblong of light upon the wall, which now appeared to be a lighted win- dow beyond which a black claw on a long black arm shot irregularly back and forth, with the obvious ultimate intention of strangling me and relieving me of my bur- den—an intention which I was under serious obligation to defeat. I was begin- ning to believe that I had made an error in judgment in closing the door into my room when I entered the other. Fortunately, however, I must have re- membered the location of the doorway from the chief white spot in my eonscious- that irregular lighted winaow which had come in the wall. For in a minute or two more I felt the cool slipperiness of the old pottery door knob in my hand and started fumbling it. As I did so, somewhat unsteady and overbalanced with the rapidly growing burden of the girl in my arms and my straining and now almost convulsive effort not to breathe in the gas again, I was struck, I recall, with a dazed surprise and unexpected satisfaction to see the door open. The mother of the girl, that so-called Scarlet Cockatoo, had, it appeared, recovered sufficiently in the fresh air of my room to crawl back to the doorway on her knees and to open it when she heard me coming. I went in somewhat weakly, and was much gratified to have shut out behind me the sickening sweetness of the gas, the sense of suffocation and the now almost frantic efforts of the frustrated black claw at the diamond-shaped window to clutch us before we finally fled out through that dangerous and suffocating dark. It was with almost equal satisfaction that I heard the-door close behind me and expelled at last the combination of used-up air and illuminating gas which clogged my lungs, and drank in again the acute and too-little-appreciated luxury of oxygen. After that my strength was suffi- cient to lay the girl upon the bed—and start helping her mother help her. ‘Thank God! Thank God!” I heard the woman whispering by me. The shock of getting the girl back alive was sufficient, it appeared, following the fresh air in my room, to revive her. The girl—the so-called White Shoul- ders—was apparently breathing heavily, rather slowly, but still quite strongly. We could not, naturally, see perfectly—not yet daring te light the gas, even there. There was, however, some light from the electric lamp on the street. I started back again toward the door. “Where to?” whispered the mother. ‘The gas. I must turn that gas jet off,” I whispered again. “Don’t. I did that myself!” she said “But the windows,” I said. “I must open them.” “There are two open,” she said, “al- ready—one in my room and one in hers.” “In hers!” I said. “Yes. It was never closed!” she told me. That struck me as strange, naturally, then, but naturally too I dismissed it right away—with other things to think of. “Well then,” I said, ‘Tl go down now and tele phone the doctor.” “No! No!” she whispered back. “ Wait. She’s coming to. See—she’s moving a little already.” The girl actually did move—and gave a little moan. She had all the advantages of youth and perfect health, and the gas prob- ably had never been so dense in there as we had thought. By this time all the windows in my room were open, and the outside air, driven by a strong breeze, was entirely pure and fresh. I started now to light the gas. (Continued on Page 84) ness

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Easter 1s Early —March 27th Kahn dealers are now ready to measure you for spring clothes HERE is a real advantage in ordering your Spring Clothes now. You have unrestricted selection of our new all-wool fabrics that have just been placed on display by Kahn Dealers every where. Besides, our tailors can do finer work when they have ample time. You will gain nothing by waiting, because the Kahn Dealer will gladly make delivery of your clothes at any time you specify. There is every reason why the clothes you order should be Kahn Made-to-Measure Clothes. Take the matter of style. Our fashions are authentic. They are created exclusively for us—yet reflect style tendencies of the moment. You can secure Kahn stylings only through the authorized Kahn Dealer. This dealer is no ordinary retailer. He has been carefully instructed in the science of measure-taking by the system evolved by us during our thirty-five years as tailors to the best dressed men of America. When we receive your complete specifications, our designers will create clothes especially adapted to your requirements. And our tailors will pains takingly produce—by hand—the garments that are to mark you as a well dressed man. But do not think that you pay extra for the addi- tional care and attention given to the making of Kahn Clothes—or for the unusual service given by Kahn Dealers. Kahn Made-to- Measure Clothes sell at the lowest price, consistent with quality tailoring. KAHN ~TAILOURING - CO. YF INDIANAPULIS MAUVE TY MEASURE CLUTHES

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84 Continued from Page 82) ‘No. No. Please!” the woman said, pre venting me And again the white girl on the bed moved, But I must cal! a doctor,” I said, st II whispering No. No,” repeated the woman. “ Not if we can possibly elp, sir Not now if we can possibly help ayy ‘But, madam,” I said, n the girl’s system 23 “all that poison ‘No, sir,” she told me, turning back from where she was bending down above the girl ‘I know what to do. I saw one ise before. We can do all a doctor could now—more—from being right here now And besides, she’s coming to now fast. She was just trying to open her eyes. She’s ilmost 1 jut, madam,” I insisted, ‘‘a doctor is positively r ‘Listen!”’ she whispered back harply ‘There’s somebody downstair There was someone—¢e ntering the house by the front door. “We can't have this known, judge. We can’t have it get out, sir,”’ she told me ina trident hurried whisper “We can't do it, now. But it We'd better ir I —_ explain to you woul be the last blow for us both be dead!” Asa matter of fact I saw the girl appeared to be breathing much better now. We stood and waited in the dark. The steps came up the stairs—very lightly, very carefully. I suspected, naturally, who it would be Cupid Calvert back again from another affair of the heart The steps came tothe top of the stairway. “He'll smell the ga said the woman beside me in a despales ng whispe r. “He'll certainly smell the gas The steps stole by, started on toward the third story, where Calvert had his room, wavered, stopped, and then in a moment came stealing over toward my side of the hall I could almost watch the woman cringe and shrink together in the dark. I saw, that something had to be done. I could only hope that it was Calvert and he was in the not unusual and not too clear state of mind in which he was apt to find himself at this hour in the morning. It must have been at that time about two o' loc k. It occurred to me, from the women’s tandpoint or my own, if we were going to try to hush this matter up the situation too was not without elements of embarrass ment, I having these two women in my room, In any case, Cupid Calvert was the last human being we would want concerned in the matter in any phase There was only one thing to do. I put my finger on my lips, looked at the woman and walked over and opened the door. I stepped out quickly into the hall and closed the door after me “Who's prowling round out here?” I and I grabbed him by the collar with what few remnants of vigor I still possessed. said: x WAS right in my conjecture action. It is something of a grabbed like that in the dark cially when you yourself are ularly anxious to create an disturbance ‘ Listen,” said a familiar voice in a quick and, it seemed to me, somewhat frightened whisper. ‘It’s only me—Calvert!” ‘What were you,” I asked him in a whis- per myself, “just peering through my key- hole for—the view, or plotting to murder and in my shock to be more espe not partic- unnecessary me in my bed?” “Listen,” hesaid. ‘‘ Don’t you smell it?” “a hat? ?” Gas.’ I chuckled then—managed to—in the dark. “Oh, that’s it!"”" I said. “Well, I should say I did! But I thought maybe I'd got it out—by this time.” *‘What—what happened?” he wanted to know “Well, sir,”’ I said to him—we were both talking, naturally, in whispers all the time—‘‘it was a thing that never happened to me in my life before. I was sitting there by that gas jet by the window reading and fell asleep. And when I woke up it was dark and the room was full of gas.” “Oh, was that it?"’ he said. I could tell now from his voice, and breath as well, that, quite fortunately, he was in a state not generally considered best for clear-cut mental operations. THE SATURDAY the ‘That heavy breeze blowing in window!” I said. “Is it strong out here,’ I asked him—‘“‘the smell of it?” “T should say it was,”’ he told me in that thick, somewhat damp whisper. “Well, it’s all over with now, anyhow,” I said, reaching back and taking hold of my door knob. “‘And I expect you won't smell it much longer. I’ve got all the windows open. Where’ve you been?” I asked him. “Out on another amour?’ “Oh, no, judge. Nothing like that. Nothing like that!” he said; and I could almost hear him grinning in the dark. “Well,” I told him, “crawl along up- stairs or we'll wake up the madam, standing gossiping here. But I'll tell you what I'll do,” I whispered, “before you go. I'll sign articles of confederation with you. I ain’t very proud of what I’ve just done, exactly; and if you'll agree to overlook it when tempted to humor in your conversation to- morrow or thereafter—I’ll endeavor not to call the attention of Madam Tusset to your continued devotion to late affairs of the human affections, which I see you are still entangled with.” “Oh, nothing like that, judge. You've got me wrong this time,” said Cupid. “But at that you know I'd never give you away—in any of your little sins or shortcomings. And I kfow you wouldn’t me, either.” “That expresses my feelings exactly,” I whispered back. And I knew when he turned and went along that there would probably be nothing said from that quarter. His tenure of station had grown a little precarious in re- cent weeks from his various protracted and late-night excursions, which were not to the taste of Madam Tusset, who was cred- ited, in fact, with the intention of turning him out from that highly respectable house on the next and slightest evidence of any lapses from high moral or social standards. So he stole upstairs and I turned back into the room. “Now, then, about the doctor,’ “Tt seems to me e “She’s all right now,” said the mother. “She's coming out fine, sir.” “But " T started. ‘Judge,”” she broke in on me, “please, sir, don’t insist on that. We can’t do it. On top of what’s happened already, sir. It would destroy us!” I lighted the gas then finally and I turned with her and looked at the girl on the bed. She did seem almost recovered. Her face was somewhat flushed, from the effects of the gas, I expect. But she was breathing naturally and regularly. As she lay there I thought she was about the most beautiful human creature I ever saw ’T said. EVENING POST the mother, She’s almost “You see, judge,” said she’s coming out all right. out already.” And as she said this the girl moved, opened her great eyes, looked at us—first her mother and then me, steadily and with “ wonder—and spoke for the first time. “T know, mother. I know,” she said. “IT had—no right—to die!’’ she said faintly. “I won't And her eyes closed heavily, as if to shut the unwelcome world out once again. Her mother was on her knees by bedside now. “You wicked, wicked girl!” she cried in that continued whisper which we both still used, and burst into a great silent paroxysm of weeping—of relief, no doubt, from her anxiety and terror. I stood aside and let her weep it out, purge her soul of its emotion; and thought meanwhile of the girl’s extraordinary greet- ing to returning life. “T had—no right—to die!” I said over to myself, and looked at that exquisite creature in her sheer and exquisite white garments in my bed, who wanted, for reasons of her own, apparently, to give up life—-destroy herself. “This certainly is a strange told myself. The beauty of the girl was all the more marked by its contrast with the haggard, disheveled person of the mother. The woman’s not too abundant hair was tangled upon her head; the crow’s-feet at her eyes and the stringy thinness of her neck showed, undisguised; and the rouge of her cheeks, bleared by her weeping, stared out in strange red relief against her dry and whitened skin in the trying greenish light which comes from gas in a mantle burner. “Madam,” I said finally, when I saw she had about completed her weeping, “vou may be right. You know your own affairs—and your necessities. She is your own child. Suppose we do this—suppose we wait and see, a little longer, about the doctor.” “You understand, don’t you?” she asked, catching me by the sleeve. “But no, you can’t, either! I’m not inhuman. I’m not an inhuman mother, sir, but I’m a desperate one. I’m a desperate woman in a desperate situation, and the least thing more now would destroy us.” ‘It is not necessary, madam,”’ I said, “to explain. I'll take your word for it.” The girl had opened her eyes now and lay staring at us. “‘She’s done that before,” her mother explained to me. “When you were outside.” ‘Lsee. Allright,” I said gointhismatter, youmust not worry the affair,”’ I ““AndasfarasI about i COPYRIGHT @Y ASAME. CURTIS, SEATTLE, WASHINGTON Mount Rainier From Pan Handle Gap January 22,192! I told her. I thought I “In my business men graveyards full of just my discretion,” would reassure her. are—or should be such matters.” She murmured something about a moth- er’s blessing, a mother’s gratitude, and tried to take my hand. “To-morrow,” can—I want to everything.” The girl now lay there, apparently rap- idly recovering, looking at us steadily with her wide-opened eyes and then closing them calmly. ‘Any time, madam,” I told her mother, “that I can be of any assistance to you! But in the meanwhile,” I said, “I expect we’d better count on letting matters stand as they are now—-on your keeping my room for the rest of the night. And I’ll venture into your rooms now and find out how much they are cleared out from gas. They should be pretty well by this time—espe- cially with this breeze that’s blowing in here now. And if so, I can go in there and stay—after—maybe you may want to go into your own room yourself.” For she not only was a somewhat ghastly revelation with her hair and smeared face but she was clothed only in her night gar- ments and some sort of ribboned dressing gown, and with the recovery of the girl we were both becoming conscious of the fact. I went in there and found both their chambers practically free now from the gas fumes. And the woman—this Mrs. Fairborn so-called—went in then and made a hasty toilet in her room. I sat there while she was gone, slightly away from the bedside, watching that white young creature in my bed. Her eyes opened occasionally and gazed at me with the calm indifference of those folks who, at the edge of unconsciousness or death, seem interested in larger and more serene affairs. I sat and watched that wonderful young girl, with all her life, all her e xtraordinary beauty, speculating, turning over in my mind the possible reasons for her act and for those Leen ~ that first singular state- ment on her return to life: “I had—no right —to die!” She said nothing more, just lay there. Her mother came in again—dressed — more normal. After a few minutes more I went into her room and left her with the girl. About dawn we helped her back into her own bed. ‘Judge,” said “never, sir, can for us last night. an obligation, sir, “or when I to explain- said you she see the mother in parting, I forget what you did You have put us under which is more than we can ever repay. Aside from saving my daughter's life, you have saved us—even more! More than you can ever know—not being a mother or a woman, sir. We were more than fortunate in having come to our rescue not only a hero, sir, but a gentleman and a man of discretion.” “About my qualities as a hero, ma’am, I have my doubts,” I said, “‘ but I am certain sure that you can count on my discretion. And if there is any other way in which I can serve you in your affairs,” I told her, “I hope you will command me.” “Bless you for that too,” said the woman —the natural normal effusiveness of the Scarlet Cockatoo returning with a return of hope and vigor. ‘A mother’s blessing will follow you forever, sir, and I shall take advantage of what you now say and see you in your office not later, I hope, than to-morrow—or to-day, I should say, sir.”’ For the light of another morning was now already well come. Her restless, nervous manner had re- turned to her with a return to taking up again the fixed and pressing burdens of life. Her face showed drawn and haggard in the light of a new dawn—the face, it occurred to me, of a small animal, too weak for the forces round it, which must make up, day and night, by nervous alertness and vigi- lance and excitement, what it lac ks in strength—until in some mistake, maybe, it darts finally of its own motion to its own destruction—into danger, out of life. The girl was immediately lost in a deep and peaceful sleep in the bed where we had lain her. I was soon in my own room, in a rest as entire and profound. Of all of us three, in five minutes from the time I had left them, only the mother, I believe, was awake—watching with strained eyes and painted face the sleeping girl upon the great old-time black-walnut ed TO BE CONTINUED

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 85 The MceQuay-Norris Six-Aere Plant

10 years of leadership pouring hieQuey-Norris Metal in p iston ri ng engi neering what it means to car owners The McQuay-Norris organization represents more Another indication of McQuay-Norris thoroughness than ten years of experience in the one highly special- was the installation of the great Electric Furnace ized field of piston ring engineering. Ten years ago — which refines the only piston ring iron of its kind, It no piston ring had an individuality. They were _ refines piston ring iron by the same electric process simply piston rings. Car owners didn't know that which tool-steel makers use—eliminating the uncer- worn or leaky rings were responsible for many of — tainty and varying wearing qualities of metal made their gas engine troubles. Rings were seldom re by the old-fashioned Coke Cupola method, placed unless they happened to break—and all the ; Car owners have learned that when their cars waste while people were putting up with poor cylinder : fuel, lack power, or have oil and carbon troubles compression because no one knew any better. the cause Is ] ially worn ofr poorly designed piston The } r . ring They have learned that by installing the 1€ istory oO! intelligent yston ring replacement ° i Si I S Sepa McQuay-Norris Combination Ring Equipment their began with the marketing of the genuine McQuay Norris \gasnfRoor Piston Ring The equal radial cars are fully protected against the troubles worn or poorly mad riny can caus ( ; _ > pressure of its two-piece construction gave a new i ay ad McQUAY NORRIS f | |) meaning to motor car power and economy. It pre McQuay-Norris Rings are made in every size and Vy J PISTON RING 1 vents gas from wasting past an engine ’s pistons It over-size to fit every gas engine ever made. Repair- me “Se EQUIPMENT eae" insures the compression of all the fuel into power. wang rally « ry t espana cay wr nn can always get any size promptly from their jobber. [nsist on the Combination In later years the development of smaller bore, high- 4-Quay-Norris Piston Ring Service is Nation-wide ; speed motors created a necessity for a ring which oa peries +“ Err “ayy : ind " experience nd specializes owlcdge that could control excess lubricating oil. McQuay-Norri ' , yearsotl Icces ful pi ton ring practice have cle veloped engineers pe the Superoye Ring especially to ire immediately available to every car owner—every- stop oil trouble Be It has been a genuine BUCCI ; It wher: tt anv time Ack our repair ~ has proved in thousands of “oil pumper that it will cortrol excess oil, ros _ ¢ Write for Free Book F /w The Superoye Ring not only gives valuable aid in elim- which is a comprehensive but mple ex A>, inating annoying and expensive motor troubles, but planation of the principles of piston ring Ps ~ , , o* ' tal . hy | ‘ , Sw . : saves a lot of oil which would otherwise be wasted operation and the best piston ring ( § . just as the \ganfRoor Ring saves gasoline. The com ractice, Addre Dept “R y Vv my McQUAY-NORRIS nt a the gaaoor Rin sean tye I bination should be used in all motors. Mail us this coupon to y, a : \EAK-| ROOF aa ; Jo PISTON RINGS : | McQuay-Norris Manufacturing Co., St. Louis, U. S. A. 8% & ‘

BRANCH OFFICES: 1S: New York Chicago Philadelphia Boston Fe Pittsburgh San Francisco Kansas City Seattle > Omaha Dallas / y Canadian Factory: Pos Copyright 1921, McQuay-Norris Mfg. Co W. H., Banfield & Sons, Ltd., 120 Adelaide St. West, Toronto 7° S* : - /

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 22,1921 BEAVER QUALITY

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f ' ¢ i THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 87 ROOF LIFE Through smoke and fumes, through roughest weather, through fire and water, you expect your factory roofs to live through “thick and thin"—and you should rightfully expect just such service. Of all roofs, the industrial roof is subjected to the great- est strain. Not weather alone but every other element of destruction must be fought off and overcome. Fire must be resisted, deterioration must be offset and upkeep costs reduced to the minimum. And because of these facts, the selection of roofs demands your individual attention. In new factory construction, as well as for roof replace- ment and repair operations, both Vulcanite Slate Surfaced and Smooth Surfaced Roll Roofings have fully demonstrated their long life and enduring ability. Under just such stress and strain the high quality of the fabric felt and refined asphalt saturant used in Vulcanite Roofing has proved its worthiness. The fire-resisting qualities of Vulcanite Roll Roofings have further established Vulcanite reputation. In short, industry has proved the quality of Vulcanite by long and exacting usage. Manufacturers the country over have come to depend upon this “Beaver Quality” product to cover their roofing needs. Continuous demand through lumber and building supply dealers everywhere is further evidence of Vulcanite goodness. Interesting literature and samples can be obtained from the Vulcanite dealer or by writing to the nearest of the District Sales Offices listed below. THE BEAVER BOARD COMPANIES ROOFING DIVISION Administration Offices, Buffalo, N. Y.; Thorold, Ont., Can.; London, Eng. District Sales Offices at Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Atlanta, New Orleans, Buffalo, Cleveland, Cincinnati, Detroit, Chicago, Minne- apolis, St. Louis, Kansas City, Dallas, Denver and San Francisco. Distributors and Dealers Everywhere. A Vulcanite Style for Every Need You should acquaint yourself with the complete line of Vulcanite Roofings. It is the one way you can be roof-sure. Each Find carries the famuliar Pccteb myn trademark. Together they cover every ng need. Smooth Surfaced Roll Roofings. “Vulcanoid” is the most popular of this complete line of smooth surfaced roll roofings. It provides a strong, rugged, fire-resisting surtace for steep roofed factory and mill buildings, warehouses, sheds, etc. Equally satisfactory for farm buildings Made in four weights Slate Surfaced Roll Roofings. Another good Vulcanite product for industrial, home and tarm use. This type has the same enduring qualities as the smooth surfaced roll roofings, with the addition of a crushed slate coating which gives greater beauty and increases fire resistance. Made in red or green and in two weights, Standard and Jumbo. Slate Surfaced Individual Shingles. Made in two styles for the more decorative effects. The Self-spacing type is an exclusive patent Vulcanite design that saves time in application, insures correct laying and double thickness at every point The Standard is a straight individual type. Both styles made in red and green. Slate Surfaced Slab Shingles. These two styles, the Hexagon Slab and the Four-in-One Slab, give great economy in laying, combined with ex treme decorative qualities. The Hexagon Slab is another exclusive Vulcanite design which gues exceptional durability with a heavy-tile result and a double thickness at every point. Both styles made in red and green. Oe BEAVER QUALITY Up You can’t expect Beaver Quality results unless this q | trademark is on the roofing you FOR BETTER ROOFS buy.

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THE SATURDAY are safer and last longer with Johns- Manville Non-Burn Asbestos Brake Lining and its aliled products INSULATION beeps EVENING POST Uplift HEN a male person with long hair and a reassuring smile appears on the stage and in a tone of voice that is sticky and eager and soothing begins as follows: “My dear friends—I trust you will pardon me for calling you friends—I like to feel that my audiences are bound to me by a psychic bond of fellowship—I bring you this evening a message of cheer. I make no appeal to the commonplace or the sordid. My message is one of uplift—an appeal to — finer self—an effort to broaden your orizons and give you a vista of the wider spaces. Now let us all purge our minds of dross and concentrate on thoughts of the heights. And let us smile. Everybody, jlease. That is nice’’—when the long- aired poe begins that way, as he usually does, the regular men who sit in the audi- ence squirm in their seats and look down their noses. They feel ashamed, and they wish to get away from there. They feel ashamed because a he person, very like themselves in other particulars, has elected to get a living by talking puerile rot, and because this fallen he, by word and manner, gives evidence of his conviction that they are sufficiently idiotic to enjoy it. Every normal person wishes to grow. He wishes to develop a stronger body, to ac- quire more wisdom, to collect more facts, to make a better impression on his fellows. But he does not wish to abase himself in the process. He does not wish to shout the record of his imperfections from the house- tops, nor does he wish to offer himself as a target for every simpering lack-wit who feels competent to lift the world to the heights inhabited by his faultless self. If one would learn navigation he sits at the feet of a seafaring man who has handled ships. He does not seek instruc- tion from an elderly spinster who paints sailing vessels on china cups. A trust- worthy guide is one who has been over the trails, not one who sits among perfumed pillows and dreams of becoming a bold woodsman. When one man conquers a state or in- vents a wonderful device or paints a marvel- ous picture, and yet walks serenely among his fellows, without pose or evidence of a swollen ego, other men who have achieved less look upon him and exclaim, “‘ How did he get that way?” If he is generous and offers a word of advice or caution, they accept it eagerly and make diligent effort to fit it to their own needs. There is profit in the speech of one whose works have demon- strated.his possession of superior abilities. Unfortunately for seekers of knowledge, accomplishment is a continuous perform- ance. The leading characters in the drama are needed in the cast. They are so busy doing something worth while that they can- not find time to instruct others in the art. The great statesman does not give corre- spondence lessons in elocution. The greater part of the world’s talking is done by people who are not good for any- thing else. A man may be too lazy and worthless to get a a at the job of count- ing money on halves, but he will sit on a — box in the sunshine and expound omemade theories designed to pay off the national debt. He may not possess suffi- cient sense to teach his children the rudi- ments of good behavior and good manners, but he does not hesitate to advance and defend nis opinion concerning the science of government. The chronic talkers feel competent to handle any task save the one that lies waiting at their door, and the greater their ignorance the greater their sense of infallibility. Will a frog squat at the side of a pool and give instructions in flying? The uplifters and the prophets of the new order like to feel that they are martyrs toa cause, patiently and sweetly doing battle against the indifference of a callous world. | The truth of the matter is that the world ignores them because it considers them simpletons. Long ago the world learned that results are got by doing, not by mak- ing pretty phrases. The hodcarrier may sit on a mortar box and think in terms of uplift until the end of time, and yet not lift a brick to the second story. A division super- intendent may sit up all night to think January 22,192! ‘Small-Town Stuff By ROBERT QUILLEN sweet thoughts, and yet not untangle a ¢c ——_- of loaded freight cars. And one contemplate the broader life and the hig er spheres until his wits are frazzled at both ends, and yet fail to protect the guile- less from the shrewd. He who is wise will get knowledge. Knowledge will make him a more compe- tent servant and bring him a reward. In quest of knowledge he wil turn to the world’s workers and thinkers, and i in their accomplishment find inspiration and _ in- struction sufficient for his needs. The uplift of example will in time glorify the race of man. And when the world is at last made perfect it will be found that pretty talk played an exceedingly small part in the transformation. Taxes UR town now has two banks and three churches, and a desirable lot for a resi- dence or a business house cannot be bought for less than a thousand dollars, but a long time ago, when the town was no more than a wide place in the road, lots sold by the acre ond woul valued but little higher than adjoining lands planted to field crops. Among those who lived in the village during its infancy were a few who dreamed that it would become a town. These in- vested their savings in lots. They were in- dustrious and thrifty folk, and asthe growth of the town afforded larger opportunity, they prospered and increased their holdings. A thrifty man will water and prune and fertilize a tree he has planted. Those who had their money invested in lots were patri- otic by reason of selfishness. To insure a profit on their investments, they contrib- uted of their earnings to build schools and churches, to plant trees and to build walks; and in the effort to make money they made a town. Except for their faith and their energy, the town would now be no larger than it was in the beginning. These town builders have sold the greater part of their property and got the money tolivein comfort. The lots they hold are kept for their children or their grand- children. The present generation of young business men has little sympathy with the past. It is annoyed by the sight of vacant lots, for it would have a town become a city—not in a generation but in a day. And as it looks upon the vacant lots that appear to stand in the way of its dream it says: “These old men who cling to their idle property, waiting year after year for higher and higher prices, are stumblingblocks in the way of progress. The town has grown up about them and made them rich, and it should get some benefit in exchange for the service it has rendered. It should tax these vacant lots heavily and force them on the market.’ This feeling of resentment is not shared by all the younger men. Some of them are investing their savings in lots in the hope of reaping a harvest when the town be- comes a city, and these feel that vacant lots should bear no more than a fair share of the tax burden. Many men have many theories concern- ing the levying of taxes, but the theories have one point in common: They agree that justice consists in taxing the other fellow. One who would make money must learn to render a service for which the public is willing to pay or get possession of a com- modity for which the public is willing to rant him a profit. In either case his wit eserves a reward. If one buys a lot or learns the art of sur- gery or builds a railroad, and a demand for these — justifies his wisdom, it is not just that the public should say to him: “It is not your superior sagacity that gives value to this service or commodity, but rather our desire for it. Since the value is fixed by our desire, our interest is greater than yours. We cannot permit you to get a reward at our expense, for we are a ma- jority.” When civilization decides to make fore- sight a crime and to provide a penalty for enterprise, there will be no progress, but only a common level of worthlessness. It is the desire to win races that breeds fast horses.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 80

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E want you to have this package of Orange Pekoe leaves are blended by us to a degree Tetley’s Genuine Orange Pekoe, which of perfection—attained through a blending ex holds 14% ounces, or 30 steaming cups, of fra- perience of over 100 years. During that entire grant, full bodied tea. Present the coupon, in period we've been doing nothing but blend tea! the lower right-hand corner, to your grocer. If The result is a tea that abounds in fragrance. his supply is already exhausted he will get a A tea that has body to it. A tea whose clear package for you absolutely free. amber color is pleasing to the sight. A tea that If you are not a tea drinker we have every leaves no bitter after-taste. A tea that has a re reason to believe that it is because you have freshing pick-me-up effect—it is surprising that never tried the right kind of tea. While if, on anything so delicately colored and elusively fra- the other hand, you are a tea drinker you should grant should have such a potent effect. have the best tea. ; We know that once you try Tetley’s—tea But tea drinker or no tea drinker, you are sure drinker or no tea drinker—you will become a to like Tetley’s Genuine Orange Pekoe. Tetley drinker. Just take this coupon to your The name Orange Pekoe has been given to grocer. the young, tender leaves at the top of the tea JOSEPH TETLEY & CO., Inc. plant. These are the choice leaves. These 483 Greenwich St. New a a tA me ron Pd rO YOUR GROCER Honor this coupon wth one regular ten cent package of Py Tetley's Orange Pekoe Tea. Have coupon signed with customer's i name and address, sign your name, street address, tity and state and mail to Joseph Tetley & Co., In , 482 Greer with St., New York. We will redeem each coupon Makes Good Tea a Certainty a nee ener, 1 ae Customer's Name__—

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90 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 22,1921 —- 7 pace "y — Sete Say 2 "ee a Fhe — : ae 7 Ss ee ; pe Cie oe ig ‘SHOWERS Aiwey) in Good Taste “from the tree to the trade” Through building in great volume, through cutting out all inter- mediate costs, as a result of owning their own standing timber, saw mills and mirror works, and through real knowledge of furniture making, gained in the fifty-six years of their existence, these greatest of all furniture factories do actually produce better furniture for less money -and, best of all, Showers furniture is always in good taste. To Showers Brothers Company must go credit for bringing durable, “good taste” bedroom and dining room furniture within the reach of the great American masses. Incidentally, Showers furniture also meets the demands of the most discriminating. Look for the Showers trade-mark on the furniture you buy —it is a guarantee of better furniture for less money. Good Dealers Everywhere , ; Furniture dealers will be inter- ee ested in our new booklet ** Better SHOWERS BrotTHERsS CoMPANy Furniture for Less Money’. Write jor a copy today. GENERAL OFFICES BLOOMINGTON, INDIANA Facro BLoomiInctTon, InpIANA, AND BurtinecTon, lowa America’s Largest ‘Furniture cMakers

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With the British South Africa Company it was a far different and infinitely more difficult performance to translate the li- cense to operate into action. Matabeleland and Mashonaland were wild regions where warlike tribes roamed or fought at will. There were no roads. The only aliens who had ventured there were hunters, traders and concession seekers. Occupation pre- ceded exploitation. A white man’s civili- zation had to be set up first. Hence the rifle and the hoe went in together. In June, 1890, the Pioneer Column entered. Heading it were two men who left an impress upon African romance. One was Doctor Jameson, hero of the raid and Rhodes’ most intimate friend. The first time I met him I marveled that this slight, bald, mild little man should have been the central figure in so many heroic exploits. The other was the famous hunter, F. C. Selous, who was Roosevelt’s com- panion in British East Africa. Under them were less than two hundred white men, in- cluding Captain Heany, an American, who now invaded a country where Lobengula had an army of twenty thousand trained fighters, organized into impis— regiments after the Zulu fashion, and in every respect a formidable force. Although the old chief had granted the concession, no one trusted him, and Jameson and Selous had to feel their way, sleep under arms every night and build highways as they went. Upon Lobengula’s suggestion it was de- cided to occupy Mashonaland first. This was achieved without any trouble, and the British flag was raised on what is now the site of Salisbury, the capital of Southern Rhodesia. Most of the members of the expedition remained as settlers, and farms sprang up on the veldt. The company had to organize a police force to patrol the land and keep off predatory natives. But this was purely incidental to the larger troubles that now crowded thick and fast. In the south the Boers launched an expedition to occupy Matabeleland by force, and it had to be headed off. To the east rose friction with the Portuguese, and a Rhodesian force was compelled to occupy part of Portuguese Fast Africa until the boundary line was adjusted. Three Years of Peace In 1893 came the first of the events that made Rhodesia a storm center. A Mata- bele regiment raided the new town of Victoria and killed some of the company’s native servants. The Matabeles then went on the warpath, and Doctor Jameson took the field against them. For five weeks a bitter struggle raged. It ended with the defeat and disappearance of Lobengula and the occupation of Bulawayo by the com- pany forces. This brought the whole of Matabeleland under the direct authority of the British South Africa interests. The campaign cost the company five hundred thousand dollars. Three years of THE SATURDAY EVENING POST GOVERNMENT BY CHARTER (Continued from Page 17) to strike again. Ever since the defeat of 1893 they had been restless and discontented. Various other causes contributed to the uprising. One is peculiarly typical of the African savage. An outbreak of rinder- pest, a disease hitherto unknown in South- ern Africa, came down from the north and ravaged the cattle herds. In order to check the advance of the pest the government established a clear belt by shooting all the cattle in a certain area. It was impossible for the Matabeles to understand the wisdom of this procedure. They only saw it as an outrage committed by the white men on their property, for they were extensive cattle owners. In addition, many died after eating infected meat, and they held the settlers responsible for it. The net re- sult of it all was a sudden descent upon the white settlements, and scores of white men, women and children were slaughtered. Lord Plumer’s Exploits This time the operations against them were on a large scale. The present Lord Plumer, who commanded the Second British Army in France against the Ger- mans—he was then a lieutenant colonel] came up with eight hundred soldiers and drove the Matabeles into the fastnesses of the Matoppos, a range of hills fifty miles long and more than twenty wide. Here the savages hid in caves and could not be driven out. You now reach one of the remarkable feats in the life of Cecil Rhodes. The mo- ment that the second Matabele war began he hastened northward to the country that bore his name. As soon as the Matabeles took refuge in the Matoppos he boldly went out to parley with them. With three un- armed companions, one of them an inter- preter, he set up a camp in the wilds and sent emissaries to the syndicate of chiefs who had succeeded Lobengula. He had become Premier of the Cape Colony, was head of the great De Beers Diamond Syndi- cate and had other immense interests. He was also managing diréctor of the British South Africa Company, the biggest stock- holder, and he determined to protect his in- terests and at the same time preserve the integrity of the country that he loved so well. He exposed himself every night to raids by the most bloodthirsty savages in all Africa. Plumer’s command was camped nearly five miles away, but Rhodes refused a guard. Rhodes waited patiently, and his per- severance was eventually rewarded. One by one the chiefs came down from the hills and succumbed to the persuasiveness and personality of this remarkable man, who could deal with wild and naked warriors as successfully as he could dictate to a group of hard-headed business men. After two months of negotiating, the Matabeles were appeased, and permanent peace, so far as the natives were concerned, dawned in Rhodesia. After his feat in the Matoppos, the Matabeles called Rhodes the Man Who Separated the Fighting Bulls. It was during this period in Rhodesia that Rhodes discovered the place which he called the View of the World, and where his remains now lie in lonely grandeur. At Groote Schuur, the Rhodes house near Capetown, which he left as the per- manent residence of the Prime Minister of the Union of South Africa, I saw a prized souvenir of the Matoppos conferences with the Matabeles. On the wall in Rhodes’ bedroom hangs the faded picture of an old and shriveled Matabele woman. When I asked General Smuts to tell me whoshe was he replied: ‘“‘ That isthe woman who acted as the chief negotiator between Rhodes and the rebels.” I afterwards found out that she was one of the wives of Umziligazi, father of Loben- gula and a noted Zulu chieftain. Rhodes never forgot the service she rendered him, and caused the photograph of her to be taken. Following the last Matabele insurrec- tion, the imperial government, which is represented in Rhodesia by a resident commissioner, assumed control of the na- tives. The Crown was possibly guided by the precedent of Natal, where a premature responsible government was followed by two Zulu wars which well-nigh wrecked the province. It has become the policy of the home government not to permit a rela- tively small white population to rule the natives. Whatever the influence, Rhodesia has had no trouble with the natives since Rhodes made the peace up in the hills of the Matoppos. A Bloodless War of Words The moment that the war of force ended another and bloodless war of words began, and it has continued ever since. I mean the fight for self-government that the settlers have waged against the chartered company. This brings us to a contest that contributes a significant and little-known chapter to the whole narrative of self-determination. Clearly to understand this situation you must know that through its charter the British South Africa Company was able to fasten a copper-riveted rule on Rhodesia. Most of the directors in London, with the exception of men like Doctor Jameson, knew very little about the country. There was no resident director in Africa, and the members of the board only came out just before the elections. The administrator was always a company man, and until 1899 his administrative associates in the field were the members of an executive council nominated by the company. Meanwhile thousands of men had invested their fortunes in the land, and the inevitable time came when they believed that they should have a voice in the conduct of its affairs 91 This sentiment became so widespread that in 1899 the country was given a legis lative council, which for the first time e1 abled the Rhodesians to elect s me of their own people to office. At first they wer allowed only three members, while the company nominated six other This, of course, always gave the chartered interest a majority. Subsequently, as the clamor for popular representation grew, the num ber of elected representatives was increased to thirteen, while j charter remained the same jority under the new deal it was ot necessary for the company to get the sup those nominated DY port of four elected member and on account of its relatively vast commercial ir terests it was usually easy to do this It would be difficult to find an exact parallel to this situation. In America we have had many conflicts with what our campaign orators call special privilege an institution which thrived before the searchlight of publicity was turned on cor porate control. These contests were some times decided at the polls, with varying degrees of success. The Results of the Fight All the while the feeling in Rhodesia grew. A strong group which opposed the chartered régime sprang up. At the be ginning of the struggle the line was sharply drawn between the charter adherents on one side and unorganized opponents on the other. By 1914 the issue was sharply de fined. The first twenty-five years of the charter were about to end, and the in- surgents realized that it was an opportune moment for a show of strength. The oppo sition had three plans. Some advocated the conversion of Rhodesia into a crown colony, others strongly urged admission to the Union of South Africa, while still another wing stood for responsible govern ment. It was decided to unite on a common platform of responsible government For the first time the company realized that it had a fight on its hands, and Doctor Jameson, who had become president of the corporation, went out to Rhodesia and made speeches urging loyalty to the char ter. His appearance stirred the memories of the pioneer days, and almost without exception the old guard rallied round him A red-hot campaign ensued, with the re sult that the whole procharter ticket, with one exception, was elected, although the antis polled forty-five per cent of the total vote Out of this defeat, came a partial victory for the progressives. The imperial government saw the handwriting on the wall and, acting within its powers, which permitted an administrative change in the charter at the end of every ten years, granted a however supplement il charter which provided that the legislative council could by an absolute majority of all it members pa “a resolution “pra peace and progress followed. Rail- way construction started in two di- rections. One line was headed from the south through Bechu- analand toward Bulawayo,andthe other from Beira, the Indian Ocean portin Portuguese East Africa, west- ward toward Salisbury. Gold mines were opened and farms ex- tended. At the end of 1895 came the Jameson raid. Practically the en- tire force under the many-sided doctor was re- cruited from the Rhodesian police, and they were all captured by the Boers. Rhodesia was left defense- less. The Matabeles seized thismoment COPYRIGHT BY THE BRITICN SOUTH AFRICA COMPANY ing the Crown to establish inSouth ern Rhodesia the form of govern ment known a responsible gov- ernment,”’ pro ded that it could financially sup- port this proce- dure It gave the insurgent fresh hope, and it made the company real ize that sooner or later its authority must end Then the Great War broke. Every available man that could possi- bly be spared went to the Front and the life of the j council! Was ex tended until 1920 when a conclusiy election was to be held Meanwhile the ' alizing that it must sooner or company, re The British South Africa Company's Premier Estate Near Old Umtali Continued on Page 95

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92 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 22,192! The picture that made millions wonder kveready awards $10,000 in cash prizes UNDREDS of thousands of answers were re-_ printed herewith, as well as the names of all prize- ceived to the Eveready Contest Problem, winning contestants. ‘‘What Does The Letter Say?”’ The picture The Editors of Life judged the answers and, from was displayed during June and July, 1920,in Eveready thousands of interesting solutions, selected those sub- Dealers’ stores throughout the United States and mitted by the following winners as showing the Canada. Eveready now announces the names of the greatest excellence. 104 Prize-Winners. : AMERICAN EVER READY WORKS Limited space does not permit of printing all of it Miattanet Coitias Gentian, tes the winning answers. The replies which the judges LONG ISLAND CITY, N. Y. awe salacnta y I cae — - Cae : National Carbon Co., Inc., San Francisco, Cal have selected for first, second and third prizes are Gencinny Mieanat Gdtee Tnaaaion, Gteiieh Porents FIRST PRIZE $3000.00 SECOND PRIZE $1000.00 PFHIRD PRIZE $500.00 WON BY C. W. FOWLER, Louisville, Ky WON BY BERNICE V. BROWN ,Cambridge, Mass WON BYS.L.WRIGHT,SR., NewAlbany, Ind. First Prise Winning Answer Second Prise-Winning Answer Third Prize-Winning Answer Danger lurks where darkness lies Death has a thousand doors We miners demand Daylos like sample Till driven back by Daylo’s eyes which a Daylo shuts and locks then our widows won't need indemnities PRIZES ALSO AWARDED AS FOLLOWS: Other $500.00 Prize -Winners $25.00 Prize -Winners $10.00 Prize-Winners (Continued) Emina Engleman, Montrose* Colo Geo. J. Anderson, Cleveland, Ohio W. B. Engle, Sioux Falls, S. D. Mrs. H. Langlois, London, Ont., Canada Maurice T. Baker, Indianapolis, Ind. A. D. Evert, Hazleton, Pa. Donald Chase, San Diego, Cal Wm. C. Ferris, Fredonia, N. Y $250.00 Prize -Winners Lester D. Chirgwin, Ansonia, Conn G. Fulton, Washington, D. C. Henry Bonner, Columbus, Ga Russell E. Copeland, Mansfield, Ohio Francis H. Gillespie, Moncton, N. B., Canada L. N. Morgan, Philadelphia, Pa ae oo nag ee yas J. A. L. Glaze, Vidalia, Ga. William M. Tanner, Cambridge, Ma = % over, Calgary, Alberta, Canada Wilmer M. Grayson, Baton Rouge, La. Sari Williams. New Albany, Ind J. Edward Elliot, Stratford, Conn Ena Green, Little Rock, Ark. Miss L ‘ N. Elliott, Nashville, Tenn John E. Guernsey, Buena Park, Calif. $200.00 Prize-Winners Favre Gould, Brighton, Ill Mrs. A. L. Guitar, St. Joseph, Mo. Mary E. Groff, Redondo Beach, Cal. Garrard Harris, Birmingham. Ala H. G. Bailey, Boaz, Ala C. L tncelle. Scenerville. Me arre rris, E gham, Ala. REANS, SOME VINE, NEAsS Frank K. Hills, Fort Wayne, Ind. Mrs. Chas. H. Bland, Ottawa, Canada Ed iR.I k. Eurek Ss. D ¥ . “ TN H. Gill. Dead 1S.D “Gwar saak, Surecka, « : Loren O. Johnson, Denver, Colo. somas sha cacwood, « J. Jamieson, London, Ontario, Canada John A. Knabe, Jersey City, N. J M. T. Gans, Owensboro, Ky G ‘ : : a 7s ee. are . zertrude McDevitt, Boise, Idaho Mrs. M. A. Lyon, Schaghticoke, N. Y. Anna V. Murray, Jersey City, N. J C. H. Meadowcroft, Boonton, N es 's Mahoney. Detroit, Mich. 7 ‘ F Mrs. Jessie S. Power, Terre Haute, Ind aia Cc.M Cc ll. Toledo, Ohi $100.00 Prize-Winners . . Donald C. cColl, Toledo, Ohio W J Reed, Aurora, Ill u Ww. Ss. McKee, Troy, N. Yy. Frank G. Davis, Richmond, Va Rene Surette, Moncton, N. B., Canada Mrs. John MacMahan, Vineland, N. J. Walton Mh. Griffith, Athens, Ga T. Harry Thompson, East Orange, N. J E. M. Miller, Winston-Salem, N. C. Mrs. Walter E. Griswold, Framingham, Mass ui a C. 8 Moesiein. Harrisbure. Pa j > > 0 ( ) *r fo ‘Tr ert . . 8. _ Miss Lois Halderman, Pittsburgh, Pa ae $1 : ”) Prize W imners Elsie T. Nicholson, Batavia, III. Thos. H. Hall, Cambridge, Mass R. E. Alexander, I hiladelphia, Pa G. Noake, Saskatoon, Sask., Canada Mrs. M. F. MacDonald, Vancouver, B. C., Canada J. J. Atherton, Kelowna, B. C.., < anada , Mrs. A. Nolting, Elgin, Il. Arthur F. Meehan. Worcester, Mass Miss Adelaide M. Buckenham, Philadelphia, Pa E. C. Plummer, Devon, Conn. John Munro, Montreal, P. Q., Canada Miss Anna Lincoln Busby, Boston, Mass Carla F. Rosenthal, Pittsfield, Mass. Marry Ciiver, Ottawa, Ontario, Canada 2 a ; — a A. Rothstein, Philadelphia, Pa. James B. Peddle, Chicago, Il Patrick J aids mene vA ——s Sue I. Schermerhorn, Richmond, Va. — = , Joseph c oleman, F hilade phia, Pa Herman H. Schindele, Philadelphia, Pa. $50.00 Prize -Winners Helen ¢ a Albe en C o—, James K. Shields, Media, Pa. Orien D. Farrell, Sistersville, W. Va “was yo bic any Fass iwater, Minn. Perley M. Silloway, Peoria, Ill. Estelle S. Hewson, Richmond, Ind auise J SUS, SEEM, sees Arthur R. Smith, Warehouse Point, Conn. Victor H. Snow, Berkeley, Calif. C. F. Stoddard, Washington, D. C. A. C. Stuart, Chicago, Il. R. Van Raalte, Wollaston, Mass. Herbert J. Ward, Birmingham, Ala. Miss Eunice Finch Wright, Hartford, Conn. Theo. A. White, Denver, Colo. R. E. Wyatt, Nashville, Tenn. Al3-M H. R. Loosley, East St. Louis, I! F. E. Mehrings, Peoria, Il Wm. C. Motteram, Philadelphia, Pa I. Foster Moore, Bridgeport, Conn Arthur A Pope Norfolk, Va Richard Sherwood, Great Falls, Mont C. W. Simpson, Jamestown, N. Y A. L. Wetzel, Clarksburg, W. Va

eS ats St ee a a eer © LT LT Ee aT NS EF. Sear ADy The Light that says, “There tt is! With long lived peerendy Batteries NETS aI aS ” iad *. “ s a 2 a

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93 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST > be > ee -_ ’ dad fis Fit all Flashlights l There ou 1e€S \ EVEREADY The Light that Eveready Batter

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94 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 22,1921 ‘Give Me THE PLUG thals YEARS’ HAT’S the way men every- where are ending their spark plug troubles. They are asking for Splitdorf—The Plug With the Green Jacket, backed by the 3-Year Written Guarantee. € Ps Splitdorf Plugs often outlast the engine. They are insulated with Rolled India Ruby Mica, instead of breakable porcelain. If one should break or prove defective within 3 years, you can exchange the Writ- ten Guarantee Bond at any Splitdorf Branch for a new plug free. - In the spring of 1913 I purchased a four- ° Pluo cylinder Studebaker car. It had four Split- Ask your dealer to show you Split- ” | inn thie casts Ga dorf’s 3-year Written Guarantee the original four plugs in it, and they were Bond. One given with every plug. fill giving pertect service. DENNETT & WHITE, L h s le Pee 1 ne SPLITDORF ELECTRICAL CO., Newark, N. J. Per Geo. T. White, World’s Largest Makers of Ignition Equipment Magnetos — Spark Plugs — Peened Piston Rings, Etc. TRADE SPLITDORF MARK Standard Sizes $1.25 In Canada $1.50 ESTABLISHED | 8 | 8 On Sale by Better Dealers Everywhere

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(Continued from Page 91) later bow to the people’s will, got busy with an attempt to realize on its assets. Chief among them were the millions of acres of so-called unalienated, or Crown, land in Southern Rhodesia. The Chartered Company claimed this land as a private as- set. The settlers alleged that it belonged to them. The government said it was an impe- rial possession. The Privy Council in London upheld the latter contention. Thereupon the company filed a claim for thirty-five million dollars against the government to cover the value of this land and its losses throughout the years of administration. Yielding to public pressure, the legisla- tive council in 1919 asked the British government to declare itself on the ques- tion of replacing the charter with some form of government suited to the needs of the country. Lord Milner, the Colonial Secretary, answered in what came to be known as the Milner Dispatch. In it he aid that he did not believe the territory, “in its present stage of development, is equal to the finane ial burden of responsible government.”” He mildly suggested repre- sentative government under the Crown. The general expectation throughout Rho- desia was that no election would be held until a government commission then and still sitting had inquired into the validity of re s immense claim for damages. Early last March, however, the legislative council gave notice that the election was set for April thirtieth. It proved to be the most exciting ever held in Rhodesia.! The Char- tered Company made no fight. The contest was really waged between the two wings of the anticharter crowd. One favored responsible government and the other admission to the Union of South Africa. The arguments for A og govern- ment briefly were these: That under the supplemental charter it was the only con- stitutional change possible; that the finan- cial burden was not too heavy; that the native question was no bar; that the im- perial government would never saddle the country with the huge debt of the com- pany; that under union a hateful bilingual- ism would be introduced; that taxation would not be excessive, and that, finally, the right of self-determination as to govern- ment was the birthright of British people. The Fight for Union The adherents of the Union contended that the original idea of Cecil Rhodes was to make Rhodesia a part of the Union of South Africa; that by this procedure the vexing problem of customs with the Union would be solved; that the system of self- government in South Africa meets every requirement of self-determination. More- over, the point was made that by becoming a part of the Union the whole railway ques- tion would be settled. At present the Rho- desian railways have three ends—one in South Africa at Vryburg, another on the Belgian border and a third at the sea at Beira. It was claimed that through the union Rhodesia would benefit by becoming a part of the nationalized railway system there and get the advantage of a British port at the Cape instead of Beira, which is Portuguese. In other words, the union meant stability of credit, politics, finance and industry. The outcome of the election was that twelve responsible-government candidates, one of them a woman, were elected. Women voted for the first time in Rhodesia, and they solidly opposed the union with South Africa. The thirteenth member elected stood for the conversion of the country into a Crown colony under representa- tive government. Throughout the cam- paign the Chartered Company remained neutral, although it was obviously opposed to responsible government. The feeling throughout Rhodesia is that it favors the union because it could dispose of its assets to better advantage. I arrived in Rhodesia immediately after this election. The country still sizzled with excitement. Curiously enough, the head, brains and front of the fight for union with South Africa was a former American, now a British subject, who has been a ranch- man in Rhodesia for some years. He pre- fers to be nameless. In the light of the landslide at the polls it naturally followed that the new legisla- tive council at its first meeting passed a resolution declaring for responsible govern- ment. The vote was twelve to five. Since this was not a sufficient majority, as re- quired by the supplementary charter, it is THE SATURDAY expected that the imperial government will decide against granting this form of gov- ernment just now. The next procedure will probably be a request for representa- tive government under the Crown, or some modification of the charter, and for an im- perial loan. Rhodesia has no borrowing powers, and the country needs money just as much as it needs men. The adherents of union claim that on a straight show-down between Crown colony or union at the next election union will win. From what I gath- ered in conversation with the leaders of both factions, there would have been a bigger vote, possibly victory for union, but for the nationalist movement in South Africa, which I described in a previous article. The Rhodesians want no racial entanglements. Northern Rhodesia, I might add, has had no part in the fight against the charter. It is only a question of time, however, when she will be merged into Southern Rhodesia, for with the passing of the company her destiny becomes identical with that of her sister territory. Northern Rhodesia’s chief complaint against the company was that it did not spend any money within her borders. After reading the story of the crusade for responsible government you can understand the reason why. Loyal Colonials In any event, one thing is certain: Char- ter rule in Rhodesia is doomed, and the great company, born of the vision and im- perialism of Cecil Rhodes, which battled with the wild man in the wildérness, will eventually vanish from the category of cor- porations. But Rhodesia remains a thriv- ing part of the British Empire and the dream of the founder is realized. Rhodesia produces much more than trouble for the Chartered Company. She is preéminently a land of ranches and farms. Here you get still another parallel with the United States, because it is no un- common thing to find a farm of fifty thou- sand acres or more. I doubt if any other newregion intheworld contains a finer or sturdier manhood than Rhodesia. Like the land itself, it is a strong- hold of youth. Likewise, no other colony, and for that matter no other matured country, exercises such a rigid censorship upon settlers. Until the high cost of living disorganized all economic standards no one could establish himself in Rhodesia without a minimum capital of one thousand pounds. So far as farming is concerned this is now increased to two thousand pounds. Therefore you do not see the signs of fail- ure which so often dot the unspoiled land- seape. Knowing this you can understand why the immigration inspector gives the incoming travelers a rigid cross-examination at the frontier. Also, it is Simon-pure British. It is more like Natal, perhaps, than any other territory under the Union Jack. I had a convincing demonstration in a personal experience. I made a speech at the Bulawayo Club. The notice was short, but I was surprised to find more than a hundred men assembled after dinner, many in evening clothes. Some had traveled all day on horseback or in bueckhoards to get there; others had come hundreds of miles by motor car. I never addressed a more responsive audience. What impressed me was the kindling spirit of affection they manifested for the mother country. In conversation with many of them afterward it was in- teresting to hear the sons of settlers refer- ring to the England that they had never seen as home. That night I realized as never before one reason why the British Empire is great, and why, despite all muddling, it carries on. It lies in this feeling of imperial kinship far out at the frontiers of civiliza- tion. The colonial is often a more devoted loyalist than the man at home. Wherever I went I found the Rhodesian farmer—and he constitutes the bulk of the white population—essentially modern in his methods. He reminded me more of the Kansas farmer than any other alien agri- culturist that I have met. He uses tractors and does things in a big way. There is a trail of gasoline all over the country. Mo- torcycles, for example, have become an ordinary means of transport for district officials and engineers, who fly about over native paths that are often the merest tracks. You find these machines in the remotest regions. The light motor car is also beginning to be looked upon as a neces- sary part of the outfit of the farmer. EVENING POST There was a time when the average Rhodesian believed that gold was the sal- vation of the country. Repeated booms and the inevitable losses have brought the people to agree with the opinion of one of the pioneers that the true wealth of the country lies in the top twelve inches of the soil. Agriculture is surpassing mining as the principal industry. The staple agricultural product is maize, which is corn in the American phraseology. Until a few years ago the bulk of it was consumed at home. Recently, however, on account of the farm expansion, there is an increasing surplus for export to the Union of South Africa, the Belgian Congo and even to Europe. The facts about maize are worth consid- ering. Every year several hundred million bags, each weighing two hundred pounds, are consumed throughout the world. Here- tofore the principal sources of supply have been the Argentine and the United States We have come to the time, however, when we absorb practically our whole crop. Formerly we exported about ten million bags. There is no decrease in corn con- sumption, despite prohibition. Hence Rho- desia is bound to loom large in the situa- tion. Last year she produced more than a million bags. Maize is a crop that revels in sunshine, and in Rhodesia the sun shines brilliantly throughout the year practically without variation. Other important crops are tobacco, beans, peanuts— which are invariably called monkey nuts in that part of the universe wheat and oranges. Under irrigation citrus fruits, oats and barley do well. Cattle are a bulwark of Rhodesian pros- perity. The immense pasturage areas are reminiscent of Texas and Montana. For a hundred years before the white settlers came the Matabeles and the Mashonas raised livestock. The natives still own about seven hundred thousand head, nearly as many as the whites. I was interested to find that the British South Africa Com- pany has imported a number of Texas ranchmen to act as cattle experts and ad vise the ranchers generally. This is due to a desire to begin a competition with the Argentine and the United States in chilled and frozen meats. One of the greatest British manufacturers of beef extracts owns half a dozen ranches in Rhodesia, and it is not unlikely that American meat men will follow. Mr. J. Ogden Armour is said to be keenly interested in the country, with the view to expanding the resources of the Chicago packers. This is one result of the World War, which has caused the producer of food everywhere to bestir himself and insure future supplies. No Labor Problem In connection with Rhodesian farming and cattle raising is a situation well worthy of emphasis. There is no labor problem You find, for example, that miracle of miracles which is embodied in a native at work. It is in sharp contrast with South Africa and the Congo, where, with millions of colored people, it is almost impossible to get help. The Rhodesian black still remains outside the leisure class. Whether it is due to his fear of the whites or other- wise, he is an active member of the produc tive order. The native will work for the white man, but, save to raise enough maize for him self, he will not become an agriculturist. I heard a typical story about Lewaniki, chief of the Barotses, who once ruled a large part of what is now Northern Rhodesia. Some one asked him to get his people to raise cotton. His answer was: “‘ What is the use? They cannot eat it.” In Africa the native’s world never ex tends beyond his stomach. I was soon to find ¢ ostly evidence of this in the Congo. The African native is quite a character. He is not only a born actor but has a quaint humor. In the center of the main street at Bulawayo is a bronze statue of Cecil Rhodes, bareheaded, and with his face turned toward the north. Just as soon as it was unveiled the Matabeles expressed considerable astonishment over it. They could not understand why the figure never moved. Shortly afterward a great drought came. A native chief went to see the resi dent commissioner and solemnly told him that he was quite certain that there would be no rain until they put a hat on Mr Rhodes’ head. The Lewaniki anecdote reminds me of an admirable epigram that was produced in Rhodesia. Out there food is commonly 95 known as skoff, just as chop is alent in the Congo A forme commissioner, noted for the keenness of hi wit, once asked a traveling missionary to dine with him. After the meal the guest insisted upon holding a religious service at the table In speaking of the performance the com missioner said, “My guest came to skoff and remained to pray.’ » EQUIV resident Whenever you visit a new land you al most invariably discover mental alertness and progressiveness that often put the older civilizations to shame. Let me illus trate. Goto England or France to-day and you touch the really tragic aftermath of the war. You see thousands of demobilized officers and men vainly searching for work Many are reduced to the extremity of begging. It has become an acute and poigt ant problem that is not without its echo over here. Constructive Paternalism Rhodesia, through the British South Africa Company, is doing its bit toward solution It has set aside five hundred thousand acres which are being allotted free of charge to approved soldier and sailor settlers from overseas. Not only are they being given the land but they are provided with expert advice and supervision. The former service men who are unable to bor row capital with which to exploit the land are merged into a scheme by which they serve an apprenticeship for pay on the established farms and ranches until they are able to shift for themselves The Chartered Company, despite its political machine, has developed Rhodesia on its own, and in rather striking fashion It operates dairies, gold mines, citrus es tates, nurseries, ranches, tobacco ware- houses, abattoirs, cold-storage plants, and dams which insure adequate water sup ply in various sections. It is a profitable example of constructive paternalism, whose results will be increasing! vident long after the famous charter jas passed into history. No phase of the company’s activities is more important than its construction of the Rhodesian railway They represent a double-barreled private ownership in that they were built and are operated by the company. ‘There are nearly twenty- five hundred miles of track. One section of the system begins down at Vryburg, in Bechuanaland, where it connects with the South African Railways, and extend straight northward through Bulawayo and Victoria Falls to the Congo border. The other starts at Beira, on the Indian Ocean and runs west through Salisbury, the capi tal, to Bulawayo, These railways have a somewhat re- markable statistical distinction in that there is one mile of track for every thirteen white inhabitants. No other system in the world can duplicate it. The Union of South Africa comes nearest, with one hundred and forty-three white inhabitants a mile, or just eleven times as many. Canada has two hundred twenty-seven, Australia two hundred forty-seven, the United States and New Zealand four hundred each, while the United Kingdom has more than two hun dred inhabitants for every mile of line. Rhodesia is highly mineralized. Coal occurs in three areas, and one of them, Wankie—a vast field—-is extensively op- erated. Gold is found over the greater part of the country. Here you not only touch an American interest but you enter upon the region that Rider Haggard introduced to readers as the setting of some of hi most famous romances. We will deal with the practical side first Rhodes had great hopes of Rhodesia a a gold-preducing country. He wanted the economic value of the country to rank wit! the political. Thousands of years ago the natives dug mines, and many of these ancient workings are still to be seen, The never exceed forty or fifty feet in depth Many leading authorities claimed that the South Arabians of the Kingdom of Sal often referred to in the Bible were the pioneers in the Rhodesian gold fields, and sold the output tothe Pher lar Othe contended that the Phenicians themse delved here Until recently it was al maintained by some scientists and biblica scholars that modern Southern Rhodesia was the famed land of Ophir, whence carne the gold and precious stones that decked the persons and palaces of Solomon and David. This, however, has been disproved Concluded on Page 99

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST The sanitary zine cylinder of the Eden is easy to handle and clean The Eden driving mechanism s fully and safely enclosed and 1s packed in solid grease, which loes away with all musay oiling January 22,192! f\

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ee N vw 7/7 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Because of the Sediment Zone The Eden washes the dirt out of clothes instead of through them — “I couldn’t believe there was so much dirt in my clothes.” This is what women say when the dirt is drained from the Sed- a iment Zone after the Eden has finished a washing. “The Sediment Zone in my Eden is just like mud when I'm through,” admitted a janitor’s wife who finds the coal dust from her husband's clothes entirely eliminated and settled at the bottom of the Eden tub. Hundreds of thousands of Eden users make like remarks when asked if the Sediment Zone is really effective. This exclusive feature is a depression at the bottom of the tub in which quiet water traps all dust and dirt as it is flushed out of the clothes by the gentle Eden dip. The Eden is the only washer with this essential feature, and GILLESPIE EDEN CORPORATION New York that is why things washed by the Eden are cleaner and more sanitary than when washed by methods which permit dirt to remain in the water and on the clothes. With an Eden to do your washing, that exas: perating trouble on washday is at an end—to say nothing of the reduction in expenses for your laundry work. The Eden makes washing so simple that women enjoy doing it themselves. The cost of operation is only a few cents a week, and the big saving in time, work and clothes-wear makes the Eden an economy that no home can afford to ignore. Ask your Eden dealer to give you the use of an Eden in your home next washday without cost or obligation. Return it if you like, but for those who appreciate its wonderful econ- omy and efficiency our Easy Payment Plan by which you pay as you save makes you an Eden owner in a few months and without any great burden of expense. St. Louis Denver Toronto San Francisco FACTORI} Al ALTON, ILI PATERSON ‘ ] AND LOWELI MA Armco rust-resisting iron is used in the Eden

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98 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 22,192! Feeding the Brute to Discover Its Habits This picture shows the testing-yards where we continually feed metal to the great iron- eater—rust. Snow and rain, cold and heat—all the ele- ments are given a chance to show their power of destruction on sheets of ““Armco”’ Ingot Iron and other metals. When the metal sheets have been there for months, the chemists and metallurgists examine sections under a powerful micro- scope. To an outsider, the difference in effect on ‘‘Armco”’ Ingot Iron and other irons would be a revelation. The survival of ““Armco”’ Ingot Iron is due to its purity. Foreign matter that invites rust has been eliminated during the special process of manufacture. 5 a These testing-yards and our extensive re- = search laboratories are indications of the great, are unceasing care taken to maintain the purity -—-j-.-—.. of “Armco” Ingot Iron. If you are a manu- facturer or user of iron products where rust- , resistance is required, write to us. THE AMERICAN ROLLING MILLCO. { Box 333, Middletown, Ohio a ° = if =o na Snow-covered Testing Yards P at Armco Plant £ 1) “Armco” Ingot lron RM - RESISTS RUST Ps Tr trace lark Armco” carries the assurance that produets bearing that mark are manufactured by the American Rolling Mill Company with the skill, intel ligence, and f ty associated with its products, and legres erit claimed for them. The trad unk f ° is registered i he ater (nt

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(Concluded from Page 95) and Ophir is still the butt of archeological dispute. It has been located in Arabia, Spain, Peru, India and Southeast Africa. Rhodes knew all about the old diggings, so he engaged John Hays Hammond, the American mining engineer, to accompany him on a trip through Rhodesia in 1894 and make an investigation of the workings. His report stated that the rock mines were undoubtedly ancient; that the greatest skill in mining had been displayed; and that scores of millions of dollars’ worth of the precious metal had been extracted. It also proved that practically all this treas- ure had been exported from the country, for no visible traces remain. This sub- stantiates the theory that perhaps it did go to the Phenicians or to a potentate like King Solomon. Hammond, by the way, wrote the mining laws of Rhodesia, which are an adaptation of the American code. The Rhodesian gold mines, which are operated by the Chartered Company and by individuals, have never fully realized their promise. One reason, so men like Hammond tell me, is that they are overcapitalized and are small and scattered. Despite this hand- icap the country has produced £45,227,791 of gold since 1890. The output in 1919 was worth £2,500,000. In 1915 it was nearly £4,000,000. Small diamonds in varying quantities have also been found in Rhodesia. In ex- change for having subscribed heavily to the first issue of British South Africa Com- pany stock, the De Beers Company, which Rhodes formed, received a monopoly on the diamond output, and with it the assur- ance of a rigid enforcement of the so-called Illicit Diamond Buying Act. This law, more commonly know as “I. D. B.,”’ which has figured in many South African novels, provided drastic punishment for dishonest dealing in the stones. More than one South African millionaire owed the beginnings of his fortune to evasion of this law. Just about the time that Rhodes made the Rhodesian diamond deal a prospector came to him and said: “If I bring you a handful of rough diamonds, what will I get?” “Fifteen years,’ was the ready retort. He was never at a loss for an answer. Rider Haggard’s Africa We can now turn to the really romantic side of the Rhodesian mineral deposits. One of the favorite pilgrimages of the tour- ist is to the Zimbabwe ruins, located about seventeen miles from Victoria in Southern Rhodesia. They are the remains of an ancient city, rn! must at various times have been the home of large populations. There seems little doubt that Zimbabwe was the work of a prehistoric and long- forgotten people. Over it hangs a mantle of mystery which the fictionist has employed to full and at times thrilling advantage. In this vicinity were the King Solomon's Mines that Rider Haggard wrote about in what is perhaps his most popular book. Here came Allan Quatermain in pursuit of love and treasure. The big hill at Zimbabwe provided the residence of She, the lovely and disappear- ing lady who had to be obeyed. The ruins in the valley are supposed to be those of the Dead City in the same romance. The interesting feature of all this is that She and King Solomon's Mines were written in the early eighties, when comparatively nothing was known of the country. Yet Rider Haggard, with that instinct which sometimes guides the romancer, wrote fairly accurate descriptions of the country long before he haa ever heard of its actual existence. Thus imagination preceded reality. The imaginative miracles disclosed in the Haggard books are surpassed by the actual wonder represented by Victoria Falls. Everybody has heard of this stu- pendous spectacle in Rhodesia, but few people see it, because it is so far away. I beheld it on my way from Bulawayo to the Congo. Like the Grand Cafion of the Colorado, it baffles description. The first white man to visit the cataract was Doctor Livingstone, who named it in honor of his queen. This was in 1855. For untold years the natives of the region had trembled at its fury. They called it Mosi-oa- tunga, which means Smoke That Sounds. When you see the falls you can readily understand why they got this name. The mist is visible ten miles away, and the THE SATURDAY terrific roar of the falling waters can be heard even farther. The fact that the casual traveler can see Victoria Falls from the train is due en- tirely to the foresight and the imagination of Cecil Rhodes. He knew the pub- licity value that the cataract would have for Rhodesia, and he combined the utili- tarian with his love of the romantic. In — the Rhodesian railroad, therefore, e insisted that the bridge across the gorge of the Zambesi, into which the mighty waters flow after their fall, must be sufficiently near to enable the spray to wet the railway carriages. The experts said it was impossible, but Rhodes had his way, just as Harriman’s will prevailed over that of trained engi- neers in the construction of the bridge across Great Salt Lake. Victoria Falls The bridge over the Zambesi is a fit mate in audacity to the falls themselves. It is one of the highest in the world, for it rises four hundred feet above the low-water level. Its main parabolic arch is a five- hundred-foot span, while the total length is six hundred fifty feet. Although its construction was fraught with constant hazard, it cost only two lives, despite the fact that seven hundred white men and two thousand natives were constantly em- ployed on it. In the building of the Firth of Forth Bridge, which was much less dangerous, more than fifty men were killed. I first saw the falls in the early morning, when the brilliant African sun was turned full on this sight of sights. It was at the end of the wet season, and the flow was at maximum strength. The mist was so great that at first I could scarcely see the falls. Slowly but defiantly the foaming face broke through the veil. Niagara gives you a thrill, but this toppling avalanche awes you into absolute silence. The Victoria Falls is exactly twice as broad and about two and a half times as highas Niagara Falls. This means that they are more than a mile in breadth and four hundred and twenty feet high. The tre- mendous flow has only one small outlet about one hundred yards wide. The roar and turmoil of this world of water as it crashes into the chasm sets up what is well called the Boiling Pot. From this swirling mélée the Zambesi rushes with unbridled fury through a narrow and deep gorge ex- tending with many windings for forty miles. In the presence of this marvel wars, elec- tions, economic upheavals, the high cost of living, prohibition —all “‘that unrest which men miscall delight’’—fade into insig- nificance. Life itself seems a small and pitiful thing. You are face to face with a force of Nature that is titanic, terrifying and irresistible. Up to the present time this vast power has not been harnessed up to industry, for the excellent reason that there is no in- dustry to speak of within thousands of miles. It is, therefore, just so much “‘waste water.” Since we bid farewell to Cecil Rhodes in this article, after having almost contin- uously touched his career from the moment we reached Capetown, let us make a final measure of his human side—and he was in- tensely human —particularly with reference EVENING POST to Rhodesia, which is so inseparably asso- ciated with him. His passion for the coun- try that bore his name exceeded his interest in any of his other undertakings. He liked the open life of the veldt, where he traveled in a sort of gypsy wagon and camped for the night wherever the mood dictated. It enabled him to gratify his fondness for rid- ing and shooting. He was always accompanied by a re- markable servant named Tony, a half- breed in whom the Portuguese strain predominated. Tony bought his master’s clothes, paid his bills and was a court of last resort below stairs. Rhodes declared that his man could produce a satisfactory meal almost out of thin air. Rhodes and Tony were inseparable. Upon one occasion Tony accompanied him when he was commanded by Queen Vic- toria to lodge at Sandringham. While there Rhodes asked Tony what time he could get breakfast, whereupon the servant replied, “Royalty does not breakfast, sir, but you can have it in the dining room at half past nine.”” Tony seemed to know everything. Wherever I traveled throughout Rho- desia I found Rhodes’ old associates, who affectionately referred to him as the Old Man. I was able to dig up what seemed to be some new Rhodes’ stories. A few have already been related. Here is another which shows his quickness in capitalizing a situation: In the days immediately following the first Matabele war Rhodes had more trouble with concession hunters than with the savages, the Boers or the Portuguese. Nearly every free lance in the territory produced some fake document to which Lobengula’s alleged mark was affixed and offered it to Rhodes at an excessive price. One of these gentry framed a plan by which one of the many sons of Lobengula was to return to Matabeleland, claim his royal rights and create trouble generally. The whole idea was to start an uprising and throw a wrench into the machinery of the British South Africa Company. The name of the son was N’jube, and at the time the plan was devised he held a place as messenger in the diamond fields at Kimberley. By the system of intelligence that he maintained, Rhodes learned of the frame-up, the whereabouts of the boy and, furthermore, that he was in love with a Fingu girl. These Fingus were a sort of bastard slave people. Marriage into the tribe was a despised thing, and by a native of royal blood meant the abrogation of all his claims to the succession. Diplomatic Methods Rhodes sent for N’jube and asked him if he wanted to marry the Fingu girl. When he replied that he _ the great man said: “Go down to the De Beers office, get fifty pounds and marry the girl. 1 will then give you a job for life and build you a house.” N’jube took the hint and the money and married the girl. Rhodes now sent the following telegram to the conspirator at Bulawayo: “Your friend N’jube was divided be- tween love and empire, but he has decided to marry the Fingu girl. It is better that he should settle down in Kimberley and be occupied in creating a family than to plot at Bulawayo to stab you in the stomach.” 99 This ended the conspiracy, and N’jube lived happily and peacefully ever after- wards. Rhodes was an incorrigible imperialist, as this story shows. Upon one occasion at Bulawayo he was discussing the Carnegie- library idea with his friend and associate, Sir Abe Bailey, a leading financial and political figure in the Cape Colony. “What would you do if you had Car negie’s money?”’ asked Bailey. “T wouldn’t waste it on libraries,” he re- plied. “I would seize a South American republic and annex it to the United States.” Rhodes had great admiration for Amer- ica. He once said to Bailey: “The greatest thing in the world would be the union of the English-speaking people. I wouldn’t mind if Washington were made the capital.”’ He believed implicitly in the invincibility of the Anglo-Saxon race, and he gave his life and his fortune to advance the British part of it. For the last I have reserved the experi- ence that will always rank first in my re- membrance of Rhodesia. It was my visit to the grave of Rhodes. Most people who go to Rhodesia make this pilgrimage, for, in the well-known tourist haan of Mr. Cook, like Victoria Falls, “it is one of the things to see.”’ I was animated by a different motive. I had often read about it, and I longed to view the spot that so eloquently symbolized the vision and the imagination of the man I admired. The Resting Place of Cecil Rhodes The grave is about twenty-eight miles from Bulawayo, in the heart of the Matoppo Hills. You follow the road along which the body was carried nearly nineteen years ago. You see the native hut where Rhodes often lived and in which the re- mains rested for the night on the final journey. You pass from the green low- lands to the bare frontiers of the rocky domain where the Matabeles fled after the second war and where the Father of Rhodesia held his historic parleys with them. Soon the way becomes so difficult that you must leave the motor and continue on foot. The Matoppos are a wild and deso- late range. It is not until you are well be- yond the granite outposts that there bursts upon you an immense open area, a sort of amphitheater, in which the druids might have held their weird ritual. Directly ahead you see a battlement of bowlders projected by some immemorial upheaval Intrenched between them is the spot where Rhodes rests, and which is marked by a brass plate bearing the words: “Here Lie the Remains of Cecil John Rhodes.” In his will he directed that the site be chosen, and he even wrote the simple inscription for the cover. When you stand on this eminence and look out on the grim, brooding landscape, you not only realize why Rhodes called it The View of the World but you also understand why he elected to sleep here The loneliness and grandeur of the en- vironment, with its absence of any sign of human life and habitation, convey that sense of aloofness which in a man like Rhodes is the inevitable penalty that true greatness exacts. The ages seem to be keeping vigil with his spirit. During these last years I have seen some of the great things. They included the British Grand Fleet in battle order, Russia at the daybreak of democracy, the long travail of Verdun and the Somme, the first American flag on the battlefields of France, Armistice Day amid the tragedy of war, and all the rest of the panorama that those momentous days disclosed. But nothing, perhaps, was more moving than the silence and majesty that invested the grave of Cecil Rhodes. Instinctively there came to my mind the lines about him that Kipling wrote in The Burial: It is his will that he look forth Across the world he won The granite of the ancient North Great spaces washed with sun When I reached the incline on my way sun was setting and those bottom of t] I looked back The entinel bowlder out bulked in the dying light. They seemed to incarnate somethi ng of the might and power of the personality that ty ) desia and made of it an annex of Editor’s Note This is the third of a series of ar ticles by Mr. Marcosson dealing with h Africa and the Congo The next will be entitled The Congo To-day

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100 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 22,1921 66 O : ( ourage lo ‘ endure and to obey RUE COURAGE is neither blind nor fool-hardy, but careful and intelligent. It cannot be taught— it comes from within. rather than the quick way or the easy way. It demands that obstacles and difficulties shall be overcome, not evaded. It steers efforts along Nd : «Z It obeys the dictates of thought the winding, rocky path towards 7, and conscience in the face of dan- _ ideals. > ger and difficulty. “Courage to endure and to obey” — what better maxim could there be for man or motor car? “Courage” has a real meaning here at the Peerless factory. It is not a subject men talk about generally among themselves— it is one of those qualities that are expressed in deeds rather than words. It inspires this organiza- tion to do things the right way Touring Car $3,230 Coupé $3,920 The Peerless Two-power-range Eight reflects this organization courage. Carefully and intelli- gently built, from motor to spring- bolt, it fears nothing. One-fourth of the Peerless his- tory is told by this car—the first of its line was built five years ago. The Peerless of today, similar, but more advanced in refinements of details, continues those quali- ties best described as the “courage to endure and to obey”. Roadster $3,200 Sedan $4,140 Sedan-Limousine $4,400 F. O. B. CLEVELAND Subject to change without notice War tax not included THE PEERLESS MOTOR CAR COMPANY, CLEVELAND, OHIO “LOAFING” aa RANGE

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ee 102 “Tt Clamps Everywhere” It Stands Everywhere Pa eno FORTH Adjusto-ite Adjusts to any position NEW wonderful invention, ADJUSTO-LITE, a lamp that you can attach “anywhere—to bed, shaving mirror, table, desk or chan Stands perfectly) wherever an ordinary lamp is used. Throws the light exactly where you need it most Prevents eve strain. Cuts lighting cost Gripping clamp is felt faced and can not scratch. Compact. Durable. Solid brass. Guaranteed for five years price $5.75 Ask for Adjusto-Lite at the st where you usually tract I! | they don't carry it, order direct | S. W. FARBER | 141-151 So. Fifth St., Brooklyn, N. ¥ ig and ‘ hy A By finish $5.75; aluar Ry ( yr Neek / . $6 5. “a 2Se per { thie fast selling specialty Desiers: Write ws for pertiontars Adjusto-[ite THE SATURDAY EVENING POST WHY I AM A STANDPATTER Now the procedure of that convention would have been in no respect different had the standpat bosses dominated it as the progressive dominated it. It is likely the platform would not have been written until the evening prior to the con- vention, when three or four men would have gathered in a hotel room to inscribe be SSES the document. But the standpat bosses would not have tried to make it appear that it was an inspired call to political righteousness conceived in the hearts and traced by the hands of untrammeled free- men. They would have mumbled some- thing about the grand old party, and they would have let it go at that Our state got the progressive bug early. It sits in the heart of the emotional area in American politics and is always among the first to be stirred and the last to sub- side. As I write these lines it is indulging itself in a great emotional disturbance over the cigarette evil. Some years ago a pro- gressive legislature in the fullness of its wisdom passed a law making the sale of cigarettes a misdemeanor, punishable by fine, imprisonment or both. The law has been not very well enforced. During the war it practically was nullified. But the war having been fought in a manner that was complete, if not altogether satisfactory to everybody concerned, the progressive citizenry once more have time to turn to the task toward which they naturally incline— that of snatching youth and man- hood from the evils that beset them. Be- cause of its former standing as a great oral issue the cigarette evil is one of the first in line. Naturally the soil of such a state was easily impregnated with progresssve ideas, and the germ developed early ¥ Defeated by a Quip I know now that the first low rumblings of what subsequently came to be the pro- gressive movement sounded in the campaign to Gov. Levi Z. Markley for renomination. I did not at the mo- ment recognize the thing as symptomatic Neither did a number of other well-known gentlemen. Had they been able to peer around the corner they never would have been bound up to it. Some of them lived greatly to regret it Markley, serving his first term, was ask- ing for the renomination accredited by the unwritten law of his party to the governor who had served term acceptably. There had been a great row between the politicians, who, in our state as elsewhere, are always divided into two or more fac- tions. The faction of politicians opposed to Markley picked Ed Cook to beat Mark- ley for a second term, and by skillfully muddying the emotions of the voters turned the trick handily There really was no choice between the two men. Both were high-class citizens of good ability, and both were, and are, as far as that goes, friends in long standing of this chronicler. Neither will now object to the construction I here place upon the campaign of 1904. Markley was a good average governor, and so was Cook, They are both to-day citizens of standing and influence in the state. It was not an extraordinary thing that the politicians who combined behind Cook in 1904 got into a row among themselves during his first term and came near beating him for reélection. He went through by the narrowest of squeaks. was beat one The distinctive thing, however, about the campaign of 1904 was not that Mark ley was beaten and Cook nominated. That could have happened in any political row he distinctive thing was that it was the first campaign in which the strategy of progressive politics was employed. They called it a boss buster’s movement, but it was purely progressive in all its phases. It was the first campaign in our state in which a purely factional movement was characterized by its promoters as a relief expedition in behalf of the people. It was the first campaign I had ever witnessed in which concerted effort was made to con- vince me that my Republican neighbor across the street was a low-down skunk who wanted to sell me into slavery. It was | the first I had seen in which the leaders encouraged the proletariat in maudlin out- bursts of emotion. I think it was in that campaign | began to distrust the omnipo- tence of the people. It seemed to me if they could not, with the cards face upward on (Continued from Page 4) the table before them, detect the difference between a purely factional row and an ef- fort to rescue them from their low estate, they were not so smart as they had gen- erally been credited with being. By 1908 the progressive movement, au- thoritatively inscribed and labeled, had enveloped the state, root and branch. The word “‘standpatter,” a comparatively new entry in the lexicography of polities, had become an epithet. The man who bore it, no matter what his estate in life, was con- sidered an enemy of the people. By that time the state had been accorded the benefi- cence of a primary-elections law and in the primary a professional progressive had beaten one of the old Republican war horses to a nomination for governor. It is likely, however, that the outstand- ing incident of that campaign was the coup de grace administered by the voters to Senator Evans B. Huey. They hit Ev so hard he didn't regain consciousness for three or four years. Senator Huey was completing his first term in the United States Senate. He was an able man, who had come up from the ranks by way of the State Senate and Congress to his high political estate. He had made a very good senator. He knew his Washington and had he been permitted to remain in the Senate might have served very effectively the people who mocked him. The progressive bosses picked George L. Joslin to run against him. Joslin, too, was a high-class citizen who had served a long apprentice- ship in politics. Probably between the two there was no great choice. Huey looked more like a senator. Joslin was the more industrious. In matters of citizenship and ability they were tolerably evenly matched. But Joslin had made a public profession of the progressive faith. Huey still was mumbling the ritual of the grand old party. [uey'’s opponents promptly charged him with being a standpatter, and the state flamed with indignation. Thus branded it might still have been possible for Huey to win. He had a fine organization and much strong support. It was in the heat of the campaign that Dudley Pitcairn Ellis drafted the indelible phrase which wrought Huey’s political ruin “He no longer speaks our language,”” Dud chortled at a critical moment. By word of mouth, by letter, through the printed mediums and by wire the deadly quip reached every voting precinct in the state, and Huey was doomed. The people wouldn't stand for the implication that Huey had acquired a crust, and Joslin romped home an easy winner. Joslin lasted six years in the greater public service. At the end of his first term he suffered the ignominy of being beaten by a standpatter. In some degree the pro- gressive flare had burned itself out. And Joslin left his people as he had found them in slavery to the interests. He didn’t rive a shackle Political Medicine Making From the rosy dawn of the progressive movement through the years when it was flush and possibly a little insolent with power, I was connected in an editorial capacity with the leading progressive news- paper of my state. I saw the prescriptions for practically all the panaceas of govern- ment written; I knew the attending physi- cians. I have seen the people saved many times I have seen the medicine com- pounded. The formula was very simple. When on my rounds of the statehouse, the hotels, or the various political hangouts I found two or three progressive bosses with their heads together, or stumbled over them in close conference with the owner or the editor of the paper, I knew the people were about to demand another great reform. I knew, too, that the people were, as yet, wholly unaware of the fact. I felt certain, however, that they would hear of it within a week or ten days subsequent to the ad- journment of the aforesaid close confer- ences The test of the prescription, whatever it may have been, was expressed in the abil- ity, or inability, of the progressive press to fan the voters into a frenzy over it. If the voters could be stirred into a seething mass the prescription was carried into the next. subsequent platform and campaign. If the people remained cold and distrait the pana- cea was discarded and another compounded January 22,192! to take its place. I should be very foolish to pretend that all the progressive panaceas were discreditable, impractical or vision- ary. Some of them were very creditable and in line with real progress. But some- how the services of a standpatter were al- ways needed to whip them into shape and put them into workirig order. And that statement is neither so broad nor so absurd as it seems. A progressive movement func- tions on emotion. Men in the grip of emo- tion or burning under a sense of wrong are seldom practical and often visionary in the conduct of affairs. Whatever his faults, the standpatter nearly always has deft fingers and a cool, clear head. I presume the average progressive, if asked to count his blessings, would place the primary-elections law first on his list. The primary-elections law represents the utmost in the strivings of the progressive movement to make ideal the methods and machinery of the nominating process. wengpeneen still seem willing to rest their ‘ase upon it and defend it with great vigor. And it is a progressive measure pure and simple. No standpatter was ever for a primary law. Every standpatter I ever knew laughs contemptuously at its patent weaknesses. An Epidemic Itch It is not the purpose here to present an argument against the primary law. I have been given no such license. What I shall attempt to do is to express the standpat view concerning it, and in expressing such view I shall relate certain isolated incidents that seem to justify it. The standpat view is that the primary-elections law is a per- fectly futile and useless piece of statutory machinery, ponderous and complex in its operation, which imposes a heavy and un- necessary burden on the candidate and the taxpayer. It has accomplished none of the things outlined in its glowing prospectus. It has neither resulted in the nomination of a higher grade of public officials nor has it in any way increased the efficiency of the public service. If anything, the public offi- cial of to-day is of smaller bore than his predecessor. It has not, Allah be praised, taken the control of politics out of the hands of the politicians. Once in a while the politicians slip and some impossible candidate is nominated for office, but in the main they have retained control of the situation. The best point ever made in favor of the primary law was expressed by its de- tractors. Unfortunately, it wasn’t true. The point was that, due to the heavy ex- pense of running for office under the pri- mary system, the poor man practically is barred from doing so. It would be a fine thing if that were true. No poor man has any business running for office, although it probably would be not quite fair to bar him from the exercise of that inestimable privilege by statutory enactment. But th primary hasn't barred anybody. The itch for public office is always epidemic. Men continue to beg and borrow and mortgage themselves blind for the privilege of run- ning for offices they cannot afford to fill. Likely they will always do so. I have no personal grievance against the primary. In a way, I have been its bene- ficiary. I was twice nominated for office in a primary election. On each occasion I led my nearest competitor by a wide margin and the field by thousands of votes. Those two primaries cost the several candidates thousands of dollars. They cost the city a sum probably equal to the expenditures of the candidates. I could have been nomi- nated each time by a delegate convention for the price of the hall rent. I would have been so nominated. The political organiza- tion which put me over in the primary could have nominated me with equal ease in a convention, and would have done so. Thousands of dollars would have been saved to gentlemen who could ill afford to spend the money —myself among the num- ber—and the result would have been pre- cisely the same. I have praised Allah because, under the primary, the politicians remain in control. That was no jocosity; I meant it. So long as the politicians remain in control it is unlikely the primary will do any great harm. It is only when a political organiza- tion slips a cog that the primary becomes (Concluded on Page 105)

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(Conctuded from Page 102) an uncertain instrument with great possi- bilities for evil. Contrary to popular mis- conception on that point, no political organization is looking for a weak man or a crooked man to put into office. It wants a candidate who will play the game—who will keep his word and distribute the pat- ronage of the office to his friends. But it also wants one who is reputable and re- spectable. It prefers a candidate of ability who has some qualifications for the office and who has the indefinable quality of at- tracting votes. Given a free hand in get- ting up a ticket, the practical political boss will, nine times out of ten, pick that type of candidate. The bosses are always out to win the election. They fancy material that makes their task as easy as possible. It is only when an unguided and unrestrained public, hampered by its lamentable igno- rance of the personality and capabilities of the various candidates, goes into the vot- ing booths that a political subdivision has reason to shudder for the result. In our state in a recent primary the governor, a high-class man, up for renom- ination, was opposed by a candidate who had never risen above the status of a farm hand. The governor, in the pursuance of his duty, had antagonized a certain segment of the state’s citizenry, which was numer- ically strong and indefatigably active. That segment of the citizenry fell in behind the farm hand. They didn’t succeed in nominating him, but he polled thousands of votes. Conceivably they might have won. No political convention would have given his name consideration for any office. In the same campaign a candidate for reélection to a state office was renominated without opposition. Due to the expense of making a campaign against the incumbent of the office and the inadequacy of the salary attached to it, no candidate with the nec- essary qualifications could be induced to oppose him, although efforts were made to induce someone to do so. The official, who was renominated in a primary without opposition, never would have been con- sidered in a party convention. In our state, some years ago, a country town lawyer who had been tried for his sanity ran for a posi- tion on the supreme bench of the state and came within a few thousand votes of de- feating an eminent jurist for the nomina- tion. On another occasion a woman who had never practiced law fell only a few hundred votes short of a nomination for the same bench. These are but isolated in- stances. I might multiply them many times. A Man With Many Friends I have expressed the foregoing observa- tions concerning the petted child of pro- gressive legislation in the form of dogma. But they are not intended as dogma. Nor have I any intent to give offense. | am merely revealing the intimate workings of the standpat mind. Through due process of reasoning I have reached certain con- clusions. These conclusions have been but- tressed by many incidents, some of which I have related. Doubtless any smart pro- gressive could tear my mental processes to tatters. I have no wish to argue the matter with him. I am merely disclosing the route traversed by the hardened standpatter in reaching his political destination. It is in- tended to be a simple exercise in psycho- analysis. Progressive movements flare on the po- litical horizon and die away. They are as fleeting and as recurrent as the stars. But, curiously enough, they last longer than the progressive leader. A standpat leader goes on to the end of his political generation. But a progressive leader seldom endures as such for more than six or seven years. For a brief period he fills the frame and then fades unostentatiously out of the picture. I am inspired to this pronouncement by contemplation of Hector Marley. Carried to its ultimate expression, the progressive motif becomes a deadly narcotic, and Hector Marley died politically from the effects of that narcotic, self-administered. Hector Marley might have been a states- man of commanding force and influence, or a great editor. He had the stuff. Eighteen or twenty years ago he was considered the most brilliant and the most promising of our younger writing men. He had behind him the tradition of family achievement. He was the residuary legatee of a fine news- paper property. He had standing, brains, ability, character and great personal charm. The average man has three friends. Hee- tor had a hundred thousand. THE SATURDAY When Congressman Jerry Shackleton died in Washington Hee and I were sitting side by side at the press table reporting a session of the legislature. He was, also, as I now recall it, clerk of the committee on mines and mining. I was serving the com- mittee on engrossed bills in a similar capac- ity. It was a neat pick-up and every reporter was in on it. A clerkship was good for one hundred and fifty dollars, and on the less important committees the duties were negligible. Shackleton had repre- sented the district in which Marley lived. In the wake of his funeral the sentiment that Marley should be nominated and elected to succeed him flamed and swept the district. It was skillfully nursed along and although a field of first-class men gath- ered to contest the nomination Hec’s was the outstanding figure, and he was easily nominated and as easily elected. I took his nomination and election as a personal triumph, and so celebrated it. So did every other newspaper man who knew him. Hec Marley and Uncle Joe Hee went on down to Washington. His first row was with the Hon. Joseph Gurney Cannon, then at the zenith of his power. Marley lighted the match that set off the conflagration which raged about Une lef Joe The progressive movement developed at an opportune moment, It fanned the tiny blaze which Marley had started into an en- veloping flame. Uncle Joe curled up in the withering blast. They stripped him of many of the emblems of his power and re- duced him to the ranks, but they could not take away his personality or his resiliency. He came back. In those days in our state the name of the Hon. Joseph Gurney Can- non was anathema. Marley got a lot of advertising out of the episode, but it sold no goods for him. He is remembered yet, where he is remembered at all, as the man who laid the fire under Uncle Joe.and set a match to it. Up to 1914 Marley continued to repre- sent his district in Congress. He was the center of the idealistic group in Washing- ton, but he left no discernible mark on legislation. He went with the crowd to Armageddon along with many another estimable citizen. But when the fight was over and a truce had been declared Marley was so far outside the breastworks he couldn't negotiate the return journey. He just kept on going. He might have been reélected to Congress in 1914. His district still was loyal to him. But although the Progressive Party was by that time an empty husk Marley chose to stand as its candidate for the United States Senate, and went down to ignominious defeat. The campaign of 1916 found him a political lame duck, fighting in the Democratic ranks. President Wilson gave him a bureau job in Washington, where he still is em- bedded. Cal Cuyler is the standpat boss of our state. As the antithesis of the Marley type he deserves a place in this story. For more than twenty-five years he has been a figure in state and national politics. Through lean years and fat, through victory and de- feat, he probably has been the most influ- ential private citizen in the politics of our state. But he was never so influential as he is to-day nor so strongly intrenched in his party’s councils. Six or seven years ago I wrote the only kindly decent story of Cal Cuyler ever printed in a progressive news- paper. For nearly twenty years he has been persistently and continuously abused, slammed and excoriated by the progressive press and the great common people. No- body pretends that Cuyler isn’t a good average citizen who obeys the laws of his country and observes all the amenities of polite society. His offense is that he is a standpatter who believes in the organization and who devotes much of his time to the task of pro- viding the Republican Party with one in both state and nation. Cal Cuyler is a contained, repressed, soft- spoken gentleman, grown a trifle rotund and a bit gray abcut the temples with advancing middle years, whose tailoring and haber- dashery are faultless and whose language and demeanor are impeccable. I have sat with Cal Cuyler in the white heat of many political battles. I never saw him when he seemed perturbed, I never heard him ex- press the note of anger, nor abuse or criti- cize an opponent, no matter how bitter the battle may have grown. Cuyler went from Yale, where he grad- uated, to the coincidental practice of law EVENING POST and politics. He made politics his diver- sion. It is to him the great outdoor and indoor sport. If he ever took a dollar out of politics nobody has been able to trace it to its source. He never held an office in his life, nor asked for one, and never cashed a voucher for individual service on a public treasury. He lacks Marley's brilliance and all the latter’s skill in self-projection. He never talked to the extent of half a column in his life. Once, on the eve of a national election, a reporter in our town dragged a two-stick interview from his reluctant lips. It was a journalistic sensation. The longest interview any reporter had previously been able to jimmy out of Cal was one stick in length. I was talking once with Cal's law partner concerning the power he had al- ways exercised within his party. “Cal's great secret,”” said the law part- ner, “is that he always says ‘we’ instead of “I.” Now, Cal Cuyler is just a plain two- legged man with the limitations of his kind. I never heard him speak of his ideals. Aside from his belief that a man should be honest, kindly, charitable and reasonably decent, | don’t suppose he has any great princ iples He has been sadly neglectful of reform work and his test of proposed legislation is whether it will help the party. Every vote: has the option of picking his boss. When my choice narrowed to statesmen of the Marley type and Cuyler, I picked Cuyler So long as Cuyler lives I'll have one. Had I selected the Marley type of boss I should have been under the necessity of selecting a new one every four or five years. And so, for what seem to me to be two very cogent reasons, lama standpatter The first and most important is that I am thoroughly convinced if there is anything important that needs very badly to be done a standpatter must do it. The pro- gressive makes an auspicious start, but he never finishes anything. The second is that I just naturally prefer the society of the standpatter. One of the most abstemi- ous of men, I never availed myself of the accommodations provided by the water wagon; I couldn’t stand certain of the pas- sengers. I have the same feeling toward the progressive mass formation. I present no crust to the individual progressive. He is, oftener than not, a very fine gentleman And the progressive motif in government is not without value. I accord to it the same standing that I once gave to ‘Ike Heldberg in the business and social economy of our town. lke Heldberg, Altruist Ike Heldberg is an altruist. Being an al truist is his vocation. Intermittently, and as a means of obtaining an often scanty livelihood, he conducts a small tailoring business. The tailoring business is a side line to [ke’s real call to life, which is that of succoring the sick and helpless, uplifting the fallen, relieving the distressed and ameliorating in general terms the sad con- dition of humankind. In the annals of the town there is written what is esteemed a great joke on Ike. It is to the effect that one day when he had left his work to go out and do a bit of succoring the mortgages foreclosed on his stock and closed his shop The story may or may not be true. But in any event, Ike Heldberg is a sincere and unselfish gentleman who earnestly desire to be of benefit to mankind. Across my desk one day some years ago Ike was relating to me the details of an expedition for the relief of humanity which he had in mind, and which he expected shortly to send on its way. Finally I said to him: “Ike, you never had a practical idea in your life. + You never dreamed a dream that could possibly come true. You never formulated a plan you could individually carry through. But you are a great asset to this town. You keep the balance of us constantly at work testing the value, the practicability, the fairness and the justice of our own ideas You force us to reassure ourselves, to ex- amine our footing and to expand our men- tal processes. You are a valuable citizen and I do you honor.” It is likely any expert marksman could pierce the position I have taken in a thou- sand places. But nobody can take from me the joy I have experienced in giving this parade. I am, as far as I know, the first standpatter to give a public exhibition through which he wore all his bells and medals, and in which he pointed vainglo- riously to the brand that was upon him And I've had a beautiful time. 105

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LIKE A TREE (Continued from Page 7) Alone with his uncles and Scarlow in the sitting room, already restored to its original purpose and aspect, he scowled at his folded hands and waited sullenly. He was puzzled at his mood. It seemed as if he Scarlow read, formal flourishes of the preamble, pausing impres- sively as he reached the bequests. A thou- sand dollars to Aunt Allie; smaller gifts to the church and the free library, and then bluntly all the residue of the estate, real and personal, to Luke. Luke barely heard the concluding clauses explaining why Andrew MacNaughten had left nothing to his sons, appointing Luke himself sole executor without bond. He had room for only a kind of awe at the thought of himself as owner and master of the farm. Something seemed to have changed in him suddenly; he wasn’t the same Luke MacNaughten he had been a moment before. He was more erect, aware of a new sort of strength in himself. He hardly knew what passed until Scarlow had gone.* Wallace MacNaughten roused him out of a blankness with a brisk clap on his shoulder: “Well, Luke, it’s less than you deserved. You stood by him splendidly. Your Uncle Joe and I were talking about it on the way down. Father owed you a good deal, and he’s done his best to pay. But Joe and I feel that we owe you something too.” Luke shook his head. He didn’t want to talk yet. There was too much to think about, and his mind hadn’t cleared and steadied to the task. But Wallace patted his shoulder again and went on: “In a way you’ve done our duty by father. We've always realized that. Neither of us could stay here with him, of course; and if it hadn’t been for you he’d have beén alone these last years. We know you gave up a good deal to stay, and we expect to make it right with you now—as far as we can.” Luke struggled to the surface of a con- fused mental turmoil, remembering that this was exactly what he had hoped for; that Emily and he had hardly dared to count on any such attitude. It cost him an effort to speak: “That's all right, didn’t mind — “Oh, pshaw, Luke! We know better! You’re a MacNaughten—every inch of You've got as much ambition as any of us. I can guess how hard it’s been, buried alive out here, with nothing ahead of you. Well, that’s over. You've done your job. Now you're going to collect. That’s only fair.” He glanced at his brother. Joseph Mac- Naughten struck in ponderously: “It’s a little late to be choosing a career, Luke, but that doesn’t matter. If you’d like to take up the law we'll see you through Uncle Wallace. I | college and law school, and there'll be a place in my office when you’re ready. If | you'd rather go into business, Wallace will take you in with him. We both feel that you ought to get away as soon as you can. You'll be taking root out here if you don’t.” “I'm much obliged.” Luke wondered why the words came hard. He ought to be delighted, and he wasn’t. Taking root out here! He remembered his last talk with his grandfather, the homely figures of the old man’s speech. Perhaps that was it; perhaps he'd already taken root, so that he held back from the thought of transplantation now. “I guess I’d better choose business. It it’s quicker. I'd be past thirty by the time I started to practice law.” “That’s sensible.” Joseph plainly ap- proved. “I should have advised it myself, but I wanted you to feel that you'd be welcome with me.” “When can you come?” Wallace spoke briskly. ‘‘The sooner the better, as it hap- I've got a good opening now—a place where your inexperience wouldn’t handicap you too much. But I'll have to fill it pretty soon.” Luke hesitated. “T'll have to straighten things out here, of course. There’s a good deal to do. We've got a big crop of potatoes to dig and the corn to cut. And we haven’t threshed yet either—grandfather’s being taken, you see—and I’ll have to sell the stock and tools and the land. It'll take quite a while.” “Well, you can afford to let things go cheap,” said Wallace. “Time is worth more than money just now. You'd better talk to Scarlow. He told me he thought he could make a quick sale for us.” Luke got to his feet. “* All right. I got to milk now. me, will you? They Bed “Milk!” Wallace shook his head. “That was what drove me off the farm in the first place. I used to dream about a time when we could skip a milking—used to hate the cows I saw in the fields. Twice a day, no matter what happens, regular as sunrise and sunset. Father used to talk about owning cows—he never owned 'em. They owned him—and everybody else on the place.” “They won't wait, Luke. He left them smoking and exchanging reminiscences. In his work clothes, the pails swinging from his elbow, he felt better. The cow stable, warm and dark, seemed to smooth the hurrying confusion of his thoughts. There was a steadying rhythm in the resounding jets in his pail, the slow, even grinding of the cows’ jaws. Emily would be glad, he thought. Every- thing was working out just as she wanted it to. He admitted that he’d done his uncles injustice in his earlier ideas. They didn’t care about the farm one little bit. They were mighty decent to recognize that they owed him something. Scarlow could sell the place quick, could he? That meant he hoped it would be offered at a bargain. Scarlow specialized in such transactions. Luke frowned at the idea. He didn’t want Scarlow to make a profit on Andrew Mac- Naughten’s death. He would sell the place himself first. He drove them to the village, after an early supper, to catch the evening train. They were cordial over the parting. He was to wind up the estate as soon as he could and join Wallace when it was done. They gave him a great deal of advice about it, which he scarcely heard. He was relieved when the train groaned away with them. In the village, on his way back, he stopped to buy tobacco at Hartney’s shop. Usually he liked to pause there for a few minutes, exchanging slow banter with the loungers about the two pool tables. To- night he found himself faintly hostile to- ward them, conscious of a difference he had never felt before, of the idleness below their surface geniality, of a superior strength and intelligence in himself. Hartney congratu- lated him with a touch of servility, too—a kind of fawning eagerness which Luke dis- liked. Tom Farrell, big and soft, his shirt sleeves lifted by purple silk elastics, came toward him, cue in hand. “Hear you get it all, Luke. straight?” Luke nodded. He had always rather liked Farrell; had been puzzled by Andrew MacNaughten’s silent aversion to the man. Now he seemed to have inherited that along with the land. Farrell leaned toward him confidentially: “Be out to see you one of these days. Maybe we can get together. The old man never could see it, but I guess you’re up todate,eh? Don’t forget to give mea look- in before you close any deal—pay you.” Luke nodded and went out, the keen night pleasant after the smoky warmth, the stars curiously clean in contrast with the yellow bulbs above the tables. The horses trotted briskly on a hard road, the beat of their hoofs stimulating Luke’s reaction. He found himself whistling tune- lessly over the reins. At the corners, where the road branched up the hill toward the Wayne farm, he stopped the team and meditated briefly. He didn’t want to talk to Emily to-night, but she would expect to hear from him; and he owed her the news, of course. He pulled the horses toward the slope, aware that he somehow shared their reluctance. Emily’s excited satisfaction had a strangely unpleasant effect on his own mood. She noticed his want of anything like her own eagerness, and her glance cooled as it studied him. “IT don’t understand you, Luke. You act as if—as if you were sorry it’s turned out this way. You're not a bit pleased _" “It’s queer,” he admitted. “I do feel blue, sort of. I guess it’s because I was fond of—of him, you know. I’m going to miss him, Emily. I didn’t know how much (Continued on Page 109) Excuse that’s a fact,” said That

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(Continued from Page 106) I’d come to—I’m kind of lost without him some way.” She nodded. “Yes, but you can be sorry about losing him without being sorry you’re going to get away from here—going to have your chance i “That’s so. I'll get over this, of course But to-night I don’t feel like—like cele- brating. I guess I'd better go along now. I’m not good company.” She stopped him. “How can keeps?’’ “I don’t know. There’s a lot todo. Take quite a while.”’ She watched him steadily for a space, so that he grew uneasy under her eyes. “Well, you'll hurry all you can, won't you?” “Of course “You'd better,” night.” The horses, turned toward home, stepped out happily. Something of their spirit came back lines. Luke Mac- Naughten was whistling again as he stabled them. soon you get away for she said shortly “Good over the iv “FT UNDERSTOOD you were anxious to make a quick sale.’’ Scarlow spoke crisply, a touch of reproof in his tone. “I’ve been at some trouble to find a buyer, on that understanding.”’ Luke shook his head “Who told you I was in a hurry?” he said. ‘‘I never said so, did I?” The lawyer smiled thinly. “Why, no, but I got it fairly straight Bert Wayne told me you intended to pull out as soon as you could. And your Uncle Wallace asked me to help you straighten things out too.’ Luke scowled. 3ad business. They meant well enough, of course, but how could a fellow get a decent price if everybody thought he was crazy to sell? “*I might sell if I got a good offer,”’ he admitted. ‘“‘Been thinking of it. But I don’t aim to give the place away. And thi figure—why, the buildings are worth more’n that.” “Well, it’s your land,” said Scarlow. “If you change your mind come and see me again.” He turned to his desk. Luke left him After all, it wasn’t such a bad offer, every thing considered. The way things looked, there wouldn’t be much money in farming for the next few years, and there was plenty of land in the market too. Perhaps he’d been a fool to refuse. Winter was coming, and Emily’s letters sounded more and more impatient. He drove back to the farm, doubting himself. Maybe Emily had been right about him; maybe he didn’t have any ambition. He was frowning when Aunt Allie met him at the door. “You better drive over to Toland’s be fore you unhitch, Luke. Margie was over to say *t somebody wanted to talk to you on the telephone.” He nodded and went back to his team. The Toland house was half a mile farther from the village, and he rarely passed it It occurred to him that he hadn't Margie since the funeral. He found him- self wondering about her as he drove, thinking of her for the first time as an indi- vidual, a person, instead of merely John Toland’s daughter. Maybe she hated the farm, like Emily, he thought. Maybe she ached to get away into a bigger, quicker life, too. He was mildly curious about this, a little puzzled at himself for the curiosity. It made him survey her, when she came to the kitchen door, with a new seen interest. “Tom Farrell wants you to call him up,” he announced. He felt an unfamiliar harshness in her tone. “‘ He was right anx- ious about it, the way he talked.” Luke shrugged. Farrell hadn't kept his promise to make him a proposition. He wondered why the nurseryman was sud- denly so eager to reach him. He could have stopped in any time he happened to be passing. “Much obliged for the trouble,” Luke said. “Kind of cool of him to bother you with it.” * She led him in through the kitchen to a long, low room, shabbily furnished, carpeted with worn rag rugs. He had a sharp pang of wistfulness. There was something ap- pealing about the very shabbiness, the faded paper, the low ceiling, with its hang- ing oil lamp. He fumbled with the crude wall telephone, and she showed him how to THE SATURDAY whirl the crank which summoned Cen- tral. “The line’s busy,” she told him. “ Better wait a minute. It’s only Sam McComber getting a grocery list from Lizzie. He won’t talk long.” He followed her back to the kitchen. She was baking, and he watched the play of her hands over the rolled dough, the flash of the cutter stamping out cookies. “Sold your place yet?’’ She did not look up. “No.” He decided to combat this gen- eral impression that he wanted to be rid of the farm. “I’m not trying to sell it. Folks all seem to think I am.” “T thought you were.”’ She paused in her work to look at him. “Heard you ex- pected to quit and go to Bufort as soon as you could.” “Who told you?” “Emily said something guess.”” She resumed “Aren't you?” “IT might,” he admitted. “It all de- pends.” There was a silence. She filled a shallow pan with the thin circles and slid it deftly into the oven. “You know what Tom Farrell wants, don’t you?” She straightened from the stove. ‘‘He’s after a lease on your flats. I guess he heard you were going to sell, and wanted to get in his bid beforehand.” “*Maybe,”” Luke nodded. This seemed reasonable. Farrell would have waited, if he hadn’t heard some rumor of a sale, to keep down the price. “You could get enough rent off the flats to make it pay to keep the place, I guess He offered us twenty a year for every acre we'd let him have, and he’d give more for yours.” “Why didn’t you rent to him?” Luke was curious. The Toland place barely paid expenses, he reckoned. Cer- tainly a net rental of twenty dollars an acre, without labor or risk, ought to have looked good to John Toland. “Because we've got some respect for the land,” she flashed. ‘‘Father’d have taker it, but I wouldn’t let him. You know as well as I do that after Farrell’s raised trees for three years on anybody’s ldnd he might as well keep the land! He's ruined half the glen. When he digs his trees the soil’s dead. That’s why he’s after ours—and yours —it’s about all that’s left now.” “Bring it back, all right,” he said “You can ‘ia “Not if you’ve got to make a living on it while you’re bringing it back,”’ she inter- rupted. “I’d rather give the land to some- body that would treat it right than rent it to ‘Tom Farrell for twice what he'll pay.”’ The passion in her puzzled him “I don’t see that.” “No, I suppose not. But you ought to You've lived on the land all your life. It’ n you—part of you. I'd as soon mistreat my own body as harm the land I'm rooted n. But you wouldn’t understand that.” Luke’s memory carried him back to the afternoon when Andrew MacNaughten had used the same figure of speech Again he fe It a wonde r at the clearness of hi un- derstanding, his acceptance ‘I can, though,”” he said. “I feel like that sometimes—as if I had roots under me holding me here. But I haven’t. Men are different from trees. They can go where they want to.” “Of eourse. about it, I her stamping Acorns don’t have to root where they fall. Lots of ’em don’t root anywhere But some of ‘em grow into oaks.”” He pondered this deliberately. It drew his attention away from himself to the girl Didn’t she ever want to get away from the monotony of this life she led? Did she mean that she'd rather stay here, working is all farm women worked, denied the excitement and change and speed which Emily Wayne loved? “Don't you ever want to get out, Margie? You satisfied to go on like this always?” She laughed “Satisfied! I belong here—-I’ve taken Yes, I guess you could call it satis- fied—if you mean I'd hate to be pulled up and planted somewhere else. It’s—oh, if you don’t know it for yourself, nobody can make you see it! You can get Farrell now, I guess. Better call him.” “Wait! I want to find out—I thought you'd like to get away, like Stow Barton and—and 4 “And Emily Wayne? Well, I wouldn’t. I—it sounds spiteful, Luke, but I don’t root, EVENING POST TIFFANY & CO. JEWELRY OF QUALITY N Prompt ATTENTION FIFTH AVENUE & 372 STREET New YORK Youll get many a dozen miles. more out of a tank of gas if you keep xX Ligund in the cooling System. “X eliminates and prevents rust and scale. It repairs and prevents leaks anywhere in the cooling system. Just pour X in the radhator Large Size Can $150 Ford Size 75¢ "LABORATORIES sew tonx NEW YORK PACIFIC COAST BRANCH, 451 RIALTO BLDG.. SAN FRANCISCO, CALIY.

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110 A. W JULIAN CARR ¢ Durha J THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Business is as good as you make it HEY might sight; market prices slashed. have closed down; few orders in But the Durham Hosiery Mills saw in tight times the opportunity of good management. ing, a daring policy in handling labor, reaching out for new their plants to 75 markets. ( True, it meant changed buy- But doing the unusual has kept > of normal capacity. “Our first problem was to find out at what price people would buy,” Jr., in February SYSTEM. writes President Julian S. Carr, Then he tells how they secured raw materials at a corresponding reduction, how they adjusted manufacturing facilities to the new cost standards, finally tasks delicate of how they and perhaps the most gauged their whole scheme of distribution to markets that awaited thé new price scale. Mr. Carr’s broad management policy is made very clear in SYSTEM, fnd he dis- closes just as frankly the very methods he used to carry the policy out. What Carr writes for February SYSTEM, two hundred thousand readers will profit by. Next month, as other business men tell their experi- enc es, Carr will be reader. SYSTEM brings together for a ready exchange of ideas those men who are solving today’s business problems. Get the February issue from your newsdealer. MSE “The Magazine of Business SHAW COMPANY Chicage New York, Londor Publishers also of FACTORY, the Magazine of Management | money | more. We mean it that way. I’m too proud of what I am to want to be anything else. I feel— oh, it sounds silly to say it—I feel as if I had something in me that they never had, or that they threw away. Something worth keeping, worth being proud of. I can stay put—I can stay and be glad of it. They can’t. They’ve got to move—got to change. Maybe it’s better to be that way. But I think sometimes that that’s the big trou- ble with this country—with our stock, I mean. We don’t root where we grow, any we've changed, too many of us. We're tumbleweeds instead of trees!” She rolled down her sleeves. He saw that her color had risen, that her eyes were bright. “Yes, I’m proud that I’m the other thing. And as long as some of us keep on being like that the breed won’t die out—or the strength of it. There’s no gypsy blood in me. I can’t wander, but I don’t want to. I'm glad I can’t.” “T can see what you mean,” he said slowly. ‘‘Maybe there’s something in it. Grandfather used to talk like that, some. But it was always the land with him—that came first.” “Of course! He knew! People who root deep are part of their land. They take care of it, and the land takes care of them, and of the others, too. That’s what they all forget—the people who have to move. They don’t know that they all depend on the ground. It doesn’t mean anything to them when a crop fails, except that they have to pay a little more for what they eat. But some day when there isn’t enough to go round they’ll find out! Some day when we've all degenerated into migrating weeds they’ll understand us trees!”’ “How do you mean?” ested. “Oh, Tom Farrell's a good illustration. He came here when they'd worked out the nursery district in Madison. And he’s do- ing his best to work out the glen. He doesn’t care. When there’s no more good land here he'll go somewhere else. And the glen, that. used to feed five or six thousand people, will feed five or six hundred. The only good land that’s left is ours and yours, and the reason it’s good is that you Mac- Naughtens took root the way we Tolands did. Why, when father and your grand- father quarreled about the line it wasn’t with either of ‘em. They each He was inter- | offered to buy that disputed strip, and neither of "em would hear of selling. It wasn’t something they owned—it was part of them—that land. They'd have sold a finger as soon as an acre.” She opened the oven door, and a breath of warm, spiced air came to him. He was suddenly hungry. “Those cookies smell good, Margie.” She frowned. “Better call Farrell, Luke.” He went back to the telephone. Presently Farrell's buoyant voice came to him: “Luke, I hear you might sell your place. I wanted to lease that flat land—pay you good rent and save you all the trouble. Give you twenty-one an acre, and lease for six years if you’re game. How about it? Bring you over a check to-night if you say 50. For a moment Luke MacNaughten saw only figures. There were fifty-two acres of rentable land. Eleven hundred a year for six years—and the rest of the farm un- touched. Why, in a bad year, with back-breaking work in every day of it, the whole farm might not pay any such sum! He could take it and go to Bufort, after auctioning the stock and tools. “Guess not, Tom.”” He wondered at the sound of his voice. It was positive, de- cided. Farrell argued, expostulated. He cut him short at last. “No, I wouldn’t treat good land that way—not for any money. I’d rather farm Rg He came back to the kitchen, meeting Margie Toland’s glance of question with a sense of defiance. “Turned him down,” he said. ‘Guess you’re right about it, Margie. Much obliged.” He went out, warmed by the memory of a sudden gleam in her eyes. Afterward he half regretted the decision. Throwing away good money for a lot of sentimental moon- shine—but he repeated his refusal when Farrell reopened the offer. And he fancied, with a bashful shame for the romanticism of the thought, that the yield of potatoes they dug out of the low, level field was a January 22,192! kind of token that the land understood and thanked him. ; Vv “*¥ GOT your letter and thought I'd better come and see you about it.” Luke was uneasy in the parlor of the boarding house. There were too many chairs—especially the slender, fragile gilded ones, and too many gimcracks on the man- tel and the table. He felt big and awkward and clumsy; his best suit hampered his elbows and shoulders; the stiff cuffs and collar irritated his wrists and throat. He observed Emily’s even glance of appraisal with an uncomfortable guess at the thought behind it. “T meant it, Luke—every word. You— you've had plenty of time to do something, and you haven’t even begun. If you aren't going to ——” “It’s like this, Emily’’—he twisted the brim of his hat—“‘ you can’t sell a big farm in a minute. I’ve only had one offer—not half what it’s worth. You don’t expect me to throw away five or six thousand dol- lars ——” “Maybe not. But you haven’t adver- tised it; you haven’t tried to find a buyer.” “‘Better to let ’em come to you,” he said. “Get a better price that way.” “Perhaps. But you had a splendid chance to rent. I heard that Mr. Farrell offered you over a thousand a year just for part of the land. Did he?” Luke nudded. He realized that perhaps Emily should have been told about that offer, and it was plain to him that she took this view. “Why didn’t you tell me?” “Well, as long as I didn’t take it, I thought ¥ “Why didn’t you take it?” He spread his hands. “T don’t know as you'd understand, Emily. You see, Farrell don’t farm. He raises trees on rented land; plants seed- lings, buds ’em and sells ’em to nurseries when they’re fit to transplant.” “T know all about that.’’ She was im- patient now. “But I still don’t see why, when you knew % “He ruins the land,”’ he said quickly “takes three years to get the trees off it, and when he’s done it’s no good. Land won't stand it.” “And you're more interested in taking care of a few acres of dirt than in making something of yourself! You don’t care enough about me ——” Dirt! Luke remembered what Andrew MacNaughten had said that last afternoon. Some people called it dirt—and treated ‘it like dirt! He felt as if he and Emily had suddenly become opponents, almost en- emies. He watched her as she flamed at him, scarcely hearing her words. Some- thing had happened to Emily—she was different here. Out in the glen he had thought her splendid, a sort of personifi- cation of success and accomplishment. Here, somehow, she wasn’t so wonderful. On the way from the train he had seen many girls as superficially attractive. It came to him, as he listened, that Emily wasn’textraordinary here; that the achieve- ments she talked about were, after all, rather commonplace. Even the boarding house, in this new mood of his, lost its formidable impressiveness. He caught the smell of food—flat and stale in the dead, hot air. “Oh, I ought to have seen it long ago! I've been afraid of it, but I wouldn’t be- lieve it. You don’t want to amount to any- thing. You'd rather stay up there in the glen than get out and do things like your uncles! You like it—you actually like it!” His new impression of her became more definite. She couldn’t see that working in a city office, living in a rented corner of a counterfeit home, didn’t represent a tre- mendous improvement on the life she had left behind. She reminded him of Stow Barton, with his conviction that there was something magnificent about the job of assistant advertising manager in Hendrick & Company’s store. He saw them both as if with eyes clear for the first time, restless, groping. “Emily, come on back to the glen. You only think you hate it.’’ He broke into her speech with a new, strange assurance. “You don’t belong here. girl.” She was on her feet. “T thought so! I thought so that day on the hill! You never meant anything else all along. You thought I was so crazy about you that I’d let you whistle me back (Concluded on Page 113) You're a farm. a,

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 111

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112 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 22,192! 4 Wh ! se | ye Se wT Aan 2) Cy a “lr SV AES “ELL PRICE . . $62.00 PRICE . $71.00 F, O. B. Trenton ©. B. Trenton “TEPECO” Water Closets for Every Place and Purse HILE water closets may look alike to the layman's eyes there are, as a matter of fact, several different types from the simply constructed washdown to the superior syphon jet closet with its instantaneous flushing, large water surface, protection against sewer gas and passageway that minimizes chance of clogging. Naturally the better types, being of complicated construction, are more expensive to manufacture and not within the means of everyone. The Trenton Potteries Company has developed a water closet of the four SIWELCLO recognized types— each in its class the best that can be made. We think me SA PRICE . . $105.00 you would do well to buy them by name, for while they may look just \SAXON “a. oan like other water closets to you, we know the added refinements of ree... wes > eh th. Teena construction our sanitary engineers have evolved, i. e., larger water surfaces, ss preventing soil adhering; deeper water seals; larger passageways; smooth outside surfaces. When you buy these Tepeco Combinations you will know you are getting Tepeco China Tanks which have no linings to ever wear out. You will know you are getting Tepeco Tank Fittings—developed so that you will not have to be replacing washers and rubber balls or be calling in the plumber to make them operate. We have priced these four closet outfits fairly F. O. B. Trenton and are shipping them completely crated to the plumbing con- tractor. Before you order from him send for our instructive book on home plumbing, “Bathrooms of Character.” THE TRENTON POTTERIES COMPANY Trenton, New Jersey, U.S. A. BOSTON NEW YORK SAN FRANCISCO Tepeco Tank Fittings Tepeco Tank Fittings You who have fussed with A water closet is no better leal rubber balls or ones tharvits tank fittings. That's which would not stop the flow why we ve gone to such pains to perfectthisexclusive Tepeco Ball Cock. You won't have to call the plumber back to ad- just it. Other manufacturers would give a great deal to have it in their tanks of water will find this Tepeco fitting a great relief. Its in all Ts peco closet outfits and ought to last more years than you will care to think about

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(Concluded from Page 110) to slave in a kitchen for you! Thanks! I guess we’ve both wasted enough time, Luke. You want ? farmer’s wife. You don’t want me.” “You mean you're breaking it off?” ’ He was standing, too, now. “Emily ——” “Oh, yes’’— she spoke wearily—“let’s forget it, Luke. It was always a mistake. You’d never be happy away from the farm, and I'd die if I had to stay there. We can’t change.” He stood silent, watching her. Slowly a weight lifted from his shoulders—a weight he had not known was there. He was free again. He could go back and stay, strike root deep into the land to which he be- longed, as the members of his body be- longed to him. “All right,” he said. ‘‘Good-by, Emily.” “Good-by, Luke. You can’t even pre- tend you mind, can you? We'd have had a sweet life of it, wouldn’t we?” He was uncomfortable. Perhaps he ought to make her think it hurt him more than it did. Good manners—she had her pride, and girls liked to believe that even the men they didn’t want still wanted them. He searched for words. “Oh, don’t try! You can’t do it!” She laughed. ‘‘ You look a lot like your grand- father, Luke. I guess you'll probably grow into the same kind of a man.” He went out, wondering at the persistent warmth the parting words had kindled in him. An image of Andrew MacNaughten as he had seen him oftenest came before him—the lean, straight height of the man, the shrewd, placid eyes under the white brows, the infrequent, considered speech. He realized that he wanted to be like that when he was old. vi ND he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water.” Waist deep in the dusty straw which tumbled toward him from the clattering carrier of the thresher, Luke found the words recurring stubbornly in his thought They made him thirsty, so that he tried to think of something else. It was dry enough to stand on the mounting stack in a cloud of fine dust which clung to eyelashes and parched lips, without imagining rivers of water. He moved his fork mechanically, sliding the mound of loose litter to the man behind him. Rivers of water! Queer how the thing kept coming back. He wondered THE SATURDAY why he should remember the text now. He hadn't thought of it since that day when he had read it to Andrew MacNaughten. It couldn’t be just thirst. He was irritated by the sense that some link in the connection eluded him. His mind went back to that afternoon; ' the talk with Emily, while the plowing | waited; the bell, booming up over the new furrows; the old man, trying to voice his kinship with the land he owned and served. “‘Read something about a tree!"’ Queer that he should have put it like that, Luke thought. Perhaps he saw the resemblance too; perhaps he knew that he made you think of an old, straight, proud tree. The text fitted him, Luke thought. He'd lived like a tree planted by running streams; he’d brought forth his fruit in his season, too, and whatever he’d done had prospered Yes, it was a good choice—that psalm. He remembered that Margie Toland had sug- gested it, and his thought moved on to her and his talk with her while she baked in the old spice-smelling kitchen. Some interruption in the barn let the separator idle for a space; the hurrying slats of the endless belt of the straw carrier flung only thin puffs of chaff and dust up to the stack. A wind caught them as they rose and drove them out in a long stream past the end of the barn. Luke leaned on his fork handle and watched. Suddenly his memory found what had evaded him. He knew now what had made him think of those verses, of trees planted by rivers of water, that brought forth their fruit in their season, whose leaves did not wither ‘The ungodly are not so: but are li ke the chaff which the wind driveth away.” He felt the contempt in the words. The chaff which the wind drove away—the difference between that which rooted and grew and bore fruit, and that which could be moved and scattered by a gust. Over the peak of the barn he looked up toward the hill where the Toland house stood among the bare trees. He could see a thin smoke lifting over it. He heard himself laughing softly as the thresher groaned with a new stream of grain and the jets of straw flickered out to him again. It wa good to be like a tree; to be glad that your roots went deep. He felt that his tightened their hold on the land as he thought of Margie. No wind would drive her away nor him. SAVING SISTER Continued from Page 9 She turne d now, looked full at him, said deliberately, ‘I’m b eginning to wis sh you'd gone there for a lark, Perce. Down on the landing of the stairs the telephone rang. It was a new item in the Green household, this telephone. Goldie had installed it at her own expense shortly after taking on the insurance agency. She ran down there now. The voice was that of Elsie Whitaker, who had a good job in the offices of Western Coal and Iron and lived with her people a little way beyond the North Sunbury sta- tion. Elsie was pretty in a brunet way, with a wide acquaintance among men with good automobiles, and was enterprising in the matter of evening parties. Her stead- iest young man drove a blue roadster with red trimmings and a rumble seat. Elsie said: ‘‘ Listen, Goldie! Bert and I are » having dinner to-night, and afterward we’re going to pick up a friend of his—an older man—awfully nice—represents V orse- Hibbard in New York. I’ve been out with him before. If you’re not doing anything, be at the corner of Filbert Avenue and the Drive at nine sharp and we'll stop for you.” Rarely did indecision creep into Goldie’s clear brain, but now she hesitated. “Where are you and Bert eating?” she asked. “At the Washington.” “T’ll call you there.” She didn’t run up the stairs. She was angry, but she was also unsettled. It wasn’t a good plan to go out too often. She was learning that the languor that follows late hours and too many cigarettes, even though she never cared to drink much, blunted the usually keen edge of her pecul- iar gift—her personality, if that was it. Sometimes it seemed as if all the prosper- ous men in the country—all ages, married and single—were ready at any moment with expensive cars to entertain the nearest attractive girls. At times it was pleasantly easy to respond; at other times the mere thought of it was irritating. She some- times said sharp things then. She hadn't the historical perspective to know that she was, for better or worse, here and now in America, living through what is perhaps the most sordid period of materialistic self indulgence in the modern history of man Though even Goldie at times found the blatant prosperity, the triumph of crass money over faith and beauty, depressing. There was too much money; too many jewels and furs; too many automobiles Human character showed signs of breaking down under the weight. P. Heigham said, when the door was closed, huskily, his face a grayish white, as if he had been working himself up into a still more excited state during her brief ab- sence, ‘We don’t seem to speak the same language.” “We don’t—exactly.” He was standing now. There was a fanatical earnestness about the erect, slen- der figure and the set face with the small ieatures gathered curiously, inadequately, in the middle of it. And his voice was weakly husky. “T’ve got to ask you this’’—it was as if he were speaking to a stranger—‘“‘will you give me your word not to see this man again?” Her flippant tone, when she replied, be- lied the blaze in her eyes. ‘I’m not giving out words to-day. “You won’t promise then?” “Certainly not!” “Of course, you must realize’’—his throat appeared to be dry—‘‘this has got to be settled once and for all. If you're de- termined to bring disgrace on this—the fact is, we can’t both stay in this house.” She hummed, “You must pay, or get out in the snow. EVENING POST TRU STANDARD oe BUILDINGS 113 CON One of numerous Truscon Standard Buildings used by Ford Motor Co. and its agents —of every size and for every industrial purpose The leaders in every prominent industry use Truscon Standard Buildings, because these buildings—frreproof, well-ventilated and affording maximum daylight—are the most economical and easily erected type of permanent construction. Built entirely of inter- changeable steel panels, they can be enlarged or taken down and re-erected with 100% Wide Range of Usefulness Many thousands of Truscon Stand- ard Buildings are used for factories, warehouses, machine shops, tool rooms, foundries, freight sheds, cafeterias, etc. Repeated re-orders for these buildings demonstrate the satisfactory service they have given such prominent companies as American Car & Foundry Co., Baldwin Locomotive Works, Bayer Chemical Co., Chicago Pneumatic Tool Co., Ford Motor Co., Packard Motor Car Co., Pierce-Arrow Motor Car Co., General Motors Corporation, New York Central Ry., Baltimore & Ohio Ry., Santa Fe Ry., Republic Iron & Steel Co., Youngstow n Steel Car Co., and E.. I. Dupont de Nemours Co. Furnished in Many Types Truscon Standard Buildings are furnished in any size and numerous types, with hip monitor or sawtooth roofs. Walls and roofs are of Truscon Alloy Steel, which has demonstrated its superior durability for a period of many years Your needs can be supplied promptly and economically. Return coupon today, giving size and purpose of the -building you require TRUSCON STEEL COMPANY YOUNGSTOWN, OHIO Warehouses and Representatives in Principal Cities Machine Shop 50'x 500' Sawtooth type Standard Bldg salvage value. INFORMATION COUPON Diagrams show Types and sizes of TRUSCON STANDARD BUILDINGS HEIGHTS_Curb to Eave 7-10 of 16-6 LENGTHS_Types 12 364 any Multiple of 20 LANTERN_12-0 wide provided at Ridge of any Building 40-0 or more in width aa ——, TYPE 6 Widtt © 810-12 lo 18-20 -24-28-30-40-50 ge | . = t —. | | ; i ' A Tyee Width 0-50 of iver ‘ 5 60-6405 70-74 75 50-8490) TYPE 4 Width SO of 100 (4A 20 ar 25 1-34 30-40 } TYPE 3M Widths .60-64-08-/0-74- 80-84-90 Lengths — Multiples of 8&0 plus 4-0 TYPE 4% Width 104 Lengths Muluples of 16.0 plus orM SAwrTooTH Widths — Any 60 ! Lengths . Mu iHiiple» f VO pl Truscon Steel Company, \ oungstown, Ohio Send Catalog and Information on Tras on Stand ard Buildings. Type Width ft Length it, Height ft To be used for , Name Address

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114 THE SATURDAY BYERS PIPE eee of Genuine Wrought Ivon T ) «@ a. DV FOC > paw L Rivals Pay Tribute to Byers S an excellent restaurant is sometimes patronized by nearby competitors, so Byers pipe of wrought iron not infre- quently is specified and installed in steel plants. Unbiased steel men concede the superiority of genuine wrought iron as a pipe material, just as Byers freely admit the advantages of steel materials generally, where corrosion, welding, venting. vibration and certain other factors, most of them peculiar to pipe service, do not enter So these men, possessing the most intimate knowledge of iron and steel values, pay eloquent tribute to the goodness of Byers pipe by using it in their own plants in preference to cheaper pipe of steel. For they know the extra cost of Byers to be nothing compared with the exces- sive damage and repair cost attendant upon failures where cheaper pipe is used in plumb- ing, heating, power and other pipe systems. Por facts and cost analyses of plumbing, heating, power ges. bydraulic and other pipe imstallations, send for Uyers Bulletin No. 58—'*The Installation Cost of Pipe" Look for the Name and Year rolledinevery 4 sengeh A.M. BYERS S COMPANY, Pittsburgh, Pa. Established 1864 Philadelphia Chicago Boston Dallas Cleveland Distributors in All Large Jobbing Centers New York i EVENING POST “I’m giving you your chance, Goldie. You know papa isn’t himself these days. I have to regard myself as the responsible head of the house. Give up this evil life you're drifting into—it is evil—or leave the house, or I shall have to go.” “W hat’ll papa do without your board money i “We have come down to moral principle now. Don’t talk money!” “But if you drive a girl out because she’s a. up a little, aren’t you making her worse He was not to realize then, in his confu- sion, the significance of her question; a question to which no earnest moralist has ever yet been able to frame a reply. He merely compressed his lips and went to his own room. She heard his key turn before she turned her own. She got out from the crowded closet her one really pretty evening frock; the one that distressed the entire family—except- ing the twins—whenever she wore it. An evening wrap followed that she had bought from her first income in the new work and had not yet worn. Laying these bright gar- ments on the bed, she stood a long time regarding them, and her spirits rose some- what. It was odd how pretty things to wear stirred up one’s self-respect. Perce, now new, really good clothes might work won- ders with him. Curious about Perce. She sat for a long time by the window consider- ing Elsie Whitaker’s invitation. More than ever she was undecided about accepting it—a state of mind that was somewhat alarming to Goldie. Quick decisions had always come to her so much as a matter of course. But the anger was still there. Suddenly it blazed up into defiance. She got out last night's package of cigarettes from the pocket of her coat and lighted one. It was the first time she had ever smoked at home. She heard Perce’s key turn again, and then his step coming slowly down the hall. He tapped at her door. For one brief in- stant she considered hiding the cigarette, then felt shame at the thought. She opened the door, held the cigarette up in graceful, careless fingers. She saw him start. His face set again painfully. “Is that your answer?”’ he asked, lifting his hand toward the cigarette. ““Perce,”’ said she, “is there nothing in | honesty?” “How can you! How He was going to rant. She knew the signs. “Babe,” she said scornfully, me up!” And closed the door. “you burn iv OLDIE moved bits of the pot roast un- happily about with her fork, taking in with quick glances the nearly silent scene. Papa's bald head was bent forward over his plate, leaning on a thin hand. He ate with- out a word, washing down the food with cof- fee from the mustache cup that had been a | wedding present Mamma ate silently, too, speaking only when the twins quarreled as a result of col- liding elbows. Anderson was ravenous of course. Goldie wished he wouldn't eat with his mouth wide open; wished, too, that he wouldn’t pour down so much water. She counted six glassfuls before he went noisily out to the kitchen to refill the old blue pitcher. ““Where’s Percy?” asked mamma with a slight whine in her voice. “Anderson, go up and see what's the matter with him.” | “You always make me run the errands,” groaned the youth, helping himself largely from the platter “Well, of course, I’ve done nothing for | you all these years!” | Mamma was mournful. After a silence she turned helplessly to the twins. “One of you goup. Mind, now!" But neither twin seemed to hear. “Has this thing got to end in me going,” she cried at last to the boy—‘or your father? You know he has a headache. I should think you'd “Oh, I'll go! I'll go! This is the way it always ends!”’ And loudly, all dangling | arms and legs, Anderson stormed up the | stairs. Papa glanced wearily up, crying, “Can 't aman have a little peace in his own house? ‘I've not been feeling at all well lately,’ observed mamma to no one in woke | Then to papa: “Henry, I wish you'd step over to the drug store after supper and get a large bottle of sodium phosphate—the | effervescent kind. Bicarbonate of soda doesn’t help me a bit.” January 22,192! Anderson’s clicking vocal saxophone whined out a strain of Left All Alone Again Blues as he ran down the stairs. “He ain’t coming,”’ was the report. “Why not?” asked mamma weakly. “Packing his things. Said something about going away. Acted funny. I don’ know what’s eating him.” For just a moment, at this, Henry C. Green straightened in his chair; let his hands fall, knife in one, fork in the other, beside his plate; stared at Goldie. She could feel his eyes. Promptly she excused herself; without her hat, stepped over to the drug store and called up Elsie Whitaker at the Washington in Chicago. “T'll be there at nine sharp,”’ she said briskly. It was pleasant, a little later, to put on her pretty things. Vv T WAS not Bert's trim little blue road- ster that pulled up beside the curb at Filbert Avenue and the Drive, but a long, smoothly running seven-passenger car. The bright-eyed, rather demure little person cuddled up in the back seat was plainly Elsie, and the young man with her was Bert. The girl in one of the middle seats was a stenographer named Louise with whom Goldie had been out on parties once or twice before; and her companion was apparently that ‘ol jer man from New York. Names were mumbled casually. The only vacant place was beside the driver. He opened the door and then leaned forward to turn up his lights. Goldie was on the step when he lifted his head; and for a moment, as their eyes met, she stood motionless. Under the pulled- down cap—and it was odd how far he had pulled it down—she saw a faintly, somehow humorously familiar face. Where had she seen it before—the well-cut, long features, the quaint little side whiskers? And he knew her—was confused about it, turned quickly away. The long car, its high-powered motor purring softly without the slightest skip or valve tap, was a joy. And she knew that he drove with subtle skill, at once fast and carefully, with expert judgment of momen- tum and distance and a delicate regard for road manners. All this Goldie delighted in. Unknown to her family, she drove rather well herself—expensive cars, taught by a series of indefatigable beaux. Who on earth could he be? Where—clearly a man of ability. ‘Perhaps you'll need a rug,”’ he was say- ing stiffly. Goldie caught abruptly and suppressed an impish impulse to reply in a mocking British accent, “‘Oh, dear no, Mr. Mont- morency! My wrap is quite sufficient.” She merely said, “‘ No, thanks.” The car spun softly along the Drive. The fresh evening air of early autumn blew briskly into Goldie’s face. She even leaned out a little way to catch it full. ‘“Where’ll we go?” asked Elsie brightly from the rear seat —‘‘ Henderson’s?” Goldie glanced up at the profile beside her. The mouth was set stubbornly. Who was he? She slyly studied the one visible whisker—and then it came—‘‘Our Mr. Watson Hibbard!” “Why not just drive?’’ murmured Louise, snuggling close to that silent older man on the middle seat. ‘“‘Who wants to sit in a stuffy restaurant on a night like this?” ‘I think perhaps it would be better just to drive,”” remarked our Mr. Hibbard in that stiffly correct manner of speech. And Goldie, for an uncontrolled instant, chuckled softly. Mr. Hibbard glanced halfway around, then leaned forward and drove intently. Swiftly she was putting the little situation together, as one puts together a picture puzzle. Of course! The older man represented Vorse-Hibbard in New York. Mr. Hibbard was entertaining him here in Chicago—was now caught with _s Henderson’s road house wasn’t a mile from the great country estate of this Mr. Hibbard’s father and mother, the Gordon Hibbards. There would be, as well, wealthy and respectable neighbors. It was comic. You could get booze at Hender- son’s—or Elsie could; they knew her. The place had been raided once or twice. Demurely she looked up sidewise at the uncomfortable Mr. Hibbard, and said, “‘We might stop at Henderson’s.” For a long moment he drove, staring out through the wind shield with an air of desperation. (Continued on Page 117)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Thousands Compare Velie Quality at the Shows NIt RI S| in the Velie (ar il the Snows | eclipses that of all former national exhil | tions [he keen search for the utmost. in | values at reasona! le Drie makes tne Veli line j tne center of unprecedent ittention + lhe really new refinement the art of the ——— i Velic CAC 4 ( } te \ | | ( tin r iW ( ( | t Vit } | emart lc re m I ( 1 Cu | | j ' é | | | : tnat Nas won gold tropni t home ind abroa i ill command tl iimiration of men an women | } ho know the Nest in tne Wwtomonils lotorist re ¢ m ( ion | ( Vi ( il 1¢ ) } c¢ in Ippearancs Lhe e€ comparing the kind of he thick, cur ir and genuine leather Velie Bond t giwes each purchaser a cash rebate should prices go lowe It does not ct against a possible uncrease about the invited d i¢ ur dealers ine OULSt-rIpping their endid business of former years We solic naguiries trom open territor >~ Velie Motors Corporation, Moline, Ill.

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116 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ILL you let me save coal for you ‘ Yes! I can and will—for I’m the No. 1 Hoffman Air Valve— watchman of the coal pile—the controlling factor in steam heat efficiency. I’m the boss of the radiator. I’m the bright nickel chap perched at one end of it. And I make that radiator work day and night, delivering its heat for you and the kiddies—all winter long. I save you coal—because I obtain more heat from less coal—the low mark of the pressure gauge proves it. How do I do it? Easy! I vent all the cold air from pipes and radiators to make room for the heat-charged steam. When it does arrive with a rush— no dawdling on the way—I shut tightly and keep it in the radiator until it gives off all its heat. Nor do I let water spout or drip to stain rugs and hardwood floors. No sir! Water knows it—and keeps away. What’s more you don’t have to coax me by adjustment. I’m adjusted at the factory by an expert, then fixed for life so that no one can tamper with me and destroy my perfect action. I come to you automatic and perfect with a written five-year guarantee. My manufacturer allows a big margin of safety for himself so you have reason to expect my actual life will be far greater. Give me a job. I know I'll satisfy my manufacturer guarantees it. Your heating contractor recommends and sells me. He'll put me and brothers on all your radiators in a few hours. Telephone him today. If you have difficulty in obtaining Hoffman Valves for your home, write to our Waterbury office today for a sample No. 1. It costs $2.15. Try it out on your worst radiator, then have your heating contractor equip your entire home Mail usa post card anyway and ask for “* More Heat from Less Coal” a splendid booklet telling all about steam heat troubles and the remedy. HOFFMAN SPECIALTY COMPANY, INC. Main office and factory, Waterbury, Conn. New York Chicago Los Angeles 12 Fifth Ave 130 N. Wells St. 405 S. Hill Street January 22,192!

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(Continued from Page 114) “T—I beg your pardon?”’ finally from him. ‘I said we might stop at Henderson’s ““Well’’—keenly, joyously she wate hed the evidence of mental struggle that played about the firmly set mouth—“‘ really!” Deliberately then he drove past the huge black-and-white sign that marked the en- trance to ve aggpnary fe Very softly, cuddled back in her deeply upholstered corner of the seat, Goldie chuckled. Her humorously pagan god was again in his heaven. The snail was on the thorn, the hillside dew pearled. All was delightfully right. A full minute ‘I beg your pardon?’ “What for?” “T thought you “T only speak when I’m spoken to,” she murmured sweetly There was another long silence The sentimental Louise began singing a current popular ballad in a light soprano. Jert and Elsie cheerfully joined in. The older man, in an embarrassed, tentative way, essayed a muffled bass. Goldie, who had a freshly pleasant voice and the gift of easy, if crude, harmonization, sang a third part that was sometimes alto and sometimes tenor. But Mr. Hibbard drove silently, sternly on. Suddenly a light car darted out from a blind driveway and turned closely to the left. Louise screamed. There was a crash. The light car careened off and came to a top a few rods down the road. And Mr. Hibbard’s beautiful machine crashed off to he right, the left mud guard, step and door crumpled in, the right front wheel bent nearly at right angles against a stone post, came later Mr. Hibbard said, ’ spoke,”’ vi HILE those in the rear seats were dis- entangling themselves and calming the hysterical Louise, Goldie stepped lightly out. Her left hand had been cut here and there by flying bits of glass from the wind shield, and she twisted her handkerchief around it. Then she glanced down the road. A man was stepping down from the other car. Apparently he wasn’t hurt. To Mr. Hibbard she said then, “‘ You’d better get out.” ‘I can’t—my foot’s caught.” ‘You don’t want this man to see and you don’t want a suit.” ‘No.” He was staring, you, wide-eyed, at this com- petent young person. “Have you got any money on you?” she asked next With a slight groan of pain he shifted his position and drew out a roll of bills. “Give it to me,’ commanded Goldie; and swiftly, by the light on the cowl board, she made sure that there was a fifty-dollar note and a number of twenties and tens. To the descending Bert she said: “Get him out and help him back among the trees. There'll be people stopping the first thing we know. And you ‘d better hang a rug over the license p late Then she walked bris kly down the road. The man from the light car, apparently laborer, was coming toward her, crying excitedly, “TI was running eight miles an hour! * ig “Come back here!” said she. “I want to see your car.” “This is no job for you, miss. the fellow that was driving.” She caught him fairly by the arm, ‘Get this straight!” she said emphati- cally, her lately suppressed vocabulary freeing itself for the occasion. “ We didn’t hit you—you hit us.” “TI was running eight miles an hour!” “We've got six witnesses to your one ind you’ve hurt a man. Do you want to vo into court with that against you? Come I'll talk to back here and let me see your car.” And he led him firmly. After a brief examination she said, “Crank your motor and see if it’l] run.” “T’ve got a self-starter.” “Well, use it!” The engine evidently was undamaged. “We'll settle this right now,”’ said she then. “How much do you want?” “How do I know? Wait till I ——” “You can buy a new mud guard and lamp for fifty dollars, and put twenty of it in the savings bank.” ‘*But there might be more to do, miss! “Wait a minute!’’ Standing before a headlight she found in her wrist bag a stub of a pencil and wrote on the back of one of her own business cards an acknowledgment THE SATURDAY of payment in full for any damages sus- tained. “Sign it!”’ she commanded. you a hundred.” He hesitated, then meekly signed. She handed him the money, saying, Now see if your car’ll run.” He climbed in, and after a moment of muttering drove away. She waited to make sure he had no idea of turning back, then rejoined her party. They had taken Mr Hibbard into a grove and seated him on a log that was hidden from the road. The older man was carefully removing his left shoe with the aid of a knife, while Bert stood by with a pocket light. Louise was sobbing and laughing. “You folks had better walk back to Henderson’s and telephone to a garage,” said Goldie—*‘‘and take Louise. We don’t want her crying around here.” When they had gone she gave Mr. Hib- bard the bills that were crumpled in her hand and then flashed the light on the card. “You're out of it,’’ she explained. - reckoned you'd think it worth a hundre Oy “You did it in your own name,” said he. “As good a name as any,” said she. She knelt then and examined the shoeless foot. ‘It’s badly swollen much?” “Not at all now. ‘Looks like a break. ease the pain.” “T think that’s what it is.” ““H’m! Hard luck!” ‘I'm giving ,’ she said. “Hurt The swelling would vir NHE seated herself on the log beside him and switched off the hee ket light. Faint rays of moonlight sifted down through the trees. A silence settled about and upon them. He broke it “You’’—his manner was quite as stiff as before —“‘ you handled that very well.” “It’s in my line, more or less.” “Of course I’m greatly in your debt.” “Oh, no!” “Yes, indeed!”’ “Well, if that’s the way you feel about it—listen! There’s something I do want to say to you, but the way you've been high- toning me it’s hard to get natural.” “ High-toning?”’ She thought she could make out the slightest conceivable smile on his grave face. Could it be possible that he could be, after all, a human being—even in spots? “About that certain little matter “That certain little ” He was smil ing, and she was nearer confusion of mind than perhaps ever before in her cool young life. “Yes, you and Perce—-my brother ‘My dear girl, 1 assure you I shall never speak of that.” “Of what?” “Of seeing you in that place last night.’ “Oh, speak on! I’m the angriest little advertiser you ever saw. But listen! I want you to get this straight. Perce works for you, and you must think a little some thing of him or you wouldn’t have had him along.”’ He waited, perhaps mystified, but now quite the attentive business executive. Sh« reflected that no man, even a member of the Hibbard or Vorse family, could re- main indefinitely as one of the directing heads of that large business house unless he had positive ability. She felt no impulse to chuckle over him now. Her brows were knit earnestly as she talked on. ‘“Let’s admit that you do owe me some- thing, and that I’m cashing in. I saw the chance. That’s why I sent them all away the others. It’s Perce. I’m worried about him.” “Oxt”’ fied “Yes, and I'm afraid man that can help him.” “Of course, my de ar young lady, any- thing that I can ‘It'll help some if you'll ean that dear- girl- young- lady stuff.” “Can? “Call me Goldie—or I could even stand Miss Green. Oh’’—this in her flippant manner—'‘‘just be your own sweet self! You see, I’m only nineteen.” “Really, I should have thought Mr. Hibbard was indeed mysti- you're the only “Yes, I know. But let’s get back to the argument. Perce is pretty nearly sunk.” “Sunk?” Mr. Hibbard lifted his head and chuckled. “That does help! I was afraid you didn’t have a laugh in your system.” EVENING POST u | DISTINCTION IN DRESS | a, > s ( Se ah Priniess } REG Th Si his Printzess y, Spring ! ou should inspect 1 117 rinizess DISTINCTION IN DRESS Styles s before deciding You can then be sure of he Ing fi ashionably dre sed F (> ss § Ors \TED i ATED in Paris, Printzes idapted to the American women. They are guaranteed to be » The y least two seasons. The most > makes this possible. The linings will la f period or be replaced without charg: | They ar coat ina ck Mat all wool by actual test ire guaranteed to hold their shay careful 1 id ot rar velope din fabri for at ! talonnyg t the same sroduced in the most n work-shops by skilled workmen. The} sibly priced —as low, in fact, as ordinary which are not guaranteed In every town and city there ts a1 chant who repeats our assurance of Go to him this Spring and see thi which typily “Distinction in Dre label PRINTZ‘“BIEDERMAN COM the Printzess THE

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Cut Down Expense LA

You want your shoes re-soled as long as the uppers ire worth it. But the longer a pair of soles wears, the hetter off you are, and the less your shoes lose in shape. Korry Soles will last as long as two pairs of ordinary soles. On the score of economy, Korry Soles will save your family a good many dollars in a year. In addition they give unusual satisfaction, for they are permanently waterproof, won't slip on wet pavements, and are pleasantly flexible. ‘They are as good for dress shoes as they are for work shoes. It is worth your while to inquire when buying new shoes if your dealer has any with Korry Soles. Your repair man has them or can promptly get them for you. Korry Soles are made in two brands —the name ts stamped on the bottom. Korry-Krome Korry Special Korrv-Krome 'ma from As this sole is cut from the shoulder, it ed portions of the h , and take i has a coarser grain; but Korry Special mewhat hizher nnish 1} rive will outwear inv <« ther kind of leather most ible | he w xcept Korry-Krome, and costs less If vou par « have K vy Soles f you, send u FL.00 a we W pa t Korrv-Kr e half-soles (or wo pa hiladre t e | which any pair man ¢ attach l ‘ ‘ Giv tf vour she J.W. & A. P. HOWARD COMPANY

drew up into a reminiscent frown

Established 1867 Corry, Penn. | THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “Really you mustn't mind if I find you extremely amusing —and— interesting.” “Of course I don’t! I’ve got to interest you. And it looks like I’d have to get it all said before the others come back. You see, Perce never had any fun in him. He's prickly with conscience E Mr. Hibbard laughed aloud “Now listen! He's been keeping books too long. He’s been broke too long. He's stale. He’s cold. He needs a couple of new suits of clothes and a new dress suit and a ride in somebody’s car once in a while. If something isn’t done pretty quick to save him the Green family’s going on the rocks.” “To save him?’ Mr. Hibbard’s face “That's what it comes to. So he can pull his weight. I’m not strong enough yet to swing the whole thing.” “IT should think the support of a family might be difficult for a girl of your age.” “TI know this is too personal, but it’s on my mind.” “What do you feel that I can do?” “Take Perce off the books and put him where he can at least shake it up a little. Try him out the road—something. Heaven knows earnest and honest! What he needs is a little mixing in the shaker It’s too late now to get at the thing he used to think with. It’s set. Gotta work in from the outside.” It was all out. Goldie, caught unawares by this uprush of emotion, rather shame- facedly gathered up the cut bits of Mr. Hibbard’s left shoe “It’s usually best to attack problems in that broad way,” said he thoughtfully Then, after another he asked, “Have you tied up your hand?” She inclined her head “What was it—the glass?” She nodded “Of course you know I’m liable for any njuries to the persons in my car.” “That's sol” From the way she seemed to leap at thi he suspected sudden humorous intent. So far she had not delayed a second in seiz ing opportunities. He was smiling more kindly than she would have thought likely. “Please switch on the light,”’ he said. did He removed the blood- tained handkerchief and studied the cut ““Not serious,”’ said she. “Apparently not.” “But about that certain little matter what insurance do you carry? Collision, liability, property damage, fire and theft, tornado and water leakage, other extended coverage —all of it?”’ “All,” said he, watching her. on he’s silence, She so. ‘What's your car valued at—six thou- sand?" “Exactly.” “Your premiums, with the rebate for your fire extinguisher and your front and rear bumpers, comes to about —let’s see—a touring model, this year—locking device? H’m—about four hundred and seventy dollars.”’ “That's my memory of the amount.” “I insured a car like yours last week. When is your year up?” “Next month.” “Then, next month’’—she and coolly brushed the leaves and twigs from her pretty wrap—‘‘I’m going to put you into the Motor Universal—same coverage for twenty per cent less. That'll be—let’s see —around three-seventy-five.”’ “You know, of course, Miss—Goldie that you’re really asking very little of me.”’ “Just tackle that job of broadening Perce. Six months from now you won't call it little.” rose January 22,192! “But for yourself?” “Oh, well, I’ve got a desk at the Beach Hotel in Sunbury. You can send me all the business you like. You won’t find me shrinking.” vir A FIVE-THIRTY on the following afternoon Goldie sat again by her window in the little rocker without arms. The five-twenty-six had stopped. She had heard the puffing exhaust and the bell, and through the opening between Henry Ber- ger’s house and the corner drug store she had seen the dense bituminous smoke roll- ing upward and spreading across the sky. A few of the passengers—business men from town, and a stenographer who lived in the second house down the street —were now walking by. It was time for Perce to appear. But he didn’t come. A quarter of an hour later she went to his room. His suit- case and most of his clothes were gone from his closet. She stood a moment out in the upper hall. Papa wasn’t back yet. Mamma would be lying down. She hadn’t seen any of them at breakfast —the two men always caught the seven-forty-four—or since. She heard Anderson running up the front steps. He came on upstairs. “Sure!”’ he explained. ‘Perce moved last night—over to Mrs. Watson’s.”” This was a boarding house. ‘‘The poor fish! Mamma’s sick and cross. It’ll be fierce when papa gets home. Wha’d he wanna go ‘n’ do it for?” Goldie put on her hat and went to Mrs. Watson’s. A forlorn ‘Come answered her knock. P. Heigham was sitting on the edge of an iron bed, staring. “Oh!” was all he had to offer by way of greeting. She closed the door and took a chair. ““So you really did it!’’ said she. “Well, now look here, Goldie “I’m not so strong on quarreling,”’ said she. ‘*Let’s talk sense.”’ in!” ‘I’m all mixed up, Goldie.”” He smiled miserably. ““What’s the matter?” “Things have been happening so fast this afternoon “Tell me!” “Well, it was about four o’clock—Mr Hibbard called me in. Goldie, he’s really human! You'd be surprised! They’re go ing to change me over to the sales organiza- tion—keep me on the jump for a while, he said. I’m totravel too! They want me to get a broader understanding of the busi ness.”’ “Perce,” home.” “*But—what do you think they’ll say?” “What does it matter?” “But I’m afraid I made a scene. It'll look rather funny if I just walk in. I’ve been tired lately, and I was terribly dis- turbed about you. Can’t yousee, Goldie”’ the ranting note was creeping into his voice-—“‘can’t you realize how I felt, find- ing you in that den?” “I’m off the Salvarotti places, Perce. They cut into your work too much.” said she coolly, “we're going “But don’t you see—I felt that if I couldn’t save you—my own sister—noth- ing else - Goldie, steering dangerously —for her near to sentiment, laid a strong young hand on his shoulder. “We'll be late for supper, Perce. Come on. I'll help you pack. Next job’s to cheer up the folks. You've got to take your responsibility now. You said it yesterday papa’s slipping. You've got to be the head of the family.” And so they went home to supper.

PHOTO. GY F. E. BONNER, | S. FOREST SERVICE, WASHINGTON, 0. C

Mt. Moran Across Jackson Lake, Teton National Forest, Wyoming

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST New England Faith and the New Prosperity Fwy! * “0 &, 3 7 “YOR three centuries, faith has been the foundation upon which America has builded. America’s faith 1S the faith of the Pilgrim Fathers, born of vision, res olute purpose, and a love for free dom and useful life. The ancient faith of New England steadies us to this day. It has reached across the land from Plymouth Rock to th Golden Gate and beyond. The Pilgrims looked always forward and worked. Their enduring bx lief in the “‘great oaks from little acorns” creed has ever been char acteristic of New England. The steady, consistent growth during three hundred years of its people, its industry, its commerce, its agri culture all testify to the fine sanity of New England life. With the accession of more normal conditions in the nation’s business which, the Old Colony Trust Company feels, is the beginning of a new era of genuine, long-lasting prosperity— more than seven mil lion people of New England: will seek to justify further the faith of their fathers. In the thriving manu facturing and commercial centers of the six New England states, there is apparent today the usual evi 119 dence of thrift, contentment, prog ress; in short, of high confidence the future. The Old Colony Trust Company bx lieves in New England and in the wholesome policies that have mad« New England symbolic of sound ness. To those who live in New England it offers decided advan tages In matters pertaining to bank ing or trust estate: Also, the Old Colony Trust Com pany is ready to co-operate with firms or individuals as agent in transactions which involve foreign exchange, management of estates, and other banking and trust services. This year is particularly appropri ate for a visit to Boston and the innumerable centers of nation-wide interest throughout New England It marks the passage of three hun dred years since the arrival of the Pilgrim Fathers. Know the pleasure of going back, as through the years, to re pli as of New England’s past. In the mean while, we should like to send you a copy of our interesting historical brochure, “‘ New England—Old and New’’—1issued to mark the Tercen tenary of the first Pilgrim landing. Ortp CoLtony TRusT COMPANY é BOSTON

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120 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 22,192! Huyler’s Bill and Post Big Holiday Rush of Orders Without Overtime on Elliott-Fisher Machines This giant candy concern has successfully demonstrated how Elliott-Fisher Machines lower office expenses. Twelve thousand active accounts are handled on only five machines. UYIER’S have a tremendous ava- lanche of orders at certain times of filled promptly, and all bookkeeping must be the vear. ‘These orders must be kept on time to avoid mistakes, losses, and delays in collections. Elliott-Fisher Bookkeeping Machines met the full needs of billing and posting No matter how fast the business comes in from their for | Tuy ler’s some years ayo. 12,000 active accounts, including their 70 branch stores, it is handled promptly and without extra help or overtime. Under pen-and-ink methods the billing work alone would require more people than are now employed in the entire accounting department Handles all billing work Every one of the thousands of orders requires an original bill and five carbon copies, and these bills average from 15 to 20 items each. Three Elliott-Fisher Machines care of all Huy take ler’s billing, making all copies at one writing. with carbon cop ies always cleat and in register. ‘These same car- bon copies serve as guides to the Pash shipping, check- nae ing, and other departments, and er Machine that m the billing and posting + f the great y Huyler’s. their clearness and complete readability help speed the shipping as well as protect Huyler’s and their thousands of customers. Work proved as written In the posting department the work is also handled on a one-operation basis. Ledger-card, proof sheet, and statement are written at one time, and every total is automatically proved as written. The flat writing surface of Elliott Fisher Machines permits the rapid han dling of all kinds of forms, from cards to loose-leaf and bound books. Any number of carbon copies can be made, every one of which is clear and in perfect register. The posting department requires but two Elliott-Fisher Machines. There is no time lost at the end of the month get- ting a trial balance, because the Elliott- Fisher method keeps all accounts in daily balance. It is the only mechanical system of bookkeeping that completely proves the work as it is written. Elliott-Fisher Machines meet present- day business conditions by minimizing othce expenses and by maintaining ac- curacy in accounts, showing, without work, all the of stocks, cash, credits, and every other detail extra facts and figures of a firm’s liabilities and assets. For every kind of business ‘These machines are adapted to the small store just as much as to the giant wholesale, and banks, public service corporations. retail, manufacturing concerns, railroads, and other Let us send youa booklet describing the use of Elliott- Fisher flat writing machines in your business. One of our representatives will be glad to call upon you— without the deast obli- gation. ELLIOTT-FISHER COMPANY Harrisburg, Pa. Branches in 100 Principal Cities _ Flat-Bed System of Accounting— Bookkeeping —Billing—Recording

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST EVERYBODY’S BUSINESS | (Concluded from Page 30 | but at the same time is likely toshow an in- the offerings of foreign competitors, even crease in land value which is not affected here in our own domestic markets. So in by the return from the annual harvest. mining there are those who claim that In the matter of blue-sky legislation, to American producers of certain minerals protect the ignorant and unwary from los- ing money in unworthy mining schemes, the industry appears to favor the idea of having the Federal Government control the situation through national legislation It has been further suggested that all state which conflict with the proposed Federal measures be repealed. The idea is to have a Federal statute which shall pro- vide for the authentication of each corpora- tion in 'aws ts originating state through some lesignated Federal official. The law would specify that each mining company must file under oath the required information before the concern will be permitted under license to solicit capital in any state of the Union. It is a noteworthy fact that most f the present state blue-sky laws leave an rough the United States mails, to residents of other states. The mining people agree that it is squarely up to them- selves to unequivocally for an effective proposal that will tend to remove which just now is the most to legitimate mine open door, t} aeciare mining fraud, serious handicap pro- motion. The mining industry of the United States is giving serious thought to the benefits the members of the industry may derive from the standardization of prac- tices and equipment The aim of the move- ment is to secure interchangeability of machine parts and bring about a minimum number of types, grades, ranges and sizes of manufactured products. In conjunction with other industries, an effort is being made to secure an international agreement on the cross-sectional shapes of structural steel. Another thing is the simplification of safety codes. In the past there have been more than a hundred different organi- zations engaged in the formulation of safety codes without any systematic coéperation. cases certain devices have con- formed to the regulations in state, while the use of the same device has been prohibited by law in the mines of another state The experts on industrial standardiza- tion contend that the movement now under way will enable the buyer and the seller of commodities to speak the same language; it will promote fairness in competition by putting all bids or tenders on an easily comparable basis; it will lower unit costs by fostering mass production; it will sim- plify the carrying of stocks, speed up de- liveries and lower prices; it will decrease litigation, the burden of which always falls upon the public, and it will eliminate in- decision in production and_ utilization, which is a common cause of inefficiency and industrial waste In most every industry there are pro- ducers who are unable to meet successfully which In some one should have the benefit of the American market on equal terms with their foreign rivals. For example, Chinese tungsten is | mined with labor costing ten or fifteen cents a day, while similar labor in this country that is very little more efficient costs from three and a half to four dollars aday. At the same time the cost of trans- portation of the Chinese product by water to our seaboard is less than the cost of transportation by rail from the Rocky Mountain our own Eastern and Western markets All of this sounds quite plausible, but the average thinking American citizen will probably view this question ofa protective tariff on some of our minerals in the light of the extent of the resources of each metal we For instance, if we have an un- limited supply of a certain mineral, and the industry is dormant because of foreign competition, there is justification back of a demand for the equalization of wage costs On the other hand, if the product in ques- tion is one that would be vital to the United States in a time of war or other disturb- ance, when the lanes of the oceans might be closed to us, and in addition the mineral is one of which we possess only a limited supply, then it is only the better part of precaution to save such an essential re- source for a possible day of need. The pro- tection of an industry producing such a mineral might add to the wealth of a few individuals to-day, but bring disaster to the whole nation on a possible critical to- morrow. It is of course necessary for us | to recognize and provide for the fact that in case of unexpected trouble a vital mineral deposit here in the United States could not be developed in a day. The plainest lesson of the war was that the nation which exercises dominion over the minerals of the earth controls the earth. In addition to producing the bulk of the world’s copper, America also leads in the production of zine, molybdenum, uranium, radium and aluminum. We are first in the production of phosphate rock, and are like- wise dominant in the mining of that im- portant mineral, sulphur, on which the chemical industry is largely based. Vana- dium is a vital element, and is commercially controlled by Uncle Sam, although terri torially by Peru. But Great Britain exer- cises absolute control over the key mineral, tin, and is supreme territorially in nickel and tungsten. We also fall short in the cases of manganese, chromium, antimony, mica, potash and asbestos. Politically and economically, mining is the most important business in which the United States is engaged. It is an industry which concerns the welfare and deserves the attention of every citizen. states to possess, LOM (Continued from Page 13 “Well,” said Mattie, “I’ve noticed that people generally call you what you call them. If you say ‘Bill’ to a man he’s just sure to say ‘Tom’ to you. Suppose to-day you get in the first word always, and just say ‘you.’ Then they won't call you an thing at all.” Tom wiped his razor and began ping it. Then he paused for a moment, the blade poised above the lather. strop- ‘Sounds like a pretty good idea,” he aid slowly. But the dour native pessimism nherited from his Scotch side clutched him again “How are ver going to know who stopped that strike?" he asked. Mattie recognized the force of that argu- ment. How were they going to know? Of all people in the world, Tom was least able to tell them. But drew a bold face nevertheless and fell back to proverbial philosophy. ‘‘Actions speak louder than words,”’ she said with her air of a school- mistress. “And everybody calling me Tom,’ repeated, slowly and carefully closing his razor. “Not if you remember what I told you!” replied Mattie. ‘But if everybody knew about you what I know, they’d call you Sir Thomas Harrington.” thev « she he Whereat Tom laughed for the first time in two days; but nervously So, as recorded before, Mattie watched him off to that vital crisis in the lives of the Thomas Harringtons; and the look of worry conquered the expression of her She wore it all the morning as she went her accustomed round of marketing of dressing, dandiing and amusing Thomas Harrington Jr. A little before noon she surprised a tear dropping on the sheer white lawn of Thomas Junior’s new dress She yielded frankly to the storm which fol lowed; and felt better. Meantime, Tom had as usual run his car into the plant garage, had as usual punched the clock, had as usual stopped for a minute to look over the time slips, had as usual stationed himself by the big main gate, his eye on the procession of dusty, weary workmen crawling home from the graveyard shift. As they passed, half of them nodded, smiled or spoke. The auto matic riveter had just started up in the repair shop. Its sharp, staccato volleying killed all lesser sounds; Tom could not make out whether or no they were using the invidious epithet. The volleying sud denly stopped; there was silence except for the distant muffled roar of furnaces and the rumble of a load of pyrites, rolling into eves. NEWELL Cushion Wheels are built for but one purpose —to reduce the costs of truck operation and protect a very substantial investment of capital. They have been accomplishing this purpose for more than twelve years and are now recognized as the standard resilient truck wheels of the nation. Because they actually save money, Sewell Wheels are a sound, practical success. Because they justify the capital investment, they have been ordered and re-ordered by truck users in practically every line of industry. The Sewell Cushion Wheel Company Detroit, U. S. A. Branches and Dealers

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122 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST — Garcy ree “A RROW C JOLLAR WW ANA ATA Wel LL MAUL MLA (HHL! I L CHAINS MADE Pe Goot 1d damage due to broken cross istantly stopped by joining broken cross R yu t i n't have to put I t » the rob fe u hardened chains thumping larger link vou far strong t eithe epi = Jt The Clamert Manufacturing Co. ae Pa zs ‘i bm Chain Repair CLAMERT £352 Make Chains Better Than New Factory its bin. Just then a dark-complexioned little runt of a man, tripping with short steps on a pair of very bowed legs, stepped out of the file. “Hello,” said Tom. “Hello, Tony.” There! It had slipped out in spite of himself. Something which took automatic possession of him had pre vented him from using that safe, impersonal “ you. “How’s the missus this morning?” he added. The little man was shifting his mental gears from Italian to English. His broad Latin smile underwent several queer con- tortions before he managed to speak; and his first word, of course, was that invidious epithet. “Torm,” he said, “she make fine. Doctor-a he say she will come outside nex’ week.” “That's good,”’ replied Tom. But Tony had not finished. Grinning broadly he was fumbling in the pockets of his stained and dusty working coat. He produced a package, wrapped in a dirty old newspaper. “She aska me give you thees,” said Tony, his face now all white teeth. “‘She sew heem while she become better. Eet ees for the bambino-babby » Tom unwrapped the package. A fluff of pink wool lay incongruously in the hollow of his big stubby hand. He shook it out, revealing a pair of tiny socks. On his part he seemed to have as much trouble in expressing himself as did the Italian. He spluttered before he said: missus will like that —it’s great!’ Tony, Latin though he was, seemed to catch a little of his chief’s embarrassment. He shifted his feet awkwardly and turned away. “Tell her,’’ said Tom, “I'll be com- ing to see her again before she’s out.” Now, another man, this one with the hawklike American face, had dropped out of the file. He spoke first, and “Say, Tom ” he began. But Tom, for the moment, did not no- tice him. His eye was fixed on a discovery. Just across the path, and inside of the gate, stood a kind of wooden sentry box. This was the cage of the checker, who, after nine o'clock, would be receiving the ma- terial which came by truck from town. It was empty now; but against its outer wall there lounged a man in a plain brown busi- ness suit and a derby hat, his eye also on **The | the procession of workmen, and on Tom | ory worked. himself. He was a slim man, smooth shaved, unobtrusive, somewhere in the thirties. Tom’s first impulse was to step forward and question him. Then his mem- Two or three days before. | passing the open door of the general man- | ager’s office, he had seen this man in close | against just such emergencies. conference with Philbin. That memory and this present apparition clicked together in Tom’s mind. Here was one of the repre- sentatives of Eastern capital, due that very day. “One of Philbin’s sort,” his mind registered. He even looked like Philbin! And he had heard the men A slow flush began to creep downward from his cheek bones. It turned from pink almost to purple as Schultz, the foreman of the graveyard shift, hailed him. Again that automatic something had taken possession of him. He had said, be- fore he could choke it back: “Hello, Charlie.” “Hey, Tom,” replied Charlie; “‘the stir- ring arm in Number Four busted again at six o’clock—down and out this time. I’ve shut her down, and “Can you wait your breakfast half an hour?”” Here Tom gave a gulp. He had swallowed that “Charlie.” “Sure, Tom,” replied Charlie Schultz. Tom simply grasped the arm of Charlie, who looked round at him, amazed by this unwonted familiarity, and hurried blushing away. Two hours later Tom and Charlie Schultz--who had by now forgotten all about his breakfast-—-were peering into the darkened mouth of Number Four mixer. Charlie was giving the last test to the re- placed stirring arm; Tom was holding for his convenience a swinging incandescent globe. He had taken off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, folded about his collar and tie a muffler which he kept in his pistol pocket And he was aware that someone behind him was calling his name—and wasn’t calling him Tom. | The sound seemed, nevertheless, to rasp all his nerves, even before he was aware that it was Philbin who spoke. He whirled round, revealing a smudge of black-gray January 22, 1/92! dust across his cheek, to face Philbin, that silent man who had stood watching by the gate, and another stranger. This new ar- rival was preternaturally tall, lean and a little stooped. He was hatchet-faced; he had a filmy brown eye. Like the first stranger he was perfectiy, although unob- trusively, dressed. On second glance Tom noticed that he was wearing a wrist watch. Now Tom, owing to circumstances over which the local draft board held control, had not gone to war; and still there lived deep within him a violent old-fashioned prejudice against a man who wore his watch like a woman “May I[ introduce Harrington, our plant foreman—plant superintendent we call him,” said Philbin. ‘‘Mr. Searles’’—this was the stranger who had stood by the gate—‘‘and Mr. Allender this was the tall man with the glazed brown eye. ‘You probably know, Harrington, that a change is contemplated in the—er—ownership of the plant. These gentlemen are looking us over. I want you to show us round.” Tom, at the introduction, put out his hand, withdrew it, looked at his palm. It was horribly smudged. ‘Guess I can’t shake hands,” he said. The two strangers let it go at that, and Tom’s prejudice took on a deeper tinge. Were they afraid of getting their hands dirty—in a plant like that? Tom began to make his formula then. They were just a pair of Philbins—that same careful dress, that same refinement stuff and, when they began to discuss mixers and stirring arms, that same difficulty in pronouncing the letter ‘‘r.”’ Allowing for his height and the fact that he did not wear nose glasses, this Allender also looked like Philbin. Before they passed on, Philbin, who was carrying the ag: n of the conversation, remarked to Mr. Allender: ‘‘ You remem- ber how Daddy Mannix used to hammer that principle into us in Mechanics 3!” They had been college classmates, then! If anything more were needed! As they turned away he noticed that Schultz stood wi aiting by a corner of the mixer ‘It’s O. K., Charlie. You can go now,” said Tom. That automatic something within him had done it again. “All right, Tom. See you in the morn- ing,” replied Charlie Schultz. And at this moment, glancing hastily to his right, Tom could see Mr. Allender’s fishy eye fixed upon him. Hastily he led the way out of the door. So for an hour they threaded the gigantic confusion of the plant, Mr. Philbin keeping up his rattle of conversation. Now and then Mr. Allender, who seemed by far the more communicative of the Easterners, ad- dressed a question to Tom. But while he was searching his soul for expression Phil- bin always cut in with a glib reply. Not but that Tom wanted to talk at times. For example, they were standing by the doors of the roaring furnaces and Philbin, articu- lating so fast that he had to catch his breath now and then, explained his new installation of an automatic feed. “Has it paid?” asked Mr. Allender. “You'll find the figures in the office,” re- plie od Philbin with an air of pride. Vish 1 could tell ‘em,’ said Tom’s mind. “It'll have to be se rapped in two years—won’t half pay for itself by then the little stiff!” He found his lips moving with the im- pulse of disloyal expression. But he looked up just then and again found the fishy eye of Mr. Allender fixed upon him. It seemed to accuse him. It seemed to ask: “Why do you not strive for technical im- provement?”’ With an effort Tom veiled his face in un- expressive blankness. Now they were peering into the vivid hell of the roasters, and Mr. Allender, who seemed to have a way of straying from the subject in hand, turned and addressed Tom directly. “Do you have many inquired. “No more than we have to, I guess,”’ began Tom. “‘ We But Mr. Philbin cut in as usual. ‘We've seen figures on industrial com- pensation from Carson-Coolidge. Allow- ing for the difference in the working force, we average nearly forty per cent lower.” “How do you manage it?” asked Mr. Allender. Again he had addressed Tom; and again Mr. Philbin answered: “Proper organization. It’s my theory that if a plant is rightly organized from the (Continued on Page 125) accidents?” he

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST YI ; ; : 1) Emblem of Sulisfaction Ol’ |. @iimaes 7 ee ae Emblem of Satisfaction v 4 Ff OR twenty years greater ruggedness and endurance have been built into each succeeding Buick model —for Buick has always realized that utility is the true measure of motor car value. The new Buick Nineteen Twenty One models are built in accordance with this traditional Buick policy —but they also possess that beauty and refinement so pleasing to car owners. There is Authorized Buick Service wherever you go. KiHective January 1, regular equipment on all models will include cord tires. BUICK MOTOR COMPANY, FLINT, MICHIGAN Pioneer Builders of Valve-in-Head Motor Cars Branches in all Principal Cities—Dealers Everywhere WHEN BETTER AUTOMOBILES ARE BUILT, BUICK ° WIL L _ BUI D THE M

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124 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 22, 192I ‘ i a Caught!- a Thief of Oil, Power and Production | Fill a test tube with the oil from a bearing reservoir. When it settles hold it to the light. You see the cause of burned and worn bearings, of power losses from undue friction, of oil rendered worthless after first use — grit. In Wayne Filtration Systems, industry finds the means to cope with this i thief m t eflectively So ioe \ stream of cool, clean oil continuously floods every bearing. Friction is [= asl t — a | , appreciably reduced. Bearings do not heat or need relining so frequently. | ' Worn bearing partich ire washed out Shutdowns, because of faulty ae lubrication, and their toll in production, man power and machine invest- fy i poses ae eee ment, cease to exist ‘ | . i | Combined with this increased mechanical efficiency is salient economy. The oil is collected after use, entirely reclaimed and used over and over i again. So thorough is Wayne Filtration that the oil may be used indefi- | nitely without losing any of its lubricating value So conserving, that oil j expense may be decreased as much as 90%. The operation of the system is : tutomatic. Hand oilers may be released for other duties, and their risk in | climbing around moving machinery done away with es iqf Wayne Filtration Systems are the culmination of mature experience Chey ii embody definite advance in mechanical arrangement, adjustment and yperation They are ea to clear There is a specific Wayne System for every oil filtration need "Th counsel of Wayne Oil Conservation Engineers | is at vour call without the slightest obligation Wayne Oil Tank and Pump Company Fort Wayne, Indiana he alt i Ta ee | we 2 o8 Oil Filtration Oil Burning Gasoline and Oil Heavy Metal Systems Systems Storage Systems Storage Tanks No. 65 For Lubricating Oils . Type C we Type H . Type T ian No. 227 M Circulating Oil Filter { \ Hand Batch Filter : if _ Turbine Batch Filter | [/ \ Portable Oil Tank |

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(Continued from Page 122) ground up, there are none of those loose ends and hurry which lead so often to accidents.” Again Tom found himself checking an impulse toward speech. His organization! Who was it that spent half his time seeing that holes were filled and runways and lad- ders kept in repair—yes, and pounding into the men that failing to wear masks about the gases meant instant discharge? But again the fishy gaze of Mr. Allender was on him; also the quiet Mr. Searles was look- ing him over. Beside them an iron ladder slashed the vivid brightness of the reflections from the doors of hell. It appeared and reappeared in the belts of light and shadow, ending above the gigantic bottle-shaped bulk of the roasters in a narrow edging of scaffold. Mr. Allender turned his gaze from Tom’s face and looked upward. A workman was just crawling along the scaffold with the motion of a cat on a fence. “I'd like a look from above, I think,”’ he said. With no further by-your-leave he swung on the ladder, mounted, spite of his unusual bulk, with a trained lightness and agility. Mr. Searles swung on behind him, and afterward Tom. The ladder shivered again; Philbin was mounting, following. But when they crouched, balanced on the nar- row strip of iron scaffold, their eyes smart- ing with the hell below, their throats choking with occasional whiffs of diluted gas, Mr. Philbin began a discussion of the chemistry of the proposition. Tom fol- lowed the fire of reactions and formulas as long as it kept to his practical chemistry of the plant. When it soared beyond his ken and he began to feel more an outsider than ever he fell back on his own morose thoughts. A new worry was creeping to the foreground of his mind. For the past three days things had been going ominously steadily well about the plant. Not an accident—not even a burn. Not a break- down—until that trouble with the stirring arm. It was his most deeply rooted super- stition that troubles with machinery never come singly. What next? He found him- self listening to the muffled roar and hissing below, his instinct for trouble trying to mark any suspicious irregularity. Just then the bad dream came true. Out from the artificial mists and banded light of the floor emerged the figure of a man in a flopping slouch hat, waving a sig nal upward; his voice cut through the muffled roar: “Hey, Tom! chamber, Tom.’ Before he could catch Philbin’s opening remark Tom had muttered “Excuse me”’ and swung to the ladder. ‘“*She’s sure goin’ strong,” said the man in the battered hat as Tom dropped to the floor. “Casey on the way?” asked Tom. “*Sure thing.” “Then you beat it back and be sure he hurries. I'll go for a look.” For the first time in an hour he had for- gotten his visitors. But he was aware of footsteps behind him. Mr. Allender had dropped to the floor, with Mr. Searles just behind; Mr. Philbin was halfway down. “T think I'll go for a look too,” said Mr. Allender, dusting his hands on a mono- grammed handkerchief. ‘“‘Sure—come along,”’ replied Tom As they crossed the main road of the plant Mr. Allender asked: “‘What is your procedure—your routine in case of break- downs or accidents to machinery?” Of course it was Philbin who answered: “Mr. Seymour, second assistant superin- tendent, is notified at once. In case of a grave emergency the notice is passed up to me. It is a very strict rule.” Had Tom been given an opportunity he might have said the same thing-—but much more. He could have added that Sey- mour, owing to the multiplicity of orders from the office, was seldom to be found when wanted; that when trouble came the workmen ran to him, Tom Harrington, or to Casey, his repair man; that in nine cases out of ten the office never knew of the breakdown until he himself reported it as repaired. But when they threaded the iron run- way beside Number Three, Casey was already busy with sheet lead and putty. The crisis was over. They had descended and Mr. Philbin stood on the floor disser- tating on an idea of his own for saving material, when a new sound pierced the distant symphony of roaring furnaces, Leak in Number Three hissing condensers, burring machine tools, tapping hammers. A cholo workman, rolling a wheelbarrow- load of refuse through the door, dropped | his handles, pushed back his sombrero, looked and smiled backward. “T’e boiler he ees drop,”’ he said. Yes, the day was living up to expecta- tions! Then into the door raced a dusty man, calling “‘Tom—Tom!” “Yes and without excusing himself sprinted out of the door. Down by the tracks the dead-black bulk of the new boiler lay half on and half off a flat car; over it reared the arm of the five-ton crane, bent at a right angle. Like flies about a black sugar loaf clustered half a dozen workmen, making futile motions. As he ran Tom saw one bright spot in the universal gloom—for a few minutes he would probably be free of those Easterners As he came in among the men he was calling: “Keep away. I want to see if she’s going to roll!” Alone he crawled under the uptilted end of the great cylinder and satisfied himself that it rested firm. Emerging, he ad- dressed Swanson, the big Swedish foreman of the gang. “Come here, Ole!”’ he called, and nodded to the other side of the flat car, beyond ear- shot of the gang. “How did this happen?” he asked. “Didn’t you know that crane was good for only five tons? I did.” Swanson was as tall and blond and placid and altogether Scandinavian as his name indicated. His pink cheeks grew only a little pinker as he replied “So did I.” “Went ahead on your own, did you?” asked Tom. ‘Or what?” “Orders from the office,” replied Swan- son defiantly. ‘‘Mr. Seymour said unload this boiler this morning. I said the crane wouldn’t doit. He said he guessed he knew it would. You wasn’t round, Tom ie Tom’s eyes shot one glint; then veiled his feelings. “The best of us make mistakes,” he said. ‘Hold your men—no, start ‘'em rustling lumber for a cradle. I'll be on the telephone if any other damn thing hap- pens.” As he ran to the nearest instrument of the plant telephone, he glanced back. Mr. Philbin and his guests had reached the boiler; they were looking it over, Philbin was gesticulating. The nitrate bins an- swered now; confirmed his memory that they were nearly cleaned up—could not wait much longer than noon for the de layed carload down the track. As he called for a transfer to the yard boss he looked round again. Mr. Philbin was still talking, but to Mr. Searles alone. Mr Allender was interviewing Swanson. “Heaps of good that'll do me,” he thought. “That big Swede will never peach on the office!” The yard boss answered; Tom ordered the car of nitrates to the main track ahead of everything. He transferred now to the repair shop to order up the tractor. Glan ing round again he saw that Mr. Philbin and his Easterners were looking in his di- rection, as though waiting for him. As he neared them little Harlan, the clean-up man, approached him. Harlan was the character of the Mandrill plant. He was an invalu able smeller-out of small flaws, such as uneovered holes, cracked rungs, broken floor boards and leaks. These great quali- ties had their corresponding defects. Har- lan was a kicker. He could not speak on any topic without airing his grievances against his fellow man, his foreman, the plant management, the Government and this sad world. “You'll have to wait a minute, Jimmy,” said Tom, anticipating him. By now he had utterly abandoned Mattie’s formula for gaining respect. ‘‘Can’t be bothered just now. Busy with those men over there.” “Well, I kin wait,” said Harlan with his most sinister expression. “We—and Mr. Philbin—have an ap- pointment in the office at a quarter to eleven,” said Mr. Allender as he ap- proached. “Thank you for showing u: round.” This time he shook hands, but without any special cordiality, Tom felt. Mr. Searles, addressing him directly for the first time that morning, added: “All very interesting.” Their backs turned. leaped from the mark. Instantly Harlan THE SATURDAY EVENING POST It was a long and heavy | metallic clang accompanying a dull boom. | I’m coming,” responded Tom, | Warmth, Wear and Comfort In Iron Clad No. 212 HIS attractive sock is made of fine, soft, pure worsted and mercerized yarns. It is warm and comfortable for winter and spring. Its unusually good-looking ap pearance results trom a spec ial lron ¢ lad weave, in whic h two standard colors are combined in a distinctive way Iron Clad No. 212 combines Olive and Brown. Iron Clad No. 212B uses Blue and Grey, while Iron Clad No. 212G pro duces an attractive effect with two shades of Grey With its warmth and attract iveness the 80 k combines Iron Clad durability which, of course, means that it wears much longer than most socks do The price of this sock is seventy-five cents per pair (east of the Rockies) If you find no Iron Clad dealer near you, order direct from us, stating size and color and enclosing remittance Your order will receive prompt atten tion and be sent you postage paid Cooper, Wells & Co., 204 Vine Street, St. Joseph, Michigan. ‘ , K Appreciative Taste

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126 THE SATURDAY

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< Aclanta, Ga. - Bea Specia Brayton Eng. & Applewhit Catalog ul +, Tex.-Da MD : Pulsa, Okla. - Industrial oe 10 ' land The Clymor Conet. Ce Mohr an Co Raleigh, N. ¢ struc is free i Ipp rare Fran M.W. Joy Co: | cure! Supply < w On Ole K. Olsen a oe Dall cas - Moore, Shot Charlotte, NC 5 . Hdw. & I ‘ rt " A ¢ Wart | EVENING POST “Tom, look here, Tom! How’m I goin’ to work without a shovel, Tom? Tom, your rotten old ¥ To that volleying of the invidious epithet the new management of the Mandrill works passed out of the yard and, Tom Harring- ton felt, out of his life. Well, it was all over but the formal pink slip. There was a kind of relief in that. Mattie had for the last half hour been running intermittently to the windows. As the familiar little car rounded the corner she flew to the front door and opened it. Something, she did not know what, in- hibited her from running down the path while he brought the machine delicately up to the curb, stopped and took out the switch key. But she noted as he ap- proached her that his shoulders were bowed. That same something inhibited her from asking any questions as he kissed her as she bustled round helping him to clean up. He paid his regular evening visit to Thomas Junior, now tucked into his crib with his Teddy bear in his arms, awaiting his father and sleep. Tom’s manner was even more deliberate and subdued than usual; beyond that sinister sign she read nothing. , But she asked no questions until they were seated at dinner. If he noticed that she wore the pink dress in which he liked her best; that on the center table stood a bow! of petunias, the flower for which he had once expressed a preference; that she was serving him his favorite chicken fricassee with hot biscuits if he observed all these things he made no comment. And finally, having like a wise woman fed the male before irritating him, she caught his eye across the table, and “Well?” she asked. “Rotten.” She was silent for a moment, controlling herself. “Did—they let you go?” she asked at le ngth “Might as well. Two of 'em ran over the plant with me. Everything went wrong fad day. And everybody" here his voic« took on a bitter tone— “everybody calling me Tom.” “Did they say anything about letting mu go?” “No. They didn’t say anything about keeping me either.” “What kind of men were they?’ ‘“Philbin’s kind. Wore wrist watches.” ‘*A pair of sissies!” Tom sat knitting his brows as though formulating something. ‘‘No,” he said at length; “they were and they weren't. No, I guess they’re regular men inside.” “Well, if that’s so, they'll keep you.’ “Fine chance I stand!” “They'll know whose fault it was “IT guess I won't want to talk about it any more to-night,” he said. He rose, walked into the living room, picked up the evening hewspaper Wise woman that she was, Mattie found business with the maid in the kitchen, with Thomas Harrington Jr. upstairs. She heard his footstep downstairs; heard the front door slam. Probably he was only going to put the car into the garage as he always did after dinner. But She waited through motionless intervals until the step returned and the door slammed again. She invented business for five minutes and descended. He was standing absently in the center of the living room, looking at a picture of a girl in a canoe, which they had received as a wedding present, as though he was seeing it for the first time. He turned on her, came out of his reverie. “I guess I’m going to turn in now, Mattie,”’ he said. She understood that too. He had the gift of sleep as she had not. It was as though worry or grief or any other in- vidious emotion generated a toxin which in him drugged his great body, while in her it merely poisoned and irritated the nerves. She kissed him good night with little pats on the cheek, whispers of “It’s all right.” ’ January 22,492! When he was gone she tried to read; gave that up. She picked up her em- broidery frame and went to work_on a red peony. But her needle plied sigwer and slower, until at intervals she dropped her hands into her lap and sat staring for long minutes together. Then she would shake herself, fall rapidly to work and run down again. Out_of the silence came the rippling peal of the foorbell. She glanced at the mantel clock. It was just nine—not too late for visitors; and a visitor was the last thing wanted by the Harrington family that night. The maid was out; if she did not answer the door no one would. She crept to the side pane of the bay window, glanced to the piazza. A young man in district- telegraph uniform stood looking up at the number. She flew to the door, opened it, and signed nervously. The letter bore on an upper corner the smart, engraved head of the Hotel Sinclair; itwas addressed to “Thomas J. Harrington, Esq.’’ She and her husband had an old understanding that she was to open any message which came for him when he was asleep or away. Under the hall light she tore the envelope. It was a long letter written in a close, firm hand. Ignoring the superscription, she read: “We were not fully introduced at our pleasant meeting this morning, and perhaps Mr. Philbin did not state to you our business in its entirety. Pardon me for beginning by saying that I am managing director of the combination which is taking over the Mandrill works and that Mr. Searles is district manager. “To proceed at once to business: Would you consider an offer of general manager for this branch? We decided at a confer- -ence this afternoon to transfer Mr. Philbin to our head laboratory in Massachusetts, where his scientific knowledge and gift of invention will be more widely useful. He is probably a little misplaced in his present position. Perhaps the trouble has been that he is a little too big for a strictly limited job. In our scheme of organization for the whole combination, the gift of handling men will be more useful to a manager than highly specialized education Such expert technical advice as you need can easily be furnished by men on your office staff; and besides, most experiments with a view to economics and improve- ments will be conducted in our general laboratories. ‘Il may say frankly that we make you this offer because of your brilliant record with the labor in the Mandrill plant, on which we had informed ourselves even be- fore we came West. Frankly again, what clinched the matter in our minds was our observation yesterday of your intimate yet effective relations with your men and the manner in which they turned instinctively to you in emergency. Of course, after you tackle the job you may find or we may find that you are unequal to it. But if we get on, I shall make the appointment per- manent, ‘I am writing this to-night because I think it just as well that you should be aware of the situation when you report to-morrow morning. If all this is agreeable to you, we can then discuss the details including, of course, the matter of salary “Yours very sincerely, “T. J. ALLENDER.” The envelope fluttered from Mattie’s hands, but she held the three sheets of the letter ad she skipped like a squirrel up- stairs. Tom’s door was ajar. She switched on the electric light, but his eyes gave only a little flutter. The first tinkle of the tele- phone beside his bed always woke him; otherwise he could sleep through a battle or a fire. She stood for a moment looking down on him; and all her old expression of tender amusement was in her eyes. Then she stooped and kissed his lids. “Wake up! I have news for you— Mr. Harrington!” she said.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST : Me. as oe gi ae ¥ CALOR! Imeans—HEAT It's the name of the heating plant that heats buildings like the sun heats the earth—by nat- ural circulation of air. +} 7 To your family the CaloriC offers: all-pervading, June-like warmth in every room (70° guaranteed in coldest weather)—fuel bills cut 3 to ’/2—clean rooms —drudgery banished. The CaloriC is the outstanding heating achieve- ment of the century. Learn about its scientific superiority before choosing a heating plant. IN OVER 100,000 HAPPY HOMES qe sai The CaloriC heats old cr new homes The CaloriC is the original pipeless fur of 18 rooms or less, through one regis nace triple-casing patent No. 1,346,801 ter. Circulates balmy warm air to every The CalonC guarantee— your satisfac corner of every room. Usually installed tion or mone back See nearest in one day. No alterations, no plumb ’ CaloriC dealer or write today for book ing, no pipes to freeze. Made by largest giving det: manufacturer of warm-air furnaces in THE ee STOVE COMPANY the world, (The Monitor Far 102 Years in aa THE CALORIC IS SIMPLE AND EASY TO OPERATE

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128 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 22, 192! THE SHOCKS OF THE ROAD JERE the jolts and shocks that your derstand what Mo-/y4-den-um_ Steel \ car is subjected to in one week com- — means to you, when you realize what it bined into a single force, your car would — has made possible. A Mo-/y4-den-um be smashed to smithereens. The mecha- Steel car is lighter, stronger and more re- nism and the STEEL must absorb these sistant to shock, wear and fatigue than shocks one by one. And their ability to a similar car built of any other steel. absorb them without weakening measures haste , You know this‘means reduced upkeep the intrinsic worth of your car. costs and more mileage from tires and The discovery of Mo-/y4-den-um Steel — gasoline. It also cuts down repairs to a has startled the automobile world into the | minimum for Mo-/y4-den-um Steel parts realization of a new light weight car that — are practically unbreakable —the gears re- is unusually fearless of the road. Mo-/yé- _ sist stripping—the axles are stronger than den-um Steel has the greatest resistant the strains of the road, and the entire properties of any steel hitherto known. mechanism wears less and renders greater Especially does it resist crystalliza- = ethciency. Before buying an auto- The a itd ins tion from constant pounding, vibrat- RM. mobile, truck or tractor, find out if i Bag ves ay SP ing and thrusting. And it is the it is made of Mo-/y4-den-um Steel. 7 udes crystallization of steel that makes it Then you can be absolutely sure you , easy to break. You can readily un- won't make a mistake. eee CLIMAX MOLYBDENUM COMPANY, 61 Broadway, New York, N. Y. Associarep with THE AMERICAN METAL COMPANY, LIMITED max Molybdenum Company is the Largest Producer of Molybdenum in th orld | Mo-lyb-den-um Steel © om The American Super Steel

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the possible establishment of a second-class if not a third-class system of passenger rates and service in this country. At once there comes a wave of protest. My ancient traffic frie nd joins in it. ‘It isn’t American—the second-class idea,” says he. ‘ You couldn't put it over in this country. The very name is against it.”’ Vell, I am not quite so sure. Remem- ber, if you will that there are increasing signs, even in this mad hour, that some Americans at best are making toward things that spell thrift and economy. Both may come either from necessity or else from just good sense. We may grant, if you wish, that the name “‘second class”’ is bad. The principle certainly isnot. Americans go overseas, and if they are only reasonably wise folks they ride second class or third class, and enjoy the experience amazingly. I have ridden in a third-class carriage out of London on the Midland Railway, and found it vastly su- perior in both comfort and cleanliness to the day coaches in many of our own branch- line or short-distance main-line locals. And it ought to be not only possible but feasible and good salesmanship to provide in this country some sort of slower day-coach service which would sell at a perceptibly lower rate than that of the heavy all-steel day coaches of fast through trains and the tickets required for the standard Pullman service, The lower-rate tickets, no matter under what name they went, might also be made ivailable for the tourist sleepers, and in the coming days of greater sanity a larger num- ber of these provided across the land. Round:Trip Rates With such a general second-class rate granted, the general public would probably not complain very strenuously against the new standard first class per-mile rates. It might not be possible to adopt so radical and farseeing an excursion-rate plan as that of the Italian railways before the war, but much lower round-trip rates ought to come in. The present standard all-the-year round-trip ticket from the East to the Pacific Coast and back—good for nine months of usage and almost unlimited stop-overs— sells at approximately ninety per cent of the single-trip fares, the one out and the other back. Yet ninety per cent is hardly enough of a bargain to spell real attractiveness in ordinary years and cumstances. Even the railroads themselves have recognized this by lowering the round- trip fares on a three months’ ticket to about eighty per cent in the summer months, which past bes resulted in passing strange anomalies. Before the war and its abolishment of all but a few favored excursion rates one might clr- In the some go in summer from Chicago to New York or Boston and return for approximately twenty-seven dollars and fifty cents—an extremely low figure. Yet one could not go from New York or Boston to Chicago and That return for any thing like that figure. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST SALESMANSHIP IN TRANSPORTATION (Continued from Page 26) round trip cost approximately dollars. Why? The answer is simple but ingenious. The railroads leading west from Chicago made a trip to Colorado and re- turn for thirty dollars. In order to com- pete with this the eastbound lines out of the city by Lake Michigan made the Atlantic forty-five Coast trip—roughly speaking, the same mileage—at a fraction less fare. The New Yorker and the Bostonian were simply out of luck in having no such competitive pres- sure brought in their noncompetitive locali ties, which may or may not be interpreted as an argument for railroad competition A Lesson From Canada Not long ago a young Englishman walked into the consolidated ticket office in San Francisco and had a bad quarter of an hour of it. From a steamship agent in Hong-Kong he had purchased a one-way- ticket order across the United States— our railroads are not yet enough internation- ally organized to sell through tickets over- seas—and he had been permitted to assume that he would be allowed to stop over in Santa Barbara, the Grand Cajion, Chi- cago and one or two other points en route to New York, where he was to embark for Liverpool. When he reached San Fran- cisco he encountered the hard-and-fast American rule that one-way tickets are not good for stop-overs—a rather fair privilege which was abolished with the coming of the war, manship has not yet restored to us. young Englishman nearly exploded. “If I had used my ordinary good sense,” said he, “‘and come across your continent The by the Canadian Pacific, I could have stopped indefinitely en route—-at Banff or Winnipeg or Montreal— anywhere else I chose. That is the route I shall choose next time—my friends as well.” The ticket agent kept quiet. If he had not been bound by rules of his office and of courtesy he might have added that trans- portation salesmanship stands at a higher point in Canada than in the United States. The Canadian roads miss few tricks. I stood in one of the great stations in Mon- | treal last summer and watched section after section of harvesters’ excursions pull out of its train shed bound for Winnipeg and the wheat fields bevond. They were composed of day coat hes of a be tter type, and they were comfortably filled with young men bound on a thirty days’ holi- day. The rate for each of them out to Winnipeg— about fifteen hundred miles was but fifteen dollars, with an extra rate of half a cent a mile from there on to the point where they were to help Canada harvest her bumper crop. The flat rate back was fixed at twenty dollar A low rate, yes; but the Canadian railroad struc- ture was doing its fair part as a public servant in a national emergency. “It all tends toward the better national- ization of Canada,” said the young railroad officer who stood there beside me in the Montreal station. I asked him if there was PHOTO. BY ASAMEL ARTIS, SEATTLE, WASHINGTON Ohanapecosh Hot Springs Near the Southeast Boundary of the Rainier National Park and which our transportation sales- | (SCRUNEWALD) F YOU you have evel have tasted this (whole-half) pecan meats. So - 24 Iiso By Mail 1 ORDER by Maz/ “The South's Most Famous | Sb hedede visited New famous Grunewald Caterers have made and sold for many years. The demand has become so great that we Original Creole Pralines (Grunewald) direct by mail, parcel post insured in specially constructed mailing cartons, carefully packed Absolutely pure, made only of pure Louisiana Cane Sugar and Louisiana Scrupulous care is maintained throughout in producing this famous candy. Cleant iness and purity are Grunewald watchwords That's why Original Creole Pralines (Grunewald) regarded everywhere as the highest quality a hs are a = — are re A delightful confection, dessert, orafter-dinner dainty then, of The Orleans candy course, Hotel WwW hic h are now supply ing Pralines made Do not accept substitutes | GRUNEWALD FORKDIP1 Chocolates and Bon Bons Mail Orders filled anywhere. P.O or Express Money Orders, or Personal Checks received 7 7 . 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The Red‘Star Timer keeps your Ford hitting on all four because it is correct and flawless in in design construction, FOR FORD CARS TRUCKS AND TRACTORS The Red Star Timer is milled and ach t five ten thousandth { ‘ wt i roller-on-a-roller t | Re f runs true with the race The ra ft ired, bone-hard f ; ides, does not pi ‘ t Nine inspections make that workmanship and teria perfe Your garage \ man | Red Sta ' A ne f RED a es ck ’ Ss er Carried in sto k t s ian 5 TAMDPE On 7 od ‘. . 5 YOu “ t , TECTI . UR A mailed on request pe VN Auto Components, Inc Dept. 700 1603 S. Michigan Blvd., Chicago

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= nN Fue W 2aT ee a eee ee ‘ = A few years ago Mr. ee ee that has continually one of the biggest single day he has largest “‘customer’ setts, where he lives. ye ane 2D A aOR LS SSS certain your income three Curtis publications rhese three dominant publications ire alive and growing grow with them. You need no ex perience—your profits begin as is you start work. Be liberal commission on each order, 4 generous bonus is paid—based n your production. And you can feel secure in a position that offers unlimited opportunity for rapid you can soon sides a rdvancement Gentlemen: I'd like to know without placing me under more Name Street or R.F.D Arthur first subscription for The Saturday Evening Post. It was the modest spare-time beginning of a business received of his post-office in Massachu His work gives him a sure source of generous permanent profit. Is Your Job Secure? In days when every city newspaper carries a half dozen head- lines about wage cuts and curtailed production, it’s a great con solation to be sure of your job. Are you sure of yours? Are you won't tumble with the There’s an easy way to protect yourself drop and at the same time establish yourself in a lasting busi ness that will grow from year to year, as has Mr. White’s The Saturday Evening Post, The Ladies’ Home Journal and The Country Gentleman—are in greater demand than ever before. As their subscription representative you may have work that is Easy, Pleasant, Profitable $25.00 a Week Extra about THE SATURDAY T. White sent in his grown until Mr. White is now producers on our staff. In a 200 orders; he is the rest? You can be. against any possible The They will continue to lead. It is our policy to appoint, when- possible, full-time salaried field men from our staff of com mission workers. If you have even a few hours a week to spare, you cannot spend them in a way more worth while than in earning easy, extra money for to-day's wants and at the same time pro tecting yourself against any pos sible reduction in your income evel The Curtis Publishing Company, 919 Independence Square Philadelphia, Pennsylvania your offer Please any obligations. Town aan REIL See send details, EVENING POST not a tendency for regular travelers to use these low-rate trains. He shook his head. “No,” said he, “our tickets are properly safeguarded against such abuse. And even if they were not, neither the equipment nor the running schedules of these trains are such as to bring them into anything like the class of our high-grade transe ontine ontal limiteds.”” I understood. Here was the kernel of the theory of salesmanship in transportation. One can have no quarrel with the rail- road which charges extra to ride upon its high-speed trains. In a land where time is money to the nth degree a business man can and should pay for the great accommo- dation rendered to him by a really fast train. Few of them are unwilling to do so. The fact that for nearly two decades past the most popular trains between New York and Chicago have been the twenty-hour flyers of the New York Central and the Pennsylvania, where a flat charge of one dollar and twenty cents for each hour saved over the fixed slow-train schedules has been imposed, would seem to prove this. The same has been true of the high-speed trains between New York and Boston and New York and Atlantic City ayd Washington. These until recently have been the crowded trains. They charged and charged plenty for expedited service, but there was no com- plaint. Nor was there any even in the days before the coming of our abounding pros- perity. It was only when the supercharges reached the recent traffic levels that the worm began to turn. And even to-day there remains a sufficient proportion of worms, to whom money seems to be no object whatsoever, to fill them to half or better than half their capacity. If the powers that be had always been gifted with real transportation salesman- ship ability they might easily have worked further along this plan of making the trav- eler pay for time actually saved, in making their passenger surcharges, instead of plac- ing them upon the shoulders of the user of a Pullman sleeper on a reasonably slow train, who avails himself of that facility not in a search for luxury but as a matter of mere necessity in a land of such overwhelmingly great distances as ours. That not only would have been more scientific but it would have been vastly more equitable. That is really all that any fair-minded man may demand in this situation—a square deal for every type of railroad pa- tron. The railroad to-day is getting the square deal; a generous one, according toa January 22,192! good many folk. It ought to be broad- minded enough, scientific enough, pro- gressive enough to work out a plan for the differentiation of its service upon modern lines. For the arrogant traveler who not only demands the best, but demands also that he be permitted to talk about it after- ward, supercharges and supersupercharges, too, if you wish. But for the patron of mod- est means—and there are some of that sort still left in this broad country, to whom travel is as much a genuine necessity as any sort of luxury—a scale of charges and serv- ice suited to his or her modest necessities. Is that not fair? I think that it is. I think that it is more than fair—that it is good business to boot. Some of the railroaders are beginning to look at it in the same way. ‘The real test of private ope ration here at the end of the ninth inning,” said one of the biggest of them to me just the other day, “is coming when the tonnage begins to drop, the passenger travel to fall off. The test of any business is in adversity, not in its prosperity. And in that final test we who still think that private organization, private initiative and private ability can and should run our railroads are to stand or fall.” All this is respectfully commended to the attention of the big traffic men of the roads all the way across the land. The time to plan for adversity is in prosperity. It will hardly do to go out for the business after the traffic has begun to take the big slump. The hour for the railroad to get the business is to-day— while the getting is still good. Which brings us squarely to the point at which we began. One might expatiate at great length on the infinite possibilities of salesmanship in transportation—upon utilizing to fullest extent the return move- ments of California limiteds against the pop- ular tides of traffic by fascinating rates—at present the empty Pullmans move by the dozen in reverse movement — of dovetailing in motor busses or chars-d-hbancs, steam- ships, steam launches, perhaps before this new decade is finished airships as well. The paths for transportation salesmanship are almost limitless, if only the spirit and the enterprise and the vision be there. With these three things in hand the others will quickly come; and our national railroad structure will find not only better patronage, but that it has become, in addi- tion to being a better patronized servant, a vastly more popular one—which of itself is a consideration not to be overlooked. 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 22, 1921 SHORT STORIES PAGE Like a Tree—Hugh MacNair Kahler } Saving Sister—Samue/ Merwin ® Tom— Will Irwin 12 Weeds— Newman Flower 14 Stars— Oscar Graeve 33 ARTICLES Why I Am a Standpatter— Jay E. House 3 Twelve Good Women and True—Arthur Train 10 Government by Charter—IJsaac F. Marcosson 16 Salesmanship in Transportation— Edward Hungerford 23 The Women of New Germany— Clara Whiteside 41 SERIALS White Shoulders— George Kibbe Turner , re 18 The Wrong Twin— Harry Leon Wilson 20 DEPARTMENTS Editorials ae + aa Everybody's Business— Floyd W. Parsons : ; ‘ 28 The Poets’ Corner 62 Small-Town Stuff— Robert Quillen ss 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. not 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. Duplicate copies can-

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST SL hh Ae Sal fal th £9) AM iS x4 MOPIANG 4 nce THERE ARE NO BETTER SHOES FOR FIT: FOR STYLE - FOR WEAR FM.HOYT SHOE COMPANY C Uakers MANCHESTER NEW HAMPSHIRE HOES of the sort that carry the “Beacon” mark have made the New England shoe industry famous; honesty in every stitch: top grade material: cor- rect design: a high grade of American workmanship. For fit, style and wear, “there are no better shoes.” And they are moderately priced. le os n i Wii Mi | i os 131 ma | G i : : Mi . i 4 HN A si: i ‘ : i Mi HN Ht Ht ae Hil ie : Hey i | we | | i Mt : e a

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 22,192! We must go on Despite the happenings in the world of business, Swift & Company must goon with its work. On the one side are the people; they must have meat. It is a daily necessity. It is our job to provide it for them. And we must go on prepar- ing and distributing it from day to day, because meat is perishable. On the other side is the live stock raiser. He must have his daily market. He must be able to dispose of his live stock at any time. For it is seasonable. And we must provide him with this market by keeping our plants in operation. So we must go on. In November, for instance, at a time when other indus- tries were holding off on raw materials, reducing out- put, submitting to stagnation allalong the line, to safeguard themselves, we handled more hogs in a certain half week than we had handled in any similar period for ten months. At Chicago, alone, the hogs received were as follows: Monday, Nov. 22 . 50,658 Tuesday . . 61,738 Wednesday . 22,928 making a total of 135,324 for the three days. We helped toabsorbthisrush, as a matter of course. We bought what we could use at pricesdetermined by thenum- berofanimalsarriving andthe public demand at the time for meat and by-products. We sold the fresh meat and by- products from these animals at prices determined under competition by those who use them. What we will get for the cured meats by the time they are ready for the market depends upon condi- tions which we can neither foresee nor control. We may make money on these “runs”; we may lose money on them. Naturally, the balance must be in our favor in the year’s averages, or we could not continue. Swift & Company, U.S.A. Founded 1868 A nation-wide organization owned by more than 35,000 shareholders

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Cr.cQndr Grwo GINGER ALE . They All Like It—Why? HE laughing, bubbling sizzle of it in the glass, the happy blend of sugar and spice with just enough of the bite and tang of real ginger in it, the taste of the refreshing drink that is Clicquot Club— that’s why they all like it! Pure water from bed-rock springs is the only water used in Clicquot. Nothing but pure ingre- dients gives it the Clicquot taste, which never varies from January to December. And the liking has no geographical limitations. Everybody, everywhere, likes Clicquot. Most peo: ple drink it as ginger ale; others find it a friendly drink to mix with lemon, orange, or other fruit juices. THE CLICQUOT CLUB COMPANY, Millis, Mass., U.S. A Cheaper | One | CINGER ALE Cli quot Clut Co / ‘ a

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