The Saturday Evening Post 1922-08-05: Vol 195 Iss 6

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Princess Cantacuzéne—Earl Derr Biggers—Courtney Ryley Cooper Kennett Harris—Emma Calvé—Edward Mott Woolley—Will Irwin

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spe es ey vig "i - ‘s = he Mea) toe e; - rob wploommezelelebutels sttu- Buy your Tires where you see this sign The GOODRICH TIRE SIGN on a dealer’s store is worth money to you. It is more thana guide—it isa guaranty. It says to you: “Here is a dealer who knows the value of the one- quality standard of Goodrich. Here is a store that is run by a man who believes in building permanent business through genuinely good service. Here isa place that you can depend upon steadily—a place that gives you full value in return for every dollar—a dealer who is going to earn and hold your good will.” tus 2. 23-82-3020 2 et oe SILVBRTOWN CORD § In Canada—The B. F. Goodrich Company o RUBBER FABRICS ° r The Goodrich Tire sign tells you that you can buy the famous Goodrich Tires in any size you need, at Fair Prices. No matter what car you drive, you can get the full benefit of these unrivalled tires that have established such a remarkable record in mileage and comfortable service. Buy your tires where you see the Goodrich Tire sign. It means satisfaction in every transaction. COMPANY Akron, Ohio U BES ACCESSORIES Canada, Ltd., Toronto, Montreal, Winnipeg

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as) THE SATURDAY EVENING POST eum EPA LL Quality in style and fabric for the man who buys his clothes carefully Quality counts more in clothing than in anything else you buy. Good clothes give you comfort, peace of mind, and daily satisfaction. It pays to buy that kind of clothes—the difference in cost is small, the difference in value, in satis- faction, is great. Society Brand Clothes have one standard of workmanship —the highest; as unmistakable, to those who know clothing, as their characteristic style. The price varies with the fabric. The new Fall styles—in models and fabrics—will soon be on display at your dealer’s. Society Brand Clothes FOR YOUNG MEN AND MEN WHO STAY YOUNG Our selection from the finest foreign and domestic woolens and worsteds we label “Double Service Fabrics.” They serve more by looking better and wearing longer. Because they are the best that skill can produce and money can buy, they are particularly adapted to Society Brand Style and Tailoring. ALFRED DECKER @& COHN, MAKERS, CHICAGO, NEW YORK « IN CANADA: SOCIETY BRAND CL‘ rHE , LIMITED MONTREAI berms

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 5,1922 we rami rec re Be it ae ClUhen men take the shy- trails ( VAM P-FIRES are burning by a cookers of every trace of burnt bacon A thousand starlit lakes and streams. and beans. On birch branches and maple twigs Everyone who has been out with a the day’s ‘‘wash’’ hangs—white under knapsack knows how many times a day Ivory Soap comes in a convenient the moon. he needs Ivory Sc ap—and how well it size and form for every purpose. jy responds to each call! — Smali Vired sleepers dream. ee) a You who are ‘‘camping’’ at home Ye aided dividual toilet Ivory Soap has bathed away their these midsummer days can use Ivory aches. just as often, and with the same friendly ({ rvoay | (VOR YURI 7 ) Espe J | Also | J the bs j Laan ee ; feeling, because in seven different ways Ivory Soap has washed their slum- - 5; : Ivory makes known its goodness :—It mocky clothes clean and fresh for a eK, : ‘ is pure, mild, fragrant, white; it lathers new start at sunrise. Be ; ares abundantly, rinses quickly and ‘‘it Ivory Soap has cleaned the camp- floats.” i henever soap comes into contact W.ih ihe skin use Ivory / IVORY SOAP |(] 99.5% PURE Uf LOAI 2

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| ! Published Weekly George Horace Lorimer | 3 : ‘ EDITOR ! The Curtis Publishing Churchill Williams, F, S. Bigelow, | A.W. Neall, Arthur McNeogh, Company T.B.Costain, Associate Edftors | Cyrus H. K. is, i : 7 K. Curtis, President Entered es Second-Class Matter, November 15 C. H. Ludington, Vice-President and Treasures 1579, at the Post Office at Philadelphia, S. Collins, Generel Business Manager Unde 3, 1879 Welter D. Fuller, Secretory ‘ ner Gee Ate Additional Entry as Second-Class Matter at Williem Boyd, Advertising Director Columbus, O., ot Decatur, IIL, et Chicago, Il Independence Square, Philedelphie Founded A°D' 1728 Sy Benj. Franklin peng ae yy a London: ©, Henrietta Street Entered as Second-Cless Matter et the Covent Gerden, W.C Copyright, 1922. by The Curtis Publishing Company in the United States and Great Britain | Title Registered in U.S. Patent Office and in Foreign Countries ES : ‘ Pe ee Volume 195 Bes TS PHILADELPHIA, PA., AUGUST 5, 1922 Post-Office Department, Ottawa, Caneda $2.00 THE YEAR SOCIETY AND STATESMEN yj ° ¢ ’ D se > Te reception to make one feel it isn't tled down in Washington to By Primcess Cantacuzeéene in ordinary call, just enough eas what was the gayest winter i simplicity to make one feel in many years, and the most that though Mrs Harding is cor interesting probably the American capital had ever seen. By the va- riety of its foreign visitors and the importance of the home people gathered within its walls it cer- tainly was unique. in Canada Number 6 ort to the most powerful ruler ir the world, both the latter d her are very much attached tothe ocratic ideals of their country They evidently stepped into the White House without pretensions We had a débutante daughter d tep out, when the hour to present, a slip of seventeen ril without having had thei summers, with curious Byzantine heads in the least turned by their eyes, long slim neck and hands, nportant position. Two colored with the olive skin of the East and men in dark quiet livery opened the shadowy moods of a Slav. She our motor door, helped us out and » the dozen broad marble steps is an amusing mixture of old tra- ditions and young head, of old- inder the high portico fashioned manners and modern I always want to stop there to modes of dress. For this pictur- admire its proportions and the esque little person, curiosity and quite lovel views of th garde surprise mingled in her mind, it which show between the huge col promised to be an interesting ex- umr but at the door one of perience to go into the world of the President's aides was waiting society at a republican capital, in- He was that daya handsor ung stead of making her curtsy at a naval officer, in all the « egat e of Czar’s highly colored court. I gold lace and full-dress uniforn fancied from my own experiences and there stood by him a secre that the child had gained by the tary in civilian clothes. The latter revolution in this at least—that ‘ . ok our cards for filing, the col she would have more fun and L . ; ' a ored menservants relieved us of liberty in Washington,even though SeeaIF CPG Genie Gomemaen ea a a ir wraps, the aide offered an arm the frame of her début was to be Just One of Mrs. Harding's Countless Handctasps to me, asking my husband to fo less gorgeous, and even if her low, escorting the débutante. I previous fortune and the background of our large estates were hers no longer inquired during our little walk through the gallery how I should know when to take Anyhow, it seemed in people’s minds that the winsome creature was to be considered and would Mrs. Harding indicate the visit’s end or must I mal t out of the ordinary if only because in her blood ran so many national strains, of which The aide said, “Oh, that is quite easy. Mrs. Harding receives Byzantine emperor’s, American soldier-president’s and a peasant-born imperial chancel- There was a reception of six hundred women before you came lor’s of Russia, who people in a had also been a ifter vou, but she revolutionary, were but a few varia- tions. I asked the eti- quette; found it was, as I had sup- posed, proper to present a débu- tanteto Mrs. Hard- ing; wrote asking the favor of a fixed date; and reteived a kindly response from Miss Harlan, who is the model of cultivated and agreeable lady sec- retaries to a Presi- dent’s wife. At the ap- pointed hour we drove up to the beautiful portal of the old house where I was born, and which seems to me more satisfactory in its dignity and beauty each time I return to it from European palaces. PYRIGHT BY HARRIS & EWING, WABHINGTON, D, ¢ There is just British Envoys to the Disarmament Conference Were the Guests of Many Washington Hostesses. This Group Inctudes Lord Lee of enough conven- Fareham, Sir John William Satmond of New Zeatand, General The Eart of Cavan, Rt. Hon. Arthur J. Balfour, Secretary of State metning ft and tion about such a Hughes and Senator The lion. Ceorge Foster Pearce of Australia mauve. She hasa 0

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 5,1922 fine intelligent face, good lines in her straight and graceful figure, and she moves well, She shows cordiality and thought- fulness to all those who meet her; the acme of good manners. She is most perfectly groomed, and dresses with elegance. I that she has a good many but she the least overdressed and never does she wear ything loud in color or under her age. is thick, soft looking, gray, and done to perfection, and in spite of alth years her skin is fair with a fresh color that making her look very ve indeed. She isn’t at made up. A straight nose and well-balanced chin and mouth show char- temperament and intelligence, and en sometimes she takes off her glasses ing party one sees that her eyes have noticed ty gown never 1 I for many and unwrinkied and goes, gd attract short it aneven are blue and bright, with a cheery wit and rreat amiability, kind with helpful under- t One has the sensation that she r is the moment’s occupa- , whate. meeting one halfway in any- or does, and I've found at times she has many resources, with excellent taste as well as real culture. She has ridden a great deal, she said; and though she was an invalid for some years, he evidently wasted no time, but read an immense number of books; and she has done journalism and politics at her hus- band’s side and she likes people and sees the funny side of many things that happen Some of these small adventures she tells of laugh- is always ready to be sympathetic with another's trouble. It seemed to me at her various White House parties she had an eye to everyone’s comfort and pleasure. No one was neglected; and her household second her efforts admirably, evidently instructed in advance. A very exceptional woman by nature and by training, this first lady of the land; and one feels it at the first meeting. Stepping from Marion, Ohio, to the head of things in apparently quite easy for her, and she with a calm dignity that is the happiest tion, always th ing ane says lifferent to her ingly, and she Washington was a ' taik to everyone note por sible ‘‘We Mean to Do Our Best”’ URING that call of ours after a few generalities Mrs. 4” Harding went below the surface and said several things I remembered with pleasure afterwards. She spoke to Carntacuzéne of Russia and the change it must be to find American r himself in COPYRIGHT BY CLINE Madame Curie Photographed Shortly After Being Presented With the Gram of Radium From Left to Right—Mrs. William Brown Metoney, Chairman of the Radium Fund Committee, Mrs. Harding, Madame Curie, President Harding and Madame Curie's Eidest Daughter, Irene by the President at the White House. ST, WASHINGTON, 0. C the campaign. ‘‘Sometimes then we shook hands with as many as a thousand or even two or three hundred over a thousand men during an hour,” she said. “I timed them by my wrist watch.” I asked had she ever timed women going by, and she laughed good-naturedly and answered, “Oh, yes, but they can’t be moved by so quickly as the men. You know how we are; we have some little thing we have been saving to say at such a meeting, and it gets said before any current carries us women along.” We spoke of the women’s new role and new power in the world and-she was keen about that; had done consider- able work in the women’s movements. She asked about my work for the Russian refugees too. Mrs. Harding spoke to the little débutante of her pleasures to come, said she hoped to see her at the White House. When the aide appeared Mrs. Harding was talking, and her sentence finished in a question. As I saw him I arose. “Never mind. I am on schedule this afternoon, but there is time; I have been very prompt so far.” So I answered her query rather at length. Then she said several more pleasant things before she let us go. Our visit was a mere incident in her busy afternoon, but she made it important to us; and it left a charming impression on us of sincere hos- pitality and friendliness. I found that nearly everyone who had these little visits with Mrs. Harding praised her, and many stories flew about Washington of her kindness. At some bazaar for poor soldier’s widows, where she received, the contents of one table were flowers from the White House conservatories, to be sold for the benefit of their cause. Any- one who offers her a little gift gets a very pretty note back full of feeling. White House Etiquette HE state entertainments as well as the informal parties at the White House are delightful; never overcrowded, always well managed, with a busy group of aides and their wives, Colonel Sherrill and Miss Harlan in charge, looking after everyone’s comfort in an unobtrusive way. There is generally good music, too, for Mrs. Hard- ing has a great fondness for music, and her discriminating taste chooses her pro- grams wisely for the very varied audiences, who listen to these small concerts with evident enjoyment. I was impressed always with the pretty smile with which Mrs. Harding turned to her husband when it was time to terminate a function, and with his deferential chivalry of manner towards her as he bent to offer her his arm before they left the room. They struck a happy medium between excess of ceremony and too much freedom, and they made the eti- quette of their dinners and receptions seem exactly right for the presidential residence of the world’s most important republic. At the New Year’s levee they received from eleven in the morning till very late in the afternoon. My mother was in that receiving party, and there was but a short interval for luncheon. It was said that seven thousand people passed before the President and Mrs. Harding, who were on their feet, of course, all through those hours. My mother asked Mr. Harding if he was not weary, and he answered, not at all; that he hoped he was a strong enough man to stand up and shake hands with those who wished him well. First came the functionaries, foreign and American; then the simple citi- She the ago convel- where we ro indings mentioned Chik tion, had talked of been sne the campaign for the presidential elec- and l ho @xX- faith in her husband as a man of destiny, who had always felt could and would complish tion, ticed she pressed she ac- great things She said in re- ply to some little compliment as to her popularity and the Presi dent’s: ‘Well I'm glad if we are liked. We are very human and simple,”’ and | think she added, ‘We are well in tentioned’’ or ‘We mean todo best.” She said wasn't at all tired after shaking hands with six hundred women; it was nothing com- pared to the re- ceptions during our she PHOTO, BY KADEL 4 WEABEAT, NEW YORK O'TY The Handshaking Crowds That Call to Pay Respects to President and Mrs. Harding at the White House zens Came pour- ing in from the street women and chil- dren who had been waiting pa- tiently in line in the wintry weather to shake their chief magis- trate and his fair lady by the hand, and wish them well for the com- ing year. Mrs. Harding had dec- orated the rooms admirably with lovely flowers and had taken much pains to make the old resi- dence look its best for this their first public party. Two pretty anecdotes were told afterwards about the func- tion—one, of her doctor’s protest over Mrs. Hard- ing’s standing so many hours to receive, when her health was so fragile. At his suggestion of men, (Continued on Page 50)

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L ial THE SATURDAY EVENING POST IALEAURY Ole Wile LOALUEF By Earl Derr Biggers HE night had been warm in Lower Ten, and Bob Dana’s mouth was dry and his head noticeably over- weight as he fastened his suitcase preparatory to leaving the train. He set his bag in the aisle and dropped down again on the green plush seat. Outside the window old familiar scenes were flashing by, fields where he had played, a brook where he had gone swimming, and his heart was suddenly touched, for it often happens that the trav- eler is never so homesick as on coming home at last. The train stopped and Bob followed the porter to the door and down into the bright June sunshine. Five excit- ing years had gone by since he last stood on this narrow platform, stared at the unwashed windows and the rotting roof of the ancient C. P. & D. station. May- field again, sleepy old Mayfield. The New York-Chicago express paused but briefly; al- ready it was slipping past him as he walked along, carrying his heavy bag. Wher he reached the platform’s end the train was no more, and he had an unobstructed view up Main Street to the green of the courthouse park beyond. ‘“‘Well, stranger, where you go?” familiar voice at his Bob turned. There stood Clay Harkins, town hackman for thirty years and more. “Stranger, Clay?” the young man smiled. ‘‘ Where do you get that stuff?”’ Clay stared for a long moment into the lean tanned face that was nearly two feet above him. ** Well, I be darned,”’ he said at last. “If it isn’t little Bobby Dana.” “Little Bobby, sure enough,” answered the young man. “But, Clay—I don’t see the band.” “What band?” “The band to play Hail, the Conquering Hero Comes as I ride up Main Street in an open ba- rouche with the mayor. And say, look here—I don’t see the mayor either.” “You must be joking, Bobby,” responded Clay tolerantly. “Well, boy, you sure have changed. What you doin’ back in Mayfield?”’ “T came here to do a job of work.” “A job? Why, I heard you was a painter. Messed round with little pictures.” “Well, Clay, that’s the truth.” The old man pondered. “Somebody in Mayfield want his house painted?” he asked. “No, not his house. His father.” ‘*His father! Well, I be darned.”” Clay stepped closer and seized one of the lapels of the young man’s coat. ‘“‘ Where'd ye git the suit, Bobby?” Bob laughed. “‘It was made for me by Jimmy Breen, an English tailor on the Promenade des Anglais, at Nice. Does it intrigue you, Clay?” “Pretty good stuff,’’ Clay admitted. ‘‘Not so good as this one I got on, though.”’ He stepped back to permit a more comprehensive survey. ‘‘ Bought her twelve years ago at the Racket Store, an’ she’s just as good as she ever was.” “Twelve years,”’ repeated Bob solemnly. ‘ Almost time to have her cleaned and pressed. Don’t you think so, Clay?” ““Not much,” Clay answered. “You know what they charge for that now? Seventy-five cents. Yes, sir! Well, Bobby, is thev any place you’d like to go?” The young man leaned against a telegraph post and lighted a cigarette. “Dozens of places,” he announced. ‘The Orient, f example. China. Want to sit on the Great Wall and paint the remnants of an ancient civilization. And after that r Clay cut in on this nonsense. Mayfield for fifty cents.” “It used to be a quarter.” want to said a elbow. , ‘Take you anywhere in ILLUSTRATED BY CHARLES D. MITCHELL “I Was Just Wondering — * How Do We - ™~ Get From Him “ to You? No Connection That I Can See" But they’s be Maybe you heard “Sure it did 1a Wal about it?” “Heard about it? Clay, old I heard it.” He ‘But you don’t want the story of my adven scout, I was nearer than that. blew a cloud of smoke toward the blazing sky tures, do you? Nobody ever does. C I suppose the Mayfield House is still doing business old stand?” A frail white-haired little man with gold-rimmed eye- Will Varney, the Mayfield Tribune’s publisher, editor and star reporter, all in one. He stopped. 3 Why, it’s Bobby Dana! Hello, Bob. Y “Hello, Mr. Varney. | Mayfield’s worst penny.” “Wouldn’t say that,” street?”’ “Yes, I guess 80. ming down to cases, at the g] 13 CAT he ng al r the platfor: giasses Came hopping along the piatiorm yu back again f seem to be back, that’s a fact smiled the editor. “‘Going up ” The young man turned and saw } Clay's battered face. ‘‘Think disappointment clouding But here's He nodded ‘You take that young I'll walk, Clay Do me good the half dollar, just thesame.”’ toward his bag trunk up to the Mayfield House and leave it there. And here’s a check for his older brother. You might de- liver that too,” “Sure, Bobby; sure.”’ The! returning traveler fell into step beside the editor “Well, boy, you're quite a tranger,”’ Varney remarked. * Five believe you at the station when I went years, I were away Varney nodded. “ Yes, I guess so. That's been my role in the drama, Bob At the station, watching others go. Watching then with envy Like to travel yourself, eh?” aid Bob. “ Well, why not? Can't ) t away?” ‘No, I can’t,’’ an ’ But it’s not because I'm too busy It’s bee Journalism’s a genteel wered ause I'm profession, my boy That's all you can say for it.” ip Main Street ‘hr about They walked or lence for a moment u nedict was teiling me he'd sent for you,” ‘Wants you to do a portrait of the old man, I understand?” ‘Yes. It’s kind of hack need the yesterday the editor continued money Paint ing is also a genteel professior Varney’s eyes twinkled. ‘ Well, I don’t ‘ i know it, but you're going to stir rnet’s nest with your picture. You'r going to start something in this You don’t think it will be “Great Scott bad as all that.” ‘That's not what I meant.” *Then what did you mean?” Reckon I'll let "Gene explain it to you. Where do you aim to put up ‘Mayfield House, ' ou I suppose “Heaven help y You must come up te « ipper —ofter Mother'll be happy to have you “That's kind of you,”” Bob Dana said. “I Mayfield House hasn't changed.” ‘Nothing na ‘ just a trace of bitterness in hi Mayfield. Kight eight thousand or even les change 1,”” ar thousand population when you wen today Sound asleep All up and down the valley away, this town is I guess you saw ‘em when you came along —steel mills, blast furnace ‘Smoke and grime ‘Prosper ty, Bob. Life I very town arour d here ha grown and thrived, touched by the mag finger uh the teel industry But slow old Mayfield ‘You’re writing an editorial,”’ Bob laughed it,”” Varney said. “Time and again. Y« ' ft ‘ leeper waked. A I've writter but nota blown the hort mossbacks--that’s what has ailed Mayfield led has been a few t last Quite a group of our lead 4 poor uu, what tl town's nee ng ema citizens have gone this past winter—old Henry Benedict Judge Samuel Ward. They're dropping off. You need look at me,”’ he added smilingly “T’m feeling fine.”’ Hope » I'm sure,” Bob answered. ‘“ Don't feel so wt m elf,” “What's the trouble?” ‘No breakfast yet Silly little habit of mins hey were now in the very heart of the town’s olde business section, and on the igns about him Bob Dana read many a name familiar to his youth. He glanced acro the brick-paved street toa habby one-story building bu ‘ eee - , st a black background announced of wood. Gilt letters agair this as the establishment of Herman Schall, the Baker, and on the window in white letters were the word “Schal Bread —Fresh Every Hour.” In the doorway stood a portly bespectacled old German with a white apron across his ponderous middle. “Well, well,”” Bob cried. “‘There’s old/Herman Schall! Used to buy cookies from him—years ar d years ago ta “Yes, Herman's still on the job,” Varney said Tip toeing round the kitchen turning down the gas, ju

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6 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST used to count the lumps of coal in the days before gas ranges. A penny saved is a penny earned. Leave it to Herman!” Suddenly Bob Dana felt a glow of friendliness for the old man across the street. “I think I'll go over and ask him for some coffee and rolls,”” he announced. “Good place as any for breakfast, I guess. See you later.” He stopped. “Say, what in the world did you about this portrait I’m going stirring up trouble? mean to do laughed. you worry, row won't Varney ** Don't boy. The concern you. Come in when you get a chance and tell me about your travels “T sure will “op the little minded him. Bob street and hat’sa promise,” editor re- the tood before Herman Schall, impas- sive as a statue in his Hello, he Ral l ero ased doorway Herman, The old man peered at him through thick lenses ‘Excuse, please. The eyes ain't SO good Herman, you old Don’t you know me? Dana. Bob Dana.” ‘Little Bobby Dana!" cried the old “Sure I knew 90s rascal man you. “T should hope so. How a bite of breakfast, Herman? Just coffee and rolls.” “Coffee and Comein, Bobby, Sure apout rolls, hey? a chair.” Bob followed him inside, The place had a run-down air, prosperity had passed, an old man was left to putter round the of his life’s activities. Two small tables stood against the wall, their covers faded and patched, but clean. The young man hung his hat on a rack and sat down. He watched the baker enter the kitchen at the rear, heard his instant ery: ‘Louie, Louie—turn down dot gas!” Heavy footsteps resounded—-Herman saving the pennies, After a time the old man reappeared, carrying two rolls on a plate, and a steaming cup, muttering and protesting to himself: ‘Oh, dot Louie! In the poorhouse he will have me yet.””. He set the dishes down before his customer. ’ Bob suggested. ‘Any butter on the and take “And butter,’ program?” “Sure, Butter—sure.” The old baker ambled off. Bob broke open one of the rolls. The crust was brown and crisp, but the inside was soggy. However, he was young and reckless—and hun- gry when Herman returned with a thin slice of butter he set to. While he Herman hovered aimlessly near by. ‘They tell me you was in the old country,” he said pres- “Maybe you was in Germany—maybe.,” and Bob told him. ‘Mostly in Paris and Florence too. Studying, you know. Trying to be & painter,” ‘A painter? Artist, hey? Is dot so?” He pondered this for a time, standing and blinking down on Bob's brown ‘*My nephew in Stuttgart—he would be an artist, too, now, maybe. Only the war “ The old face clouded. He wandered uncertainly away. His brief meal finished, Bob stood with Herman in the solemn presence of the cash register. “‘You had enough, hey?" the old man inquired. “Twenty cents, then.” ‘How's business?"’ Bob asked as he paid. “Business ain't so good,” sighed Herman. “Us old mer- chants, we get crowded out. Strangers they come and take our trade. Too much competition.” “I'm sorry,"’ the young man answered, “But you can’t complain. For years you were the only baker in Mayfield. i guess I’ve seen your wagon standing in front of every house in town--all the big bugs on Maple Avenue. You had things all your own way then.” “Sure, sure; but not no more.”” Herman shuffled from behind the counter, gathered the dishes from the table, turned toward the kitchen. ‘Good-by, Bobby.” As Bob reached for his hat he heard the querulous old voice: “Louie~-ach, would you have me in the poorhouse yet?” The clock in the courthouse tower was striking nine; Main Street was astir with life. Bob Dana cut across under the elms of the park. Suddenly before him loomed the and ate, ently “Of Rome on, head “He Said You'd Done a Speaking Likeness of Grandfather, and That Several People Had Heard it tay Distinctly: ‘Pay .Up Tomorrow or I'ti Put You on the Street’** dingy outlines of the Mayfield House, a three-story build- ing of brick with a pretentious cupola on one corner. Back in the ’80’s when it was built Will Varney’s father had spoken of it in the Tribune as “the finest hotel building in any town of comparable size between New York and Chicago. A modern hostelry in every sense of the word.” But in thirty years the most modern of hostelries may alter sadly. The marble lobby was soiled and battered, Bob noted, as he crossed it and engaged a room from the somewhat seedy stranger at the desk. His bag lay on the floor. A bell boy seized it and led the way through swinging doors at the rear into a dark and smelly cave. Bob stumbled after him up the stairs and finally out into the light of a big room on the second floor front. “There's a bath here, isn’t there?”’ he inquired. “Sure, there’s a bath,” the boy answered proudly. He flung open a door, “Right in here. Only room in the house that’s got one. Used to belong to Mr. Cornell.” Bob remembered; old man Cornell, who sat for years before the hotel, his hands crossed on his cane, his watery eyes staring off into space. ‘‘Where’s Mr. Cornell now?” “Dead,” said the boy. “Last winter.” “Who runs the hotel since he’s gone?” “Oh, I don’t know. It just seems to run itself. Your trunk’s downstairs; I'll send it up.” Left alone, Bob tossed his clothes onto old man Cornell’s bed and filled old man Cornell's tin tub with cold water, half of which he obtained from a faucet plainly marked “Hot.” After his bath he arrayed himself in his best, and lighting a pipe sat down to read a Cleveland paper he had bought on the train. He had drawn an easy-chair into the big bay window, and after a few moments the paper fell from his hand and he sat staring out at his town. Here he had been born and spent his youth; across the park that dozed under the elms he had gone a thousand times to and from high school; under that very tree he had stood one afternoon in 1906 and watched the old court- house burn. Suppose God had not given him his inex- plicable talent with the brush, the never-satisfied ambition that went with it. He would still be a part of Mayfield, perhaps this young mechanic driving a flivver down Market Street; or that brisk young business man hurrying to the bank for his day’s cash; or even that hopeless figure out of work and lolling on a bench in the park. But he was norie of these, he was Bob Dana who wanted to be an artist and was on his way. That way had led him August 5,1922 far from Mayfield, perhaps in the future it would lead him farther still. But this remained his town, these were his peo- ple. There was nothing but kindness in his eyes as he sat staring out through old man Cornell’s window. Let others belittle the environment that had molded them. Bob Dana was one of those faithful souls who, having once given their affection, cannot take it back. A narrow, little people might call it that. Certainly there were narrow, mean folks in it, as in all towns; big cities too. And certainly it was, as Will Varney had said, a town that slept. way ee, | cyl, mean town? Some All the from Pittsburgh that morning Bob had rid- den under the pall of thesteel mills’ smoke, up and down the val- ley Mayfield’s neigh- bors prospered, but here the old order re- mained, the conserv- atives had made good their slogan, “Keep the strangers out.”” They had tri umphed, the moss- backs. And was it such a pity, after all? The courthouse clock was striking ten when Bob rose from his chair, brushed scattered ashes from his coat, and sought the street. The First National Bank stood, as in former days, on the corner of Market and Park, its home a worn old business block with the figures 1888” cut in the stone at the front. On the opposite corner, Bob Dana noticed, an ambitious project was under way, a six-story office building not quite com- pleted. He went into the First National and asked for the presi- dent. As he entered that official’s private office Eugene Benedict jumped up to greet him. A ruddy, prosperous little man, Eugene, with a flower in his buttonhole and the unlined face of a baby. He had never had a worry in his life save the presumption of the working classes and, these later years, Bolshevism. “Hello, Bob!” he cried. “Thought it was about time for you to breeze in. How are you, anyhow?” “Great,” said Bob. He banished his smile temporarily. **Seems strange not to see your father here.” Eugene sought to be solemn too. “Yes, poor father. Passed away in April, as I wrote you. A sick man for months, but insisted on coming down here up to the day he died. Just wouldn’t give up, you know.” “Ah, yes—he had that reputation.’’” Bob sorely tempted, but he refrained from saying it. “A great pity,”” Eugene went on. “If only he could have lived until we moved into our new building across the street. Maybe you saw it.” “Oh—is that yours?” “You bet. Six stories. Finest office building for a town this size anywhere between New York and Chicago.” “Pretty daring for Mayfield, isn’t it?’’ Bob inquired. “Oh, I don’t think so. Mayfield is going to pick up. Forge ahead. ‘Twenty thousand by the next census’ that’s our slogan now. Got a chamber of commerce and a rotary club and everything. Bound to boom.” “Seems about time,” said Bob. ‘But about our little job of work. When do I hang up my hat and begin?”’ “Sooner the better. You know, it was a great surprise to me to find you could paint a portrait of father now. Really, the whole idea came from Della ——” “Oh, yes—Della. How is she?” “Fine. Just came home from college last week. Gradu- ated.” “That so? The last time I saw Dell was at the senior dance after high-school commencement. I stepped on her skirt and tore it. I believe we parted more in anger than in sorrow.” “No? Well, they’re wearing ’em shorter now. But as I was saying, I was surprised to know you could paint a portrait of a man who had—er—passed on.” Dana was

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“Oh, sure. Of course they’re not quite so satisfactory as those painted from life. But they serve. Resurrection por- traits, we call them.” “Resurrection portraits! Well, that’s expressive. Now, we'll help you all we can.” ‘You've a lot of old photographs, you wrote me.” “Well, we’ve several. And one crayon enlargement. And about the color of the eyes and hair and all that —I’ll watch you as you go along and keep you straight. We all will.” “That will be lovely,”’ shuddered Bob Dana. ‘ Did Dell recommend me for this job?” “Come to think of it, I guess she did. Now about the financial end of it. A thousand dollars, I think you said. Need any of it in advance?” “Well, I’m just back from Europe. To be frank with you . “Sure, Bob—-that’s all right. I'll write a check. How about three nundred? Or’’—he was, after all, Henry 3enedict’s son—-‘‘ perhaps two hundred would be enough?” “Oh, plenty,”” Bob told him. He took Eugene's check. “Mighty kind of you.” “Not at all. Now, Bob, I haven’t told you anything of what’s behind all this. In the first place I want a cracking good portrait of father-—-a speaking likeness. And I want it finished inside of four weeks, which is about the stretch before we open our new banking quarters across the street. You see, I intend to hang it in a prominent place in the main banking room, and I want it there the day the doors are thrown open to the public.” “That’s all right. You'll have it.” “Good! I'm going to hang it there, and underneath I’m going to put an inscription. Just a few innocent words, but they’ll stir up something in this town, or I'm a liar.”’ ““Why —what words?”’ asked Bob Dana, startled. “Simply this: ‘Henry Benedict; born 1858, died 1922. Banker and leading citizen, who more than any of his con- temporaries influenced the life of his times and left his impress on the town.’”’ ‘*And then what?”’ Bob wanted to know. “‘Nothing more. Just that.” “But I don’t see anything explosive about that.” “No? THE SATURDAY EVENING POST You haven't kept up with things round here of course. Well, I want you to understand just what we’re working towards “Sure. All Eugene Benedict rose and put on his hat let you see for yourself,’’ he announced I’ve got.” Can you spare me a few minutes? 9” *Retter if | He led the way outside to his car, which was parked across from the bank “Jump cemetery.” “That’s n mysterious since I saw you last, Mr. Ber “Oh, no,” protested Benedict. will be when Street and in a few moments turned in gates. ice,” he ordered. said Bob I show you.” “Maybe you heard,” said the banker “I’m taking you out to the Dana. ‘You've got sort of 3 edict.” “It’s simple enough — or The car sped along Market at the cemetery * Judge Samuel Ward passed away last winter too.” “Somebody mentioned it. Sort of unhealthy climate you've got round here, it seems to me.” “Not at all. Three score and ten man’s usual span.” Eugene stopped the car before an imposing marble obe- lisk. ‘*Get out here. This is the judge’s grave. I want you to read the inscription on that monument.” Bob Dana alighted and followed the banker. He stood in front of the monument and read: SAMUEL CLARK WARD WHo More THAN ANY OF 1851 JURIST PUBLICIST Hits CONTEMPORARIES INFLUENCED 1922 STATESMAN THE Lire oF His TIMES AND Lert His IMPRESS ON THE TOWN “Oh,” said Bob Dana. “I get you now.” “T thought you would,” Eugene replied He stepped on the gas. you this thing has made me mad Sam Ward was a good man in his We'll go back direct slap at way, but an father. obstructionist “Jump in. “T want to tell hopping mad. It’s a an old grouch. He sat on every progressive movement that’s been attempted round here in the pa were sour an st fifty years. i prejudiced. His decisions from the bench Of course father was a con- servative too, but his conservatism was based on a sound business instir “Of course,” ict.” smiled Bob. ‘You've been away from Mayfield a long time you think back you'll realize that inscription is a lie, *More than any of his contemporaries.” Ha! Whosays soe” Clarence Ward; and not another soul in town. Everybody will tell you that my father was Mayfield’s leading citizen, that he financed every that the way for years. Yes, sir, if anybody influenced the life of And if Clarence Ward thinks project came up, that he led his times father was the man he can put an inscription like that on his father’s tombstone and not hear from me by return mail—well, he’s got another think coming, that’s all.”’ ‘I guess your come-back will give him pause,” said sob Dana. “It ought to. Right in our main banking room. No one ever visits a cemetery if he can help it. But fat memorial will be where hundreds will see it every day hundreds, mind you in Mayfield who counts,” “Ought to start a nice little row everybody “T hope not. Unless it start ip pointed. I want this thing thrashed out now for all time I know who will win.”’ He bri the bank. “ You can see now that I've got to have the por- trait on time, and that it must be good enough to be taken 3a good big row I'll be dis yuught the car to a stop before yee seriously. Where were you thinking of doing the wert “Why at the hotel, I suppose." “Nonsense! We won't hear of it Mrs. Benedict; we'll find you house. Good thing to paint right there in the atmosphere where father lived. Catch his “All right.””. Bob accompanied the banker inside “Tell you what you do 4 ] ; >“ l ve talked it over Wi a place to work up at the spirit better.” go up to the house this after noon. Della and her mother will help you pick out a room Want the right light and all that, | suppose. We'll clear it out and you can start slinging paint in the morning.” Bob Dana about “That's a go,” agreed. “I'll be three.”’ up Eugene disappeared into his office and Bob stopped at the paying teller’s window, where an old acquaintance cashed his ¢ heck As he stepped again onto the hot sidewalk he was saying to himself ‘And they’re all to help. Won't that Continued on Page 81) going “A Vs “I Don't Know Either,’’ She Admitted. ** Sometimes I Think it Looks Like Father - and Sometimes I Don't’

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Fl = LOW Jali Glial TATOR ALLY, the feminine we all know, it is nalf of the universe which pursues the bargain to its then in triumph drags it home to be a sarcastic male who, being above such np , can see nothing in it save an exhibition of ikness and a lack of Yet there is a vague that there is something wrong with the theory; fact, there are a number of witnesses who form a little wid of their own, and who will swear that a woman’s plitude for a bargain is not only shared but eclipsed by the very persons who jeer at her for her failing. They even hint that men are worse wasters of money than women when it comes to getting something cheap, and that—but to the A few years ago I came trailing home with a patent can opener, a potato peeler, a fountain pen, a beautifully wrapped piece of chemical cleaner and a preserve- jar-top opener, all of which I had bought for fifty cents, teing a man I had expected my purchases to be received with happiness. They weren't; this in spite of the fact that it was a fairly good can opener, a perf potato peeler, a pen that would write after a sort, and a cleaner that would take off the spots if you worked hard enough, to say nothing of the fruit-jar opener, which opened very well. More, I had bought the entire collection for fifty cents, in addition to having been amused by a couple of card tricks, a few funny jokes and a sleight-of-hand per- formance, The only trouble was that we already the house throttles it, ibited before tation - self-control. tbuity » evidence had ¢ verythi g The Bargain-Hunting Male A rEK the lecture — that is, after the other half of fA the household had relieved herself of a few re- marks concerning the gullibility of mankind in gen- eral I wandered back to the pitchman, or street faker, who had sold me the articles, and asked a ques- tio! He answered “Well, bo,”’ came in frank fashion, “if it wasn’t for you knights of the tripes and keisters would be skidding along the toboggan. You're the babies that buy Give the women the bargain counters, and give the men to the pitchmen, It's a fifty-fifty break.” All of which may be a variegated statement. But it is the language of the persons who make the'r living by appealing to the bargain instinct of the masculine mind and selling him a lot of things he doesn't want. It is the language also of a world of master psychology of which little is among showmen in general—a cliquelike universe which has its own language, its own methods, its own division in showman magazines, the idioms of which are understood only by themselves; even cireus men and carnival men of twenty and thirty years’ experience can tell you little about them save that they exist, goodness only knows how. And, lest you still be in the dark, a pitchman is a person uch as you perhaps have seen on the street corners, with umpechas, u us our bread. known even a little grip fastened on the top of a tripod, and with a small knot of men ibout him, to whom he talks confiden- tially voice suggestive of adenoids; a street in other words, and in a@ faker ing must be gaine only by elling but by creat whose liv ! not ing a desire to buy a moment be fore that desire had not existed More, are usually something which the ordinary doesn't want or need; the purchase, nine out of ten, a duplication of something already where his wares person times means in the possession of How all is accomplished the customer issomething of a mys- tery even to a. pitch- man, and affords a wonderful opportu nity for anyone desir- ing an study in practical psychology. intensive There Was a Yelp, Weird and Racking. By Courtmey Ryley Cooper ILLUSTRATED BY GEORGE VAN WERVEKE He Learned That Kaives Specked With Rust Remained in the Showcase, Unwanted. It Gave the Boy an Idea As has been mentioned, little is known of the pitchman by the general public. Yet his tribe runs high into the thousands and the annual turnover of his business means a hundred millions or so a year, taking the entire output of factories which produce nothing but pitchmen’s supplies, most of which are purchased by men who believe they are getting a bargain. More than that, the annals of pitch- dom show that it was the men who formed the original bargain hunters and that had it not been for this mascu- line instinct there might have been no department stores today to lure the women! Which brings about history and the story of the beginning of pitchdom. Don’t ask for the genesis of the name. It seems that the majority of the pitchmen themselves do not know An Eminent Manufacturer of Salve Leaped Wildly August 5,1922 Lal where it came from; in fact, there is a haziness about the whole business, a sort of concealment which amounts almost to the mysteries of a secret organization. The members are taught their trade through a personal appren- ticeship; when one pitchman needs an assistant he edu- cates a younger man into the work. He in turn brings someone else into the fold, to guard as jealously its secrets as though it were some nefarious trade—which, strangely enough, it isn’t. It’s merely a game in which shrewd men outguess other men, who, perhaps in their chosen lines, are the shrewdest of the shrewd. But few are there who can resist the pitchman, once he has got a half chance at his umpcha—which, with variations of sap, fink, mark, push and other choice appellations, applies to the chump, or purchaser of the wares. But to that history: It was in 1869 or thereabouts, according to the meager traditions of the pitchman tribe, that George Stivers, a newsboy, hesitated for a moment in a hardware store at Wall and Nassau Streets, New York, where he had gone as usual that day to deliver a paper to Joseph Prince, the owner of the store, a regular customer. The original thing which caused the pause was a large showcase full of knives —-and the failing in the heagt of a boy to window-wish in front of every display of cutlery. But as Stivers looked, a new element entered—the fact that a great many of the knives were rusty. Fol- lowing which he learned that while knives with bright shining blades could be retailed for a dollar or more apiece, those which were specked with rust merely remained in the showcase, unwanted. It gave the boy an idea. He asked for a price on rusty knives in wholesale lots, and received it—a dollar a dozen. Then he purchased twelve, hurried to the nearest cigar stand, begged a cigar box, marked ‘‘ Twenty- five cents apiece”’ on the lid and started out. A Corner on Rusty Knives N ALL this George Stivers didn’t know that he was dealing with a fundamental selling principle as regards men. Whether the principle stands good with stores in general I do not know. But as regards the pitchman, the theory has held water and pro- cured dollars for more than a half century now—the fact that the boy spirit never dies in a man, that the things he likes in boyhood he will like in manhood, and that if dangled before him, like the proverbial worm before the proverbial fish, he is sure to take the bait. One of the most important of these things is a knife; and upon various forms of cutlery have thousands of pitchmen madea living ever since the days of the Reconstruction. However, all that George Stivers knew was the fact that he, a boy, liked knives, and that other persons should like them also, especially if they could be purchased at a bar- gain price which incidentally would give him a profit of 200 per cent. Hewasright. Before he had gone a block the entire stock was gone, and Stivers was bulbous-eyed with a big idea. If he could sell one dozen rusty knives in a block, how many could he sell in an all-day session? The matter had progressed to one of high finance now, with a necessity for more dollars than the newsboy possessed. So he hurried to a friend, known as Dutchy Lehman, for the necessary finan- cial backing, and told him of his newfound pocket-knife mine. Lehman lis- tened, and Lehman gave his assistance. The result was that within a few hours Stivers had purchased the entire stock of rusty pocket knives which the hardware store possessed, and then cornered every other discolored whittler that he could find in that section of New York. After which he took his stand at the corner (Continued on Page 58 gold

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 9 Concerning Joe amd Jemima ECORDED examples of perfect connubial 13 felicity are not very numerous, when you VW come to think it over, arethey? Let’ssee, there were—well, there was—eh? Of course one ILLUSTRATED BY JAMES H. CRANK recalls the mythical Phile- mon and Baucis, Darby and Joan, John Anderson, my jo Why, there you are! Joe! Joeand Jemima! There’s one modern in- stance, at least, and one really worthy of record. I wonder if, after the turmoil, distraction and social mutation of the war years, the beautiful institu- tion of the Dunmow Flitch still survives? You re- member the Flitch? Inthe middle .of the thirteenth century a tough, cynical old joker of a baron, Robert de Fitzwalter, offered it as a prize, in perpetuity, to any couple who, married a year and a day, were willing to kneel on sharp-pointed stones and swear that in all that time they had never quarreled or wished them- selves single again. It may be said that the Essex pork market has never been perceptibly stimulated dur- ing the six hundred and seventy-eight years that have elapsed by reason of the rush of claimants; but now and then—ten or twelve times in all—some happily mated pair have sworn the oath and triumphantly returned home with their winter side meat. JoeandJemima have been talking of one of these five-hundred-and-up tours, including the British Isles, the Passion Play and the Battlefields. Of course they won't go. Joe couldn’t get away from his business, and the money could be more wisely spent just now; but if they did decide to invest a part of Uncle Joseph’s legacy in that broadening and educational experience it wouldn't take long for them to run down from Lon- don to Dunmow and bring back the bacon. Properly cured and dried and mounted on a shield deco- rated with the Fitzwalter arms in Jemima’s art-and- craftiest style, it would make a beautiful ornament for their living room—and absolutely unique. The trouble would be that nobody would believe it, : even now. I should not have believed it possible myself a week ago, knowing Joe and Jemima as well as I do. You don’t know them at all, so I shall have to try to give you a little idea of them, going as far back into ancient history as may be necessary. Jemima first: ted-headed, and you know what that means. Whether it includes that creamy, delicately textured skin that lets the red show through its transparency in the most effective places and in exactly the right gradations of color is a question of the particular girl. Some redheads have quite muddy complexions and some have hazel eyes or nonde- script grayish, greenish, brownish or yellowish eyes, just as you find them with big mouths, defective teeth or glossy noses that are sadly lacking in symmetry; but one and all, each and every, from sandy to coppery, the redheads are what you might call spunky. Jemima’s eyes were and are blue—b-l-u-e, blue, and nothing else, except bright. She has the redhead com- plexion at its best; her nose is as symmetrical as it is “You May Come, Too, if You Like,"’ She Catled Back Caretessty. Going to Reminisce a Lot’’ possible to imagine a nose to be, nicely proportioned to the rest of her features, and p~nshining; her mouth and teeth—well, if I tried to describe them you would thin that I had a tender feeling for Jemima, and I really never had; not to amount to anything. Considered as a spec tacle, Jemima may be tersely described as a little bit of perfectly all right; but as for falling in love with her —and lots of fellows did—excuse me! Not that I ever blamed Jemima myself. She couldn't help her looks and the cute little ways she had any more than people could help spoiling her on account of them, Her mother began the spoiling process, with the active and efficient coéperation of her father; and everybody else just naturally fell into line. Her father, John Henry Hogan—familiarly known as John H.—was a plain, ordi- nary bookkeeper for an unimportant firm of coffee brokers on Randolph Street. He had been with the firm for a long time and they thought a good deal of him, but he wasn’t a high-salaried man. Just comfortably poor, you migh say; owning his little home at Deepdene, paying his bills “But Mr. Bingham and I are quite suddenly aware of the neighbor ’s approach and t top Just the same ‘Everything all right, Je: *s a little beauty red-headed girls for choice,’ bor, who is a mighty sensible man and knows wha : And pipe those blue ey ' Lookit, John H.! regularly, and with equal regularity putting a little by fora rainy day. Incidentally it may be began to rain on the tenth of April in the year 1900—Jemima’s birthday No, the Hogans were by no means rich people, but I am informed that you would never have suspected it if you had based your esti mate on little Jemima’s baby outfit. Her clothes the sheerest muslins and the softest and finest flannels, embellished by the most exquisite needlework and wonderful embroidery; her bassinet might have nested infant royalty and her car riage was the most expen sive that had ever been seen in Deepdene up to that time. When Jemima took her airings in that splendid equipage the whole neigh borhood seemed to rush out and surround it, filling the circumambient air with ec- static cnes, “ Those darling, blue, blue eyes !”’ “Oh, see her smile!"’ “ Did you ever in ail your life see such a tiny rosebud of a mouth!” “And will you look at her hair! What a quantity she has of it, and isn’t it just like spun sunshine!” “And ve tweet, tweet, tunnin’ ‘ittle paddies!” And all the rest of it, ad infinitum, ad nauseam — and add—don't forget to add the touching, would-be dep recatory responses of ths pride-puffed parents or whichever of them hap pened to be trundling M: Jemima at the time. Young as I was then, I can remer ber tiptoeing to admire the little beauty and not mind ing when her waving fist struck me in the eye, and I can also remember my father laughing as John Henry Hogan went by the house wheeling the carriage and trying io look carei and matter of fact about it A neighbor would heave in sight and old Johr Henry's eyes would light up, but he would look about him as if he was more terested in lawns and flower beds than anything else. He would take or hand from the handlebar of the earriage, even, and thrust it nonchalantly in hi pocket He would seem be da casual greeting; but he with an air of recalling something. ‘Oh, morning, isn’t it? Feeney ue grass with that clover, Jemima’s silken coverilet John H. almost disparagingly ays the neigh es! Say, are y

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THE SATURDAY “IT s’pose there’s worse-looking kids,” says old John H., relaxing a little. ‘Feel what a grip she’s got in her fingers, Hank.” “Gosh! She’s going to make the boys step around fifteen years from now. I see lots of trouble ahead for you, John H. You wait until she gets to be about sixteen or seventeen. You'll have to get a detail from the tation to handle the mob.” “Oh, I guess I'll be able to handle it all right,”’ says John H. with a simper. “She'll probably be as homely as a mud fence when she grows up. They ay that’s the way it is if you’re a looker when you're young. I’m told I was a handsome baby. But her eyes certainly are blue. Just feel of her hair, Hank, Say, ain’t her little cheeks just like rose leaf? Hold on a moment until I pull off her shoe; I want to show you her feet.” Weil, that was the way it went, and when she got big enough to run around and tell what she wanted—why, she got what she wanted, and nothing that she didn’t want, and whatever anybody thought she might want if it were offered to her. Naturally! Because if there’s anything more compelling than a beau- tiful baby it's a beautiful two-year-old—three, five, seven, nine or ten year old girl. And when Jemima reached her teens-——nothing to it! Which, of course, means everything in the world to it. Waited on? Hand and foot, early and late. How that mother of hers slaved, denying herself all leisure and rest that her angel Jemima might find life a gay round of play and pleasure into which no unpleasant tasks should intrude! What special dishes she was everlastingly cooking to tempt the dear child’s dainty appetite! What weary feet she dragged from store to store, Friday after Friday, for bargains in material of the best, which she afterwards fashioned into ravishing little frocks, stitching on them iong hours after John Henry had gone to bed, and simply ruining her eyesight in the labor of love! What endless tluffles and ruffles, and what work it was, washing and iron- ing them all in the stuffy little kitchen! How she buttoned and unbuttoned precious sweetheart, bathed and combed and brushed her! The little parties she gave for her to the other children, and her one pair of hands for all of it, for the Hogans kept no girl. Very few of their friends did, for that matter, help being scarce, hard to get, inefficient and more bother than they were worth, to say nothing of being oxpensive, “But you must find Jemima quite a help to you now,” Irs. Hogan’s friends would say, sweetly nasty, knowing darned weil how much help Jemima was, Well, I'll tell you now,” Mrs. Hogan would reply; “I don't believe in making drudges of young girls. I had plenty of that in our family when I was a girl, and I mean that Jemima shall have a good time while she can. What I say is we are only young once. She would like to help, and she does in lots of ways, but she’s got her school work und she'd better be attending to that while I run the house,.”” Self-sacrificing? I don't know. She pleased herself, and the most selfish of us are generally willing to do that. If people thought that she had a funny idea of taking her pleasure, that was because they did not know how love lightens the burden of toil or properly estimate the keen delight that Mrs. Hogan felt when Jemima came dancing into the house-—certainly a lovely sight in her pretty clothes and trinkets, and full of the joy of life. This dainty and vivid creature was hers; flesh of her flesh, bone of her bone, and renewed spirit of the spirit of her youth; Jemima's happiness was her happiness, too, and Jemima’s griefs would as surely be her griefs, for which reason, perhaps, she kept grief from the girl by every means within her power, It was much about the same with John H. He madea few sacrifices too: wore his clothes farther into the last possible stages of seediness; made things do a little longer — his old winter coat into another winter, his rather threadbare spring suit another season, his shoes another month or so, abandoning the remnants of his former pruceness one by one, forgoing, one by one, little social habits that cost money, giving up as hopeless that other ingrained habit of always putting a little something by and never encroaching on the rainy-day fund. Not without grumbling occasionally; not without outbursts of strong common sense, such as: “Why don’t you get her some- thing simple and inexpensive?” ‘ What's the use of all these fal-lals?"’ “We aren’t in the millionaire set.” “It isn't a month ago since she had a new dress. What's become of that?" “There's no service in shoes like those. Pretty enough, but what she wants is something that will wear.” To which the all-sufficient answer was ‘Now, father, you don’t understand at all!” There Was No Time for Him to Dodge the Impact, and His Stick Had Fatlen From His Hand And later on, Mrs. Hogan leads Jemima by the hand into the living room where John H. is waiting patiently for his deferred dinner—deferred to allow Mrs. Hogan to assist her daughter with an evening toilet. “Now put that pzper down, father, and look at the belle of the party,’’ she says. ‘‘ This is the little dress you were making such a fuss about. Stand still, darling. Now turn around and let your father see the back.” Smiling that peculiarly fetching little smile of hers, Jemima stands, pirouettes, minces a pace or two with an exaggerated affectation of fashionable hauteur, giggles, and returns to her station while her mother plucks and twitches the new frock here and there, wondering audibly if this couldn’t be advantageously taken up a little here or let out a little there—‘ Wait a minute, darling. Stand still. Well, I guess it will have to do. Now what do you think of it, father?” “Huht” John H. grunts. “Huh? Is that all you have to say?” He looks at his child. She is posing again, her slender white arms gleaming through the short blue chiffon sleeves as she extends them, one small foot —in the unserviceable silver slippers— pointed forward, her lithe young body bent gracefully back, a picture far beyond the limitations of brush, paint and human fingers, a picture hard to!contem- plate with a grim countenance. John H., looking at it, feels that after all it may be pretty cheap at the price. He may not have one of these palatial homes and a red auto- mobile and money to throw at the dickey birds, but he’d like one of these bloated plutes—any of ’em, by George!— to show him anything they’d got that would touch this. “Huh!” says he again. “ Well, Jemmy, you're looking pretty fine. But,” he adds, to get in a little of that hard common sense of his, “handsome is as handsome does. Give daddy a kiss.” “She ought to have a little fan,” says Mrs. Hogan. EVENING POST August 5,1922 “Then why the dickens don’t you get her one?” says John H. But John H. was not always so complai- sant. There were times when he overdid the strong-common-sense business and was altogether absurd and unreasonable. As when, coming home one hot day and find- ing Mrs. Hogan in the kitchen putting up raspberries. Like the boiler room of a steamer in the tropics; with the bubbling kettles on the stove and the sickly sweet, oppressive smell, and the poor woman scarlet as the berries that she was pouring into the rows of glass jars before her. John Henry was peeved. “ All foolishness!”’ he declared. ‘No need of it. Just because berries happen to be cheap.” “Jemmy loves them so,”’ said Mrs. Hogan. “And you know you're fond of them yourself,”’ she hastened to add, seeing that he frowned. **Where is she?”” demanded John H. He found her in the living room, curled against a heap of sofa pillows, reading a book that she hastily closed as he entered. She looked so confoundedly fresh and cool and daintily immaculate that John H. was peeved worse than ever. “Why aren’t you in the kitchen helping your mother?” he asked, quite sternly for John. Poor Jemima was utterly astounded. Why wasn’t she in the kitchen? In the kitchen! And helping! Had father got a touch o’ sun? “T should think that you’d be ashamed of yourself,” John H. went on. ‘“Lazing and lolloping here, reading silly trash. Give me that book! And your poor ma just about all in, putting up preserves for you! I’d think you’d try to lighten her work for her a little instead of letting her kill herself doing for-you. You get up from that lounge and go and help her. Right now! You hear me?” Jemima started up, her cheeks flaming, her eyes darting blue lightnings of righteous resentment and anger. “TI won't, I won’t, I won’t!’’ she cried, stamping her foot. “I think you ought to be ashamed to say such things!” “Are you going to mind me?” asked her father in a quiet voice that had nevertheless something in its tone that Jemima recognized as preliminary to new outrage. She made no articulate reply, but she went—in a fury, though, and slamming the door behind her. Her father, standing where she had left him, heard her passionately recounting her wrong to her ever-sympathetic mother. He caught such fragments as: ‘I wasn’t doing a single thing!’ “I won’t stand it!” “I won't!” “I'll run away.” Sobs, wails, and Mrs. Hogan’s gentle consolatory murmur. John Henry began to realize that he had been acting pretty meanly to the poor youngster. After all, she was just a kid. Just the same, it wasn’t right for Evvy to be forever coddling and babying her, making a nigger of herself. Whatever doubt he may have had as to the propriety of his conduct, Mrs. Hogan settled for him at once, opening the door with a fling that was hardly less eloquent than her daughter’s recent slam, and standing there with the rich color completely banished from her face and her eyes strangely hostile and accusing. “IT must say you're in mighty big business, John Henry Hogan! Mighty big business!" “Well, mother, I do think ” John H. began lamely. “You do think! You think you are justified in jumping on that poor child and abusing her?” “T didn’t abuse her. All I said was —— “IT know what you said, and I know you had no reason whatever for saying it. The idea! The very idea!” “Well, perhaps I was a little hard on her,”’ John H. admitted. “You! Her own father! She’s just broken-hearted over it. Why, John!” Jemima, standing on the stair landing where she could hear perfectly, nodded her head in approval. She nodded once more when John H. again expressed regret for his brutal behavior, and a third time when he promised to make it up to her—which promise, you may be sure, he kept. Jemima looked as broken-hearted as she could, nevertheless, when she came down to set the table for dinner—talk about her not helping; and though she was sweet and forgiving and respectful in her bearing toward her father, you may bet that she made him thoroughly realize how deeply she had been wounded by his cruel words. But that passed, of course. John H. had had his lesson and all went well and happily once more. Jemima pursued the even tenor of her way, which certainly did not take her into the kitchen. She attended grammar and dancing schools and took piano from Miss Warchop and craft work from the same versatile spinster, so that, with her various social engagements, her time was pretty well occupied without fooling with dishpans and cookstoves. No neces- sity for it anyway, for the handsome young American millionaire or the foreign nobleman whom she was to marry in due course of time would have a housekeeper to direct Pr an gh a

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ee : the servants, of course. There was not the least doubt in the Hogan family that Jemima would marry a duke or sumpin, and I think myself that if it hadn’t been for Joe and if she had gone on the stage, as she might have, the chances wouldn’t have been so poor, at that. Now we get to Joe: You know these pictures of aggressive-looking gentlemen who so evidently have taken to heart the injunction of one of our captains of industry to “So live your life that you can look any man in the eye and tell him to go to hell’? You know them. They stand, resolute, compelling, inflexible, shaking minatory fingers or pounding positive palms with emphatic fists, looking the whole world in the eye from a full-page advertisement and telling it that they can make it well, increase its salary 50 per cent, bend the most stubborn to its will, convince the most incredulous of the excellence of its commodities or make its mnemonic faculties a wonder to itself. Well, Joe always reminds me of those indomitable, forceful fellows. He can and does thrust out his jaw like them when the occasion seems to demand it; he can and does wiggle a forefinger as impressively and pound his own palm in a way highly suggestive of his perfect readiness—should circumstances render it necessary—to pound whatever part of your person he can most conveniently and effec- tually reach. And nobody ever accused him of bluffing. He has a way of accompanying certain statements with a staccato rap- ping of his knuckles on a table or a desk that commands instant and respectful attention, and his eyes have the gimlet or steel-jacket quality of penetration. You may fool with Joe if you fool properly, but not otherwise. He is good-natured enough, and his big mouthful of white teeth is oftenest displayed in a grin or a hearty whole- teacher, Miss Wagram—a little old maid with a long nose that had a large wart on it, a thin long neck, and thin short hair. She was extremely nervous and acted as if she was scared to death when we got obstreperous. Nota very good teacher, perhaps, as I recall her methods, but conscientious and hard-working; and, as everybody knew, she had a cranky old bed-ridden mother to support, which made her too fearful of losing her job. Well, Joe certainly made life a burden to her. His very last prank was when he drew a rude caricature of her on the blackboard, devilishly and unnecessarily exaggerating the nose and the wart. But I think he really intended that as a joke that she would have sufficient sense of humor to appreciate. She was so far from relishing it, however, that she mustered courage to send him in to the principal, who, making rather a failure of the corporal punishment that he tried to administer, expelled Joe from the school. “Suits me,” Joe bragged. “I'll get into a school where there’s teachers that can learn a fellow something. That old hen ain’t no good and never was. I know more’n she does, right now.” “Yes you do,” said I sarcastically. ‘‘What you know and what you don’t know would fill a book. You didn’t know enough to wipe that off before she come into the room,” “T thought she could take a joke,” said he. “You hurt her feelings,”’ I told him, unconsciously re- peating Tommy Traddles. “T don’t see how,” he replied. nose, ain’t she? Well!” And it was this belli ng rt little Jemima playing among the girls, fell at once a victim ‘She's got a wart or her } \ 10, seeing pretty THE SATURDAY EVENING POST i! to her charms, and who with his usual contempt for public opinion escorted her to and from school, carried her books, rescued too ambitious kittens from trees—-tenderly and at the risk of neck and limb, instead of pelting the squalling things with rocks —who even blacked his shoes at her behest. Public opinion could hardly refrain from expressing itself concerning this charming episode, but Joe at once made public opinion sorry that it spoke, Oh, little Jemima had him eating out of her hand. It was certainly funny to see the two together, She was mighty disdainful at first, and she continually said things to him that made heavers hold their breath; but he only laughed at her, and in. time she at least tolerated him and accepted his escort and some of his gifts. Still, so far as anybody could guess, she was not consumed with grief at his expulsion, and shed no tears when a few weeks later Joe’s parents moved to Aurora and took him along. There were plenty of others to take his place. I had almost forgotten Joe when I ran into him on State Street just before we got tired of holding Germany te a strict accountability and made up our minds that more could be accomplished by personal interview than corre spondence. I quite literally ran into him, and at my first glance after the collision I put myself in an attitude of defense before I had finished my apology. It seemed a wise precaution. But when he suddenly relaxed into a grin I knew him at once, and we shook hands with mutual pleasure. He had grown into a handsome young brute, with the same jet-black hair and piercing jet-black eyes that I remembered. Not tall, but about my own height and build; well set up and muscular. He was also well groomed and fairly well dressed; altogether much souled laugh; but the fuse to his highly inflammable temper is not overlong, and when it is ignited the result- ing pyrotechnical display is not always harmless. People often say that he is a little too much so, and perhaps he is; but he always makes friends and he keeps most of them. He is a friend of mine and has been ever since he licked me at the Felix BoznanskiGrammarSchool. One tough kid, he was. He would fight anybody without waiting for the drop of the hat or any formality whatsoever. If we dis- pleased him he frankly told us all about it, and unless we promptly satisfied him that we were regretful and anxious to amend, clouts or kicks or both instantly fol- lowed his discourse. The younger, weaker and more timid of us stood in holy awe of the little bully, for he had no sympathy for weakness or timidity. But his tongue was just as rough with the big seventh and eighth grade kids, and if they resented his freshness, as they did at first, he would tackle them with a total disregard of any odds of size and’ strength, and, being a glutton for punishment and utterly reckless with rocks, baseball clubs or whatever was hard and handy, the big slobs eventually let him rave. Nobody really aches to thrash a fellow that one knows will, in the course of the thrashing, do all the damage he can to the last gasp and renew the conflict the moment that he is suffi- ciently recovered. That was the way Joedid. You could beat him up, but you cculdn’t make him stay licked. So Joe became an ac- knowledged leader, and, se- cure in that position, his natural good qualities made him fairly popular with his following. But I never liked the way he plagued our He Looks at His Child. | So ———eeeee———_Vv She is Posing Again, Her Stender White Arms Gleaming Through the Short Blue Chiffon Sleeves improved in his appearance. We went to lunch to- gether and I learned that he had a good job as as- sistant manager with a wholesale stationery ind job-printing concern and that it was going to be a better one or he was going to know the reason wh; if he didn’t go to Canada and join up with some bunch that was overseas bound, But he had taken this dod- dering old concern a year ago, put it on it haky legs, pumped pep into it, cut out dead timber and put the fear of God into the rest, until now it was fairly firm on its feet and walking ahead as fast as could be expected. ‘And they're going to bounce the old iphead that’s beer playir gy at man- ager, and put me in his place at } salary or I'll quit ‘em and let ’en ump ba k,” il l Joe, with a thu p ol his fist on tl table ‘I’m going to say to them, ‘Gentlemen He proceeded to tell me what he was going to say, with the staccato knuckie rapping accompaniment that I have before men- tioned There were two men seated at an adjoining table. The one who faced me—a pleasant-looking young fellow with a blond mustache smiled gently us though amused by Joe’ emphatic manner; but it wasn't an offensive smile; rather friendly But Joe finished and then laughed, and we talked of other things and were jolly together until I found I had to go back to n work. Joe insisted on pay ing the check—and it wa good-sized one—and all wa sweet and lovely and fine and dandy when, as we rose, the young man at the next table spoke to his com pan- ion in German. (Continued on Page 96)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST i, REw YORK CITy Catee as Carmen in an Early New York Appearance vi STUDIED fora year with Madame Laborde, and made | such effective progress that I was immediately reén- gaged in Italy. I appeared at the San Carlo of Naples, where I sang Ophelia, with Victor Maurel as Hamlet, and where I appeared in Bizet’s Pécheurs de Perles with the tenor Lucia, a gifted singer, with whom I was later to create Mascagni's L’Amico Fritz. I sang for two consecu- Naples, before the most amusing public it been my privilege to en- A group of dilettanti, gentle- men of taste and leisure, assisted regularly at every performance, criti- cizing the actors and actresses, prais- ing and blaming in loud tones, punctuating the performance with ex- clamations and ejaculations, to the vast amusement of the rest of the au- dience. One day, at the house of some friends, my attention was arrested by the appearance of one of the guests. “Tell me,” I said to a Neapolitan acquaintance, “who is that distin- guished old man? It seems to me that I have seen him before. What is his profession? What does he de?” “He is a subscriber to the San Carlo,” answered my informer with perfect serious- though this description explained He is in fact the senior mem- Allow me to present tive years in has ever counter. ness, @s8 everything. ber of the fraternity. him.” The old gentleman proved a most enter- taining friend. He described to me the fa- tiguing duties of an abbonato, as a subscriber is called in Italian. An abbonato had to be at the theater early in the morning to watch the rehearsal of the ballet dancers. At half past one he returned to give his opinion on the performance of the orchestra. Later in the afternoon he gave his entire attention to the rehearsals of the singers. The evening, of course, was devoted to the regular per- formance. A full day's work! My friend must have been ninety years old, but he was still pursuing his arduous He had known all the singers in what he described as the great era. He had even known La Malibran when she wus hardly more than a child. Her father, Garcia, wasaterror. He taught his daughters to sing with the help of a cudgel, beating them when they did not do exactly as he commanded. One profession August 5,1922 By EMMA CALVE TRANSLATED “Do not forget what I told you to do in the last act!”’ he whispered in a threatening undertone. “If you dare make a mistake, you will catch it from me!” i As the evehing wore on the little Desdemona became more and madre nervous. She blundered several times, and her fathér’s anger rose. By the time they reached the scene ir which Othello strangles Desdemona, Garcia was in a fury. He glared at the poor child ferociously, his face contorted with rage. Suddenly she became |panic-stricken, and running from him threw herself into the orchestra pit. “Help! Murder!’ she screamed. “He's after me! He’s going to kill me in real earnest!” The first violinist caught her in his arms, and, we suppose, reassured her successfully. At any rate it happened that a few years later she became the wife of this musician, whose name was De Bériot. La Frezzalini, a dramatic personality of the old days, was another star in my abbonato’s firmament. At one periot of her career she had contracted for a tour in South America. The day of her début in Buenos Aires she was told that her lover, who had remained in Italy, was unfaithful to her. Mad with jealousy, she determined at all costs to reach him. She purloined her maid’s cloak and passport and made her escape from the hotel. A ship was lying in the harbor, anchor weighed, ready to sail for Europe. She managed to get on board unnoticed. Several hours later, when the curtain should have been rising on her first appearance in the Argentine capital, she was well out at sea. This pretty piece of folly cost her three million francs! C'est beau—la passion! I can imagine the eloquent despair of her manager; I ¢an see the expression of his face when he discovered the flight of his song bird! In spite of my cordial reception at Naples and elsewhere in Italy, I was not yet satisfied. My heart was set on returning to Milan. I longed to wipe out the memory of my failure there; but that terrible public! I dreaded to appear again be- fore it! I wag finally persuaded to make the attempt, and it was arranged for me to sing Ophelia with the cele- brated Italian barytone, Battistini. The audience received me coldly during the first acts. I was in despair. “If I do not succeed,” I said to my mother as I dressed for the mad scene, “I will throw myself out of the window!” I went on the stage in a desperate mood, too frantic to care how I looked, pale with grief and rage. I had no make-up on, my dress was in disorder; I must have seemed, indeed, half mad. The audience thought it was a studied effect and I felt a current of interest and sympathy sweep through the theater. I began singing, with a complete abandon, a tragic fervor. The first phrase was greeted enthusiastically. Deter- mined to win a complete triumph, I attacked a cadenza which I had never before attempted in public. It was an extremely difficult piece of vocalization, going from low A to F above high C. Once upon that dizzy pinnacle, I was like a child on a ladder, afraid to come down. The conductor was terrified. I held the note as long as I could; but when my breath gave out [had todescend the chromatic seale. I did it with such brio, such perfection, that the au- dience burst into a thunder of applause. Seldom have I had such an ovation. I can truly say that it was the greatest mo- ment in my operatic career. What in- tense, what trium- phant joy filled my young heart that night! I cannot continue the narrative of my years in Italy without speaking of an artist whose influence upon my career night La Malibran was singing Desde- mona to his Othello. As they made their entrance he turned to his daughter. Calvée as Ophelia, by Dennis Peuch, Who De-+ signed the Statue at Her Request for Her Tomb has been incalculable—La Duse! All my life I have loved and admired her BY ROSAMOND GILDER Galli: Marté, the Originator of the Réle of Carmen deeply. I cannot see her upon the stage without being profoundly moved. Hers was the spark that set my fires alight. Her art, simple, human, passionately sincere, was a revelation tome. It broke down the false and conven- tional standards of lyric expression to which I had become accustomed. She taught me to appreciate sincerity in art; a sincerity which in her case went to the length of being unwilling to make up for the stage. She was severely criticized for this when she first ap- peared in Paris. She returned another year, with the usual type of costume and make-up, proving that she could shine in the school that believed in the embellishment of Nature as well as in her realistic manner. I shall never forget her beauty that year. All Paris flocked to see her, and everyone was forced to bow before her genius. I followed her on her tours through Italy one summer, going from town to town where she was playing, attending each performance, and sometimes watching for her at the stage door or in the lobby of her hotel. I never wished to approach my divinity. I wanted her to remain exalted, remote, inaccessible. Years later, however, when we were both touring in America, I learned to know her well, and to appreciate deeply her great qualities of mind and heart. vil N 1891 I was chosen by Mascagni to create the charming role of Suzel in his opera L’Amico Fritz. It was given at the Constanzi Theater in Rome, with Lucia and Lhérie in the tenor and barytone parts. Lucia I have already mentioned in connection with my début in Naples. Lhérie, an artist of distinction, had been a tenor in his youth. He had created the réle of Don José in Carmen. He was very popular in both France and Italy, and I have often sung in Hamlet with him. He excelled in the title réle of this opera, which he interpreted in a truly Shaksperean spirit. We had, all three, marked successes in Mascagni’s delight- ful production, which is, indeed, a small masterpiece. During my sojourn in the Holy City I often went to hear the choir of the Sistine Chapel, which was at that time under the direction of the last of the eunuchs, Mustapha, a Turk, like all his companions. He had an exquisite high tenor voice, truly angelic, neither masculine nor yet feminine in type, but reflecting the qualities of both sexes; deep, subtle, poignant in its vibrant intensity. He sang the classic church music admirably, especially Palestrina. He had certain curious notes which he called his fourth voice—strange, sexless tones, superhuman, uncanny! I was so much impressed by his talent that I decided to take some lessons from him. The first question I asked was how I might learn to sing those heavenly tones. “It’s quite easy,” he answered. ‘You have only to practice with your mouth tight shut for two hours a day. At the end of ten years you may possibly be able to do something with them.” That was hardly encouraging!

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ‘‘A thousand thanks!” I exclaimed. “At that rate I will never learn! It takes too much patience!” Nevertheless, with the tenacity which is a fundamental part of my character, I set to work. My first efforts were pitiful. My mother assured me thgt they sounded like the mewing of a sick cat. At the end of two years, however, I began to make use of my newly acquired skill; but it was not until the third year of study that I obtained a complete mastery of the difficult art. These special notes, which I have used wishes, can use Patti’s sedan — chair. The porters will not since then with great success, are rarely Queen Victoria at the Age of Five weight, but madem found in the ordinary selle is exactly right.” J run of voices. I have tried repeatedly to develop them in I was, of course, delighted. Every / a my pupils; but in spite of hard work and close application evening I made the journey through /. ree I have never found one pupil who has been able toimitate the narrow alleys of old Venice, and / them. While I was studying in Rome I overheard one of my known all along the route. The comrades remark that, after all, this fourth voice was _ street urchins began cheering as soon nothing but a trick. Much vexed, I told Mustapha what as they saw it appear at the end of had been said. it talent.” I have always been an eager student, anxious to acquire Fenice was a gala night. Thestage new skill, ready to try any method that might increase the was inundated with flowers, the effectiveness of my interpretations. When I was young I audience wildly enthusiastic. Finally would have walked through fire had I been told that I it was time to go home, and my would sing or act better in consequence. Fortunately for mother sent my maid to call the me, fire was never thought of, but water was I was at the studio of Dennis Peuch, a sculptor from my own country of Aveyron. He explained that in order to obtain grace- ful lines he soaked his models’ clothes in water before arranging their draperies. The idea struck me as admirable. The next time I sang Ophelia I wrung my dress out in a basin of water before putting it on for the mad scene. The effect was all that could be desired, until the middle of the act. It is then that the pale Ophelia, sur- rounded by a group of lovely maidens, sinks to the ground beside the lake. As I lay on the mossy bank, playing with my flowers, I noticed that the little ballet dancers were staring at me, round-eyed. “Look at Calvé!” I heard one of them whisper. ‘‘What’s the matter with her? She’s on fire! See the smoke!” What an unexpected disaster! My lovely Grecian effect was drying off in a cloud of steam! We were all convulsed with laughter. The farce ended in a bad cold, and I never tried this particular method again. During one of my later visits to Rome I carried into effect an idea that had long haunted my imagination. I wished to have a monument designed for my tomb, and I asked Dennis Peuch to carry out my idea. This great sculptor was not only my friend and compatriot but a very talented artist as well. I giveon page 12 a photograph of the statue he made of me in the réle of Ophelia, which some day will be used for its destined purpose. M. Peuch is now director of the Academy of France in Rome, and we of Aveyron are very proud of our distinguished countryman. Our little department can claim many fa- mous men among its citizens, not the least of whom is Henri Fabre, who lived near my own home, and whose marvelous researches in the insect world have brought him world- wide honor. vii ONTINUING my tour through Italy, I went to Venice, where I sang in the Thé4- tre de Fenice, a charming eighteenth-century hall, decorated with a Louis XV fan, the loges paneled in vernis Mertin. I gave over twenty perfermances of Ophelia, with tre- mendous success. Let them howl!” he answered. ‘Our friends call our “*Eccola prima donna!’’ they achievement trickery when they cannot do the same thing shouted. “Here she comes! Evviva themselves. As soon as they have learned the art they call Epvviva!’ carry more than a certain as my portantina was unique, I was a street. My farewell performance at the uggeste]. porters. This maid, Valérie, was a SG br Aime DUPUNT, NEw ITY Caltve in De Lara's Messaline at the Metropolitan Opera House, New York, 1900. Above —Lteanora Duse One afternoon I went tothe theater Parisian, dark, rather earlier than usual. AsIentered coloring. She loved to imitate my way of walking, my ges Wi The I saw a group of portersand mechanics tures, sometimes even my ¢l ippl graceful and not unlike me in build and othes. She wore a mantilla hovering around a little sedan chair and at a distance might easily be mistaken for her mistré which stood in the wings and which I My mother and I sat waiting in my dressing room for had noticed befor It had been built long time. Val‘rie seemed to be unaccountably slow. Ws for Patti on her last stay in Venice. were beginning to wonder what had happened to |} She feared the dampness of the canals when she burst into the room and insisted on being carried to and “Oh, mademoiselle, forgive me!" sho exclaimed, all out from her hotel in this specially con- of breath. ‘I didn’t do it on purpose! They carried me tructed portantina, off in the port a! There were serenaders, gentlemen in As I made my way toward my dre evening clothe It was grand! Aregular triumph! They ing room the stage manager, who had ___ thought it wa; mademoi-elle!”’ been in animated conversation with She stopped for breath, but before we could ask a singk the group around the sedan chair, ap- question she was off again. proached me. “When we got to the hotel,”” she continued excited] “Will mademoiselle be so kind as to “‘the manager opened the door with a deep bow. When he tell me how much she weighs?” he saw me, how he jumped! ‘It’s nothing but the maid!’ asked. shouted ir it really it isn’t my fault “‘A hundred and twenty-five rie conclud 4 £ help it if I le pounds,”’ I answered, much surprised idemoisel ers bro me back, but tl “Splendid!” he exclaimed. ‘Just ‘ Everyone is gone thething! Mademoiselle, if she he W ve ang! and dismiss the girl on the I could only laugh. It ed to meso absurd! Whe we got back to the hotel n ne was in ght but the teps were covered with flowers, strewn at the feet of my chambermaid! In my own room at last, I could not sleep I tood on my baleo lock r out ver t peaceful lag It wa 1 marvelous night. Venice was still a city of gondolas and midnight erenade There were no motor boats to spoil the pic ture there ire to day My mother wa | thrilled with joy at m UCCESSE “ Never, never have you had such a triumph!’ he exclaimed aput and vain She had { giver Valérie her escapace ana nly remembered the flowers ‘ ipplause the tribu eciation and enthusiasm we left the hotel the next day we resented r carryil at dos unhapy embarrassment ‘Patti's mar with a bill g off in the portantina "00 ager used to arrange for a triumphal progress of this sort,” he ex laimed. ‘‘ He hired the hallboys and mu ins from the hote I thought mademoi elle, too, would like it I an i you e displeased.” It’s rea too mucl wailed n ther have to p uch a price for the giorm ition of a maid! In after ye I was telling tl tate to r of my con tet Vv, hada ng W t} i ce in Ve Oh, Cals hat a blow! he exclaimed Y 1 had ned t stor ‘You hav ttered eof! ! t precious illusions! My poor father must have had to foot the while I thought that I had bes ul med by the flower of Venetian nol ! 1x V! NIC] it city of delight, the j { ; poet ind the home of beau holds for ‘ ther memories than those of the ga d of my triumphs there For me it ened by the shadow of a great sorrow, e memor faday when my mul touched the black dey f passion and despair, and f Wid ed W e. For a whole week | had | iiting, in an anguish of y nd sus; ‘ ! | of a certain letter It n i, crushing, final g ( ming cat rophe, the end of } the deat Cont h of hone inued on Page 33

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14 THz GATE OPENS ATE, screaming “Stop him.—stop him!” threw her- self against Baldy Mar- tin —too late. Under her * arm the wicked glittering little pistol exploded with THE SATURDAY EVENING POST He Poised His Paintbrushand Glanced Over His Shoulder at Her, His Coot Scotch Eye Registering a Tender Scorn By WILL IRWIN ILLUSTRATED Br CLARK FAY August 5,1922 a report which the confined space of that dingy back room Dolly, steadied him from complicating murder with folly, them Baldy’s eyes. They had hyp- magnified into the roar of a cannon. Into its reverbera- as the blind instinct of Dolly had told her that it would. notized her, bewitched her, those tions broke theclatter of tin, the tinkle of breaking glasses. It saved him in the end from the electric chair. Kate still eyes; they were the lights that had lured her along the The waiter, entering with drinks, had seen the flash of the leaned like a piece of furniture against the wall, still held road ending in this chasm —they with their mystery, their nickeled barrel and, man of experience that he was, had her hand before her, the two stained fingers raised in roving boldness. They were different eyes now. Into their thrown himself on his face. An instant then of silence; a posture like a priestly benediction, still watched across sullen fear had crept a rat-quality. He lowered the pistol, then sound on sound broke in. From the bar outside chairs scraped, feet clattered, male voices spoke in quick exclamatives. Dolly, backed against the wall, gave two quick screams, light and sharp like the wail of a kitten; and then the gang instinet rising over every emotion she cried, ‘‘ Mike jumped him!” Although the man who lay there on his face was her escort and personal prop- erty, although his dying ears must have heard this treason, still she said it-—even repeated it as the first of the crowd with- out peered warily in at the door. Kate, as the pistol went off, had disen- gaged Baldy with a shove, had turned in time to see Mike crumple up on the floor. The seream which’ had started from her chest seemed to choke, to congeal in her throat. Mike lay with his left arm out- stretched. As she watched, it groped ilong the floor toward his chest, moving more and more slowly until, with a final bounce like a rubber ball, it lay still. Kate knelt down and with both hands tugged at his shoulder. She lifted it only by inches, for he was a heavy man. That was enough; a pool of blood grew sud- denly on the floor about him. She straight- ened up. Two fingers of the white glove on her left hand bore a vivid, spreading red stain. She stared at it with wide, stupid eyes; and the range of her glance caught Baldy, backed up in his own cor- ner. lis hand still held the pistol, but it had dropped to his side, The hideous con- tortions of anger complicated by many drinks were dying out of his face. A cur- tain of sickly green had started from his throat, run up over his jaw, his cheeks, finally veiled with apprehension the sullen defiance of his eyes. No one, momenta- rily, looked at Mike. Tacitly they all rec- ognized that Mike was done for, had passed from the drama until his shade should return with vengeance in his hands. As two heads, tousled, strained, scared, peered in at the door a police whistle shrilled from the bar outside. The waiter began to scramble heavily to his feet. Baldy wheeled, half raised his gun as though to force his way toward escape; then Dolly screamed again, and “ Don’t touch that bottle! Mike tried to bean '’m with it!”’ she said. It lay on the floor, where it had fallen during the confusion before the shot, And that spurt of woman's wit, flashing suddenly out of the mass cf vicious frivolities which was “TI Done it as Much as You,"' Confessed Kate. He Did Not Respond; He Did Not Help Her reversed it in his hand, held it out, butt foremost. The waiter, the men at the door, rushed on him. “Easy, will you?” said Baldy. ‘I'll go quiet. Had to do it. Didn’t he try to bean me with that bottle?’’ Then as though the diplomacies of the situation called at least for regret, he looked down at Mike and said, “ Hell of a thing, ain’t it?’’ And as though responding that lump of clay on the floor made its final move- ment. A shiver ran over Mike; a feeble rattling cough began and ended as sud- denly as though someone had stopped his mouth. The waiter, who had disarmed Baldy, turned in time to see this—and something else. With his free hand he clutched tardily at Kate as she collapsed on the floor. “Six to ten years.” It came out with a touch of elocution- ary effect from the perfunctory voice of the judge, droning legal phraseology on sentence day. The judgment brought no surprise, really, either to Baldy, standing between two guards there at the rail; to Dolly, back again, now that the necessity for a modest appearance on the stand was over, in feathers and finery; or to Kate, sitting in the front row, her hands clasped on the rail. Least of all to Kate. After those first three days of torment—the Tombs, the refined brutalities of the third degree as applied to women, the sessions with Baldy’s lawyer who was fixer for all the gang — the shadow of the electric chair seemed no longer to hang over this affair. Baldy, though ¢Gnly recently arrived from Syracuse, was a member of the gang; and the gang took care of its own. The waiter, who saw it all, had his memory most astonishingly refreshed before the police reached him. He had seen Mike seize the heavy water bottle and jump at Baldy before he himself went to the floor. Dolly lied in confirmation —stead- ily, craftily, with the proper appearance of reluctance. Kate did not have to lie about the water bottle. If no one, either in the torture chambers of Central Police or in the court room, pressed her on this point, it was because she came out with a vital piece of frankness which Baldy’s lawyer was able to twist into a most potent in- strument of defense. Baldy had been her steady. Of late they two had made, more and more, a party of four with Dolly and Mike, Of late also, Baldy had grown

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A Aeneas wre ee a little cold. That night they had dined together —too well. And Kate had used the oldest method known to women of lashing up a fading affection. She had flirted with Mike—heavy-handedly, grossly, for they were all a little drunk. Later they were going to the grand ball of the Francis I. Goreham Association; but meantime they had repaired to the back room of Moroni’s for another drink. At the door, with an: ostentatious show of. furtiveness, Kate had slipped an arm about Mike, kissed him. Dolly, at this moment only a pawn in Kate’s game, had seen this passage too. Perhaps that was why Mike began suddenly to pay violent court to Dolly. And then it all happened violent, obscene invective between the two men, both suddenly on their feet, the shot, the red stain on her THE SATURDAY EVENING “IT wisht I could serve it for you,” said Kate. “I wisht I could go to the chair if I could get you off.” “Hell you do!” said Baldy. He was an explosive man, Baldy; his temper had a way of breaking into sudden, violent action as it had on the night of the murder. Once, months ago, he had struck her, and thrilled her even in the midst of her squalls and execra tions. His eyes had looked then as they looked now; she dropped hers. “*T done it as much as you,”’ confessed Kate. He did not respond; he did not help her. She faltered on. “I want to make it up to you. I'll work, I'll save every cent I get and’’—the whole thing was oddly beyond any maiden POST i5 white glove brought an inner misery too acute to bear she turned toward the river, and twice she said, “I'd be a quitter.” And that evening from the little ill-smelling congrega tion at the Hudson Street Rescue Mission a girl came for ward and sank down at the mourners’ bench. She had already attracted the attention of the Reverend Mr Watkins, the young and zealous missionary, by her wide serious, tear-dimmed eyes. She was not of the “lost” class; even he could see that. But the soul looking out of those eyes was scarred; he could see that too. He had bent over her, begun his somewhat formal approach; but she only shook her head, so that he left her. Even after she came forward, so sud denly yet so quietly, he white glove. One thing she did not tell, either to the inquisitorial police or to the court. It was that she threw herself, when she saw action ap- proaching, not upon Mike but upon Baldy. With the waiter fixed, there was none to recall that. “T got to treat you rough, girlie,’ the lawyer had said at their final rehearsal be- fore the trial. Kate only nodded. She well knew in her heart who was respon- sible for the death of Mike Naughton. What did alittle more public shame matter? The girls at the rooming house where she lived had already stopped speaking to her, and the landlady had given her notice. Even the newspapers, in their brief accounts of this inconse- quential little tragedy of the dock region, had made her a back-room siren-—‘‘the Beale woman.” For a month she had worked on at her job in the waist fac- tory, until ostracism had grown too much to bear. Now she was living on her savings; oddly, Kate had saved. It was the one stable spot in a life that had begun to float away on its own impulses. No; she found herself experiencing a curious joy of abasement when the lawyer held up her character for all the world to see; as one finds perverse pleasure some- times in pressing a wound. Then, when all looked like plain sailing for an ac- quittal, the jury, partly planted though it was, de- veloped one of those whim- sical turns of juries. It was locked up for twelve hours. The news filtered through the door that someone was holding out. But the ver- dict came like a blow second-degree murder, with recommendation to mercy. could make little of her Simply, she signed the roll of the saved and went away The Reyerend Watkins awaited her return for a week, then visited the ad- dress she had given and found from a severe and disapproving landlady whose attitude implied that she could tell much more if she wished —that Katherine Beale had moved, leaving no address. He shock his head. “An emotional con version,” he said. He did not know that of all the flowers of grace garnered that week by the Gospel Mission this was the one most likely to prove an im- mortal, But the recording angel knew Only he did noi quite close the page wherein he had set down since her birth the things important to the soul of Katherins Beale. With his divine in sight into hearts he passes over many things that you and | would record. That night of the murder, for example, he merely wrote Finis’ on Mike Naught on’s page, and closed it. He did not write on Baldy Mar tin’s page at all, He knew that this dramatic climax was but the logical sequence of little acts and choices, in- visible in their significance even to Baldy, which pre determined something like Lnis Probabl he had a page for Dolly; though that amorphie soul would seem to you and me scarcely worth a record. But the night when she steod star ing at the blood stain on her glove, the night when she walked into Mr. Watkins mission, he wrote much on Katherine's page —and left it open for further record He knew that the real test was yet to come At the moment when th Reverend Mr. Watkin The case was not appealed. For while Baldy waited in the Tombs for trial, New York had experienced at the end of a series of gang mur- ders a spasm of virtue. “If they tried him again it would be the chair,” said the lawyer bluntly. The judge, gang opinion held, did the best he could in the present state of public opinion—six to ten years, which experts said would mean about seven if Baldy behaved himself. Kate, going for her last interview before they took him away to Auburn, far up the state, met Dolly coming out of the visitors’ room in the Tombs. Some emotion made on Dolly’s cheeks a dull background for her rouge, almost ennobled her insignificantly pretty features. As she faced Kate her eyes went wide, her color even more vivid. “ Just tellin’ him it was all right with me,” Dolly said. “Nice of you, Dolly,” said Kate. Dread as of a blow, remorse, affection—into this whirl of emotions shot a kind of envy. Dolly and all the rest of the world could face him clean, while she He was looking at her sullenly through the bars. For an instant love seemed to conquer all other emotions. Then remorse claimed its own. ““C’mon - Get Out of Thist"' Cried Dolly, Drawing Him Away modesty which Kate had left, yet she stumbled here, “T'll—I'll marry you now if you say the word.”’ She dared look up again, and saw that his eyes had become kind “That can wait till I get out,”’ he said, his voice shaking a little with some emotion. “It’s all right, kid.” “T’ll come up every visitors’ day,”’ added Kate She looked up at him; he seemed to be considering tha “No; what’s the use?” he said. “No, you keep away from the stir. When I come out and go straight I don’t want them identifying you too.” The guards were coming now. Kate caught the meta glimpse of the handcuffs. She kissed him through the t} bars and turned away that she might not witne shame. He kissed her ardently enough; even, as she to one final look, she saw that his eyes had become gay At the door of the Tombs her tears broke the last feebl« barriers of her self-control. All that day she walked the streets, weeping at intervals not turbulently, as she had always wept before, but as softly and steadily as an au tumn rain. Twice, when that vision of a red stain on a turned away with solem shaking head from the rooming hou in Hudson Street, the object of his searct Was whirling thr ugh another circle of many-cireled New York In a white-tiled, ostentatiou ly sanitary restaur t far up by the Bronx River, she was rushing an order of wheat cakes and sausag from the cook's window to the marble-toppe | table On th night of her conversio n had sent the last of her savings to Baldy’ iwyer, packe ettled her affairs as though for death. Save to Bald ne had » farewell letters to write he was thankful now for that. Yet therein lay part of the reason for the course she had traveled When she was eight yea id her mother had died Her father remarried a itternly, scolding stepmother with a brood of her owr Then her father died; in tl trail of Gertie Blum ider, more enterprising, whol! fascinating he had drifted from Cleveland to Buffalo t New York. Gertie, who fe had become more and n carele had dropped a moral ytch with each rem In New York she flopped ently into the categor the ost If Kat id tI vas beca }

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16 ubstance in her character from which proceeded her whim for work and for saving money. Then came Baldy and- At the employment office next morning she had seized irst job remote from her old haunts, and set herself to serve her owt Those scrubbed, sanitary white iles were to be for the term of Baldy’s sentence as much the gray stones of Auburn Prison were to be his. She knew that in a flash of prescience on the morning when she pulled on her white apron, fell to work. Andina month she had established her own prison routine. The first hard pull was past—the period when she spent her eisure afternoons off in walking on her swollen feet that he might ure of sleep at night. The vision of that ick-room tragedy tormented her with a duller poignancy; t alternated with currents of returning life when old de- res for unnatural excitements took momentary control. By the end of the month they, too, were growing dull. She lived like a nun in a hall bedroom just large enough 10 that she might squeeze in beside her cot. And the first week she saved, from her pay and her tips, a dollar d ferty cents. She’ was only twenty-one and not ob- viously the most you could say of her on first glimpse was that she possessed a straight-backed, boyish figure, that her chestnut hair —if you looked long enough had glints of gold, and her brown eyes flickers of green. She had no talent for saucing the provender of Barrows’ with sex, as had some of the other girls; but by the same token, before the month was out regular patrons were asking for her table, were tipping steadily. For the rest, she went to church twice on Sundays and, after the inner storms of that first month, to afternoon classes in the rudi- ments at the Y. W. C. A. It was a month more before she realized that she liked this part of her life—was living for it. Her weekly letters to Auburn State Prison grew longer, grew even articulate, began to show a dawning sense of the Baldy wrote regularly every fortnight, such letters as a prisoner may. t was six months, however, before she nerved herself to write, after painful beginnings and failures, what was mostly in her heart about him—that night at the rescue mission, and what it had meant to her. Baldy answered in kind —a letter which sent her scurrying to her hall bed- room that she might fall on her knees alone. Baldy had That was how he put it. It had been the He was going square when on the f sentence her prison 4s pretty; relations of parts of speech. wen the light doings of the prison chaplain. he came out It came, all this, in a dramatic and useful moment. For the wild impulses of twenty-one were again fluttering against the walls of her prison. Only they were growing different now. When she let herself meditate on joy she thought less of all-night dances in Sullivan Hall than of the clothes she saw in church, of pretty apartments glimpsed through the windows of the Elevated. Even that she could put aside now; and she went on with her régime of a saving —always saving. At the restaurant the cooks and pantrymen had ceased their offers of flirtation and of nights at the movies; and the other girls dismissed her simply as Miss Tightwad or Teacher's Pet. For Mr, Gowdy, the youn, efficient, serious-minded manager, held her up as a model to student waitresses. At the end of the year she had saved three hundred and six dollars. She wrote this to Baldy. Of what else she had gained she said nothing, but the letter spoke for itself. ‘And I'll be doing better next year,”’ she wrote. ‘ Mr. Gowdy says I'm in line for head waitress—what do you think of that?” Then the life that she had left behind thrust itself visibly, disturbingly for a moment into this routine; and At the door of the restaurant a figure had stepped out from the shadows of the doorway a figure identified by motion before the light revealed the face. It was Dolly, but no longer the old Dolly. Her face in the electric light shone innocent of rouge under a neat, cheap turban; thrown aside, revealed a plainer dress. Gaudy trimmings and cheap jewelry something nad stripped all these from Dolly. But she spoke was as of old—light, a little flat and childish “Hello, kid. Thought I'd come ’n’ see you,” said Dolly Kate's main anxiety rose to the surface at once, found words without her volition. “How'd learn where I was?” she asked a little sharply “Pooch Sieger said he seen you here last week, replied Dolly. ‘Ain't seen him much lately either,” she added somewhat hastily. ‘ Fact is, it’s the first She broke off here. They had begun to walk, as by common instinct, in the direc- tion of Kate's rooming house. “Had to be up this way,” Dolly went on in somewhat hasty explana- “Just thought Id ask if you was hearing anything from Baldy — poor kid!” “Yes,” replied Kate almost proudly; “I hear twice a month. I don’t go up to Auburn because he'd rather I wouldn’t see him there. He's doing better than I had expected.” nun was In a moment gone in the house beyond a plain camel's-hair coat, her voice ¢ you time since ° tion THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “’S good,” replied Dolly a little carelessly. ‘Thought I might write to him myself.” “IT wish you would!” “Well, I dunno,” replied Dolly. ‘‘When I saw him be- fore they took him away, to tell him it was all right with me, he didn’t exactly try to kiss me, or anything.” From the corner of her eye Kate had been studying Dolly. And what she saw warmed her heart. “What are you working at?” she ventured. “Laundry,” replied Dolly. ‘‘ You see—after the jolt I cut out the high life and got me a job.” “Did you? So did I,” said Kate; though indeed the facts had spoken for themselves. And then Dolly, who had always been hen-minded, seemed unable longer to carry on this serious conversation. “Some coat you’re wearing —if it is that sensible stuff,” she said, fingering Kate’s shoulder. “It’s sensible, all right —got to be,”’ said Kate. “It’s the one rag of clothes I’ve bought since I came up here.” Conversation flowed easily then to the favored feminine topic; and now they stood at the door of Kate’s rooming house. “I'd like to ask you in,” said Kate, “but I guess I wouldn’t want anybody to see the place.” “But it’s the Ritz beside the hole where I hang out,”’ replied Dolly. “I’m saving my jack, I am.” “So am I,” replied Kate. ‘‘For Baldy when he comes out.”’ Again she spoke with a curious pride. This was the first human being to whom she had been able to declare herself. “And me for little Dolly. Say, where do you put it away —the savings bank? So do I.” Dolly fumbled in her cheap bag, brought out a bank book. “I got it here to show. I'll match you—bet I’ve beat you.” “All right,” said Kate. “I'll match you—if you don’t mind this hole.” They threaded the dim hall with its dingy paint, its smell of old cooking. Kate opened a door at the head of the stairs, lit the gas, revealed a narrow aisle beside the rickety, rusting iron bed, the one open space before the window plugged with a chair, a washstand and a trunk, the row of hooks holding the three spare garments of her wardrobe, the photograph of Baldy and the pretty-girl calendar, sole ornaments of a flaking wall. “Sit down —on the bed,”’ invited Kate. She opened her trunk, took out a dingy leather book. They solemnly exchanged. “Glad I didn’t bet anything,” said Dolly. ‘Three hundred and six dollars! Gee, you beat me by most a hun- dred. How do you get that way?” Then Dolly’s mind jumped again—to clothes. “I'd rather you wouldn't say anything about seeing me,” Kate ventured at parting. ” Baldy Wheeled, Hatf Raised His Gun as Though to Force His Way Teward Escape August 5,1922 “Sure —I’m on!” said Dolly. “I ain’t told you where I live myself, have I? I'll write to Baldy if you say so—if you think he’d stand for it.” “T guess Baldy looks at a lot of things different now,” replied Kate. It was on the tip of her tongue to say why he had changed—-why she had changed. But a shyness perhaps a fear of disturbing the delicate balance of Dolly’s reformation —restrained her. ‘‘ He'll write when he can,”’ she concluded weakly. Dolly said nothing about coming again. Kate under- stood. It was a relief to know that Dolly had reformed; it seemed as though poor Mike in dying had made expiation for all the rest. But Dolly was disturbing. Yes, she was glad to let things stand as they did. Nothing more happened for six months. Then Mr. Gowdy announced the not wholly unexpected. Mrs. Car- ter, the irate, scolding but likable head waitress, was leaving to start a restaurant of her own. With his serious air slightly touched by pomposity, he offered Kate the job of head waitress and felt his vanity of position a little hurt when she did not accept at once—only stood with her serious eyes down-turned, her fingers resting on the surface of the table. “Is there anything more you'd like to know about me before I take a responsible job?’’ she faltered. “TI know enough,”” Mr. Gowdy replied. “I have learned what you are doing with your leisure. I may say that it is your attempts at self-improvement as well as x And suddenly her delayed gratitude seemed to break the dam. She looked at him with her shining eyes. ‘“‘ Thank you, Mr. Gowdy—you don’t know how much I thank you,” she said. And in that second year—to record only the important thing—she put away nearly five hundred dollars. Then the war came—our part of the war—and oppor- tunity. Its bugles reverberated even past the gray stones of Auburn. Baldy wrote that-he was mad to go; that all the boys were. It tore to pieces the staff at Barrows’ Bronx branch. The cooks began to drop out—they were needed in the training camps; the waitresses scurried away to war work. Mr. Gowdy, who was a first sergeant in the militia, found his regiment called out and chose, spite of his family, to go. The offer of a commission helped his choice. A nervous young man, in whose hands the ma- chinery of Barrows’ Bronx establishment creaked fright- fully, tried the job for a fortnight. Then he was snapped up to manage an officers’ mess. And when Kate was sum- moned by telephone to the office of the great Barrows himself she knew what was coming and wrestled with her private problem all the way down in the Subway. He had graduated from a meat cook, this Barrows plump, rough, only half literate, with a shrewd little blue eye, an irregular humorous mouth, a weakness for dia- monds. “Well, we’re down to the ladies,’’ he said. ‘‘ How’d you like a try at running the Bronx branch? I ain’t blind. You’ve been managing it for some time, but the manager didn't know it.” “I'd like it —if ” she began, and hesitated. And that hesitation drew out of him an offer of salary which made her gasp. Where she had saved for Baldy by hundreds she could now save almost by thousands. But she steeled herself to answer as she had answered Mr. Gowdy: “ Are you sure you know enough about me?” Now the feet of Mr. Barrows’ soul were large and awk- yard, but he never stepped consciously on a flower. His shrewd eyes narrowed. “Ts there anything more I ought to know—not your private affairs, but—in connection with the business?” ““No—nothing.” But her manner, Mr. Barrows felt, was not entirely at ease. He paused, considering. He knew that she had come to them from nowhere. He knew that Gowdy had marked her from the first as a ‘‘corker.”” He knew about her attendance at night school; and he cherished the super- stitious respect of the uneducated for education. More- over, had he not himself observed her mania for clean sugar bowls? That was Mr. Barrows’ professional hobby. Never before had he met anyone so particular about sugar bowls. That consideration, together with the native delicacy buried under so many layers of fat, bluster and strict business, tempered his words when he broke the silence. “Sure there’s nothing you'd want to tell me— bearing on the business or money or anything?” She looked full at him with her serious eyes. “No, Mr. Barrows. I guess I can say truthfully never stole or cheated in my life.” He laughed his good-natured, rumbling laugh. “Then I’m satisfied if you are,” he said. After she was gone he rather regretted that he had not questioned her further. But the spirit bred in those early high days of war had touched Mr. Barrows also. He was disposed to take generous chances. And as the war went on, as troubles with inexpert and uncertain help, with ris- ing prices, with shortages, mounted up on Mr. Barrows, he (Continued on Page 72)

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ae . it THE SATURDAY EVENING POST i7 THE VAN ROON XXXVI UNE was dominated now by a single thought. By hook or by crook she must get back the pic- ture before she left that house. If she failed to do so she would never see it again, and there would be an end of all her hopes. Exactly what these hopes were she did not venture to ask herself; in any case they would not have been easy to put into words. But she felt in a vague way that William’s future and her own were bound up in them. It was clear that the picture was concealed some- where upon the because Mr. Thornton and his friend M. Du- were com- ing there the next day to look at it. June was quick to realize that this fact offered a meas- ure of opportunity which, slender as it was, must certainly No other premises, ponnet be used. was in the least likely to come her way. Three o’clock on Thursday after- noon, she had learned already, was the hour of the appointment. It was now the after- of Wednes- No matter what the penalty, if flesh and blood could this interview and see noon day. contrive it she must be present at what happened to the treasure Despair heavy upon her, she lay awake the best part of the night searching her mind for a plan of action. But the quest seemed hopeless. Uncle Si could so easily check- mate any scheme she might form. And he would not have a scruple in doing so. She must outwit him somehow; but such cunning was a task for a brain far stronger and nimbler than hers. Lying up there in her comfortless bed, wild thoughts flocking round her pillow like so many evil spirits, the whole sorry affair was as haunting as a bad dream. And interwoven with it in the most fantastic way was the shop below, and more particularly the hoodoo, the presiding genius, which now stood forth in June’s mind as the rep- lica of Uncle Si himself. He was surely possessed by a devil, and this heathen joss as surely embodied it On the morning of Thursday June rose early. in a mood of desperation. Little sleep had come to her in the long and dreary night hours. But in spite of feeling quite worn out, her determination to best Uncle Si and to regain her own property had not grown less. No ray was to be seen anywhere; yet defiant of fate as she still was, the time had not yet come to admit even to herself that all was lost. As, dustpan and brush in hand, she began the day’s work more than one reckless expedient crossed her mind. In the last resort she might put the matter in the hands of the police. If she could have counted on William’s support she might have been tempted to do this, but the rub was, he could not be depended on at all. Nobly as he had fought her recent battle, it was clear that so far as the picture itself was concerned his sympathies were wholly with Uncle Si. Even if he did not deny that the picture was her lawful property, he had certainly done his best to revoke his gift. No, she would gain nothing by calling in the police. She must find some other way. During the night a wild plan had entered her mind. And if in the course of the morning no scheme more hopeful occurred to her she was now resolved to act upon it. To this end she began at once to throw dust in the eyes of Uncle Si. At the breakfast table he was told that she meant to spend the afternoon looking for a job if—with a modest eye on her plate—he had no objection. The old crocodile had not the least oLjection. With gusto he assured her that it was quite the best thing she could do. Privately he assured himself that he didn’t to outwit one of She was By J.C. SNAITH ILLUSTRATED As Soon as She Knew That She Was No Longer Pinned by Strong Mind Was Needed to Ward Off a Threat of Hysteria ar Cc. oD. WILLIAMS want her hanging around the place while he was transact ing bus is of great Mr. Thornton and M. Duponnet. Ever in the forefront of his mind was the fact that these gentlemen were coming to see him at three importance with m7) 1 0 CLOCK About an hour before the time appointed the old fox sent William on an errand that would keep him away most of the afternoon. And further to insure that the coast would be quite clear S. Gedge, Antiques, said sharply to his yourself won't have you about the premises while these gentlemer niece, ‘Go and put on your hat, my girl, and make scarce. Get after that job you spoke about. | are here.” June, And these, whatever First she watched William go innocently forth on a long bus ride to Richmond. Next she made sure that Uncle Si was cor posing himself in his armchair for his after dinner. And then she proceeded boldly to develop her audacious de ign. Tostart with, she crept into the front shop and surveyed the hoodoo. tall, its inside? this curiou She saw at once that the task before her was no light 3ut by the side of the hoodoo inscrutable Providence however, had other views. they were, she was at great pains not to disclose usual forty W The quaintly hideous vase was fully six feet s mouth wide. Was it po ble to get There was little doubt that if she was able to do so monster was quite large enough to conceal her body huge, it one. had placed a genuine antique in the shape of a gate-legged table —*‘ £4.19.6, a great bargain.”’ The sight of this was encouraging. She climbed onto it. And ther hoodvo most cunningly between the table and the wa wi ly ng the and artfully disposing her own weight so that the monster might not tip over, she lowered herself with the cau and agility of a cat into its roomy interior. It was almost a feat for an acrobat, but she manage somehow. Keeping tight hold of the rim as she swung both legs over, her feet touched bottom with the vase l] maintaining the perpendicular, and without even the need to bend, the top of her head was invisible. N of the vase, moreover, was the monster’s open m narrow slit studded with teeth, which not only afforded a 1 means of ventilation but also through which, vout joy, she was able to peer. For such a she had every reason to feel grateful was wonderfully right. Her daring had met with more yped for. One problem moment she did To get into the vase was one boon on the part of Provic ence So far everything crowning success than could have been |} remained, however, which at that not venture to look in the face thing; to get out of it would be quite another the Jaws of the Monster the Action of a ne that was full i gar hye el e Sj 1d see nil - cl that furtive } we } r 1K plied to them vigorou kerchief Ther he pet make sure that he wa Nofriendly table could avail her now In as cending that sheer and slippery face of painted metal work she must not Besides, movement expect help from outside when the time came to escape from her prison. one incautious might cause the whole thing to topple, And if topple it did the re l ilts would be dire This, however, was not the time to consider that i f peril hambled into the shop. June pec ilment so eari } Let t of the case. her be thankful for a con- perfect, which allowed her to breathe and to see with- ‘ be g see presence us For such mate benefit he must lift up her heart, and hope for the best when the time came to get out With a ense of grim satis faction she set her elf to lied CEO and await the next turn It was not kk ne is he came in with he had learned to knew iis spectacles and ap y ared bandanna hand , vals ' ed cautiously round ’ June had not dared to hope that the picture was concealed in the sl and yet it offered every facilit There were many sand crannies, and the whole place was crammed with old pieces of furniture, bric-a-brac iTlo But June had felt that S. Gedge, An tiques, was not likely to run the risk of hiding his treasure in the midst of these. She thought that his bedroom, under lock and key, was the most likely place of all Howbeit, with a sharp thrill, half torment, half delight she saw that tl was not the case. Within a few feet of th hoodoo it lf was an old oak che t, whict Unele i cau tiously drew aside The ver pot whereon it had rested cont ed al é board. He took asmafl chisel from a drawer in the counte p ed up the board, and from beneath it took forth the buried tre ire Long i] ingly the old man looked at it, hugging it to | bre wre than on ein the proce - and as he o June was reminded irresistibly of the Miser Gaspard Les Cloches de Corneville, that famous play she had o: een at the Theatre Royal, Blackhampton. To hide such a hing ich a place was a regular miser’s trick. It wa l what she might have expecte i of him Present grandfathe clock, with a Westminster Abbey face MG anteed Queen Anne,”’ chimed the hour of three could searee breathe for excitement. Her heart seemed to rise in her throat and choke her At five minutes past three came Mr. Thornt iM Duponne The Frenchman was a ill and day ive with a keen eye and a neat impe l Int he was n h quieter than tradition exacts of Ire ma put was ea to tell that I le Wit pressed by him Louis Quinze-Legs, to ! deterenct hat ta tle ir whose face foxy as t t of I ( himself a it wi ( tn mile flitted perpet ially, had a ir { 1 for the smallest remark of M. Dup f no wa a man of great consequence if the bearing of Mr. T! was anything to go by June, at the back of the shop ir le the! keen eye hidyle by its half-ope } to other advantage was part iske ! i t bric-a-brac, was In a position to gain f | wled that pa ed hetween these three l'o be wit Ged Antique ceremoniou handed ! | ire I Quinze Leg who with a fine gesture handed it to i Duponnet The Frenchman examined the canva a i fr through his own private gla cratche por with his nail, pursed t ) ibbed his nose, and nod would have shrugged | houlders had not that be ] th Frenchman t d a jejun e g fora

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18 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST With -a deference that was quite impressive Mr. Thornton and S. Gedge, Antiques, waited for M. Du- ponnet to say something. Ze tail of de R is a little faint, hein! ” was what he ussewer,’’ said S. Gedge, Antiques, R,” said polite Mr. Thornton as he over the pi ture, You can bet your life on that,”’ said S. Gedge, An- seem inclined to wager any- After a little hesitation, I Juponnet did not y so valuable as his life. involved further minute examination through his ie was ready to take the R for granted. on to deplore the fact that the picture But he yas with- pedigree. “A pedigree, mussewer!” It was turn of S. Gedge, Antiques, to rub his nose. Duponnet tly @X- d with the air i man expour d- Fa comm mplace n the world of art that Van few, Roons their rare, were 0 their monetary Value o considera- ble, that as into the oon as one came market its history was eagerly scruti- nized And should one appear that previously had not been known to exist it would havetorun the gantlet of the most expert criti- cism. May be, Gedge, Antiques, wagged a dour head, ‘But that’s not going to alter the fact that this be-yew-ti-ful thing is a genuine Van Roon and one of the finest examples mussewer!"” §, Known In a manner of speaking it would not, agreed M. Dupon- net, but it might detract considerably from its market valu “That's quite a high tone M. Dupennet and Mr. Thornton took the picture to the side of the shop and conferred together. So low were their voices that neither Uncle Si nor June could hear a word of what passed between them. Time and again they held the canvas to the light. They laid it on a tallboy and pored over it; they berrowed the microscope of each and made great show of using it; and then finally Mr. Thornton crossed the floor and said to Uncle Si, who was handiing a piece of old glass With the most pensive unconcern, “‘ What's your price, Mr. Gedge?” “Heh?” said the old man as if emerging from a beauti ful dream, “Price? You had better name one.” Excitement at this point seemed to cause June's heart to stop beating. “The trouble is,’ said Mr. Thornton, “our friend, M. Duponnet, is not quite convinced that it is a Van Roon.” “But there's the signature.” “It seems’ to have been touched up a bit.” Not by me,” said S, Gedge, Antiques, austerely. “We don’t think that for a moment,” said Mr. Thornton in a voice of honey. ‘“‘But the signature is by na means © clear as it might be, and in the absence of a pedigree M. Duponnet does not feel justified in paying a big price,” There was a pause while the old man indulged in a dramatic change of spectacles. And then he said rather in a tone that M. Duponnet could not fail to hear: or no pedigree, I shall have no difficulty in You know as well as I do, Mr. Thornton, that American buyers are in the market.” “Quite so, Mr. Gedge,” said Mr, Thornton suavely. And then while Uncle Si glared at both gentlemen as if they had been caught with their hands in his pocket they conferred again together. This time it was M. Duponnet who ended their discussion by saying, “ Meester Gedge, name your figure!”’ “Figure?” said Uncle Si dreamily; and then in his odd way he scratched his scrub of whisker with a thumb nail and rubbed a forefinger down his long and foxlike nose. “Your price, Meester Gedge?”’ Mussewer,”’ said the old man solemnly, “I couldn't take less than five thousand pounds; I couldn't really.” June held her breath. For some little time past she had been convinced that the picture was valuable, but she was hardly prepared for this fabulous sum. M. Duponnet shook his head. ‘“ Meester Gedge, if only ‘istory!" ” as may be.”’ The old man suddenly assumed other vurly, * Pedigree selling it we had its “You Know as Welt ast Do Thatit'sa Van Roon."' Uncte Si Verged Aimost Upon Tears “If we had its history, mus- sewer, | should want at least twice the money. Even as it is I am taking a big chance. You know that as well as I do.” This seemed to be true. At all events M. Duponnet and Mr. Thornton again talked earnestly together. Once more they fin- gered that rather dilapidated canvas. Head to head they bent over it yet again; and then suddenly M. Duponnet looked up and came abruptly across to the old man. “Meester Gedge,” he said, “I can't go beyond four t’ousand pounds. That is my limit!” “Five, Mussewer Duponny; that is mine,”’ said Uncle Si with a dark smile. It was a jejune thing for a French gentleman to do, but at this point M, Duponnet really and truly gave his shoul- ders a shrug and walked three paces up towards the shop door. Uncle Si did not stir a muscle. And then M. Du- ponnet faced about and said, ‘Guineas, Meester Gedge, I'll give four t’ousand guineas; and that’s my last word.” Uncle Si having no pretensions to be considered a French gentleman did not hesitate to give his own shoulders a shrug. It was his turn then to confer with the discreet and knowledgeable Mr. Thornton, who it was clear was acting the difficult part of a go-between. Jurte heard that gentleman say in an audible whisper: “A fair price, Mr. Gedge, for the thing as it stands, It hasn't a pedigree, and to me that signature looks a bit doubtful. In the market it may fetch more or it may fetch less, but at the same time four thousand guineas is a fine insurance.” Finished dissembler as Uncle Si was, even he did not seek to deny the truth of this. There could be no gainsay- ing that four thousand guineas was a fine insurance. True, if the picture proved to be a veritable Van Roon it might fetch many times that sum. In that shrewd mind no bigger miracle was needed for the thing to turn out a chef-d’ceuvre than that it should prove to be worth the sum offered by M. Duponnet. Either contingency seemed too good to be true. Besides, S. Gedge, Antiques, belonged to a conservative school, among whose articles of faith was a certain trite proverb about a bird in the hand. It went to the old man’s heart to accept four thousand guineas for a work that might be worth so very much more. June could hear him breathing heavily. In her tense ear that sound dominated even the furious beating of her own heart. A kind of sickness came over her, as only too surely she understood that the wicked old man was giving in. Before her very eyes he was going to surrender her own private property for a fabulous sum. “Four t’ousand guineas, Meester Gedge,” said M. Duponnet with quite an air of nonchalance. But he knew well enough that the old man was about to fall. “It’s giving it away, mussewer,” whined Uncle Si. “It’s giving it away.” “Zat I don’t t’ink, Meester Gedge,”’ said the French gentleman, quietly unbuttoning his coat and taking a fountain pen and a check book from an inner pocket. August 5,1922 “Tt’s arisque—a big risque. It may not be Van Roon at all --and zen where are we?”’ “You know as well as I do that it’s a Van Roon.”’ Uncle Si verged almost upon tears. “Very well, Meester Gedge, if you pre- fer ze big chance.”” And check book in hand the French gentleman paused. June was torn. And she could tell by thestrange whine in the rasping voice that the old croco- dile was also torn. At this moment of crisis Mr. Thorn- ton interposed with masterful effect. “In my humble opinion,” he _ said, “it’s avery fair offer for the thing as it stands.” “You are think- ing of your ten per cent commission,” said S. Gedge, An- tiques, with a gleam of malice. “Well, Meester Gedge,’’ said M. Duponnet, “take it or leave it.”” And the French gentle- man began to fold up his check book. With a groan to rend a heart of stone S. Gedge, Antiques, brought himself-suddenly to accept the offer. Half suffo- cated by excitement June watched M. Duponnet cross to the desk and proceed to write out a check for four thou- sand guineas. And as she did so her heart sank. She was quite sure that she was looking upon the picture for the last time. In jumping to this conclusion, however, she had not made full allowance for the business capacity of Uncle Si. When M. Duponnet had filled in the check and handed it to him the old crocodile scrutinized it very carefully in deed, and then he said, ‘Thank you, Mussewer Duponny The bank three. But tomorrow morning I'll take this round myself as soon as it opens. And if the manager says it’s all right you can have the picture when ever you like.” “Bien!” The Frenchman bowed politely. ‘Mean while take good care of the picture. There are many thieves about.” M. Duponnet laughed. ‘ Mind you lock it up in a safe place.” *Youcan trust Mr. Gedge to dothat, I think,” said Louis Quinze-Legs dryly. “ Lhopeso, I’m sure,” said the old man with a frosty smile “Soit!"” M. Duponnet smiled too. “I'll call for it my self tomorrow morning at twelve.” “Thank you, mussewer!" S. Gedge, Antiques, gave his visitors a bow as they went up to the shop door, and ushered them ceremoniously into the not particularly inviting air of New Cross Street. closes at ] XXVIII eg at first June was unable to realize that M. Dupon- net had not taken the picture away with him. The blood seemed to drum against her brain while she watched Uncle Si turn over the check in his long talon fingers and then transfer it to a leather case, which he returned to his breast pocket with a deep sigh. Afterwards he took up the picture from the table on which he had set it down, and then it was that June grasped the fact that the picture was still there. The face which bent over it now was not that of a happy man. It was a complex of emotions, deep and stern. The price was huge for a thing that had cost him nothing, but —and there it waz that the shoe pinched—if it should prove to be a real Van Roon he might be parting with it for a song. June could read his thoughts like an open book. He wanted to eat his cake and have it too. She would have been inclined to pity him had her hatred and her scorn been less. In his cunning and his greed he was a tragic figure, with a thing of incomparable beauty in his hand, whose sole effect was to give him the look of an evil bird of prey. Utter rascal as she now knew him to be, she shivered to think how easy it would be for herself to grow just like him. Her very soul was fixed upon the recovery of this wonderful thing which in the first place she had obtained by a trick. And did she covet it for its beauty? Or was it for the reason which at this moment made Uncle Si a creature so ill to look upon? To such questions there could be only one answer. For the time being, however, these things were merged in the speculation far more momentous—what would the

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a a old crocodile do now? She was feeling so uncomfortable in her narrow hiding place, which prevented all movement, and almost forbade her to breathe, that she hoped de- voutly the old wretch would lose no time in putting back the treasure. This, alas, was not to be. The picture was still in the hand of Uncle Si, who still pored over it like a molting vulture, when a luxurious motor glided up to the shop door. Almost at once the shop was invaded by two per- sons, who in the sight of June had a look of notable im- portance. The first of these, whom June immediately recognized, was the tall fashionable girl whose visit had caused her such heartburning a few days before. She was now ac- companied by a gentleman, who beyond a doubt was her distinguished father. “Good morning, Mr. Cedge!”’ It was twenty past three in the afternoon, but June was ready to take a Bible oath that Miss Blueblood said ‘‘Good morning.” “I’ve persuaded my father to come and look at this amazing vase.”’ And with her en-tout-cas Miss Blueblood pointed straight at the hoodoo. Feeling herself to be a rat caught neatly in a trap June at once crouched lower. The hoodoo being fully six feet tall and her own stoop considerable, she was able to take comfort from the fact that just then no part of her own head was showing. But how long was she likely to remain invisible? That was a question for the gods. And it was further complicated by the knowledge that the hoodoo’s mouth was open, and that the point of Miss Blueblood’s green umbrella might easily find a way through Ashiver with fear June tried to subdue her wild heart, while Miss Babraham, her father, Sir Arthur, and S. Gedge, Antiques, gathered round the hoodoo. She hardly dared to breathe. The least sound would betray her. And in any case one of the three had merely to stand on an adjacent coffin stool and peer over the top for the murder to be out. The tragedy which June so clearly foresaw was not permitted to take place at once. Plainly the fates were inclined to toy with their victim for a while. Miss Blue- blood’s laugh—how rich and deep it was!—rang in her ears and made them burn as she gave the hoodoo a prod and cried out in her gay Miss-Banks-like manner, “ Papa, I ask you, did you ever see anything quite like it?”’ “By George, no!” laughed that connoisseur “It’s such a glorious monster,”’ daughter, standing on tiptoe, “that one can’t even see over the top.” “Puts one in mind,” said Sir Arthur, ‘of the Arabian Nights and the Cave of the Forty Robbers.” “The long gallery at Homefield is the very place for it!” “T wonder!”” The connoisseur tapped the hoodoo with his walking stick and turned to S. Gedge, Antiques. ‘Do you happen to know where it came from?” he asked. said his enthusiastic — : € Se Crusty Sides, With an Air of Outrage, Sternly Interposed, THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “From a Polynesian temple in the South Sea Islands, I believe, sir,”” said Uncle Si glibly. “What do you want for it?"’ And Sir Arthur tapped the hoodoo again. “T’ll take thirty pounds, sir.” It was the voice of a man bringing himself to part witha valuable tooth. “Sixty was the sum I paid for it some years ago. But it isn't everybody’s fancy, and it swallows a small place.” Sir Arthur observed with pleasant humor that such a monstrosity ought to be taken over by the nation ‘| Gedge, Antiques, with a humor that strove to be equally pleasant, concurred. At this point, to June’s mortal terror, Miss Babraham made a second attempt to look over the top “Stand on this coffin stool, miss,’ said S. Gedge, At tiques, politely, producing that article from the collectior of bric-a-brac around the hoodoo June’s heart stood still. The game was up. Sickly she closed her eyes. But Providence had one last card to play. “Thank you so much,” said Miss Babraham, “but it won’t bear my weight, I’m afraid. No, I don’t think I'll risk it. There’s really nothing to see inside.”’ Uncle Si agreed that there was really nothing to see inside; and June breathed again “Thirty pounds isn’t much, papa, for such a gloriou monstrosity.’”” Miss Blueblood had evidently set her heart on it. Sir Arthur, however, expressed a fear that a thing of that size, that hue, that contour would kill every object in the long gallery. Great argument ensued. And then ts June’s relief Miss Babraham, her father, Sir Arthur, and S. Gedge, Antiques, arguing still, moved away from the hoodoo. The upshot was that Sir Arthur, overborne at last by the force of his daughter's reasoning, agreed to buy the monster for what, in the opinion of the seller, was a ridicu lously inadequate sum. It was to be carefully packed in a crate and sent down to Homefield, near Byfleet, Surrey So much for the hoodoo. And then the eye of a famou connoisseur lit on the picture that the old dealer had laid on the gate-legged table “What have we here?” glass Uncle Si became a sphinx. The connoisseur took the said Sir Arthur, fixing his eye- picture in his hand, and while he examined it with grave curiosity he, too, became a sphinx. So tense grew the silence to June’s ear that again she was troubled by the loud beating of her heart. At last the silence was broken by the light and charming note of Miss Babraham. “Why, surely,” she said, “that is the funny old picture I saw when I was here the other day.’ “We have cleaned it up a bit since then, madam,” said Uncle Si in a voice so toneless that June could only marvel at the perfect self-command of this arch dissembler “But a Pawty Claims It Sir Arthur, it was cles", was tremendously interested He turned the picture over and over, and used the m scope very much as M. Duponnet had done Finally he said in a voice nearly as toneless as that of Uncle Si himself, ‘What d » you ask for this, Mr. Gedge?’ ‘Not for sale, sir,”’ was the decisive answer The nod of Sir Arthur implied that it was the answer he expected ‘Looks to me a fine example.” A true amateur, he could not repress a little sigh of ple asur¢ There was no concealing the fact that he was intrigued ‘Van Roon at his best, sir,”’ said S. Gedge, Antiques “Yess.” 5 noisseur. ‘One would be rather inclined to say so, If the Sir Arthur fixed a level eve upon the face of deep cunning which confronted his d the connoisseur in the tone of the con- question is not impertinent” ‘may I ask where it came from?’ lhe old man was prepared for the questio: His ar swer was pat ‘I can't tell you that ir,” he said in a tone ot mystery Again Sir Arthur nodded. That, too, was the answer he had expected In the pause which followed, Sir Arthur returned to a loving re'xamination of the picture; and then said S. Gedge, Antique in a voice gravely and quietly confidential, “Str between ourselves, sir, | may say that I have just turned down an offer of five thousand guinea Oh ndeed!”’ It was now the turn of the old crocodile to gaze into the impassive countenance of the famous connoisseur. XXVIII ™ ot. E thousand guinea I have just refused,” said Uncle Si, “for this little thing, as sure as God's in the K So shocked was June by th adding of blasphemy fo his other crimes that she shivered audibly Miss Babraham wked her head up at the yuund, “You've a cat some aid, looking around the shop said Uncle Si shortly So like a woman to butt in at such a moment with such a re Ar? In my humble opinion,” said Sir Arthur, gazing Jemnly at the picture, ‘this is a finer example of Van Roon than the one—and the only one—we have in the Nat Cralle rhere | am with yu iid S. Gedge, Antique with unctior ‘One would like to know its history Che old man became a sphinx once more. “I can only ou, sir, | didn't buy itasa Van Roon,” he permitte ! himself cautiously to say ‘Really!’ Sir Arthur grew more intrigued than ever ‘Well, Mr. Gedge, whatever you bought it as, I think t can be no doubt that you've made a lucky pur chase,” Continued on Page 38 And Here's His Ticket

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20 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE FOLLANSBE. iv TN BROADWAY, astone’s throw | from Trinity churchyard, within whose close stenographers sit 7 prostrate gravestones over their lunch, there is a cluster of rookeries that once may have been palatial but today are only fire traps. It is not that they have grown old, for they are substantially built; but times and fashions have changed, that is all. For in- tance, a builder these days would not tack a staircase liagonally against a wall, from cellar to garret, with a little landing stage every twenty steps for a floor. Such a staircase, boxed in as tight as a chimney, Oliver Armiston climbed at eleven of a morning, cautiously plan- ning what he would do in case of fire in such a chute. At little landing stage was a door with an old- fashioned bit of hardware for a knob, which he turned and with a sigh of relief escaped from the chute. He found himself in an expansive loft, lighted front and rear by high It was furnished with high desks, high chairs and high bookeases, and long-horned gas jets. All was ancient, as were the clerks, male and female. A neat man affecting a white stripe to his vest, a bouton- niére and mutton chops greeted Oliver across a counter, i palsied yet smiling negation. The principals were bsent. He must see the senior partner within the next three days. It was important. His time was not his own, Would they telephone him an appointment? “We don’t telephone.” Then write me a letter,”’ said Oliver agreeably. ‘We don’t write letters,” Oliver cogitated on this, revolving on one elbow and Wemmick, if Jaggers was absent. here were several Wemmicks, with spindle shanks entwined among stool rungs; and an elderly female with a churchman’s collar and sparse hair, which she stirred meditatively with a pencil over her casting of long columns. He came back to his vis-a-vis, who had not ceased to wag his mutton chops with uplifted gaze of grave admonition. “But | must have an appointment,” said Oliver. “We do not make appointments.” But he pro- tested Oliver feebly; and he swept noons On the first bare windows. little with looking around for must see people!" the room with a gesture to indicate the palpable evidence of activity on the part of the jadgmatical firm of Bourne & Struthers—tall daybooks, journals and ledgers, looking down from high stacks that swept the ceil- ing. This, he cogitated, was the fa- mous nursing home of the defective econd generation, Well, it had the mell of an eleemosynary institution ! “But when he has business with people what does he do?"’ demanded Oliver ‘Ah!" whispered the old man, brightening. “Has he business with you, then? ‘He will have ” began Oliver hopefully. ‘Then he will send for you!” said the other assuringly. “ But he doesn’t know my name—where I live!”’ ‘It is not necessary—until he has business with you.” This obvious remark, delivered with that effective wag, closed the interview; and Armiston let himself out and eased himself down the chute to the street, where he drew a long pull of contemporary air into his lungs. It would need more than a cold chisel and hammer to effect an entry here. Still, he couldn’t but admire the system there was no lost motion about it. He thought of Struth- ers, the other partner, a proper, possible fellow who did the outside business for the combination, He had encountered Struthers recently among the high jumpers of the Long Island sporting set. He recollected having seen Struthers everal times recently in the buffet at his club. And there he found him over the abstemious lunch the hard, fit kind go in for these days. But Struthers shook his head with quite as much nega- ion as the little old warden of the eleemosynary institu- tion downtown. It seemed he didn’t approach his partner except through an intermediary. One of these two worthies apparently rose while the other set-—they never met. “T suspect you might give me a letter to the Grand Cham,” persisted Oliver, nettled. Struthers shook his head. Oliver started off in a daze. He ran into his legal friend Ballard in the hall. “Do you happen to know old Bourne?” he asked hopefully Ballard remarked gravely that it wasn’t done. “But you must know someone who could give me a card to him?” Ballard was glad to say that he did not know such a person. The emphasis was unmistakable. LLuS TRATE DO Li By Frederick Irving Anderson a Yr JAMES H. They Atl Watched With Horrid Fasct« nation the Contor« tions of Josiah Bourne's Face as He Stowty Raised Himsetf “But I've got to see him!” cried Oliver helplessly. “Where can I find him?” The grave barrister said that he thought a front table on the Midnight Roof would be a likely spot. “But, man,” sputtered Armiston, “he’s over seventy!” Ballard said he believed they all were, at the front tables, and passed on. The extinct author was not familiar with the ropes of the Midnight Roof, an institution that had been born and developed in the city life since he lost interest in that part of the metropolis called the town. It developed that the tables were all bespoken some time in advance; as for a front table, all he got from the first broker he approached was a pitying smile. But when he learned that he could wander at large during the dance intermissions he con- tented himself with what was available. The main thing was to get on the floor; then he could run the Grand Cham to his lair at his leisure. He started to roam at the first opportunity, and discov- ered himself quite the center of attraction, now that the stars on the stage had fallen below the horizon for the time being. The dancing couples stopped and enveloped him with glad little cries of greeting; parties with select table positions urged him to let them make room for him. He had to handshake himself across the floor, suddenly aware that here was a slice of life he had utterly over- looked, and titillated to discover that he was not so wholly forgotten as he had believed. People whom he scarcely knew, seeing him something of a lion, attached themselves to his circle. Altogether it gave him the thrill of an utterly unlooked-for réclame. Even Mrs. Billy Wentworth, the ambitious wife of the parlor diplomat, who hadn’t spoken to him since the time, several years before, when Oliver Armiston had murdered her butler in one of his fiction stories and a clever thief had instantly dramatized in fact his clever fiction, escaping August 5,1922 with a fabled jewel—even Mrs. Billy buried the hatchet under the spell of midnight frivolity and thrust out her hand to detain him. Indeed it had been the incident of the Wentworth butler that had caused the police politely but firmly to request Oliver to desist from realism, since his printed stories were be- coming correspondence courses for thieves and murderers. “Ts he never coming back— your infallible Godahl?” asked Mrs. Billy intensely, with a flash of her beautiful teeth. Godahl had been Oliver's fiction character whose brilliant crime had been repeated in the Wentworth household. “Madam,” said Oliver mysteriously as he bowed low, “he is stalking the boards to- night!” Her eyes took fire at his words. There was a rapid exchange of repartee, with a deeper undercurrent, now that the ice of their discord was broken. Oliver as he finally turned away still wore the smile with which he had parted from the vivacious and unprincipled Mrs. Billy. And quite unexpectedly he found himself confer- ring it on the Grand Cham himself, who was peering up at him from the next table over the inflated bulge of his shirt front. Josiah Bourne promptly accepted the fag end of Mrs. Billy’s smile for himself. He had been watching Armis- ton’s triumphal progress across the floor with curious emotions. He rose with alacrity to a gaunt height, bowed cere- moniously and said, “How are you, sir?’’ He encom- passed Oliver with a lank arm, dug the talons of his two hands cordially into the creeping flesh of the extinct au- thor and whispered with something of melody in Oliver's ears, “I can promise you truffles, dug by my own swine. And terrapin designed by my own geometricians! You are alone? Will you join me?” Armiston with ready camaraderie took the chair which the Grand Cham with courtly deference drew out for him. Before sitting down himself Josiah Bourne posed for a moment to let the room see who it was that had so neatly bottled the lion. As he composed himself Oliver noted out of the tail of one eye that his friend, Mrs. Billy, was losing no detail of this little scene, although to a casual observer her attention was elsewhere. At the same moment Armiston with something of a shock became aware that a third person, a very young and ornate lady, was seated at the table. He was conscious of a sinking sensation, but his qualms proved baseless. “That will be all, my child,” said Josiah Bourne in kindly tones; and the fluffy bunch of ribbons and chiffons tripped off obediently, with a lisped good night. When the soup came on, green turtle, the elegant Oliver and the old lawyer, heads together, discussed it judicially from the viewpoint of dietetics. The terrapin, honey-colored islands floating in a jasper sea—was after the Grand Cham’s own recipe. Oliver was enjoying his role immensely—his flattering progress across the floor, his reconquest of Mrs. Billy, the lucky chance of his pres- ent encounter. The old lawyer may well have been a clam under the brusque attack of the deputy commis- sioner—but as privileged host to the catch of the evening an old-fashioned courtesy and a mellow humor that were not without their charm distinguished him. “How do you manage with Delphinium?” asked Oliver naively. He had found, in high life, this subject was quite as conducive to conversational ease as “ How is your second act?” in other circles. ‘ The old lawyer was riding a hobby directly. There is a secret as to Delphinium not to be found in books or gar- deners’ lore, but passed on from hand to mouth at the dinner table. Physostegia too. The crinoline effect achieved in the gardens back of Plymouth Bay is a matter of topsoil. The Grand Cham had transported a gondola carload of it to Long Island to /keep his Physostegia contented. He maintained thirteen acres for five garden- ers—about the same allowance a careful farmer would make for cows on grass. As Josiah Bourne mellowed it became evident that the old lawyer did himself rather well on the other side of his zodiac—it was only during office hours that he played Old Scrooge, and then largely to terrify his wayward clientele. The Grand Cham had an uncomfortable habit of speak- ing right into Oliver’s eardrum; at the same time his CRANK

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yellow eyes were on patrol to warn off lurkers. collared Oliver he had the air of a dog with a bone. They rambled on pleasantly through pictures, pewter, plant food and porcelains; finally they came to best sellers, of the type consumed in such inordinate quantities by the leisure classes. As to actuality in fiction, Josiah Bourne submitted, as he stirred his coffee and craftily eyed Mrs. Billy, an author on the outside, looking in, gets a better perspective than an author on the inside, looking out. Returning his yellow gaze to Oliver, he said, ‘As a case in point, Nain Gail.” “Nain Gail,” repeated Armiston appreciatively, nod- ding. “But Nain Gail’’—with sudden protest—‘“is a genius! It is unfair to ordinary mortals to measure them by the yardstick of genius. There is only one Nain Gail I think they must have broken the die when that intellect was cast. Did you ever know another like it, ; “You, yourself!’’ murmured old pleasantly. ‘You would have accomplished as much—if you hadn't stopped in full career. Tell me, why did you stop? I never knew a man could.” ‘I became too proficient in the art of murder,” Oliver drolly. ‘I quit by request.” “But you have the gift of tongues!” Armiston had no small opinion of himself and could be led to admit it on slight provocation. But like many another frank egotist, he, having no false modesty, was quick to prostrate himself before his betters. And Nain Gail was his master. All through his writing career Oliver had striven for what he called the elusive pitch of actuality and just as he achieved it he was condemned to retirement. Nain Gail, he added, was achieving verisimilitude with the limpidity of a mirror. He recounted to old Bourne how only the other evening he had found himself scanning a newspaper extra to see if there were any new developments in the Follansbee Imbroglio. The Grand Cham nodded he knew. “And yet,”’ Oliver said, fetching up short in his eulo- gium of the facile Nain Gail, “this greatest of contem- porary authors exists merely as a name. Have you ever met anyone who knew him, who had seen him or knew anything about him?” The old man’s eyes glowed. Having He is sui generis. sir?’ Josiah said He leaned nearer. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “She was by way of being a client of mine,” he whis pered, enjoying the sensation. Oliver's woman! She painted like a man astonishment was “T should jolly well like the privilege of meetir urged the enthusiastic Armiston; but the old man shool his head. “She is dead,”’ he breathed in Oliver’s ear The startled look that mere histrionic achievement; it conviction that from behind the wrinkled mask beside Armiston } Were the réles being reversed? Old Oliver turned on him was was born of the he was being covertly watched ad come here to study old Bourne. Bourne was whispering in his ear again Mrs. Billy shifted her chair slightly; fire, but her outward attention seemed to be for her gue were her ey: Josiah confidences with Bourne was pouring forth his sibilant intensity. The absorption of the pair was too much for her; Mrs. Billy could stand it no longer. Serib bling a command she dispatched it to Oliver, who, after reading it and exhibiting it to his host, laughed and kicked out his shore legs and claimed the lady for a dance. They moved off across the floor in one of those leisure ly measures Mrs Billy rallied he a tinguished friend on his recent neglect; a sense of guilt, found he was wholly forgiven Life had hung itself up on a dead center with Mrs, Bill This woman who had been everywhere and done every thieved polite y so conducive to small talk. and he, pleading thing—-shot elephants, pinked savages, under cover of her husband's official position a tentiary to small courts She was still collecting lions in her drawing-room, but they were running thin these days; the pet gorilla she had groomed for presentation to society had died on the very plenipo was now bored, even desperate eve of its coming-out party; even her private views of uncensored films had proved pallid for her sophisticated circle. Was there nothing new under the sun? Couldn't Oliver help? Oliver smiled; him on his good behavior. “Raise a spook,” f ably. “ Hook a lively one,” he added, as if it were only a matter of bait. “They are so dreadfully vulgar when they come ba Mrs. Billy giggled. earshot of her companions. “‘ Now if you would only bring the police, he said, had put suggested the extinct aut She cleverly reversed Oliver it of profound Nain Gail a Nain Gail back for me!” she said. ‘She might tell us why she didn’t like Eva!” She was eying him mischievously Oliver preserved a stony countenance, h boy!” she taunted. “I can hear a fly walk Didn't Che cat was out of the bag! you know that? Thi rd every word of the Grand Cham’s confi prying woman seemed »have overhea lence Sut that was ridiculous. The distance Then Oliver re ted that this woman, the daughter of deaf mute nad an uncanny perfection of hearing that had been cited | cientist ‘Wouldn't it be thrilling,” said the shameless Mrs B f we could materialize her out of a spook cabinet? Mayle e would finish the Imbroglio for us! Don't 1 re lect how Poe kept a dea man talking until he fi piece M Bill hivered at this luscious recol | “By Jove!” ¢ laimed Armistor That an idea!’ He deposited the startled Mrs. Billy at her tabl “Notaw i—to anybody!” he commanded he ‘We hall see what we sha ! Josiah Bourne exe ing the pr ilege I ? yeurs, I 1 faller eep His footman came i presently and iroused him and bundled him off The old gentleman made abject ogy to Oliver and promised to resume their pleasant evening at the first opportunit It was three when Oliver let himself in with his latchkey Instead of going to bed he sat down to his typewriter, to t H inger hed. If, as Parr held, Oliver possessed i uirvoyant facult it re led i his finger rhis lea of Mr Bill re uired elaboration Summoning the leparted shade of Nain Gail to inquire why she did’ not e Eva, and otherwise putting her to the question tarted t 1 gers off a strange trail It would be ther unusual, of course, putting the corpus delicti on the tness stand to inquire into its motives—as if it were the ised instead of the victim. But it suggested possibilities Vv | WAS Frida norning Parr, the man hunter, ¢ ing downtown from his train, the Century, found an argu me D1LoO« ng the door to his private offices Center Street He 1dquarter Preston Black, the publisher, had Continued on Page 24 She Had Unexpectedly Produced a Match, Which She Struck Alight. ———— She Singed the Hair in the Flame

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE SATURDAY EVENING POST AEG. U. &. PAT. OFF FOUNDED A°D! 1728 PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY INDEPENDENCE SQUARE PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA, U.S.A. GEORGE HORACE LORIMER, EDITOR Five Cents the Copy From All Newsdealers. By Subscription: To the United States and Possessions, Argentina, Bolivia, Colombia, Cuba, Costa an Kepublic, Ecuador, Honduras, Mexico, Nicaragua, Saliva dor, Spein, Pesamea and Peru, $1.00 the Year. Remit by U. 5. Money Order, Express Money Order, Check or by Draft, payable in U.S. Funds By Subscription, $5.00 the Year or U.S. Funds . Single Copies, Ten Cents — Other Foreign Countries tn the Postal Union: Subscriptions, $6.00 the Year Kemittances to be by Draft on « bank in the U. S., payable in U.S. funds. PHILADELPHIA, AUGUST 5, 1922 Get: Rich- Quick Politics FINHE American public plays politics and the stock mar- ket in exactly the same way. We buy on hope and sell on fear, instead of trading on knowl- We go crazy as bulls and then go broke as bears. edge and good judgment. We first go long on Democrats and then go short on Republicans without really knowing anything about either, except what the promoters set forth in their prospectuses, The speculator in stocks or in politics always loses in the end, because he lacks knowledge and patience; because he trades and votes on tips; because he is swayed by emo- tions instead of facts; because he believes get-rich-quick prospectuses and platforms without investigation; and because he is more impressed by big vague promises than by small solid possibilities. The political sucker and the bucket-shop boob are of an exact piece, The front of the Wallingford, the beautiful flow of language of the demagogue convince the come-on. No matter how often he is trimmed he goes back for more. ‘The bait may have to be varied, but the game remains the same, If the sucker has been stung in political oil he will bite on political radio, You can show one’type of man a thousand Russias, and he will clamor for a chance to buy more Communism, or crowd the counter to add to his line of Socialism, A theo- rist always fights hardest in the face of facts disproving his theories, You can show another type of sucker the ledgers of the last war, with red ink on every page and against every item, and he will start in to pyramid his holdings of fear and hate, because the militarists tell him that war will surely come back. He is persuaded that Government Ownership is a good buy, because though our experi- ments in it have proved dusters, Private Ownership is bringing in gushers in a nearby field. The average voter has faith in the political philosopher's stone, the extraction of gold from sea water and perpetual He is a firm believer in political crystal gazing, ouija boards, table rappings and levitation. He wants get- motion. rich-quick results, so he accepts get-rich-quick politics, regardless of facts, fundamental conditions and human possibilities, He knows nothing of what makes the ticker tick and the machine run. We need investment education in politics just as much as in finance. We need thrift in legislation-—-the knowledge that a sound law is one that promises six ard not sixty per cent advantage to the voter. We need to know that hun- dred per cent stocks and politics are in the same class and that the politician who promises too much is keeping a bucket shop. Voters never get one hundred per cent out of politics. But the crooks do when the voters invest their political capital with them. The possible returns to the voter from legislation are small, but they are safe and steady. In addition, honest the kind of hard-headed men with whom we like to keep our bank accounts—will and businesslike men in politics cut a melon for the voter periodically in the shape of lower taxes. And every voter, in one way or another, pays his full share of all the taxes levied. Many men and women declare that they have no inter- est in polities. No one ever says that he has no interest in the size of his income. But the size of every income is revised downward by politics and politicians. Thousands are answering advertisements proclaiming that by sparé- time study anyone can fit himself for a better-paying job. A spare-time study of politics will not only add to your income but to your self-respect. As the ads put it, ‘You A few the time spent in a game of bridge or de- can be your own boss!"’—your own political boss. hours weekly voted to the sporting page or to reading If Winter Comes will put you in possession of the information that will enable you to act intelligently in polities. Zeal and good intentions are not enough. They must be informed with knowledge to enable you to get posses- sion of the political machinery, and with common sense if you are to diagnose and defeat get-rich-quick legislation. You must learn to read the political tape if you are to be anything but a sucker in politics. Organization, votes of protest, unhorsing this senator and rebuking first this party and then that are all futile unless they are based on educa- tion. And that education is ridiculously easy to get and to make effective, compared to its social and economic value to the individual. The first thing it will teach you is how little you can expect positively from legislation and how much you can save by businesslike administration. Apart from the so-called police laws—-which range from protec- tion against the burglar to protection against undesirable immigration —the effect of any legislation is largely guess- work. One after another of these laws backfires in opera- tion and burns the bystander. But there is no guesswork about the beneficial results of General Dawes’ work, or of the agreements to limit armaments, or of the refusal of a township to authorize a- bond issue for an unnecessary or too expensive public improvement. You can’t afford to live beyond your means in your public any more than in your private expenditures, We wish that the educational process could be even more extended. A year in Soviet Russia, taking pot luck with the comrades, for those editors and writers who acclaim and proclaim Communism, might clarify their ideas. It would be a real pleasure to see some of our senators attack- ing the problems of the Pennsylvania Railroad as officials bound to satisfy labor, shippers, travelers and stock- holders. Those ardent advocates of immigration whose present activities are confined to bossing aliens, or exploit- ing them, or voting them, or sentimentalizing over them, might modify their point of view if they had to live and compete for jcbs with them. It might give pause even to those officials who are so joyously proposing bond issues that are far in advance cf the real needs of our cities and states and what they can afford, if they had to spend the rest of their lives meeting the problems they are so care- lessly creating. No doubt it would be a salutary experi- ence for us to work on our farm during the haying and the harvest. A short intensive course in the other fellow’s troubles, a practical comprehension of his problems, would teach us that they cannot be solved by any get-rich-quick law, and go a long way towards exploding our theories, dispersing our blocs, and retiring our demagogues to pri- vate life. Ed Howe has a comprehensive term that he applies to all mussers, meddlers and muddlers—people whose great hearts are always throbbing over somebody, who are always starting something at the other fellow’s expense passing around silly subscription lists, launching fool August 5,1922 movements, demanding extravagant expenditures for un- necessary public improvements, trying to swing the town by its tail and to lift the world by ita equator. Ed Howe calls these people Public Affairs Lunatics, and the breed is increasing in proportion as it is found that there are publicity, leading-citizen stuff and soft-snap jobs in the game. There is no remedy for these things except education in the simple fundamentals of politics and the common sense that comes with a knowledge of what legislation cannot do and of how much honest administration can do; in learning to distrust anything that looks too good and to suspect anything that comes too easy; and to reject any politician or party that promises too much. People are always saying “pass a law to stop it,” about conditions that legislation cannot cure, and the demagogue will pass a law to oblige. Nine times out of ten pass a law means pass the buck. Mr. Edison has recently propounded a list of questions for the young man seeking a job. When he has a little more leisure we wish that he would propound a series of questions to be answered by every man and woman who wants to vote, with some special queries for the dumb- bells who do not. He might begin by asking: On what grounds and for just what reasons are you a Republican? A Democrat? Exactly what are the basic principles and policies of your party? How are our national, state and city party committees elected, organized and financed? From whom do the largest contributions come and for what purposes are they expended ? If the church, the Y. M. C. A. “ and the chamber of commerce make for “a good town” to live in and so enlist your personal and financial interest, why do you not organize and support political clubs working actively and continuously for good government for your good town? Do you appreciate how much of the influence of church, ) politics or even by inefficient officials? and chamber of commerce is nullified by rotten Who nominates the candidates for the primaries and how? If independent voters do not like the party organiza- tion’s candidates, what can they do about it? Are independence of thought and independent action in politics sinful? Mr. Edison might go on from there with a hundred sim- ple questions about the duties of our executives, legislators and officials, the size of their salaries and, in some cases, of their graft, about why we are taxed and how, about state and city bond issues, about this new tariff bill, this ship- subsidy bill and this bonus bill. Until the voter studies these things and understands them he will be on the political sucker list. They are not hard to find out, they are worth understanding, even if one’s motive is not to be a worthwhile citizen but merely to keep an undue proportion of one’s income from being taken through taxation for graft, waste and extravagant public works. There must be party organizations and party leaders. Both Cesar and Cesar’s wife may be bosses, but there is no good reason why Mrs. Cesar’s husband should not be above reproach; too. Bucket shops have been blowing up like a string of fire- crackers. The losers have been howling to high heaven, yet already many of them have opened accounts with new bucket shops or bought the latest novelty in hundred-per- cent stocks. But how many of the suckers have taken the ticker apart to see what makes it tick, or have read the highly educational characters on the tape that spell out the simple lesson: Don’t speculate! Pick a stock with a good record, investigate it, watch it, and then buy it for safety and a small steady return. The rule holds good in politics: Educate, investigate, organize and vote! Buy a baby bond of Reform, a few safe Liberties of legislation, and beware of all uplifters, pinks and politicians, sincere or insincere, whose prospectuses seek to persuade you with references to the profits made by the original holders of Bell Telephone, Ford Motors and Standard Oil. A six per cent law is a safe law. A hundred per cent promise is one hundred per cent bunkum and hokum.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 23 OME 5,000,000 of New York’s 6,000,- 000 people live and work under the deadly handicap of the New York mind. This poisoned or distorted metropolitan brain like- wise characterizes most of the three million additional persons who live within the district served by suburban trains. From the standpoint of the normal proportions of life, which are the foundations of family prosperity and in- dividual independence, this lunacy is eating its way into the fabric of our boasted American character. Locking ahead a generation or two, one may see New York and it environs with 20,000,000 inhabitants. If we run out to Chicago at that time on the six-hour air express we may find 10,000,000 people; in Philadelphia, as many more. A few great cities will have absorbed 70 per cent, say, of the population. And what then? The New York mind will be only an emphasized Chicago or Philadelphia mind, 2nd for present purposes let us study at close range this New York cerebrum and its processes. To understand it as it exists today and must exist with intensified manifestations in years to come, we must know the people who live in New York, and how they live and work and think. How people think is the most vital thing to know about them, for as they think so goes the nation. ‘ Typical Cross-Sections N HOUR’S saunter through upper New York will re- A veal hundreds of big apartment houses, more or less alike, and each something of a mystery until you get di rectly to the source of things. Who are the people who live in these vast piles of brick? Whence came they, whither are they bound, and where do they get the income to pay the fantastic New York rents and other expense What is their state of mind, what their outlook on life On Manhattan Island, with over 2,250,000 people, only 2.1 per cent own their homes. To reduce these speculations to concrete facts I under took a research which, though fragmentary, has developec some typical cross-sections of New York living condition These studies, picked from apartment buildings in dil- ferent sections of New York, serve to illustrate what is unquestionably true wherever you go in the metropolis. DECORATIONS BY RAY ROHN On one of the streets close to upper Broadway andr far from One Hundredth Street is an apartment house « aining forty ¢ ight families. It is one of the less « xpensive type, eight stories, with bad elevator service and a small shabby rotunda with a few uncomfortable chairs and a telephor e excha ve The people who live there are of the everyday type one finds in offices and the better class of stores. To get at the side of things I enlisted the assist- ntendent of the building, who supplied a complete list of the families, together with much con- tributory information. lle Wino Live im New Yor By Edward Mott Woollley ve i ce further brought into the microscopical vision, so far as occupations were concerned. Then a canvass of the building, for the open purpose of a sociological-magazine irvey, brought forth additional information. Altogether 90 per cent of the occupants of the building were dissected. Thus we have a concentrated group of forty-three New York families paying from $120 to $150 a month for living quarters. The apartments range from five to seven rooms, These families average slightly under five persons apiece, with a total of 206. The oc upations of the heads of the families are about equally divided between clerical work, salesmanship and allied callings. Only six are in business for themselves--two of them lawyers, three small mer- chants, and one a partner in a secondhand office-appliance business. Less than 6 per cent of the heads of these forty-three families are natives of New York City. Most of them came from small towns or farms, and more than half have lived in New York over twenty years, The Item of Rent OR the moment forget the six who are in business EF: r themselves, and consider the probable income of the re ining thirty-sever For other purposes I recently made a survey of average salaries paid in New York City d other places, and with reasonable certainty we ca estimate the annual earnings of these thirty-seven family eads to ave rage not over $2000. So we derive the signincant information that they ars paying over 70 per cent of their incomes for rent. We are tolerabh safe also in est mating that not over o per cent of these families possess any independent income Quits a number of them, however, derive some revenue from the wages of sons and daughters, and from the rentin y sleeping accommodations on cots or folding be Now in smaller communities a few years ago it wa reckoned that a man on a salary of $100 a month should not pay more than twent) dollars for a house, which, of course, he had to heat. Rent and heat would not aggregate more than thirty dollars. In those small communities it (Continued on Page 90

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 5,1922 THE FOLLANSBEE IMBROGLIO short against the unyielding bulk of Parr’s door- keeper, a huge emeritus policeman as impassive as the doorknob itself As an interested and somewhat anguished spectator there stood the little gray-headed copy reader, reservoir of the Great Unprinted; and behind him, like a Greek stood Preston Black's stalwart chauffeur weighed a large soap box, filled, as Parr noted with a ntary qualm, with jelly rolls. brandishing a wad of paper like a tomahawk, was the peaceful fat guardian of the door, Jut I'm telling you I’ve to go to bed in another two hours!” What he Half Moon must be locked this morning at the stroke of noon and hed in thirty fast octuple printing that at a given telegraphic signal these thirty s, straining at the leash in thirty cities, would begin o devour rolls of print paper by the uncounted ton to atisfy the craving of the great publie for tomorrow’s in tallment of Nain Gail’s amazing Follansbee Imbroglio. The doorkeeper, not comprehending the parable of the excited publisher, told him by all means to put himself to bed if he felt that way about it. At this hectic moment the broad-shouldered Parr himself stepped between the antag- onists. With a yell Preston Black turned on Parr, flourish- ing his paper tomahawk menacingly. it can’t goon!” he eried. “IT refuse to be a party to it!” “So! So!” said Parr soothingly. The man was beside himself, With a dexterous pass the deputy possessed himself of Black’s paper weapon, which he swiftly ascertained to be the proofs of forthcoming of the Im broglio, Pushing the erupting editor and his little old expert before him into his office he closed the door behind him. Wav- ing the pair to chairs Parr settled himself at his desk by the window and began, with a comfortable feeling, his perusal of the advance sheets of his great idea. Smiles betokening immense satisfaction gradually wreathed themselves on his normally im- hefore king in anguished accents: meant to convey was that the forms of the put to the instaliment perturbable countenance “Marvelous!” he breathed. It was it was categorical, actual. It was authentic! Oliver had caught Parr did not really believe in progressed he was con- verity; genuine, the pitch pirits, but as he of a feeling of awe for his gifted friend and accomplice rising within him, Oliver had even man- aged to catch that hair-raising “ No, ne, no” that Parr had recovered from the violence of murder. Before the deputy reached the end of the first gulley he had utterly forgotten the editor. He paused for a cigar, gazing vith a paternal pride on the accom- lishment Yes, he would give a © see the murderer when he got his copy tomorrow, The tale moved on, with Nain Gail into the adventure of the beautiful Inez with Renown. She had had her adventure with Riches, with Ursus Fol the money machine, when, as his he treated him with proper contempt. Renown walked on the stage. The illustrious Doctor Sartoris became conscious of the sensa- f warmth when Inez Follansbee passed by. Vanity exacted fill of the simple scholar; Renown was en- meshed with searce an effort; and the saturnine Follans- watching the woman play her newest catch, bided his time and savored his vengeance. Sartoris was at his wit's end to’save one of his pet philanthropies, when Fol- lansbee let slip, in the presence of Inez, a hint of his next bear onslaught in the Street. Inez, for once off uard, Sartoris triumphantly— here was the oppertunity to put himself beyond the need of soliciting for his charities. The doctor plunged. happened in this instance—the only one on that Follansbee coppered the wrong card; the deal fell through. Sartoris was ruined. In a desperate ef- fort to retrieve himself he tossed in his wife's fortune. Up to this time no one had remembered that the illus- trious Doetor Sartoris had a wife. An invalid for years, she had hidden herself away on the top floor. Now the for- gotten woman stepped on the stage, actuated by lunatic fury. Inez, aghast at the catastrophe, got only taunts It was then she turned to the wronged scious years pay t ¢ libnes lanshee vife, Then | tion its nee, creat ' rushed to alms It so record from Follansbee. oman, and swallowing her pride begged for mercy to avert the seandal. The forthcoming installment ended with the dogged, passionless refusal of the half-demented woman to hold her hand— her reiterated “ No, no, no, no!" Continued from Page 21) “Great!” ejaculated Parr. ‘“‘Gad! I'd give a year's pay Preston Black, watch in hand, was hovering at Parr’s elbow. “Tt will ruin me! wildly. “And why not?’ demanded the man hunter loftily. “It’s atrocious! It’s Berkley—Canon Berkley! Man, it flays him alive!”” He glared at Parr. “‘ You bullied me into this! Well, I withdraw! I'm through!” “Berkley?” said Parr, for a moment bewildered. Then the light dawned on him. “Ah-h! I see, I'd for- , It can’t go on!” he was stuttering I see. gotten.’ Catching something of Black's consternation the deputy sprang to his feet with a string of oaths. Berkley! Why hadn’t he recognized that before? The damnable finesse of it! Seizing his hat and coat he rushed off, dragging the astonished publisher and his copy reader after him. Fifteen minutes later the three were standing before Oliver Armiston. The elegant author was lolling back in his swivel chair, contemplating his extended finger tips. Parr thrust the proofs into the hands of his fellow conspirator. “It won't do!” snorted the deputy. “Tt’s too stiff! It’s old Berkley. Lord, man, we can’t exactly “s “Who told you it was Berkley, Parr?” interrupted Oliver calmly. “Black. It’s as plain as the nose on your face!” The House« hotder Shrieked. Cries of **Policet** Filled the Air Oliver turned on the lower- ing publisher. ‘And who told you?” he demanded shortly. “Well, as a matter of fact Stigers, here, brought it to my Black began. But Oliver had already swung another point on his swivel. “And who told you?” he shot at the old copy reader. “I’ve seen it coming—for some time,” “Oh, it’s been very cleverly done—not a word or a line that is actionable. But this last installment is too raw! [ am afraid,” he said apologetically, “I was a little brusque in presenting my objections to Mr. Black. I didn't know then what I know now.” “Brusque!”’ howled Preston Black. a blackmailer!’’ ‘But you wouldn’t have seen it, Black, if it hadn't been for Stigers, eh?”’ cried Oliver triumphantly. “That’s neither here nor there,” said Black hotly. “Tt might be toned down a bit,” put in Parr with a weak effort. There was something so cocksure about Oliver. “Toned down!” shrieked the publisher. “Toned down!” He looked at his watch. “In fifty-five minutes? Well, I guess not! It’s going to be exterminated! We’re not running a torture chamber!” He seized the telephone from the desk. “Crafts,” he bawled when he got his number, “take this carefully: Wire broadcast —‘ Kill Follansbee Imbroglio. Substitute The King’s Fool, by Henry MeMurtrie.’ Run an editorial paragraph —‘ Owing to unforeseen circumstances this number's installment of the Imbroglio Oh, fix it up. Say anything. Don’t be too specific. What’s that?” Preston Black, listening, eyed Oliver Armiston with a frank disgust. ‘Fool, yes, said St igers. “You called me it’s all in type!” he snarled into the ‘phone. He hung up and with trembling hand mopped his wet brow. “T’ve dreamed of this crash!”’ said the distraught pub- lisher. ‘‘Thank God, I am prepared!” He picked up his hat and waved old Stigers out before him. Imperiously he summoned his chauffeur, who at this signal entered, bearing the soap box laden with the apoc- ryphal jelly rolls, and deposited it on the floor. Having thus washed his hands completely of the occasion, Preston Black bowed ironically to Parr and Armiston. “Good day, gentlemen,” he said sneeringly. ‘I I shall not have the pleasure of your amateur collabora tion again,”’ and he closed the door on himself and the dumb Stigers. Parr’s jaws shut with a vicious snap. His fierce little eyes traveled to old Buddha for consolation, but there was none. He turned to Oliver. calm of that deft clairvoyant moved Parr to a dull rumble of profanity. ‘How in the blank of all blasted blanks did you happen to pull a bone like that?” he demanded. Oliver caressed his white lock. ‘Like what?” he asked childishly. “That! That!" sputtered Parr, indi- cating the soap box. This!” trust The serene “This! cried, hammering the offending proofs. “But my dear fellow, I didn’t do that The deputy of police exploded. ““What!” he shrieked. He was on his feet he towered menacingly over Armiston. “You didn’t write it?” His voice rode the falsetto of intensity. Oliver shook his head. “‘No,” he said sweetly, “‘I didn’t write it.” “Who wrote it, then? Who wrote it, I say?” Parr. “Tf I didn’t have your word for it that Nain Gail had passed on,” said Oliver, “I should say the lady herself had baked those jelly rolls in her oven.” Parr sat down heavily. He returned again suddenly to the attack. “Didn't you promise me over the telephone the other night,”” he demanded with savage emphasis, ‘that you would deliver that copy?” , “IT did not,”’ said Armiston. Raising his voice as if in excitement he added, “I said they would be delivered They were. Here they pd ” now; demanded are! He picked up a jelly roll from the soap box and waved it at Parr. There was a sound at the door. Oliver round. “Ah, Black!” cried Oliver. door slightly ajar. carelessly dropped his jelly roll into a desk closed it. Preston Black stood there on the threshold. come back for his cane, so he tried to say. Get out of here —and stay out!”’ snarled the deputy “No!” bellowed the publisher. “‘ Not until I’ve had t truth of this!’ He turned on Oliver, who was kicking Parr’s shins under the desk. You did not write it, then?” cried Black. “Oh, you can’t deny it! I heard it all!’’ Oliver nodded, smiling. “Didn't, you telephone me yesterday morning you ask me if these cylinders had been delivered O.K won't try to deny that?" Black wung “T thought I noticed the Armiston and Did you forget something?” drawer “ 1 e “So? did: "t » I suppose you was seeing red. “I did take that precaution,” admitted Oliver suavely. “And you knew all the time that Nain Gail was not dead, eh?” he cried tensely. For ten agonizing seconds the publisher of the Half Moon--that unbelievable gold mine built on the shifting sands of Nain Gail’s versatility —stood dumb and rigid. Then suddenly he was all action. His hand shot out and seized the telephone. ““Crafts!”’ he yelled with a ring of diabolical elation in his tones. ‘Crafts! Wire broadcast: ‘ Disregard telegram killing Nain Gail. Run Imbroglio as usual.’” The darkling Black set down the telephone and, revolv- ing slowly on his heel, reached for his cane, at the same time challenging the pair with a look, daring them to come on if they wanted an argument. His eye caught the no longer apocryphal soap box; and tucking his stick under one arm he hoisted the box and started eff. The door slammed. A flurry of words blew up outside. I ’ It was only poor old Stigers, the human safety valve, blowing off His manner as he now resigned his office out there on the doorstep was brusque. The saying goes that, given motive power, even a kitchen table can fly. Parr at the present moment had his doubts. In his long and distinguished career as a man hunter he had relied implicitly on those two classic tools of (Continued on Page 26)

Page 27

| | { f : i i i ii eed Meaty, marrowy Ox Tail joints delicious vegetables Just the aroma from Campbell's Ox Tail Soup as it simmers in the saucepan is a challenge to your appetite—it is so rich and savory. And the minute you taste the first spoonful, you realize what a treat is ahead of you. The sliced ox tail joints are the very tenderest and finest the market affords. Their rich tasty broth is blended with diced carrots and turnips, puree of luscious tomatoes, hearty strengthening barley, ox tail joints (not used in making the broth), a dash of French leeks and parsley fresh from our own farms. Real, substantial food—and how delicious! 21 kinds 12 cents a can LR a eee ee a 2 Sl eae THE SATURDAY EVENING POST lm ~=NEVER BE WITHOUT SOUP IN YOUR PANTRY OK FOR Sr HAO AND Well re LABS coy ae » sINng nourishing barley TES he ily cod? i Sse se See ee % ng ais, eet oe | ne

Page 28

Coatinued from Page 24) his craft, the night stick and If by among the bright your the detective bu it on ti I kill no time shoe leather. agination cropped up 1 of his staff in 1u it was his wont to tap 1 a stout club. Imagina- than it did birds. habit; as to its and they'll come that Parr always » of his strong-arm e doorstep with the irons that was a phase of t attempt to analyze. s old age— Parr felt * present moment ayed to fly. ‘kitchen table! He sivertence im g mer thor (Crime add : ave them alone home ni } ct happer men bad egbiany* the mark; I j ited win es Par o could ¢ fairly groveled in een ment. The brilliar was his own —he could not other door: Nain Gail done to death by one of her own characters who had out of the book long enough to wield a pair of fire tongs! The lady hadn't even had the decency to stay de ad! No; she must burst into ong in another twenty-four hours she would be on the street, the newsboys £ raucously, “Here y’are! Git your Ir n-brog-lio! Nain Gail! Five cents!” She was back again, as large as life, and twice as devastating. Back from where? Who said she had been away? Parr rum- bled ominously. Question marks played leapfrog in his brainpan. He wanted to quarrel with someone, preferably Oliver. jut Oliver refused to put up his hands to defend himself. Instead he put up his feet on the slide of his desk and began to read those proofs. Up to the moment of the final exit of the triumphant Preston Black Armiston had resisted those fascinating galleys with the abnegation of a sorely terapted saint. Now he was wallowing in them. Here was the egregious Nain Gail of undiminished magnitude Momentarily, like a variable star, she had seemed dim and distant jut she had come around again into perihelion. Even Parr, reading those same proofs but an hour gone by in his office, had been no more proud of what he then supposed to be the virtuosity of his gifted friend Armiston than was Oliver himself at the present moment. Oliver could have written it, he told himself glee- fully if not word for word, at least detail for detail. Oliver could finish it, from that final succession of noes, with his eyes shut. It was about old Berkley of course. And there was more to come. In the tale, as it would develop, left te itself, that half- demented woman, the doctor's wife, would never live to taste her vengeance. At the moment when the sardonic Follansbee would be politely divorcing Inez, in Paris, Mrs. Sartoris must exercise her long-denied privilege of dying; thus it devolved upon the illustrious savant to marry the beauti- ful Inez as a point of honor, But even then the tale did not end. Tied for life to that woman was not enough. Sartoris must live succession of misfortunes, as if an ironic fate, now and then recollect- ing him and the sorry figure he had cut, must give another and yet another turn to the screw. Oliver, dimly making his escape, the Imbroglio “What! Abandonin g your brain child on my step, Parr!” exclaimed the in- fatuated author “Bah!” snorted the famous man hunter; and he went out, slamming the door to give emphasis to his disgust. For a moment Oliver listened to his re- treating footsteps. When they had quite died away he opened his desk drawer and extracted the apocryphal cylinder, which he had so dexterously snatched from the hurning. With a smile of satisfaction at the thought that he had outwitted even the eagle-eyed man hunter by his sleight of hand, Armiston adjusted the roll in the machine “Hydra-headed monster!" he apostro- phized it. ‘‘Who are you now?” Indeed the amazing Nain Gail did possess the quali- ties of the mythical monster; no sooner was one voice stilled than another must spring into being. In spite of himself his face grew stern, his pulse quickened, as he put the rubber tentacles in his ears and reached up to turn the electric switch of the infernal machine. The cylinder began to turn slowly. The needie picked up the tiny thread. At first it was a confused murmur. Then abruptly articulate words began to pour forth. For a few seconds Armiston sat still as a graven euve stepped ayain. yellin to experiefice a conscious that Parr was dragged himself out of doors THE SATURDAY image, listening with every nerve in his body. This was not the liquid accents, not the admirable incessancy of the Nain Gail of the earlier cylinder. Less facile, less practiced, he was saying to himself, and He sat up with a start. He gave ear in- tently, his heart pounding. That voice! He knew it! Where had he heard it? He snatched the tentacles from his ears, got up, paced the room nervously. That voice, that barely perceptible He halted in his tracks, his eyes afire now. That was it! The girl with the baby lisp! Like a panorama there moved before his eyes the gay lights, the dancing floor, Mrs. Billy in the near distance, the old man beside him, and, vanishing at a command, the young person in ribbons and chiffons. Pelts, thought Oliver. He could use Pelts now. About the hour that newspaper wagons were charioteering up and down and across town, tossing overboard great bundles of Half Moons at every corner; about the hour that the discomfited Parr, the com- placent Oliver, the enthralled Mrs. Billy, the haughty Eva, the austere canon, were dipping into their purses for nickels; about the hour that the supercilious Ned Alstair, coming down the gangplank of a liner at the Chelsea Docks for a brief inspection of the hated country of his birth, was having his patrician ears assaulted by newsboy howlings of “Nain Gail! Nain Gail! Five cents!’’; about the hour that one million readers across the length and breadth of the land were opening their copies of the Half Moon, with that synchronism of in- terest that so warmed the cockles of the heart and bank account of the astute Pres- ton Black —about this hour, of a Saturday evening, Pelts, the human sleuth hound, was lying in wait outside the entry to the office of the Broadbill Detective Agency, behind the advertising sign in the hall that pro- claimed the concern to be discreet, private, confidential. Pelts was waiting for some- body, anybody, connected with that office, to enter, so that he might do likewise with- out the risk of bringing a bushel of burglar alarms down on his head. Shortly before eight the patience of the tireless lurker was rewarded. Broadbill himself arrived; and no sooner had the inner door banged than Pelts dexterously admitted himself and packed himself away under the telephone switchboard to await a clear field. Broadbill evidently wished to appear at his best whither he was bound this evening; he carefully shaved himself, renewed his collar and cuffs and shoe shine; and, paring his nails and polishing them on a coat sleeve, finally let himself out, hummin entle air of spring as he set the bur; ~ Be slarm against possible prowlers. There was in truth little to steal here. The walls of the inner office were stacked with files, but they were for the most part dummies. *‘Ah; here’s the meal ticket, I suspect!’’ chirped the pleased Pelts, taking down a file and finding it heavy. He seated himself with an air of owning the place, with the entire night ahead of him and Sunday, too, if need be; behind that burglar alarm he was as snug as Rob- ert Bruce behind his spider web. This file contained a voluminous consci- entious loose-leaf dossier pertaining to the value of X, “for the account of the Half Moon Publishing Company.” That it was the focus, the center of gravity, the excuse for being, the nest egg, the meal ticket, the golden goose of the Hise ‘reet, pri- vate, ome ser firm of Broadbill & Co. was instantly apparent to the eye from its thumb-marked, dog-eared condition. Files to right of it and files to left of it wore a Sunday-morning spick-and-span look; but this file was for use, not for show. It paid the rent; it furnished light, heat and spring water; it provided cigars, janitor service and window washing; it enabled Broad- bill, a gregarious person, a dismantled po- lice captain, to lead a life of ease, to have a tailor and to eat three good meals each day. The Broadbill Detective Agency was, in truth, merely one of that horde of jackals that follow in the wake of every success in public life, feeding off it and thriving. For the past fourteen months the Beced- bill Detective Agency, represented by pieceworkers, had relentlessly pursued the elusive Nain Gail once every fortnight. As that purely hypothetical personage ad the habit of appearing in materialized form during the first and third weeks of every month, in the’shape of vocative jelly rolls EVENING POST it was these rolls themselves which the tireless workers of the detective agency back-tracked with ferocious pertinacity on each appearance. Broadbill expended all the mental ingenuity on this sporadic prod- uct that an astronomer would expend in the calculation of the orbit of a stray comet, pursuing it backward on its trail into the most remote regions of calculable space. His bright young men, engaged semimonthly for each manifestation, anxious to make a name for themselves, fearlessly stalked innocent express wagons to their lair, usually a public garage; drivers were backed into corners and offensively warned; clerks at public receiving stations were outra- geously browbeaten; taxicab drivers were threatened with the loss of their tickets. There never was any real danger of finding Nain Gail. Once or twice bright young men who bade fair to distinguish themselves were removed from the trail and given an imaginary doorpost to watch, till their ardor cooled. Captain Broadbill had no intention of going to work for a living. Pelts thumbed the reports with growing admiration—-not only for the tireless de- tectives but for the astute Preston Black as well. No one could accuse Preston Black of leaving a single stone unturned. Twice each month he countersigned the report with his O. K. and paid on the nail. The ubiquitous Nain Gail had the habit of ap- pearing in the most out-of-the-way express or baggage collecting stations—according to these files—either in person or repre- sented by some innocent dupe, to deliver a crate marked ‘‘Perishable—Rush!”’ ad- dressed to the voracious Half Moon, col- lect. At times she turned up on the island of Manhattan itself, not a stone’s throw from the destination of the jelly rolls. On another occasion it might be Albany, New Brighton or Buffalo; once Broadbill back- tracked the sender to Milwaukee. Only last week, of a Thursday, Broadbill had gone to the expense of dragnetting the town for a taxi driver who had played the role of party-of-the-first-part in the matter of the jelly rolls—and they had found him! Backed into a corner, and under duress, the taxi driver had admitted, after being warned that his testimony might be used against him, that while cruising for a fare on the Drive against police rules—he had been summoned by a young woman motorist in distress; something was wrong with her ignition, but she professed herself well able to take care of that if he would transship a soap box of some weight she had hid under a lap robe and deliver it at the nearest express station. She paid him liberally, and in her distraction over the errant ignition she neglected to give her name. So the driver, eager to be off cruising again, had written ‘.is own name as the sender. He placed a value of “nominal” on the box not suspecting it might contain a torso or something equally contraband—the lady appearing so respectable. She might have been a foreigner, he said; he described her talk as being good, but a bit thick. The pa- tient Pelts searched every page, every line, every word of every report. It was late when Pelts concluded his re- searches. As he dexterously let himself out through the burglar-alarm mesh he made a mental promise that he would take up the trail tomorrow where the indefatigable Broadbill had left off. At midnight a householder in little West Twelfth Street, chancing to look out of a rear window, was startled by sight of a nimble shadow threading its way among clotheslines and snaking itself over creak- ing old back-yard fences. The householder shrieked. Cries of “Police!” filled the air. The night suddenly resounded with the plaint of shrill whistles, the thud of heavy boot soles, the clatter of night sticks. Police surged in from all directions. When they gained access to the rear yards-the nimble Pelts, cursing himself for his clumsi- ness, had already shinned up a drain pipe and with infinite precautions let himself in through a window to the empty room of that rear tenement. He lay still till the storm outside had subsided. Then his first act was to assure himself that the police guard was on duty outside the sealed door of this lethal cham- ber. Peering down on this man through the transom the paper-faced Pelts indulged in a grin; of all the inhabitants of the block only this stalwart guard, propped in a chair against the door panel, was undis- turbed by the alarums; this minion of the law was sleeping like a child. Pelts made an inch-by-inch examina- tion of the room with the aid of a little August 5,1922 electric torch. He gave particular atten- tion to the bookshelves and the top of the door frame, and climbing on a table he spent several minutes in rapt consideration of the disused trapdoor in the ceiling. But nothing had been disturbed since he had left this room at dawn. His gifted chief, the great deputy, might have lost interest in the rear-tenement murder, with the recrudescence of Nain Gail. But not Pelts. Night after night he had watched and waited here. Shivering in the unheated room he lected a couch cover from a heap in corner, and winding it about him like a blanket Indian he moved a chair — her chair -—up to the desk—her desk-—and sat down, letting his head fall wearily on his hands, a forlorn, forsaken figure. An electric light on a pole in the yard cast a single broad band of incandescence in through the parted window hangings and bisected the room with its radiance conjuring vague shapes from the blue shadows on either hand. Hours later, it seemed to the there came the sound of micelike and scratchings from an unce tes 1 direc tion. The muffled figure at the table did not move, but the eyes beneath their veil turned expectantly upward. The old trap- door in the ceiling was being lifted by bony fingers. A strange old face framed itself in the aperture for several seconds, while she studied the below. Then catching sight of the forlorn figure at the table she nodded briskly, the ringlets at her ears bobbing. She disappeared, almost at once to reappear; and gathering up her silks she prepared to descend. She was as agile as a wiry squaw, and the route - parently was familiar to her feet. One toe felt for a footing on the top of a door frame; the bookcase formed a convenient ladder to the table; and thence from a chair to the floor, where she shook out her and with a little secret smile unhesitatingly advanced. It was Miss Estelle de Morney above, the ‘“‘encumbrance on the prop- erty,” belle of long-gone days. She picked her way without a sound to the hall door and listened intently, her eyes all the time on the figure at the table, as if with secret understanding. Picking up a chair she placed it with elaborate precaution beside the table, and sat down, arrang- ing herself with prim napa nace: ol Her face in the light was deeply graved an d cadav- erous in its eager intensity. The silence of her companion apparently reassured her; this might have been a phantom visitant expected, an anticipation realized; she gave the suggestion of an intercourse un known to grosser mortals. Her lips moved continually, but no sound came. Occa- sionally she would pause and fix a look of question or reproach on the silent figure and bend an ear as if expecting a response. A door slammed; some one of the ten- ants coming in late made his cautious way up the stairs outside, at which sound the old lady turned her head and waited in breathless terror, putting out a bony hand behind her to enjoin silence. The alarm passed. All was quiet again. The old woman had composed _ herself again. As she smoothed out the folds of her dress the shrouded Pelts noted with a sprouting of gooseflesh that she was toying with a he “avy cut- glass bottle of sme iling salts that might have felled an ox. These creatures always had something about them, some weapon. Now she was holding up another object, which at first he took to be a twist of fluffy silk thread. As she curled it over her finger the shivering Pelts identified it as a strand of human hair golden hair! The Cottrell woman’s hair! The hair that had seemed to cover every- thing in that aftermath of the murder. The old woman leaned close to him, grin- ning. Now she had unexpectedly produced a match, which she struck alight. She singed the hair in the flame. “TI cut this from your right temple, Blanche,”’ she whispered as she watched the figure intently. ‘‘Does it hurt, dearie? Does it hurt you? I burn an inch of it each day!” As she sat there enacting this age-old superstition with the light of madness in her eyes, Pelts, tense and watching her every. move, suddenly visualized it all. The Cottrell woman had been slain by no victim of the hypothetical Nain Gail, wielding a bludgeon to silence her blas- phemous lips. She had become the prey (Continued on Page 28 se- one watcher, nibblings scene wide skirts , the lodger

Page 29

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

kK NEVER BE WITHOUT SOUP IN YOUR PANTRY Sinem No amenable ome

eS Meaty, marrowy Ox Tail joints delicious vegetables nourishing barley =|

tae

Just the aroma from Campbells Ox Tail Soup as it simmers in the saucepan is a challenge to your appetite—it is so rich and savory. And the minute 7 you taste the first spoonful, you realize what a mt treat is ahead of you. The sliced ox tail joints are the very tenderest and finest the market affords. 1p s0 good you'l 4 Their rich tasty broth is blended with diced made t carrots and turnips, puree of luscious tomatoes,

hearty strengthening barley, ox tail joints (not GEN used in making the broth), a dash of French ay So = leeks and parsley fresh from our own farms. « 2 ap Real, substantial food—and how delicious! AT<A

12 cents a can 21 kinds

Uy, pe eet Wrlrrte LASSL

Page 30

Continued from Page 24 his craft, the night stick and shoe leather. If by inadvertence imagination cropped up among the bright young men of his staff in the detective bureau it was his wont to tap it on the head with a stout club. Imagina- tion killed more than it did birds. Crime is merely a bad habit; as to its addicts, leave ilone and they'll come home—in irons. The fact that Parr always happened to have » of his strong-arm men wait ny " tep with the irons was beside t} k; th at was a phase of his succe ot attempt to analyze. Ane d yet in his old age—Parr felt positi » at the present moment he |} i sprouted wings, essayed to fly. Parr fl Se could a kitchen table! He veled in self-abasement. The was his own—he could not ny other door: Nain Gail done one of her own characters who ed out of the book long enough to 1 pair of fire tongs! lady hadn't even had the decency y dead! No; she must burst into again. In another twenty-four hours ould be on the street, the newsboys “Here y’are! Git: your Im aoe lio! Nain Gail! Five cents!” She was back again, as large as life, and twice as devastating. Back from where? Who said she had been away? Parr rum- bled ominously. Question marks played leapfrog in his brainpan. He wanted to quarrel with someone, preferably Oliver. But Oliver refused to put up his hands to defend himself. Instead he put up his feet on the slide of his desk and began to read those proofs. Up to the moment of the final exit of the triumphant Preston Black Armiston had resisted those fascinating galleys with the abnegation of a sorely tempted saint. Now he was wallowing in them. Here was the egregious Nain Gail of undiminished magnitude. Momentarily, like a variable star, she had seemed dim and distunt. But she had come around again into perihelion. Even Parr, reading same proofs but an hour gone by in had been no more proud of what supposed to be the virtuosity of his gifted friend Armiston than was Oliver himself at the present moment. Oliver could have written it, he told himself glee- fully —if not word fer word, at least detail for detail. Oliver could finish it, from that final succession of noes, with his eyes shut. It was about old Berkley of course. And there was more to come. In the tale, as it would develo », left to itself, that half- demented woman, the doctor's wife, would never live to taste her vengeance. At the moment when the sardonic Follansbee would be politely divorcing Inez, in Paris, Mrs. Sartoris must exercise her long-denied privilege of dying; thus it devolved upon the illustrious savant to marry the beauti- ful Inez as a point of honor. But even then the tale did not end. Tied for life to that woman was not enough. Sartoris must live to experience a succession of misfortunes, as if an ironic fate, now and then recollect- ing him and the sorry figure he had cut, must give another and yet another turn to the screw. Oliver, dimly mak ing? his esc ape, the Imbroglio. “What! Abandoning your brain child on my doc ae p, Parr!” exclaimed the in- fatui ited author ‘Bah!’ snorted the famous man hunter; and he went out, slamming the door to give emphasis to his disgust. For a moment Oliver listened to his re- treating footsteps. When they had quite died away he opened his desk drawer and extracted the apocryphal cylinder, which he had so dexterously snatched from the burning. With a smile of satisfaction at the thought that he had outwitted even the eagle-eyed man hunter by his sleight of hand, Armiston adjusted the roll in the mac hine “ Hydra- he aded monster!’’ he apostro- phized it. ‘‘Who are you now?” Indeed the amazing Nain Gail did possess the quali- ties of the mythical monster; no sooner was one voice stilled than another must spring into being. ‘In spite of himself his face grew stern, his pulse quickened, as he put the rubber tentacles in his ears and reached up to turn the electric switch of the infernal machine. The cylinder began to turn slowly. The needle picked up the tiny thread. At first it was a confused murmur. Then abruptly articulate words began to pour forth. For a few seconds Armiston sat still as a graven ume ther to death by h 1d ste py wiels The yelling raucously, those his off he then onscious that Parr was dragged himself out of THE SATURDAY image, listening with every nerve in his body. This was not the liquid accents, not the admirable incessancy of the Nain Gail of the earlier cylinder. Less facile, less practiced, he was saying to himself, and He sat up with a start. He gave ear in- tently, his heart pounding. That voice! He knew it! Where had he heard it? He snatched the tentacles from his ears, got up, paced the room nervously. That voice, that barely perceptible He halted in his tracks, his eyes afire now. That was it! The girl with the baby lisp! Like a panorama there moved before his eyes the gay lights, the dancing floor, Mrs. Billy in the near distance, the old man beside him, and, vanishing at a command, the young person in ribbons and chiffons. Pelts, thought Oliver. He could use Pelts now. About the hour that newspaper wagons were charioteering up and down and across town, tossing overboard great bundles of Half Moons at every corner; about the hour that the discomfited Parr, the com- placent Oliver, the enthralled Mrs. Billy, the haughty Eva, the austere canon, were dipping into their purses for nickels; about the hour that the supercilious Ned Alstair, coming down the gangplank of a liner at the Chelsea Docks for a brief inspection of the hated country of his birth, was having his patrician ears assaulted by newsboy howlings of ‘Nain Gail! Nain Gail! Five cents!"’; about the hour that one million readers across the length and breadth of the land were opening their copies of the Half Moon, with that synchronism of in- terest that so warmed the cockles of the heart and bank account of the astute Pres- ton Black— about this hour, of a Saturday evening, Pelts, the human sleuth hound, was lying in wait outside the entry to the office of the Broadbill Detective Agency, behind the advertising sign in the hall that pro- claimed the concern to be discreet, private, confidential. Pelts was waiting for some- body, anybody, connected with that office, to enter, so that he might do likewise with- out the risk of bringing a bushel of burglar alarms down on his head. Shortly before eight the patience of the tireless lurker was rewarded. Broadbill himself arrived; and no sooner had the inner door banged than Pelts dexterously admitted himself and packed himself away under the telephone switchboard to await a clear field. Broadbill evidently wished to appear at his best whither he was bound this evening; he carefully shaved himself, renewed his collar and cuffs and shoe shine; and, paring his nails and polishing the = on a coat sleeve, finally let himself out, hummin entle air of spring as he set the bur «hy alarm against possible prowlers. There was in truth little to steal here. The walls of the inner office were stacked with files, but they were for the most part dummies. “Ah; here’s the meal ticket, I suspect!’ chirped the pleased Pelts, taking down a file and finding it heavy. He seated himself with an air of owning the place, with the entire night ahead of him and Sunday, too, if need be; behind that burglar alarm he was as snug as Rob- ert Bruce behind his spider web. This file contained a voluminous consci- entious loose-leaf dossier pertaining to the value of X, “for the account of the Half Moon Publishing Company.” That it was the focus, the center of gravity, the excuse for being, the nest egg, the meal ticket, the golden goose of the di isc reet, pri- vate, conttenttel firm of Broadbill & Co. was instantly apparent to the eye from its thumb-marked, dog-eared condition. Files to right of it and files to left of it wore a Sunday-morning spick-and-span look; but this file was for use, not for show. It paid the rent; it furnished light, heat and spring water; it provided cigars, janitor service and window washing; it enabled Broad- bill, a gregarious person, a dismantled po- lice captain, to lead a life of ease, to have a tailor and to eat three good meals each day. The Broadbill Detective Agency was, in truth, merely one of that horde of jackals that follow in the wake of every success in public life, feeding off it and thriving. For the past fourteen months the Broad- bill Detective Agency, represented by pieceworkers, had relentlessly pursued the elusive Nain Gail once every fortnight. As that purely hypothetical personage had the habit of appearing in materialized form during the first and third weeks of every month, in the shape of vocative jelly rolls EVENING POST it was these rolls themselves which the tireless workers of the detective agency back-tracked with ferocious pertinacity on each appearance. Broadbill expended all the mental ingenuity on this sporadic prod- uct that an astronomer would expend in the calculation of the orbit of a stray comet, pursuing it backward on its trail into the most remote regions of calculablespace. His bright young men, engaged semimonthly for each manifestation, anxious to make a name for themselves, fearlessly stalked innocent express wagons to their lair, usually a public garage; drivers were backed into corners and offensively warned; clerks at public receiving stations were outra- geously browbeaten; taxicab drivers were threatened with the loss of their tickets. There never was any real danger of finding Nain Gail. Once or twice bright young men who bade fair to distinguish themselves were removed from the trail and given an imaginary doorpost to watch, till their ardor cooled. Captain Broadbill had no intention of going to work for a living. Pelts thumbed the reports with growing admiration—not only for the tireless de- tectives but for the astute Preston Black as well. No one could accuse Preston Black of leaving a single stone unturned. Twice each month he countersigned the report with his O. K. and paid on the nail. The ubiquitous Nain Gail had the habit of ap- pearing in the most out-of-the-way express or baggage collecting stations—according to these files—either in person or repre- sented by some innocent dupe, to deliver a crate marked ‘“ Perishable—Rush!” ad- dressed to the voracious Half Moon, col- lect. At times she turned up on the island of Manhattan itself, not a stone’s throw from the destination of the jelly rolls. On another occasion it might be Albany, New Brighton or Buffalo; once Broadbill back- tracked the ae to Milwaukee. Only last week, of a Thursday, Broadbill had gone to the expense of dragnetting the town for a taxi driver who had played the role of party-of-the-first-part in the matter of the jelly rolls—and they had found him! Backed into a corner, and under duress, the taxi driver had admitted, after being warned that his testimony might be used against him, that while cruising for a fare on the Drive against police rules—he had been summoned by a young woman motorist in distress; something was wrong with her ignition, but she professed herself well able to take care of that if he would transship a soap box of some weight she had hid under a lap robe and deliver it at the nearest express station. She paid him liberally, and in her distraction over the errant ignition she neglected to give her name. So the driver, eager to be off cruising again, had written his own name as the sender. He placed a value of ‘‘nominal”’ on the box not suspecting it might contain a torso or something equally contraband—the lady appearing so respectable. She might have been a foreigner, he said; he described her talk as being good, but a bit thick. The pa- tient Pelts searched every page, every line, every word of every report. It was late when Pelts concluded his re- searches. As he dexterously let himself out through the burglar-alarm mesh he made a mental promise that he would take up the trail tomorrow where the indefatigable Broadbill had left off. At midnight a householder in little West Twelfth Street, chancing to look out of a rear window, was startled by sight of a nimble shadow threading its way among clotheslines and snaking itself over creak- ing old back-yard fences. The householder shrieked. Cries of ‘‘ Police!’ filled the air. The night suddenly resounded with the plaint of shrill whistles, the thud of heavy boot soles, the clatter of night sticks. Police surged in from all directions. When they gained access to the rear yards the nimble Pelts, cursing himself for his clumsi- ness, had already shinned up a drain pipe and with infinite precautions let himself in through a window to the empty room of that rear tenement. He lay still till the storm outside had subsided. Then his first act was to assure himself that the police guard was on duty outside the sealed door of this lethal cham- ber. Peering down on this man through the transom the paper-faced Pelts indulged in a grin; of all the inhabitants of the block only this stalwart guard, propped in a chair against the door panel, was undis- turbed by the alarums; this minion of the law was sleeping like a child. Pelts made an inch-by-inch examina- tion of the room with the aid of a little August 5,1922 electric torch. He gave particular atten- tion to the bookshelves and the top of the door frame, and climbing on a table he spent several minutes in rapt consideration of the disused trapdoor in the ceiling. But nothing had been disturbed since he had left this room at dawn. His gifted chief, the great deputy, might have lost interest in the rear-tenement murder, with the recrudescence of Nain Gail. But not Pelts. Night after night he had watched and waited here. Shivering in the unheated room he se- lected a couch cover from a heap in one corner, and winding it about him like a blanket Indian he moved a chair—her chair—up to the desk—-her desk—and sat down, letting his head fall wearily on his hands, a forlorn, forsaken figure. An electric light on a pole in the yard cast a single broad band of incandescence in through the parted window hangings and bisected the room with its radiance, conjuring vague shapes from the blue shadows on either hand. Hours later, it seemed to the watcher, there came the sound of micelike nibblings and scratchings from an uncertain direc- tion. The muffled figure at the table did not move, but the eyes beneath their veil turned expectantly upward. The old trap- door in the ceiling was being lifted by bony fingers. A strange framed itself in the aperture for several seconds, while she studied the scene below. Then catching sight of the forlorn figure at the table she nodded briskly, the ringlets at her ears bobbing. She disappeared, almost at once to reappear; and gathering up her silks she prepared to descend. She was as agile as a wiry squaw, and the route apparently was familiar to her feet. One toe felt for a footing on the top of a door frame; the bookcase formed a convenient ladder to the table; and thence from a chair to the floor, where she shook out her wide skirts and with a little secret smile unhesitatingly advanced. It was Miss Estelle de Morney, above, the “encumbrance on erty,”’ belle of long-gone days. her way without a sound to the and listened intently, her eyes all the time on the figure at the table, as if with secret understanding. Picking up a chair she placed it with elaborate precaution beside the table, and sat down, arrang- ing herself with prim ceremony. Her face in the light was deeply graved and caday- erous in its eager intensity. The silence of her companion apparently reassured her; this might have been a phantom visitant expected, an anticipation realized; she gave the suggestion of an intercourse un- known to grosser mortals. Her lips moved continually, but no sound came. Occa- sionally she would pause and fix a look of question or reproach on the silent figure and bend an ear as if expecting a response. A door slammed; some one of the ten- ants coming in late made his cautious way up the stairs outside, at which sound the old lady turned her head and waited in breathless terror, putting out a bony hand behind her to enjoin silence. The alarm passed. All was quiet again. The old woman had composed herself again. As she smoothed out the folds of her dress the shrouded Pelts noted with a sprouting of gooseflesh that she was toying with a heavy cut-glass bottle of smelling salts that might have felled an ox. These creatures always had something about them, some weapon. Now she was holding up another object, which at first he took to be a twist of fluffy silk thread. As she curled it over her finger the shivering Pelts identified it as a strand of human hair golden hair! The Cottrell woman’s hair! The hair that had seemed to cover every- thing in that aftermath of the murder. The old woman leaned close to him, grin- ning. Now she had unexpectedly produced a match, which she struck alight. She singed the hair in the flame. “T cut this from your right temple, Blanche,” she whispered as she watched the figure intently. ‘‘ Does it hurt, dearie’? Does it hurt you? I burn an inch of it each day!” he she sat there enacting this age-old superstition with the light of madness in her eyes, Pelts, tense and watching her every move, suddenly visualized it all. The Cottrell woman had been slain by no victim of the hypothetical Nain Gail, wielding a bludgeon to silence her blas- phemous lips. She had become the prey (Continued on Page 28) old face the lodger the prop- She picked hall door

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST nspiring a Friendly Feeling for America All Over the World

People of Other Nations Accept Superiority of Hupmobile and Make It an International Institution The high standing of the Hup- mobile abroad means even more, in a certain sense, than its strong hold on folks here at home. American manufactured prod- ucts have not always stood well in the Old World, and the un- grudging admiration accorded the Hupmobile therefore carries a special significance. The reasons for this admira- tion are precisely the same in

Europe, Africa, South America if tip oO | QKIRMAN 7 | | ~~ 4 | Cencteee a~ | = wee, a | BAM “eee ee | A ach eee ¢* BUNPORE Nay } Q > Lo nur

The dotted line shows the route taken by a detail commanded by Sgt. G. R. Cox, South Persian Rifles in driving two Hupmobiles from Nushki, Baluchis tan, to Kirman, South Persia. The first motor cars to travel this route, the Hupmobiles made the 800 miles of rugged mountain passes, rocky, dry river beds and clinging sand in |9 days, and were none the worse for their severe trip and Asia as they are in America -except that these reasons are accentuated in the case of Old- World motorists. Americans admire the Hupmo- bile especially because of its dogged and undeviating good service under every conceiv- able road condition. ihe: f Vi GO

CONTINENT) OF . se | aan | xu sor RAL KAM d } ; — . Vd | \ ’ - ’ ‘ 4“ | : ; | ( a‘ j is} | . ‘ JBRISBANEA f | \ 4 ; te t 4 - . | | yy f 4 f | T | : RTH ae gece ™ F coger om f eue® Ft j OREN HILL aoe ao t pase *e, - im omeere® te, f FREEMANTLE *as® A ahpeees*) Me UB f Vy NE agl { wy bap pay 7 SYONEV'Y, f —, pabelic Uf | ‘ Oe { \ <SMELBOURNE } a ey Mor Australia is another far-off land that knows the Hupmobile favorably and well The car has been exported to Australia almost ever since it was first manufactured he map shows the route of the Hupmobile's record breaking run ac ross the Australian continent The distance fr I reemantic to Sydney is 2677 miles almost as far as from New York to Los Angeles. The Hi upmol ile sed the continent from west to east in 7 days, 2 hours, |7 minutes ote en Port Augusta and Bre een Hilt 404 n iles, it le ft the beaten trac te and struck out across the desert and the washouts. In spite of an average of oa 10.6 miles per hour for is stretch, the Hupmobile was able But the road conditions which the | lupmobile meets and con- quers across the ocean are even a truer test of its indomitable soundness than those it en- counters here. Away from fine main routes, South Africa, for instance, has no roads in our sense of the word; India is almost equally deficient; Holland motorists must leave their own borders for a worth-while tour it goes in many a foreign state in which the Hupmobile is most ardently admired. and so It is natural that the people of other nations should be slower to accept the superiority of an to excel the best previous trans-continents ol s00 re 45 hours, 18 mi

American product—but in the Hupmobile this superiority is accepted without question. case of the It is not too much to say that wherever it goes, there is bred an increased respect for the honesty of purpose, and the thoroughness, of American manufacturing methods. The American tourist abroad can be absolutely sure that American products are highly thought of in any com- munity where the Hupmobile is known. more He may find more lightly con- structed American cars in Hupmobile larger numbers, but he can be certain that nowhere will he find another American car as highly Hup- mobile. regarded as the It must be a source of satisfac- tion to any American to know that native products are gen- erating a friendly feeling for America in foreign places It should be a special source of satisfaction to Hupmobile own- ers to know that the Hupmobile is not merely the car of the American family, but an in ternational institution as well. Oo O BULAWAYO & TAT! one | te UNION OF so. AFRICA |

me of the earliest Hup nobile exportations 1909 were made to South Africa the car t day is exceptionally well th« The Huy ec is used with as great success in the South African bintertand, tar Trot good main roads, as in the cities and thickly populated sections red A. Donnithorne, scientist and explorer, is one of many to testify to its splendid behav He writes from Bulawa in Rhodesia, tt in all his experiences with he has neve ' heard of a car doing what he has seen the Hup mobile do on many occasions For that reason we feel sure that the incidents detailed here 1 - ; | with will make grateful reading for you all. Hupp Motor Detroit, Michigan ar ( orporation

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28 (Continued from Page 26) of this crazy old woman, who was actually burning the hair of a fancied rival inch by inch to prolong her torture— of this belle of the underworld, heroine of a famous mur- der of the ’76’s, who mentally had not lived a single day beyond that catastrophe. There was the rumble of a milk cart, the patter of feet on frosty boards, the clink of botties, early morning sounds. Miss Estelle sprang to her feet, concealed her precious lock of hair in the bosom of her dress; then noiselessly as a ghost she stepped into the deep shadow of the fire- place. Some Pelt ‘, for she Vision The toppled over sixth sense must have warned was heyond the angle of his figure in the chair suddenly just as Miss Estelle de Morney, wielding her murderous salts bottle, struck from behind, as she must have struck the poor Cottrell woman. As he flung himself aside, prone on the floor, Peits seized her ankles and brought her down Policeman Phelan, on guard outside in the hall, came up out of a refreshing sleep with a rush and a roar. The seals on the door were still unbroken, yet from within came strange crashing sounds. He smashed the door with a heave. A gasping, snarling, clutching bundle of humans was rolling about the floor, “Lights! Help!’ gasped Pelts. As Phelan threw himself into the fray, amazed at its ferocity, Pelts was stuttering, ‘She’s like a coil——of wire; One man can’t handle this—-kind! They’re—super—human! I was —a fool! Smother her, or strangle her—anything!”’ Miss Estelle de Morney finally succumbed to numbers, At daybreak, when they were driving her away in a patrol wagon, the murderess, who had come within an inch of repeating her crime with the agile Pelts as victim, smiled up at Parr “Did I hear anything?” she repeated, answering that question for the second time. ‘‘My dear sir, I saw it all! Indeed, I was the one whe did it! I suppose my enemies wili even grudge me that satisfac- tion. Captain Avalone,” she said, smooth- ing out her silks coyly, “had just come up from the ship. It was all he could do to wait. Poor Blanche thought he was bring- ing the stuffs to her.”” She whispered in Parr's ear: “Silly chit! With her baby face! And her great loads of hair! She thought the captain admired her hair!" After a pause she said, whispering again secretly, “She talked—she talked—she talked. So I smothered her in her hair!” She was living again the Donald Brent murder. Here was the answer to the mys- tery: The one beauty of that unfortunate Cottrell woman. her wonderful hair, had roused the jealous fury of an old mad- woman, who saw in her the rival of her youth. vi Fg downtown, in the zone of roasting coffee and drying fish, there is a street half a reason of its terseness, is called Regnum. It takes its beginning in the avenue under block long, which, probably by the Elevated, decorated by a plaza of italian greengroceries sprawling over the sidewalk and attended by ample nursing mothers who acquire a clever cametieal dexterity in waiting on customers. It ends without argument against the wall of an old churchyard in the middle of the block. Half a century ago Regnum Street was a mere alley of stables and haylofts. Later it washed its windows and painted its door- ways and ornamented them with wrought lanterns and brass knockers, and broke holes in its roofs for north lights. A serious tribe of artists toiled here over their in- spirations when the light was good; the sculptors being betrayed by foot tracks of plastilina in their doorways and the painters by the aroma of turps. In the evenings it wis not rare for a flotilla of fine limousines to lie at anchor at the curb in the avenue. If you toak the trouble to read the names on the letter boxes you would have a fairly safe list of the medal winners at the winter’s exhibition. The door knocker.of Number Five por- trayed a playful bear swinging from a limb and twiddling his toes at an inquisitive turtie. The doorway was tracked with modeling clay and the air was pungent with turpentine, indicating that the prac- titioner within paid homage to the dual arts of the spatula and of the brush. Be- sides housing an artist of parts, this old stable had another distinction: it was the THE SATURDAY place of rendezvous on Sunday nights of such members of that restless tribe of ex- plorers as might happen to be in town momentarily from the Congo, the Amazon or the Arctic. For these there existed a per- petual unwritten welcome here; the tatch- string hung out for them after nine; inside they made a vague camp-fire circle about a stereopticon, and in low tones talked the talk of frontiersmen, in theis own language. There was a fine informality about it; one entered without announcing himself, and departed without adieus. One had the Quaker privilege of talk or silence; if one listened he could absorb the moody con- fidences of those who had traveled beyond tea and tobacco. The secret of the open door was beautifully kept; aTfew patrons of ait and patronizers of artists edged them- selves in, as was inevitable; but even these latter prized the secret for its anonymity. It was at nine of a Tuesday evening that Josiah Bourne, an elegant old beau, got down from his chariot in the avenue and gave gruff directions to his man; as he drew his fur collar up about his plucked old neck he examined the gloomy dead end that was Regnum Street. For a timid per- son it was not particularly inviting on a murky November night. The street lamps’ rays reached only part way; the upper end, under the old church wall, was shrouded in gloom. Had he been alone the old lawyer might have hesitated to enter the little closed street. But it was quite evident that he was only one of several arrivals; a fleet of glittering equipages lay in the avenue roadstead, their riding lights and owners’ burgees trimmed for the dog- watch; in a hallway a few doors down the avenue was a huddled group of expensive chauffeurs, rattling bones and chanting hymns to "goddesses of chance. This was wholly familiar, and reassuring. The old man indulged in a smile of satis- faction. He was going into society this evening. It had been many years—several generations, in fact—since he had had the privilege of moving in marble halls at the invitation of the great and the near-great. In the days of his youth, when one held his chin up with a Sealer and his trousers down with bootstraps, there had been a time when doors opened to Josiah Bourne. Later, doors were shut against him. Prone to look behind the clouds of life for their silver lining Josiah Bourne had explained to himself this social ostracism as the pen- alty of success; he knew too much about the great and the near-great; he made a profession of their shifts, their shams, their subterfuges, their unregenerate sons; he maintained a catacomb for the skeletons of the first families of Manhattan. His exile, however unpalatable, had its flattering if sardonic compensations. But yesterday morning, when Josiah Bourne was being drawn into a gay waist- coat by his man, chancing to look down into the street he was thrilled with the spectacle of a glistening brougham, drawn by a prancing pair of hacks, stopping at his door; a footman, springing down from the box and running up the steps, deposited an a. -looking document. The footman was hardly back in place again and the whip snapping about the ears of the pranc- ing pair when Josiah Bourne, breath whis- tling through his teeth, had dispatched his man in pursuit. His heart glowed with fond memories. This savored of Knickerbocker days, ele- gant leisurely days before the era of traffic Sellen men; days of a brougham and a pair, with coachman and footman on the box in fawn-colored liveries, with flaring shiny silk hats, high tight boots, fur chokers and black gloves, delivering their lady’s billets from door to door. The old man was ogling the huge en- velope, which might contain a death sen- tence or reprieve, from its weightiness, when his man came trotting back with the information that the brougham was deco- rated with the crest of the Wentworth family. Josiah Bourne studied the em- bossed heraldry he held in his trembling fingers; it was unfamiliar to him, but the astounding fact that a carriage, decorated with the coat of arms of the brilliant Mrs. Billy, had stopped at his door to deliver a billet in bright daylight was enough. He slit the cmetene. The content of this portentous document was cabalistic. It was a summons to Num- ber Five. It was the familiar two-story handwriting of Mrs. Billy. Of that he could have no doubt. He, the rec ipient of an invitation to one of the rare evenings of the original Mrs. Billy! The old buck EVENING POST twisted his mustaches and posed for the delectation of his mirror. It was a favor he unquestionably owed to his engaging young friend, Mr. Armiston. He recollected that the date engraved herein, Tuesday, was that of the special performance of Tristan, at the opera. He had planned to appear there. During the long decades of his exile old Josiah Bourne had re ligiously frequented the great events in society’s calendar where mere money was the password at the door; the charity balls, the bazaars under distinguished pat- ronage, the tableaux vivants of the maids and matrons of the Social Register—these occasions and effete first nights where the elect were to be found in all their glory were never missed by Josiah Bourne. The great and the near-great never by any chance saw him—but he always made it a point to be seen. He stalked among them like the ghost of Peter Grimm, visible to the audience at large but not to his fellow actors on the stage. Well, let the nabobs look holes through him if they must! He could stand their vacant stares. They would come to him soon enough when their daughters took the wrong turn or their sons got mired without chains. When that delicious moment arrived he made it a point of not being in; no, he didn’t tele- phone or write letters or make appoint- ments-—-with the needy; when they wanted him--and no one else would do!—the haughty nabobs would have to find him in public and do a little fawning. How he had relished these morsels taking his humiliation from them white hot, and then standing off to crack his whip over their heads. An enemy of society? Indeed no— its invisible ringmaster! But—a brougham bearing the heraldic emblem of the proud Wentworths had stopped at his door, and left a biliet! The fascinating queen of soc iety had tossed a sop to Cerberus. He might well forgo Tristan. “A most captivating woman!” he was muttering as he gripped his stout stick and started to punt himself forward over the cobblestones towards the gloomy end of the little street. ‘‘I think, without doubt, she will find me of great assistance in her activities.” Could he have chosen, of course this entry, properly ticketed, into society would have occurred at the lady’s palatial home, a fortress in the Avenue facing the Park, in the Seventies. To have tasted the triumph of being announced in that gilded hall, to have been welcomed there by the gracious queen of the Upper Regions—such a spectacle would have struck his stone- blind clients stone dead. Instead, his reeall to the world of fashion would take place in the anonymous dark. The lady must be up to one of her pranks again. Old Josiah knew about Number Five, where the privileged few played their blind man’s buff, unknowing and unknown. It would be thrilling of course. Still, for the old lawyer the real thrill lay in the fact that the gracious lady had sent her carriage to his door in broad daylight. Craning his neck and straining his eye Josiah Bourne finally discovered the play- ful bear twiddling his toes at the inquisi- tive turtle. His heart, an old pump witha leaky gasket on the intake side, chattered a little as he reached out and touched the cold doorknob with his fingers. He drew back, resting himself for a brief spell against the brick doorpost, amazed at his own weakness. A couple passed in as he stood there in the shadow, but displayed no curiosity as to his identity. The swish of the woman’s silks shook out a faint in- definite perfume asshe passed; the man’s bearded face in silhouette stirred some dull memory in the watcher. Another car had stopped at the foot of the street; someone else was coming up the alley, examining doorways. Josiah Bourne passed in. At this moment a dimly outlined figure detached itself from the side of a potted box plant across the alley; it was the in- defatigable Pelts, who, hands deep in pock- ets and shoulders curled like a beggar in a bread line, shuffled over the cobbles to the foot of the street and appraised with great satisfaction the flotilla of limousines lying there; he gave especial attention to the little lighted signal lamps on top, the own- ers’ burgees. Apparently gratified with this census he returned to the shadow of the box plant. The door swung to behind Josiah Bourne; and in the mottled darkness a hand ap- peared to relieve him of his hat and stick, returning a moment later to lift his fur August 5,1922 coat from his tall frame. He was wonder- ing which way to turn when the hand again came back, slipped itself through his arm and urged him gently forward into the studio. The room was completely in shadow except for the fitful flashes of light from a balky stereopticon, which, however, failed to reveal any more than the livid face of a man peering down into its white- hot interior as he tinkered with the arc. The operator shut the furnace door and focused a white circle of radiance on a screen standing against the far wall. Try- ing to adjust his eyes to the feeble twilight Bourne felt himself skillfully tooled in and out among obstructions, several of which he took to be human; and finally gently eased into a comfortable chair. At the moment of relinquishment his startled senses caught his guide’s softly whispered “So good of you to come!” The old lawyer, settling back in his chair, gently inhaled the incense of high life in a stable. In days of old, when hack- ney coaches were in full bloom, a well- ordered drawing-room, food and good talk sufficed; now all that had grown stale. Débutantes and matrons must pick up their skirts—already perilously short — and explore dark alleys or a musty mews under the pretext of patronizing anthropology and the faunal sciences. He chuckled at the thought of the pres- ent situation. In his stalwart youth he would have thought twice about surren- dering his hat and coat to a disembodied pair of hands in a dark corridor and per- mitting himself to be pocketed in the far corner of a dark room, from which escape would be impossible except over a hurdle of obstructions. But if one would go in for society these days, when Mrs. Billy set the pace, one must expect the unexpected. The old man was evidently one of a broken camp-fire circle behind the lan- tern. Peering curiously at the shapes about him in the dimness he strove to make out their features; but the high relief of a man’s shirt front or the misty outlines of a woman’s shoulders were all that repaid him. Guests, of uncertain visibility, con- tinued to arrive. This was better than Tristan—at Tristan he would have paraded in full light, outstaring his foes, made an evening of it; this had the flavor of an ad- venture; friend or foe, all were equally beneath the veil. The man by the stereopticon had taken a seat and begun to talk. A picture ap- peared on the screen. The old lawyer, opening and poising his spectacles on his nose, apprehended with a smile that he was doomed to become a patron of anthropol- ogy and the faunal sciences himself. Here was a scene of the Far North; and the conversational explorer presently was re- galing his distinguished clientele with a homily on the lob stick, which is a spruce tree trimmed like a feather duster. The warmth of the atmosphere, the pleasing proximity of elegance about him, gradually lulled his senses. In spite of himself his old eyelids grew more and more leaden, and the voice of the explorer more and more indistinct, until it finally trailed off altogether into the fast- nesses of Arctic night. Josiah Bourne frankly slept. He awoke with a start; hour might have elapsed. Was it the touch of a hand on his elbow, a breath of air on his forehead that had aroused him? Coming up thus, suddenly out of the well of deep sleep in that dark room, the old man had a sense of floating in nothing- ness. Then his animal instincts warned him of the close proximity of his kind; and he stiffened, bristling, staring at the dusky shapes of his companions. Presently he found himself. Mrs. Billy. Of course. Clever woman, that! Very, very clever! She had sent her brougham —he really must do something handsome. But surely her guests had thinned. He could hardly count a dozen now. “We must be very quiet,” cautioned a mellifluous voice off in a dark corner, for- ward—Mrs. Billy’s, “if we hope for suc- cess. There are thousands of voices up there in the ether.” A vibratory buzz shook the air, to be quickly stifled; then the rhythmic beat as of some great pendulum tolling off sec- onds—-a pause, and a deep bass, coming up out of the bowels of the earth, remarked “Ten o'clock!” as if anyone cared about time. A high thin whistle succeeded. Josiah Bourne, bending an ear, had no dif- ficulty in breaking it up into dots and Continued on Page 30) a moment or an

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Continued from Page 28 ental Code. A rich bary- lower stratum, intoned nity, “ The first Thanksgiv- as celebrated by the little The was abruptly its place came a broken inkling guitar and banjo Contir ome | VOIct xed ar d fell bac k, bar- adaverous grin. Radio a joud-speaking trumpet. Mrs. Billy’s s manipulat- of the vireless receiver the upper rant voice Child’s Well, let them ve were only chil- he concluded indulgently ildren the voice of a room machinery of Someone wa r, exploring - il ail t ve bad c} vibrant voice, filled the and on interminably uddenly No, 0,0, no,” ~~. was a startled, spasmodic move- e right of him. Old Josiah Bourne if a pistol shot had rung through hat voice! Was he hearing it? dream it? Still that incessant i beat on the air with the re- lentless throb of a bell The Cottrell woman! left in the of murder. himself with an iron hand. “Qh.” burst the mellifluous Billy, “we're coming to it. We're ¢ to the great moments in the famous ro- mances of Nain Gail.” This devilishly clever woman, all the time on the lookout for sensations, must have come acros ret of Nain Gail’s methods, got hold of that missing cylinder. A mere coincidence, Bourne told himself. Probably Pre Black. That jackal would sell anything, for a price. An ugly leer lit the yellow old face Suddenly the round rich voice began to peak again. Nain Gail was dipping into the past. She was giving a reading from Che Fallacy of Fulfillment. It was a dra- matic reading. It was a brilliant idea of Mrs. Biily-—to stage those jelly rolls for the delectation of her guests, as if she were actually picking the dead voice out of the of the air. The mechanism would be simple enough, the pleased old lawyer toid himself; she would merely hitch the rolls to a remote telephone transmitter in another room and relay them to the loud peaker in this dark studio, to dumfound the foolish nabobs of society. Now that his crafty mind had brushed aside the hocus-pocus of this pseudo séance he bent an ear with keen enjoyment, reliv- ing again the exquisite moments of long ago when he had first seen that tale in print. A pause —and then the voice of the dead and gone Cottrell woman took up its plaint again. Now it was a chapter from The Siege of Peking. Reclining in his chair he listened with eyes closed, weaving his fin- gers together. Again—there came a frag- ment from The Weak Sister, that cruel tale that had sent the privileged Alstair family to Coventry. The old lawyer turned to sean the mute circle of his fellow guests. ‘hey eat there like dumb ghosts, drinking it in, doubtless dumfounded by that clever trickster, Mrs. Billy. Occasionally there would be an uneasy rustling, a sigh quickly suppressed-——once he could have sworn he caught a stifled sob. The voice of the Cottrell woman ceased abruptly in the middle of a sentence; the hers ' ntatt the room Or did he » No, no, no That fragment, He controlled wake Mrs. ning out ton upper regions THE SATURDAY hand of the operator began manipulating the inductances and capacities, exploring other bands in the spectrum of vagrant voices, At a restless movement among the auditors, ‘ Please!’’ pleaded the voice of Mrs. Billy. ‘Let us all be very quiet. There’s something more! There is another voice, hovering there. Listen! Don’t you catch it? It’s beginning to come in now!” There was a voice-—another voice. Not the Cottrell woman's. Josiah Bourne started forward in his chair, bis eyes wide, his mouth falling open, every hair in the sparse thatch of his crown counting itself, a dash of ice water rolling down his spine. lt was a woman’s voice—with a faintly perceptible lisp. A premonition gripped him. The timbre of the voice, through some practiced trick of the operator, was coming nearer and nearer, the words were beginning to trickle through. “Oh, Lean’t! I can’t!” the voice wailed, suddenly present in the room itself. “I’m afraid! I'm afra-a-aid!"” There was the sound of a woman's con- vulsive weeping. A man’s tones interposed. “But try,” it urged gently. “There is wrong to be righted. Many people have suffered——many innocent people. Try.” After a pause: “Then, tell us about the other woman —the one who is dead.”’ “Ah-h!’’ murmured the woman’s de- spairing voice. ‘‘She—she has paid—-God knows!" In scarcely moré than a whisper: “There was the drug —that was his bribe always that! Poor creature!” A snarl as of an enraged animal burst through the hypnotic stillness. Someone was blundering to his feet, dashing blindly way and another, making for the corner whence the voice issued. “Silence! came in muffled fe- rocity; and at the same instant a heavy body colliding with some piece of furniture went down with a crash, punctuated by the scream of a woman. “Lights! Lights!” It was the high voice of Mrs. Billy, with the quick response of a stage director to an impending situation. A switch clicked. The lights-flared up with blinding intensity. Old Josiah Bourne lay sprawling on the floor, close by the overturned stereop- ticon. He lay so still that for an instant they thought him dead. Beside him Eva Berkley, on her feet, was clutching her skirts about her as if she feared contamina- tion from the touch of the fallen man. They all watched with horrid fascina- tion the contortions of Josiah Bourne’s face as he slowly raised himself. There was no hand stretched to help him; with a painful effort he pulled himself upright, and still clutching the chair which had aided him he indicated by a weak but im- perative gesture that he was about to speak. ‘A moment—give me a moment,” he commanded. ‘I will be heard!”’ he gasped. Still breathing heavily, and obviously much shaken, the old man turned slowly and faced the circle confronting him. His lips curled. “Ah! A jury of my peers!” he muttered us his eye traveled slowly from face to face. First, Ned Alstair, that bearded sil- houette, snatched momentarily in the dark outside that had vainly haunted him. His gaze met the smoldering hatred in Canon Berkley’s look without a flicker. If he momentarily paled at the sight of Horace West, brother of the woman sent to perdi- tion through that blasphemous tale, The one Cease!” EVENING POST Siege of Peking, only those nearest guessed it. To Eva Berkley, the Inez of the unfin- ished Imbroglio, he gave the tribute of a sneer. And the hollow-eyed woman in black, poor Freddie Kerfoot’s widow, he passed as though she was a stranger — the butterfly of so many social seasons. Mrs. Billy, a queer smile on her lips, watched the old lawyer, alert to every change. Behind her at a box ornamented with graduated dials and pointers, stood Oliver Armiston, calm, unruffled, wait- ing —the informed observer. Undoubtedly Josiah Bourne was indebted to the hec- tic versatility of that weaver of thrillers for this evening’s entertainment. At a slight movement at his elbow old Bourne turned to confront the stony visage of Parr, deputy of police. Bourne nodded with a sardonic smile. Near the door, ready for instant disappearance, was the pale figure of Preston Black, the publisher. It was to him that Josiah Bourne addressed his first words. “Hah!” he Jackal! I see!” The agitated voice of Preston Black rose shrilly. “TI swear, sir —I tricked into it!” Josiah Bourne silenced him with a con- temptuous word. He was completely him- self again. “Well?”’ he cried harshly, sweeping the circle with a withering look. ‘ Well, what now? Are we quits? Eh? Tell me, have you had enough?” He bared his teeth. “Or must we have more?” He halted as if he half expected an answer to his challenge. “You!” he intoned in a great resonant voice. ‘“‘You, who give yourselves airs! You, who judge me and my feeble sins!” The insolence of his gesture was indescrib- able. ‘‘You-—-and your sons—and your daughters! Yes, and your lovers! A-ha! You flinch!’’ he cried. “Yes; you flinch! You thought to hurl the stone at me—to degrade me in the eyes of all men— because I sacrificed in the light of day at altars whose fires you kindled only under cover of darkness.” It was his big moment. “Madam,” he said, bowing ceremoni- ously to the electrified Mrs. Billy, “‘you did me the honor to send your brougham to my door. es". snarled nasally. “The You are getting on in society, didn’t know—I was I thank you. And you, sir! he said, turning on Oliver Armiston, “‘ you with your marionettes and your trick box—you thought to expose me to my enemies. Good! They know my quality now. I have paid them in kind! I--I—none other,”’ he cried, pounding his chest “T am Nain Gail!”” Dropping his voice, a taunting smile on his lips, he added: ‘‘ You will bear with me that I find a certain sweetness in the revelation.” His glance flicked like a lash across Berkley’s white face. At the canon’s in- voluntary movement Horace West checked him with a touch and a whisper: “There is nothing worth it! It is his death cry.” In the silence that followed, Mrs. Billy, her eyes afire, whispered under her breath to Oliver, ‘Your Grand Cham is stealing your act, Mr. Godahl! Stop him!” “Stop him?” cried Josiah Bourne, his ears on a hair trigger. ‘‘Who shall stop me? Not the law,” he sneered. ‘“‘No, not even this precious deputy of police, whom you have called in to witness my humilia- tion.” He showed his teeth in an ugly smile. August 5,1922 Armiston turned and tripped the catch of the roller shade at the window; it shot up with a report like the snap of a whip. At this signal the door banged violently. The galvanized listeners heard again the voice whose disembodied accents had so recently precipitated this crisis: “I—I am afraid. Oh, I am afraid!” The tones were anguished. “You'll be more afraid if you don’t!” growled a man’s voice. Throwing aside the shrinking Preston Black, the indefatigable Pelts flung into the studio, and literally spun to the middle of the floor a young woman swathed in a gaudy opera cloak. At sight of her a savage oath escaped old Bourne. “There she is!’’ cried Pelts. ‘‘ That’s the real thing, Mr. Armiston. You had only a cheap imitation in that music box of yours.” She was the girl of the chiffons and laces who had been the Grand Cham’s table companion on the Midnight Roof. She was the girl with the sugge stion of the lisp who had said an obedient good night when her patron briefly dismissed her. She was the girl with the ignition trouble who talked a bit thick in the current reports of the Broadbill Detective Agency. ““She’s all dolled up for the opera to- night,’’ smirked the shabby little Pelt showing off his star. “‘She thought he was going to coach her for more jelly rolls to- night. He always took her and the other one to a show when he talked off a yarn to them. Didn’t he, miss? I told you I’d bring you to your old bird, didn’t I, eh?”’ The terrified girl stood trembling, with averted eyes. Mrs. Billy, clearly enamored of the dramatic possibilities of the situation of which she had been the distinguished pa- troness, turned expectantly to old Bourne, confident that his surpassing audacity would put his enemies to rout. It did Josiah Bourne advanced and offered an arm to the half-fainting girl. “Come, my child,” he said gently, “there is no one here to detain you. You are not amenable in any way. You have merely been my voice, as the other woman was before you. I, alone, am Nain Gail!” “Oh, you forgive me?” she cried, looking up. “But they made me tell —everything"’ “Forgive you?” he repeated. ‘* Because they bullied you—-browbeat you? There is nothing to forgive. Come.” He challenged Parr with a look; then with a dignity that had lost all its bombast he led her to the door and they passed out “‘He’s splendid!”’ cried Mrs. Billy, ‘As a villain I adore him!” ““A meaningless crime,’ said Armiston to Parr as they turned away from the court which in the commitment of Miss Estelle de Morney to a lifelong companionship with the criminal insane had written ‘‘Finis”’ to the rear-tenement mystery. ‘‘A mean- ingless crime! The senseless ferocity of a madwoman!”’ pursued Oliver. “‘And yet it has wiped the slate clean. The murder of this poor derelict, the Cottrell woman, the overworked literary hack whom old Bourne rescued from the gutter to be his facile amanuensis, has accomplished the impos- sible! It has killed the infamous Half Moon; Preston Black is on the rocks. It has silenced forever the blasphemies of the hypothetical Nain Gail. It has unmasked Josiah Bourne and left him What more could you ask?” powerless, (THE END) PYMIGMT BY MH. SCHNITIMEVER, POLSON, MONTANA The Mission Range, Flathead Valley, Montana

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THE SATURDAY _EVENING POST 3! Warning | You may be offered counterfeit Gargoyle Mobiloil FR 2 ectarepparnessaes ets How to protect yourself NE of the most striking tributes to Gargoyle Mobiloil is the fact that it is more imitated than any other oil. Some of these imitations have even been called ‘‘Mobile Oil” and given letters similar to our grade marks—‘‘A,’’ “B,”’ “*E,’’ and ‘‘Arctic.’? And we are sorry to say that a few unscrupulous dealers pass off to the unsuspecting motor- ist cheap and inferior oils as genuine Gargoyle Mobiloil. Some of these imitators and substitutors have been legally prosecuted. We are taking—and will continue to take—legal steps to protect motorists and reputable Gargoyle Mobiloil dealers. Remember: Gargoyle Mobiloil is never sold under any other name. Claims that some other oil ‘‘is the same as Gargoyle Mobiloil’’ are plain attempts to deceive you. Gargoyle Mobiloil is manufactured only by the Vacuum Oil Company at its own works and refineries, How to secure the genuine We suggest these simple precautions 1 Don’t be misled by some similar sounding name, You want argoyle Mobiloil not “Mobile”” or some oil similarly named _ for purpose of deception. See the word Mobiloil and the grade mark on the can, drum or barrel. A Look for the red Gargoyle on the container. This is our mark of manufacture and appears on all cans, drums or barrels filled with genuine Gargoyle Mobiloil. * the oij that lub icates most RG ARCO 3 Preferably, buy in original, sealed containers bearing these identifying marks. 4 Break the seal yourself. To avoid misunderstanding: We believe that the average dealer who sells Gargoyle Mobiloil is fully as honest as any other reputable merchant. But there are 0 casional exceptions in this field as there are in every other line of business. To protect car owners and Gargoyle Mobiloil dealers we sound this warning. Reputable dealers who have Gargoyle Mobil- oil in the several grades and sizes of containers aim to give you the fullest possible measure of lubricating protection. If you have a home garage wé suggest that you purchase your Gargoyle Mobiloil in 5- gallon cans or the larger steel drums. In this way you buy your oil from your regular dealer and are assured of always having an adequate supply of the correct oil for your car, Domestic Branches: New York (Main O Mfice) Boston ( hicago Indianapolis Minaeapolis Buffalo es Moine ( chart ol Rec ymmendations (Abbreviated Edition) Ts correct grades of Gargoyle Mobiloil for hot LSs¢ er ! engine lubrication of rwercial car re \ { le M | \ How tu I (sar le M | kK” Read the BB m« ( vle M BR” Chart: Ere Ga e Mobiloil “I " Makes of Engines (recommendations shown separately for convenience) ' ' g 4 L & Transmission and Differential: For their correct lubrication, use Gargoyle Mobiloil “( CC” of Mobilabricant as recommended by complete Chart available at all dealers L VACUUM OIL COMPANY

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d i A terrible despair seized me. I wished to die. Leaning from my balcony, I looked into the black water below, longing for the peace, the forgetting that one movement, one single effort would bring me. Cut off from the world around me, dumb and blinded by my pain, I bent to the black abyss. But my musician’s ear was not yet dulled. A sound penetrated the wall of my despair, I heard the voice of a gondolier singing as he swung his oars. Ah, to sing! To sing once more before I died! To cry my anguish to the night before the eternal ailence should engulf me! Like one distraught, I threw my cloak about me and went out into the night. A bark lay at the foot of the stone stairway outside my door. I found myself seated in it, floating along the still canal between the dark water and the darker sky. I began to sing, madly, passionately, all the songs I had ever known. Gay or sad, tender or tragic, they poured from my lips in a turbulent flood. I sang as though I would never sing aga spending my strength, my grief, my life; giving to the unresponding shadows all that I had of beauty and of art. Only when my voice died in my throat 1 my parched lips could make no further ound did I realize my strange position. As one who painfully returns to reality from the uncharted seas of fever and delirium, I looked about. I saw where I was and became conscious of what I had been doing. All around me a moving mass of small boats pushed and jostled. They had gath- ered from every side like specter ships filled with whispering, wondering people. In a bark that almost touched my own I could see a young couple, closely embraced, watching me with a startled, ardent gaze. How long had my voice been leading this phantom procession through the night? I shrank back under the hood of my gondola, my one desire to hide from these I gave an people I had so strangely evoked! my gondolier the address of a friend whom I knew to be absent and in whose empty palazzo I could take sanctuary. Many hours later, when I thought the way was open, I left my place of refuge. As I stepped into the waiting gondola a black hadow slipped out from the protection of the building opposite and followed me to my hotel. The lovers on the lagoon had not given up the vigil and had waited to dis- cover my real abiding.place! The next morning a bouquet of flowers was brought to me with this message ‘From Paul and Jeanne, who love ‘each other greatly and to whom you have given an unforgetable night. May the blessing of God be upon you, you who are the bearer of the fire divir These last ond touched me to my in- most fiber. They wakened my soul. I could pray at last, and I thanked God that I was still alive. My voice had saved me Nor have I ever forgotten that night. Every year on the same day, in any corner of the world where I may be, I receive a line from Paul and Jeanne, with its inspiring lesson of love and gratitude. x gr my successes in Italy I was eager to return to Paris. When Carvalho engaged me to create Cavalleria Rusticana at the Opéra Comique I went back to the scene of my early endeavors, filled with ambition and enthusiasm. Yet in spite of the experience that my years in Italy had brought me I felt myself out of place in this conventional theater, where tradition and established customs were blindly ven- erated. My interprétation of the réle of Santuzza astonished my comrades. My spontaneous and apparently unstudied gestures shocked them. Even the costume which I had brought with me from Italy, the clothes of a real peasant woman—coarse shirt, worn sandals and all—was considered eccentric ind ugly. I was unmercifully criticized and ridiculed. At the dress rehearsal I heard one of the older singers pass judgment upon me. ‘What a pity!’’ he exclaimed. “‘She has a lovely voice, and she has really made astonishing progress. But such acting! In this part of the world we do not bang on the table with our fists when we are singing. At the rate she is going she will be ruined!” MY LIFE (Continued from Page 13 The speaker was a man for whom I had the greatest respect and admiration. His remark disturbed me profoundly. I was on the point of changing my whole manner, which was apparently too realistic for the taste of the moment. The night of the first performance, however, as I was about to make my entrance, courage returned to me “Come what will,’ I thought, ‘I shall act the part as I feel it.”’ I went on the stage, and I was, as I had been before, the naive and tragic Santuzza, the passionate, impulsive peasant girl of Italy. It was a triumph. Shortly afterward I created Carmen. If I was criticized out of all measure be- fore these two successes, after them I was praised with equal lack of restraint. Every- thing I now did was right. Unfortunately for me, no one dared utter a word of criti- cism; and in consequence I was carried away by my passion for realism. It be came an obsession, and occasionally I over stepped the mark. Later, however, I learned wisdom and moderation In developing the rdle of Carmen I used the same sincerity, the same courage and disregard of tradition that I had in my interpretation of C 1 lleria : insisted or wearing the frin nae shawl which is called in Spain the mantén de manilla instead of the bolero and short skirt in which the part had always been costumed In the matter of the dance, also, my ideas and those of the directors did not agree They wanted me to learn the steps which had been danced with such grace and charm by Galli-Marié, the original of the réle. ‘How do you expect me to imitate Galli?” I protested. ‘She was small, dainty, an entirely different build. I am big. IThavelong arms. It is absurd for me to imitate anyone but the gypsies them- selves.”’ Whereupon I showed them the true dance of the gifanas, with its special use of arms and hands—a manner of dancing for which the Spaniards have invented the expression ‘‘el brazear.”’ I had been to Granada and I had visited the district of the Albaicin, where the gypsy bands lived in mysterious caves and grottoes. I had watched them in their daily life. I had seen them dance and sing, and had studied their gestures and move- ments. I had learned how the women dressed, and had bought from them the very shawls they were wearing. Nor had I entirely forgotten my youthful contact with those strange and fascinating people. I came, therefore, to the study and inter- pretation of this réle with a thorough knowledge of the subject, and I was able to develop my ideas in spite of criticism and discouragement. It is unnecessary for me to speak of the success of Carmen. I have sung this réle all over the world, and it has brought me whatever fame I may have. It is one of the most interesting and perhaps the most popular creations of my long operatic career. I was now greatly in demand. Following closely upon the launching of Carmen, I obtained exe . lent engagements in London and New York. My popularity was assured. But my greatest reward was the appreciation and praise of the generous and warm-hearted Galli-Marié. ‘Bravo, Calvé!” she said to me one day after the performance. ‘‘You are most interesting and-original. This is the first time I have consented to attend a per- formance of this opera, which reminds me so poignantly, so vividly of my own youth.” I heard from her again, years later, at the time of festivities in connection with the thousandth performance of Carmen. I was asked to sing the réle at the Opéra Comique. On the day in question I re- ceived a telegram from Galli, saying, “‘My heart and my thoughts are with you to- night.” I have often been asked whether Carmen is my favorite réle. Indeed, is not! I adore Bizet’s music, but the character is, on the whole, antipathetic to me. Yet I have been a prisoner of that opera. It is apparently eternally popular, particularly with the American public. My impresarios, who were, above all things, keen business men, forced me to sing it much more often than any other réle of my repertoire. Carmen has only two redeeming quali- ties. She is truthful and she is brave. Even creator THE SATURDAY EVENING POST in the face of death she will admit that she no longer loves! Marguerite, Ophelia Juliet, Elsa, Santuzza have been m: favorite parts I have had the roles written ¢ pec ur gre composer Masser Navarraise was produced at Covent Garden in London in 1897; Sapho a year later. I have sung both thes« opera frequer uly The first is short, a passionate dramati P tragedy in one act The second, taken from Alphonse Daude novel of the same name, has been one of my most successful creations. Massenet wrote t for the special and individual notes in my voice, those unusual tones of which I have already spoker Massenet was a very popular figure » of creating two hi His witticisms were wide uoted, his epigram passed from mouth mouth. He was agreeable, entertaining a lividual a_ thoroug! Fr ral rehearsal before the fir I had the misfortune of eater ten minutes late rhe Star. y was waiting; ar d Masser et, ted and nervous as usual, was decided]; 0 it of “ne ence He greeted me abruptly, disregarding the presence of my ymrades ands the member of the choru and orc h estra ‘Maden 3 artist worthy of the name would never keep her fellow workers waiting.” ly angry. Turning away I was extremely I walked off the stage and started to leave the building On my way out I had a change of heart It took all my courage, but I decided to go bach My friends,” I said, ‘‘the masts right. I am at faul Forgive me! I an ready to rehearse my part, if I am per mitted to do The chorus and tx,e orchestra applauded Massenet embraced me I was forgiven, but it had been a painful lesson. Since then I have never been a minute late for even the most unimportant engagement. Sapho, as I have said, was taken from Alphonse Daudet’s book. I knew the dis- tinguished writer, and used to visit him in his charming house at Champrosay. He received me in his study, his sensitive face always beautiful and calm in spite of his suffering. His wife ar nd children were with him, devoted to hi ire, surrounding him with affectionate atter tions. We were talking of Sapho one day, and discussing the presentation of the « on the stage ‘*Remember the phra xe of Baudelaire “hong Daudet adm onished me Beware of move- ments which break the line! I beg of you! Be restrained, calm, classic She is called Sapl » In tne pl y pose d for the statue of the Greek poetes I always remembered this advice ar nd strove to carry it out in my of the rdl We used to talk often of Aveyror my own beloved country. I sang the songs of the mountaineers and shepherds; songs without accompaniment, which I had learned in my child ‘You evoke all 3 ing,” he said to me tains and your wide in the sound of your v luminous like golden honey aracter Few gestures, vy, because she nterpretation your sing- “our moun- again pure and SANG every season for many years at ] Covent Garden i appearing there in all the opera of my repertoire I also created several roles at this theater, notably La Nav aise | Massenet, in 1894; and Amy Robsart, the first produc- tion of its author, De Lara, whose Messa- line 1 sang some years later Each year during my engagement in England I wa immoned to Windsor Castle to gy for Queer Victoria I shall never forget my first audience We had been waiting in the recept hall for some time, when the Quee , the shoulder of a ing maharaja of India What an extra iry picture the made! He, a slender youth, handsome, exotic, |} urban surmounted by a flashing spray of diamonds, his canat jlored tunic covered the Queen, in bla tv of her widow’s wee with precious stone as usual, the sever hardly lightened vy the ttle white tulle cap which she wore during her last year Continued on Page 35 33 Jim Henrys Column Is Your Face Round, Soft and Pinkish ‘ : The other day a middle aged young hecau he said he couldn't for the f him understand why I have stently burt 1 the comfort Mave H had one of those expansive facad round, soft and pink h t ler looking as a babv’ His | ticular lament was that after ivi his sl i to crackle up mart lke he xed his lather with a ish of carb \ lot of men are like that,”’ I said. Sure,’ he answered. “ But here’s t point Iwo months ago y mu sold ! trving Me I didn’t think it would n iny ditterence, but the first se lett my face feel ne it At the t . | gave credit tomy! I Bur, by golly, after two ! ths, I know it’s the « im! Now. why | ep | inp ibo how M ! vill take the cussed out of a wire beard and how it vorks with hot ld water The | thing ( fort! Why t t play t } at th t p f your a I gu ft list t I’ve | hol back on this comfort feat for lling rease You ec, most of my convert start with my trator tubs When they ex that blan 1, soothing after glow—that suave, back-to-bovheod daemon ri }) ence feeling on their skins, why there's nothing to it. They're sold! If your particular facial terrace is architectured on the round, soft and pinkish plan, why not send mea Menn rn ft th fort test | i 1 , , tand by the resu A) 1, x iking of , fort, PU] in clude a samp! can of Kora-Konia our wonderful anti-chafing powder 1} If you get raw from walking or exef , cise, puta little on the Kora Kor ia soothe and heals in almost no time. It forms an antiseptic silken film that prevents friction and protects while it he il Stay on for hour even in Lots of athletes use Kora-Konia Both sample for ten cent pite of perspiration ° bane (Mennen Salesman) THe Mennen Company Newaran, NJ. USA.

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j i : I : i | t — AO eR eNO. (Continued from Page 33) Yet it was the Queen who held every eye! She was impressive, dominating, a real presence, in spite of her short stature and her plain exterior. Her blue eyes, which could shine with such tender affection for her adored grandchildren, flashed stern and imperious to the world at large. The Queen spoke excellent French, and was even familiar with Provencal, the lan- guage of the south of France. She had read Mistral’s poems in that dialect and could recite many of them from memory. She was interested in the folk songs of old France, and used to ask me to sing them for her. How gay and full of charm she was in her moments of relaxation! She used to call me a child of Nature and laugh at my inability to remember the rules of etiquette. One day she sent for me to congratulate me after one of my concerts. I was very much moved by what she said, and in my confusion I answered, ‘‘ Yes, princess,’’ to one of her questions. She laughed, de- lighted “You make me feel young again!” she exclaimed. As I was leaving her presence, walking backward, as custom demands, I stumbled on my dress. Forgetting everything, I turned quickly and picked up my train. Then I realized, by the expression on the faces of those around me, what a break I had made. I had turned my back on the Queen! She, however, was only amused. “Goon! Goon!” she said, covering my embarrassment with a laugh. ‘“‘You are charming from the back, as from every other point of view!” During my visits to Windsor Castle I saw many interesting personages: the ill- fated Czar of Russia and his young wife, the Crown Prince and his fiancée, the King of Bavaria, the Kings of Sweden and Greece, the Empress Eugénie, and many others. Eugénie was a frequent visitor at Wind- sor, where Queen Victoria, who had a warm affection for her, always welcomed her most cordially. I had been told by her cousin, Count Primoli, that the ex-Empress treasured very greatly anything that re- lated to her son, the unfortunate Prince Imperial, whose early and tragic death was so crushing a blow to his adoring mother. One day I presented the Empress a small package which I had brought with me from France. In a few words I explained the impulse that had led me to take a bit of earth from the place that had once been the orange grove of the Palace of the Tuileries. ‘They tell me that the Prince Imperial used to play in this garden as a child,” I said. ‘‘Perhaps this earth still holds the memory of his footsteps.” had not re ae how much my gift would move her. Pale with emotion, she took the little bundle in her hands and left the room hurriedly. It was as though this handful of dry dirt were some holy relic that she must gaze upon alone and undis- turbed. The present Queen of Spain was then at court, a little girl who was occasionally permitted by her grandmother to attend the theatrical performances given at Wind- sor. She was present one evening when I sang Santuzza in Cavalleria. In one of the scenes the tenor had to throw me violently to the floor. The sensitive child burst into tears “T don’t want him to hurt the lady!” she wailed in such a loud voice that everyone turned and looked at her. As I came off the stage I heard the future queen being thoroughly scolded by her governess. “‘A princess must never cry in public!” she said sternly. ‘Your people are watch- ing you! Pull yourself together! Be worthy of your position!” The poor little girl, who could not have been more than six years old at the time, drew herself up. She swallowed her tears and walked, sedate and dignified, through the lines of obsequious attendants. Once out of sight, however, I heard the sobs break out anew. Nature had triumphed! I could not help pitying this royal child, as I compared her with the children of the peo- ple, who have at least the liberty of letting their tears flow unrestrained. I have, among my treasures, a charming little picture of Queen Victoria, taken from a portrait made of her when she was about five years old. She presented it to me one day at Windsor, in a frame carrying her device and crest. A London newspaper had published, a little while before, my own THE SATURDAY picture made at that tender age. It had apparently greatly amused Her Majesty, for she spoke of it immediately on my next visit to the court; and at the same time gave me this delightful picture of herself. The first time I sang at Windsor Castle a most absurd incident occurred. I was sitting in the suite of rooms which had been set aside for me, waiting to be conducted to the concert hall. It was after eight o’clock, and I was supposed to sing at nine. Becoming impatient, I rang the bell. No one answered. I told my maid, who was with me, to go in search of someone. She went to the door. It was locked. ““Mon Dieu!’ she cried. ‘‘We are prisoners!” There was no telephone in those days, and we could not make ourselves heard. We finally gave up the attempt, and I settled down philosophically to write some letters. My maid, who appreciated the opportunity of using note paper with the Windsor crest on it, did likewise. This girl, by the way, must have laid in a large supply of writing paper, for I used to receive letters from her years after she had left my serv- ice, written under the royal letterhead. We were finally released from our con- finement by an agitated lady in waiting, who explained that the sudden death of the maitre d’hétel had thrown the whole house- hold into confusion. No one had realized my plight until I failed to appear. One of the admirable and endearing qualities of Queen Victoria was her kind- ness and consideration for those whom she honored with her favor. I remember on one occasion being taken ill before a con- cert at Windsor Castle. I could not keep my engagement, and it was suggested that someone be sent to take my place. The Queen would not hear of it. “No, indeed!’’ she said. “It would pain our friend Calvé. We will wait until she has entirely recovered.’ I had the pleasure of seeing the Queen not _ in the formal splendor of Windsor Castle but in her Highland home at Bal- a as well. There I was given an oppor- tunity of judging how popular and well beloved a sovereign she was among her people. The whole countryside assembled one day on the terrace of the castle. All the farmers of the neighborhood were there, with their wives, their children and their grandchildren. The Queen walked among them, gracious and kindly. She seemed to know everyone by name, talking to them with the greatest interest, making all sorts of inquiries as to their welfare. Later in the day a banquet was served on the lawn, under the trees—a charming scene of rustic hospitality. As a result of my many visits to Windsor and Balmoral I came into contact with various members of the royal family. One of the daughters of Queen Victoria was particularly witty and amusing. I remem- ber hearing her discuss a certain actress of the Comédie Francaise, who was playing the part of a society woman in a modern comedy. The only criticism that could be made of this talented actress was that she played the part overconscientiously. She was excessively distinguished, impeccably perfect. “What does your highness think of Mile. in this part?’’ someone asked the princess. “Oh, I am no judge!” she answered. ‘‘I] do not always understand her: She is too much of a great lady for me!” The royal princesses have continued their kindness to me since the death of Queen Victoria. They receive me most cordially whenever I go to London, and I had the pleasure of being presented to the Queen of Spain only a short time ago. She remembered vividly the incident of her child- hood, and we laughed again over her anxiety for my safety, her tears, and the scolding she received in consequence. One day during Queen Victoria's lifetime I received the following letter from her eousin, the Countess Feodora Gleichen: “Madame: Her Majesty has com- manded me to make a portrait bust of you in the role of Santuzza in Cavalleria Rusticana. Will you do me the very great honor of coming to my studio to pose, or would you prefer that I should come to you? I am therefore enshrined in marble at Windsor Castle, in the company of princes and princesses, of generals and kings. “‘What are you thinking of, as you pose?’”’ the countess asked me one day. **How do you manage to hold so dramatic, so intense an expression?” EVENING POST “I am trying to personify human jealousy,’ I answered, “and so I sing to myself, ‘He loved me once, I love him still!’’ The sculptress wrote these words across the base of the bust, and I have often thought, should that marble be lost and then found again after many hundred years, what a mystery it would create The antiquarians would shake their heads and marvel. “Who is this unfortunate princess dressed in peasant’s clothes?” they would ask. ‘“‘What is her history? What her secret sorrow?” It would be a nine days’ wonder! The bust is not yet lost, however, for only a few years ago | asked the Princess Beatrice what had become of it, supposing that since Queen Victoria’s death it had been relegated to some attic ““Not at all!” the princess assured me “We have gathered together all our mother’s favorite portraits, statues, mementoes of all kinds, and placed them in a room known as the Victoria Room. There they will remain as long as the castle stands.” My memories of England are not all of royal gatherings and pleasant place I witnessed there one of the most pitiful scenes that I have ever beheld. It was at the house of Lady de Grey one evening during a brilliant: London Oscar Wilde came into the drawing-room where Lady de Grey was receiving He ap- proached our hostess and begged her to allow him to present a friend whom he had taken the liberty of bringing with him “He is very poor,” Wilde explained, “‘and very unhappy. He is a distinguished French pot, a man of genius, but just now in great trouble.” Our heste ss, whose erous hand were the unfortunate, storeroom., possessions, season ind heart and gen- ever at the service of immediate ly acquiesce d Wilde left the room and returned in a moment, bringing with him—Paul Ver laine! Their entrance was spectacular Oscar Wilde was at the height of hi glory brilliant, dashing, bejeweled, a ver- itable Beau Brummel. With his extraor- dinary clothes, his tall figure and buoyant carriage, he ‘di yminated the ill-clothed shrinking figure be ‘ide him. Wilde was rejoicir K in his recent theat rical tri was just out of prison. 1 shall never forget the poor poet s eyes that 1 rht eyes of a lost child, naive, mphs. Verlaine bewildered, infinitely pathetic. They haunt me to this day. At Wilde’s urgent request, Verlaine con- sented reluctantly to recite a recent poem, D’un Prison, which he had written while he was in prison. His voice, as he spoke the heartbreaking lit es, Was 80 poignant so tragic, that everyone in the room wa moved to tears. I have never been able to sing that song, set to music by Reynaldo Hahn, without a reminiscent shu dder Several years later I was at the theater noticed a man sitting some dis- was badly dressed, his in Paris. tance from me. He shoulders hunched, his whole appearance shabby, furtive. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but I did not recognize him until he turned his head It was Oscar Wilde! Oscar Wilde, in the same forlorn state his friend Verlaine, just out of prison himself, all his splendor gone, a miserable wreck, trying to hide his shame in the indifferent crowd I went toward him, greeting him with outstretched hand He started at the sound of my voice, and turned toward me Terrible! I saw again the pitiful child’s eyes of poor Verlaine For a second he shrank from me as ough the memories that I brought were more than he could bear. Then with an exclamation of grief and despair he g “1 my hands, mur- muring in broken accent ‘Oh, Calvé! Calvé!” x MADE my début at the Metropolitan Opera House in New York, on Novem- ber 29, 1893, in the rdle of Santuzza in Cavalleria Rusticana. The American pub- lic did not care very much for the opera at that time. It was severely criticized in the newspapers, but | m had a great suc- cess The next morning the directors sent for me. They wished to change the bill imme- diately, and asked me to sing Carmen, not in French, as J] had always sung it, but in Italian. I refused. The effect of my French diction would be lost and the whole opera would be thrown out of focus t was an impossible demand One of the AMICTON ) Rey James W. Dean, one of America’s foremost newspaper critics, whose reviews are printed in hundreds of papers, said ** Lloyd Hamilton is hereby nominated for a place in the hall of comic immortais Chaplin, Lloyd and Keaton must crowd up a bit to give him room.” LOYD HAMILTON'S excellent work in our Merma him, through the casing approval, promotion to a produc ing mpany of his own Under the HAMILTON COMEDIES will present on the world six each in two parts, for the id Comedies has earned for public’s steadily in name this comedian screens of the feature comedies, season of 1922-23 As much care, thought, time and ill be spent on these Short Subject features spent only on five-reel pictures money as 1s usually The first production this great creen humorist will be ready for in the fall featuring your en joyment early Ask the manager of your favorite theatre now if he has contracted for HAMILTON COMEDIES, and when he will be able to show you the | _ erences Nam gent: ener pictures released by Edu first picture all motion ational, will carry our trade-mark on their posters and lobby themselves cards and on the motion pictures When You See This Sign Go In— 1t’s the Sign of a WHOLE Evening’s Entertainment é@ a ae ) (Educational Peta lee — EDUCATIONAL FILM EXCHANGES, Inc EW. Hammor President EXECUTIVE OFFICES NEW YORI

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stee!, lined with Laclede ladle brick orvvies and stoppers are also used Choice of the Metal Masters Three-quarters of a century ago, iron-melting furnaces scarcely larger than a modern back yard gi Laclede Fire Brick were used. ‘Today—in monster blast furnaces long batteries of open hearths—in soaking pits, heating furnaces, cupol: is and nu- merous other units of the great iron and steel industry—good old Laclede brand is first choice. Just a plain looking brick of fire clay, seldom even seen after it is formed into a lining for the fur- naces; yet its ability to withstand tremendous heats without yielding is absolutely essential to the suc- cess of the operation, in crude irage And it would be mighty hard to pick out any ofher industry which doesn’t use some kind of Laclede Fire Brick. You'll find them in the boiler settings of thou- unds of steam power plants. They line the fire f locomotives. They form the walls of luct coke ovens. They're used in the production of gas and oil, From them are built the melted, zinc smelted. boxes by-proc furnaces copper is refin Depend- l aclede in which glass is money-saving You operators executives and furnace kind of fire brick you use or whatever industry you're in send for a copy of our interesting, valuable “ Refractories Book.” LACLEDE-CHRISTY, ST. LOUIS Ofce New York, Rox mn Ave Chicagu, 1366 Peoples Gas 901 Oliver Bldg Detroit, strial whatever indu m 309, 280 Pittsburgh u . Dealers disposal a service not to be duplicated. Fics Distributorsin 100 cities put at your Quality for 78 Years Highest | directors was particularly insistent, not entirely courteous. | my troubles. | my point of view, and with his usual kind- | houses. | In the succeeding seasons its popularity | be recalled a thousand times. ‘that Carmen became epidemic, a joyful THE SATURDAY and “You have no choice in the matter!” he said curtly. ‘‘Cavalleria has not been the success we expected. We must make a | change immediately, and there is nothing more to be said. I was in despair. I could not make the directors realize what I myself saw so clearly —that this work of art, conceived in the mind of a Frenchman, Prosper Méri- mée, put to music by a French composer, must be sung by me, a Frenchwoman, in French. In no other way could it be given its full value, its true flavor and quality. | It seemed to me both inartistic and imprac- | ticable to attempt = g else. I the directors wished to replace Cavalleria with a success, they would not achieve their ob- ject by putting on an ineffective Carmen. In my agitation and helplessness I ap- pealed to the elder Coquelin, who was act- ing in New York at the moment. I told him Ile sympathized entirely with ness went to the directors himself and used his influence to persuade them to give up the idea. They told him that they had no | French tenor to sing the rdle of Don José, | and that, therefore, I would have to sing in Italian. Undaunted by this rebuff he determined to succeed where they had failed. He would find a tenor. He went to Jean de Reszke and laid the case before him. Although it was not in De Reszke’s repertory, he promised Coquelin that he would sing the rdle. What a triumphant success was that production of Carmen! From then on it was the drawing card at the Metropolitan. We gave it again and again, to packed The box receipts were astounding. never waned. There was no further ques- tion as to how it should be sung. What unforgetable casts, what glorious evenings! Jean de Reszke, Melba, Plancon and myself! The public was wildly enthu- siastic. After bel performance we would It was said contagion. In spite of my manager’s enthusiasm for Bizet’s opera, I sang all the other rdles of my repertory in New York, including Marguerite in Faust, Ophelia in Hamlet, the Margherita of Boito’s Mefistofele, Massenet’s La Navarraise, and the Messa- line of De Lara. For more than twelve years the Metro- politan was a fabulous opera house. Never have so many artists of exceptional talent been gathered together under one manage- ment. It was due largely to the genius of Maurice Grau, who was one of the most intelligent as well as one of the ablest im- presarios I have ever known. He was more than a capable business man; he was an artist and an enthusiast as well. If he con- sidered an opera above the average, a true work of art, he would produce it without regard to its money-making possibilities. He was interested, first and foremost, in achieving artistic success. That practical | and financial success should follow was not distasteful to him, but at least it did not blind him to other issues, He was always a thoughtful and con- siderate manager in his relations with his artists. I shall never forget his kindness to me at the time of my father’s death. I was singing Carmen when I received the unexpected and crushing news, and I was in constant demand at the opera house. At that time Carmen was exceptionally popular. It was not a convenient moment for me to be given a leave of absence, but Mr. Grau understood my distress. “My poor friend,” he said, “I shall, as you know, lose money by your absence; but you must take your time. I leave you entirely free. Come back when you feel that you are able to sing again.” His kindness was surpassed only by his remarkable skill and ability as a manager. He grouped around him a brilliant com- pany of singers, each distinguished in his own line, every one a musician and an artist. Foremost among them was Victor Maurel, the great tragedian, a man of genius, whose Falstaff and Iago, not to mention his many other brilliant creations, stand alone. His name will remain forever linked with that of Verdi. I have never seen anyone with a more noble presence, a greater dignity of gesture and carriage, on the stage. His dramatic gift was so extraor- dinary that it dominated the minds of those who saw him, and almost made them EVENING POST forget his voice, which was, nevertheless, of an unusual quality, full of color and excep- tionally expressive. The réle in which, to my mind, his quali- ties as a singer showed to best advantage was that of Mozart’s Don Giovanni. I can still hear the inimitable manner in which hesang the famous serenade, “ Deh, vieni alla fenestra"’ (Appear, love, at the window). His performance was a marvel of lightness and grace. His diction was always exqui- site and enchanting. And his Falstaff! W ith what elegant fa- tuity he rendered the air, ‘‘Quand’eri paggio del Duca di Norfolk!” (When I was page to the Duke of Norfolk). It was a master- piece, complete and perfect. e was, as I have said before, my teacher and master in the art of lyric declamation. I was fortunate in making my début with him in Aben Hamet, at the ThéAtre des Italiens, of which he was at the time di- rector. 1 was then very inexperienced, and he had an important and constructive in- fluence on my career. I have for him an abiding gratitude and admiration. I am fortunate in having a most interest- ing portrait of Maurel as lago. It was taken before the first performance of the rdle in Italy, and he himself considers it the most interesting photograph of this character. Jean de Reszke, the unforgetable, master of the art of singing, whose style and finish have never been equaled. He was the Romeo of one’s dreams, the ideal Lohengrin, the perfect Siegfried. Edouard de Reszke, of the glorious voice, was his brother. Both admirable singers, they were an unusual pair, each the com- plement of the other. Marcella Sembrich, marvelous singer, impeccable vocalist in the art of bel canto, has left in the memory of all those who had the privilege of hearing her an impression of perfect execution in all the saeitun rdles which she so admirably interpreted. Melba, whose pure voice soared like a skylark—“‘intimate of heaven.” Lilli Lehmann, that noble singer, whose authoritative style, scientific knowledge and perfection both in singing and in acting aroused the admiration of artists and pub- lie alike. Emma Eames, whose voice and talent equaled her great beauty. Madame Nordica, admirable interpreter of Wagner, whose sudden death in Aus- tralia was so great a blow to all her friends. Milka Ternina, highly Kundry beyond compare. Mme. Clementine de Vere, accomplished musician, whose lovely voice had an un- usual range. She was a highly gifted musician and possessed a very large operatic repertory. Madame Schumann-Heink, who, after a long and successful operatic career, has continued to delight the American public from the concert stage. Salignac of the fiery temperament, tal- ented singer and actor, who, after his engagement in New York, became one of the leading figures on the stage of the Opéra Comique in Paris, where he created a number of extremely interesting rdles. Plancon, the admirable bass, exponent of the pure French school in art and diction, with whom I sang for many years, both in the United States and in England. And poor Castelmary, my old friend and comrade, who died so tragically on the stage while singing Sir Tristan in Von Flotow’s Martha. I was in the audience that night. As soon as he came on the stage I noticed that he looked tired and ill. In the second scene, where he is surrounded by the village maidens, who are supposed to prevent his pursuit of Martha, I saw him stagger and throw his arms in the air. “T am choking!” he cried. The chorus, thinking this an impromptu piece of acting, crowded around him even more closely, laughing, teasing, pulling him about, smothering Fim with their em- braces. He struggled frantically for one or two minutes, anc t then fell to the floor with a crash. Everyone rushed behind the scenes, but it was too late. He was dead. Nothing could be done for him. I tried to wipe the make-up from those cold cheeks. It was difficult, impossible. I put a crucifix be- tween his hands, and they carried him away as he was, in his comedian’s costume. Speaking of my comrades at the Metro- olitan reminds me of a tenor with whom appeared for a single performance only a most extraordinary experience. The bill that evening was Cavalleria Rusticana, intellectual, a August 5,1922 with Salignac as Turiddu. When I arrived at the theater I heard that my partner was ill. Much perturbed, I inquired who was to take his place. “It is quite all right!” I was assured. “An excellent substitute has been found. A very fine singer, well known in New York. Go ahead with the performance!” After my aria in the first act the tenor enters. Imagine my stupefaction when I saw before mea hunchback! A hunchback, of whom I was supposed to be passionately enamored, desperately jealous! It was grotesque! I heard someone in the audi- ence snicker. I was furious! I turned to leave the stage, indifferent to the scandal it might create, when I was arrested by the expression on the face of the unfortunate man. Timid, fearful, ashamed, the mute appeal in his eyes touched my heart. Pity overcame my anger. I took up my cue and went on with the scene. Fortunately an inspiration came to my rescue. I made the poor man sit down. He looked like a dwarf when standing; but seated, he seemed taller. I threw myself on my knees before him, and with my arms about him I sang the passionate love song of Santuzza. It was difficult, one of the most difficult things I have ever had to do; but in order to save the situation I sang with such sincerity, such conviction, and he, poor creature, with so much good will, that we made a tremendous hit. Be- tween curtains he would wring my hands, tears of gratitude streaming from his eyes. “Thank you! Thank you!" was all he could say, over and over again. As I look back upon those years at the Metropolitan they are illuminated by a radiance, a glamour of their own. It was due in no small measure to the enthusiasm and cordiality of that great American pub- lic, which wee: Bacher us with open arms. This does not mean that we were never criticized. No, indeed! Each one of us, and the troupe as a whole, received occa- sionally a thorough rating from the press. I remember that at one time a violent dis- cussion was in progress with reference to the salaries paid the stars of the Metro- politan. “These European song birds,” the papers said, “‘go beyond the fimit. They come over here om demand the most enormous sums. They make all their money here and then fly home with it. It is out- rageous. It ought to be stopped!” An enterprising reporter interviewed Duse on this subject. She answered him with her usual wisdom and grace. “You are astonished,” she said, ‘that these great opera singers should be able to command such high salaries. Have you ever considered the heritage that goes to the making of so marvelous and delicate an instrument as Melba and Calvé pos- sess? Do you realize how many genera- tions of clean and simple living flower in those pure voices? Calvé once told me of a remark that her father made one day after hearing her sing. It is so appropriate and so true that it needs no further com- ment. ““*Ah, my daughter,’ he said, ‘it is easy to see that your forebears have economized for you. Through the long ages they have sat mutely by their firesides, spinning and weaving through the quiet hours. Your song is made of their silence.’”’ Our seasons with Maurice Grau were not all spent quietly in New York. Part of the time we traveled through the United States and sang in all the important cities in the country. After these long tours and the hard work of the winter months we turned our faces toward Europe. But for myself and certain other members of the troupe the year’s work was not yet done. We were engaged in England, to sing at Covent Garden. The season in London is later than in New York; and so, in spite of the fatigues of my American engagements, I appeared there during six or eight weeks in all my different réles. Year after year I returned to America for the winter months. I did not leave the boards of the Metropolitan for many years. In 1906 I sang for one season at the Man- hattan Opera House and after that I went on extensive concert tours, visiting all the important cities of the United States and Canada, welcomed everywhere with a joy- ful cordialitsy by a public which is the most eclectic, the most enthusiastic that I have ever known. Editor's Note—This is the second of a series of articles by Madame Calvé. The third will appear in an early issue.

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38 He could borrow money from an Edgeworth smoker Had bought so I didn’t “T left the house in a hurry. my railroad ticket the day before, [ had left my until I train, I going business with a man I realiz money at home was aboard the was to a strange town to ck didn't embarrassing know, so it would have been quite ‘f went into the smoking car I looked ind decided to tell my story But It was answered quickly. A man pulled out a pipe. ‘He's the man for me,’ I tk But took a can of Edgeworth from his pocket, then I over the men to one of then which one? That was the que tion ought when he asked for mentioned that | that what influenced me te speak to him, the trifling sum I in thanking him | was an Edgeworth smoker and was a per- fect stranger ‘Not No pipe smoker is a perfect “*Perfect stranger!’ he laughed on your life tranger to another —especially if they both emoke Edgeworth.’ There does seem to be a friendship among Edgeworth smokers. We don't claim that the tobacco is responsible tor this so much as the kind of men who smoke Edgeworth Perhaps you've had a similar ex perience. If you have, we'd like to hear of it And free we'll send samples generous helpings Ready-Rubbed or Plug Slice whether he has some fa We know we couldn't that should con of Edgeworth to any man vorite brand or not chanwe him from a tobacco exactly uited him, but if Edgeworth vince him—well, that would make happy After all is the man in this world likes very first pipeful in the morning last For that tobacco might be Edgeworth, the happiest one who emokes a tobacco he from the all you to the night know, pipeful at Send a postcard for free samples with your and address to Larus & Brother 1 South 2ist St., Richmond, \ i If add the ddress of om whom you usually buy your thetic’ pany, you would als« anda the dealer fi name tobacco, we would appreciate your courtesy. Edgeworth is sold in various sizes to suit Both Edgeworth Plug Slice and Edgeworth Ready- Rubbed are packages, in the needs and means of all purchasers packed in small, pocket-size handsome tin humidors, and ilso in various handy in-between quantities, | , , | is not claimed by other people To Retail Tobacco Merchants: If your jobber cannot supply you with Edgeworth, Larus & Brother Company will gladly send you prepaid by parcel post a one- or two- dozen carton of any size of Edgeworth Plug Ready-Rubbed for the you would pay the jobber. Slice of same price | dile began to gambol a little. | ger. | was more in that snigger than met the ear. | to be stolen | hair. | since us both | believe, sir, for a moment that it is I Com- | THE SATURDAY “T am wondering, sir,’ said S. Gedge, Antiques, ‘‘whether the National Gallery would care to acquire this fine example.” It was a sudden inspiration, but those measured tones and cautious eyes gave no indication of the fact. Sir Arthur Babra- ham, in his own capacity of a National Gallery trustee, began sensibly to moderate his transports. “More unlikely things, Mr. Gedge,” at | last he brought himself reluctantly to say. “Van Roons are very scarce, and if this chap is as all that he appears to be at a | first glance it will be a pity to let him leave the country.” Piously 8. Gedge, Antiques, thought so too. Sir Arthur turned to the picture again. | Like M. Duponnet, he seemed to have diffi- | culty in keeping his expert gaze off that | modest and simple canvas. “Reminds one,” he said, “of that choice | thing that was stolen from the Louvre about twenty-five years ago. The size is similar and, as I remember it, the whole composition is in some ways identic val.” The old man was startled, but not visi- bly. ‘‘ Was there one stolen from the Loov, sir?” he said with a polite air of asking for information. “Why, yes. Don’tyouremember? There yas a great stir at the time. It was cut out of its frame. The French Government offered a big reward, but the work has never been recovered.” “Indeed, sir.” All at once the old croco- “ Let’s hope He gave a mild snig- as his next words proved, there this ain’t the boy.’ But, “In the event of this little jool turning out sroperty, what, sir, do you suppose would be the position of the pres- ent owner?” “Difficult to say, Mr, Gedge.”’ “He'd receive compensation?” “Substantial compensation one would think—-if he was able to prove his title.” If he was able to prove his title! Those blunt little words had a sinister sound for S. Gedge, Antiques, but he did not turn a “No difficulty about that, sir,”” he said robustly. “Quite!"’ Evidently Sir Arthur had no doubt upon the point. “‘But as the ques- tion might arise it may be well to have it settled before disposing of the picture.” S. Gedge agreed. “And in any case, it,” said Sir Arthur, think, to take advice. Again S. Gedge agreed. ‘‘ You mean, sir, it may be very valuable indeed?” “Yes, I quite think it may be. At a cur- sory glance it has the look of a fine example of a great master. I remember at the time that L’Automne disappeared from the Louvre it was said to be worth at least two hundred and fifty thousand francs, and then Van Roons have more than doubled in value.” “In that case, sir’’—there was a tremor of real emotion in the voice of the old dealer —‘‘ this be-yew-ti-ful thing ought not to be allowed to leave the country.” “Unfortunately the French authorities may compel it to do so."",. And the connois- seur sighed as he fingered the canvas lov- ingly. Affirmed S. Gedge, Antiques: before parting with “it will be wise, I “I don't 7 Au- tomne.’ “One wouldn't like to say it is,”’ cautious Sir Arthur, * to say it isn’t.’ “It'll be up to the Loov to prove it, any- how.” “Quite. In the meantime, before you let it go | hope you'll give me an oppor- tunity of looking at it again.” This modest request caused the old man to rub his nose. He was not in a position, he said mysteriously, to give a promise, but certainly he would do his best to meet the wishes of Sir Arthur. “Thank you, Mr. Gedge. said the ‘and one wouldn't like If this picture and, of course, one doesn’t for a moment suggest that it will be—steps might be taken to keep it here. We are so poor in Van Roons there is only one, I below, to our shame, in this country at the present time—that we can't afford to let a thing of this kind slip through our fingers. Therefore, as I say, before you decide to sell I hope you'll take advice.” EVENING POST THE VAN ROON (Continued from Page 19) S. Gedge, Antiques, gravely thanked Sir Arthur Babraham. He would keep those wise words in mind. And in the meantime he would pack that in a crate—he pointed a finger straight at June’s eyes—and send it to Homefield. “Near Byfleet, Surrey, I think you said, sir?” ¥XIX HE distinguished visitors were bowed into the street. And then S. Gedge, An- tiques, with the face of a man whose soul is in torment, returned to contemplation of the picture and also of M. Duponnet’s check, which he took out of his pocketbook. It was clear that his mind was the prey of a deep problem. The bird in the hand was well enough so far as it went, but the bird in the bush was horribly tempting. At last with a heavy sigh the old man returned the check to his pocket, and then, cautiously lifting up the loose board, put back the picture whence it had come and drew the oak chest over the spot. He then shambled off to the room next door, which was full of odds and ends, mingled with a powerful smell of oil and varnish. June at once made an attempt to get out of prison. But she now found her position to be as she had already surmised. To enter without help had been no emean feat; to escape in the same fashion was im- possible. Wedged so tightly inside the hoo- doo, there was neither play nor purchase for her hands; and frantic as her efforts were, they were yet subordinated to the knowl- edge that it would be quite easy for the thing to topple over. Should that happen the consequences would certainly be alarm- ing and possibly ghastly. Frantically wriggling in the hoodoo, it did not matter ee she did; she was firmly held. And the fear of Uncle Si, who was pottering about quite close at hand, while imposing silence upon her, intensified the growing desperation of her case. She was a mouse in a trap. Too soon did she learn that course was open to her. She must wait for William’s return. Irksome and humiliating as the position was, it was clear that she could do nothing without help. Would William never come? The min- utes ticked on and her durance grew ex- ceedingly vile. She became conscious of pains in her shoulders and feet; she felt as if she could hardly draw breath; her head, throbbing with excitement, seemed as if it must burst. It was a horrible fix to be in. Suffering acutely now, she yielded as well as she could to the inevitable. There was simply nothing to be done. She must wait It was imprisonment in a most unpleasant form, and she was frightened by the knowl- edge that it might continue many hours. Even when William did return — and there was no saying when he would do so—he was quite as likely to enter by the back door as by the shop. So terrible was the thought that June felt ready to faint at the bare idea. This was a matter, however, in which fate was not so relentless after all. June was doing her best to bear up in the face of this new and paralyzing fear, when the shop door opened, and lo, William came in. Great was her joy, and yet it had to be tempered by considerations of prudence. She contrived to raise her lips to the mouth of the hoodoo and to breathe his name in a tragic whisper. As he heard her and turned she urged in the same odd fashion, “‘ For heaven’s sake not a sound!” Miss June!” jaws of the only one he gasped. ‘‘Where are you? She checked him with wild whisperings that yet served to draw him to her prison. He was dumfounded, quite as much by her fiercely tragic voice as by the amazing predicament in which he found her. “Help me out!" she commanded him. “And don’t make the least sound. Uncle Si is next door, and if he finds me here something terrible will happen.” Such force and such anxiety had one at least of the results so much to be desired: They forbade the asking of futile ques- tions. Every moment was precious if she was to make good her esce ape. William in this crisis proved himself a right good fellow. His sense of the lu- dicrous was keen, but he stifled it. More- over, a legitimate curiosity had been fully aroused, but he stifled that aiso as he pro- ceeded to carry out these imperious orders. August 5,1922 But even with such ready and stalwart help June was to learn again that it was no easy matter to escape from the hoodoo. Without venturing to speak again, Wil- liam mounted the gate-legged table and offered both hands to the prisoner. But the trouble was that she was so tightly pinned that she could not raise hers to re- ceive them. And it was soon fatally clear that so long as the hoodoo kept the per- pendicular it would be impossible for any external agent to secure a lien tpon the body wedged within its jaws. After several attempts at dislodgment had miserably failed June gasped in a kind of anguish, “Do you think you can tip this thing over— very gently — without mak- ing a sound?” This was trying William highly indeed, but it seemed the only thing to be done. Happily he was tall and strong; much was said, all the same, for his power of muscle and the infinite tact with which it was applied that he was able to tilt the hoodoo on to its end. Keeping the vase firmly under control he then managed to regulate its descent to the shop floor so skillfully as to avoid a crash. Such a feat was really a triumph of ap- plied dynamics. June, however, was not in a position to render it all the homage it deserved, even if she was deeply grateful for the address that William brought to bear upon his task. Once the hoodoo had been laid at full length on the shop floor she was able to wriggle her body and her shoulders with what violence she pleased without the fear of disaster. A series of convulsive twists and writhings and she was free! As soon as she knew that she was no longer pinned by the jaws of the monster the action of a strong mind was needed to ward off a threat of hysteria. But she con- trolled herself sufficiently to help William restore the hoodoo to the perpendicular, and then she said in a whisper of extreme urgency which was barely able to mask the sob of nerves overstrung: ‘‘Not one word now! But go straight into the kitchen just as if you hadn't seen me. And re- member whatever happens’’—the whisper grew fiercer, the sob more imminent—“‘if Uncle Si asks the question, you haven't seen me. I’m supposed to be looking for a job. You understand?” To say that William did understand would have been to pay him a most fulsome compliment; yet the stout fellow behaved as if the whole of this amazing matter was as clear as daylight. Such was June’s fixity of will, the sheer force of her personality, that he left the shop at once like a man hypnotized. Excited questions trembled upon his lips, but in the face of this im- periousness he did not venture to give them play. He made one attempt —one half- hearted attempt: “But, Miss June The only answer of Miss June was to cram one hand over his mouth, and with the other to propel him towards the door which led to the back premises. xxx & SOON as William had passed out of the shop June stood a moment to gather nerve and energy for the task before her. Feeling considerably tossed, above all she was devoured by a horrible form of ex- citement whose effect was like nothing so much as a bad dream. But this was not a time for dreams. The situation was full of peril; not a moment must be lost. The picture was her immediate concern She set herself at once to the business of moving the oak chest aside. This presented no difficulty, for there was nothing in it; but the loose board beneath it did. Fingers unhelped could not prize it up; they must have a chisel. She knew that such an imple- ment was to be found in one of the drawers of the desk, but she had stealthily to open three or four before she came upon the right one. While all this was going on she could hear the voices of William and Uncle Si in the room next door. It seemed that no matter what her caution or her haste she would almost certainly be interrupted be- fore she was through with her task. But luck was with her. She was able to lift the board, take forth the picture, replace the chest and return the chisel to its drawer without the voices coming any nearer. Continued on Page 41)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST When the coffee’s hot | E sure to take plenty of Carnation Milk with you when you go into the woods on your camping trip. It is as important an item as bacon or coffee. It will keep perfectly no matter how long you are gone and you will have use for it three times each day for cooking, drinking and in your coffee. Just cows’ milk | evaporated and sterilized, Carnation belongs in every duffle bag. } CarRNATION Mitk Propuctrs Company, 832 Consumers Building, Curcaco; 932 Stuart Building, Sea | 4 \ Flapjacks — Mak« a batter of | «¢ ipful Carnation Milk dilut with | « ipful water, « lj ”) fuls baking powder. Mix well and drop by spoonfuls on a hot greased par Br { ; { ; ; i‘ iy 4 | | g « * | t ; Sold by Grocers Everywhere —— — “From Contented Cows” Carnation Milk Products Company New York Chicago Seattle Aylmer, Ont —— ae om ~

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40 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 5,1922 LIGHTING Helps in SELLING nse | Is Your Display Window Worth $1 an Hour? In the Cleveland store of Oppenheim, Collins & Company was conducted re- cently a scientific test of the attraction power of display window lighting. Every merchant knows that good win- dows, well lighted, do attract trade, but this is the first time the attraction power of light has been accurately measured. The test persons passing in front of the store were S were made at night and all counted until 10,000 had passed. Changes were made in the window lighting every half to three quarters of an hour and the number who stopped to look was regis- tere d “ ith car he h inge,e pecial care being taken to eliminate possibility of error. The following facts derived from the test will be found helpful to merchants | everywhere, creasing the light trom ordinary el to the middle level stopped 24% more passersby. ng the light to high level d an additional 18%. If the cost of ordinary lighting is, | iv, 45 cents per hour (including cur rent and lamp renewals), then the middle level of lighting on this basis would cost 13 cents per hour, and high level lighting 18 cents per hour. Any store whose windows bring a direct profit of $1.00 or more per hour should employ high-level tllu- mination which will increase their value to $1.40 or more per hour at an additional cost of only 1o cents per hour, Stores whose windows are worth less than $1.00 per hour in direct profit can, in most instances, well afford the middle level of illumi nation, as the increased cost Ww ill be only a fraction of the increased profit. Merchants who are interested may obtain a complete report of the Oppenheim, Collins & Company test, together with instructions forobtaining the various levels of illumination in their own windows. In the column at the rightare published some recipes which will produce satisfac- tory illumination in average windows and these recipes will give you a standard against which to measure the effective- ness of your present window lighting! National Lamp Works of General Electric Company, 307 Nela Park, Cleveland, O. Some Recipes for Display Window Lighting \ This diagram shows how reflectors should be placed in window. ir _ 4 For high-level illumination in | the average show window, use | 1§0-watt clear MAzpA C lamps in standard mirrored or prismatic glass show-window reflectors spaced 12 inches apart. This lighting level is somewhat lower than the highest level used in the Oppenheim - Collins test For middle-level illumination use 100- AAZDA C lamps with reflectors of type and spacing watt clear given above. For windows with extra high ceilings use the next larger size of lamp, and if the window is more than eight feet deep, use two rows of lamps. If Mazpa Daylight lamps are used for window lighting, ey Settee (sie I" iat: sen DT the next larger size lamps should be installed. h of these labels represents a Sales Division equipped to give a complete lighting service, NATIONAL MAZDA LAMPS

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ar, 2 Sgt Aer eR si Se ey ye ang rat IE 86 > cee —— i Nilo ores can Soom (Continued from Page 38) Picture in hand she tiptoed out of the shop as far as the stairs. Through the open door of the inner room the back of Uncle Si was visible as she crept up. It was taking a grave risk to attempt the stairs at such a moment, but she was wrought up to a point where to go back and wait was im- pogeee. She must continue to chance her uck, Up the stairs she crept, expecting at every second to hear a harsh voice recall her. To her unspeakable relief, however, she was able to gain sanctuary in her own room without hindrance. She bolted the door against the enemy, although so far as she was aware he was still in the room below in total ignorance of what had hap- pened. Shivering as if in the throes of fever she sat on the edge of her narrow bed. The treasure was hers still. She held it to her bosom as a mother holds a child; yet the simple act gave rise at once to the problem of problems: What must be done with the thing now? There would be no security for it under that roof. And not to the picture alone did this apply but also to herself. Anything might happen as soon as the old man found out that the Van Roon was not, after all, to be his. Mean- while the future hardly bore thinking about; it was like a precipice beyond whose edge she dared not look. One thing, however, did not admit of a moment’s delay—there and then the treas- ure must be smuggled out of the house and put in a place of safety. Roweled by this thought June rose from the bed, took a piece of brown paper and some string from her box and proceeded to transform the picture into a neat parcel. She then slipped off her dress, which was considerably the worse for contact with the dusty interior of the hoodoo, performed a hasty toilet, put on her walking-out coat and skirt and changed her shoes. Finally she put on the better of the only two hats she possessed, slipped her mother’s battered old leather purse into her coat pocket, and then, umbrella in one hand, parcel in the other, she turned to the haz- ard of stealing downstairs and making good her escape. In the middle of the twisty stairs, just before their sharpest bend would bring her into the view of persons below, she stopped to listen. The voices had ceased; she could not hear a sound. Two ways lay before her of reaching the street—one via the parlor to the kitchen and out along the side entry, the other through the front door of the shop. Either route might be commanded at the moment by the enemy. With nothing to guide her June felt that the only safe course just then was to stay where she was. In the strategic posi- tion she had taken up on the stairs she could not be seen from below, yet a quick ear might hope to gain a clew to what was going on. She had not to wait long. From the inner room, whose door opposite the foot of the stairs was still half open, although its occupant was no more seen, there sud- denly came the strident tones of Uncle Si. They were directed unmistakably kitchen- ward. “Boy, you'd better get the tea ready. Seemin'ly that gell ain’t home.” “Very good, sir,”” came a prompt and cheerful response from the back premises. June decided at once that the signs were favorable. Now was her chance; the way through the front shop was evidently clear Deftly as a cat she came down, the remain- ing stairs and stole past the half-open door of what was knewn as the lumber room, where, however, old chairs were sometimes fitted with new legs and old chests with new panels. Uncle Si was undoubtedly there. June could hear him moving about as she passed the door; indeed she was hardly ch oar of it when she received a most unwelcome reminder of this fact. Either he chanced to turn round as she crept by or he caught a glimpse of her passing in one of the nu- merous mirrors that surrounded him, for just as she reached the shop threshold she heard his irascible bark: ‘That you, niece?”’ The road clear ahead, June did not pause to weigh consequences. She simply bolted. Even if the old man was not likely to guess what her neat parcel contained it would surely be the height of folly to give him the chance. Never in her life had she been quite so thankful as when she found herself in the street with the treasure safely under her arm. xXxXxI UNE went swiftly down New Cross Street to the Strand. Until she reached that garish sea of traffic she dared not look back lest hot on her heels should be Uncle Si. Suchga discovery she well knew was not at all likely; the feeling was therefore illogical, yet she could not rid herself of it until she merged in the ever-flowing tide. Taking refuge at last in a jeweler’s door- way from the maelstrom of passers by, June had now another problem to face. The Van Roon must find a home. But the question of questions was— Where? Apart from William and Uncle Si and her chance acquaintance, Mr. Keller, she did not know a soul in London. Mr. Keller, however, sprang at once to her mind. Yet more than one reservation promptly arose in regard to him. She knew really nothing about him beyond the fact that he was a man of obviously good address, belonging to a class superior to her own. He was a man of the world, of a certain breeding and education, but whether it would be wise to trust a comparative stranger in such a matter seemed exceedingly doubtful to a girl of June’s horse sense. Still there was no one else to whom she could turn, And recalling the circumstances of their first meeting, if one could ignore the means by which it had come about, there was some- thing oddly compelling, something oddly attractive, about this Mr. Keller In the total absence of any alternative June found her mind drawn so far in the direction of this man of mystery that at last she took from her purse a slip of paper on which he had written his name and address: Adolph Keller, No. 4, Haliburton Studios, Manning Square, Soho. Could she trust him with the care of a Van Roon? Now that she had been a wit- ness of its terrible effect on Uncle Si she was forced to ask whether it would be right to trust any man with such a treasure. Luckily, the world was not peopled ex- clusively with Uncle Sis. She would have to trust somebody with her treasure; that was certain. And, after all, there was no reason to suspect that Mr. Keller was not an honest man. She was still in the jeweler’s doorway, wrestling with the pros and cons of this tough matter, when a passing bus display- ing the name Victoria Station caught her eye. In a flash came the solution of the problem. Again she entered the sea of traffic, to be borne slowly along by that slow tide as far as Charing Cross. Here she waited for another bus bound for Victoria. The solv- ing of the riddle was absurdly simple after all. What place for her treasure could be safer, more accessible than a _ railway- station cloakroom? She boarded Bus 23. But hardly had it turned the corner into Whitehall when a thin flicker of elation was dashed by the salutary thought that her brain was giving out. The cloakroom at Charing Cross, from the precincts of whose station she had just driven away, was equally adapted to her need. Along the entire length of Whitehall and Victoria Street she was haunted by the idea that she was losing her wits. A prolonged scrutiny of her pale but now collected self in a confectioner’s win- dow on the threshold of the London and Brighton terminus was called for to re- assure her. And even then, for a girl so shrewd and so practical, there remained the scar of a distressing mental lapse. It did not take long to deposit the parcel in the cloakroom on the main line down platform. But in the act‘of doing so oc- curred a slight incident which was destined to have a bearing on certain events to follow. When a ticket was handed to her she could meet the charge of threepence only with a ten-shilling note. “Nothingsmaller, miss?”’ asked the clerk. “I’m afraid I haven't,” said June, search ing her purse, and then carefully placing the ticket in its middle compartment. “You'll have to wait while I get change then.” “Sorry to trouble you,” June murmured as the clerk went out through a door into an inner office. Ever observant and alert, she noticed that the clerk was a tallish young man, whose freely curling fair hair put her in mind of William, and that he wore a new suit of green corduroy. The likeness to William gave bouquet to her politeness when the young man re- turned with the change. “Sorry to give you so much trouble,” she said again. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “No trouble, miss." And Green Cor- duroy handed the change across the cloak- reom counter with a frank smile that was not unworthy of William himself. Xxx HE treasure in a safe place, to consider what to do next. One fact stood out clear in her mind: She must leave at once the sheltering roof of S. Gedge, Antiques. There was no saying | June had | what would happen when the old crocodile | discovered that the Van Roon was missing. The sooner she collected her box and her | gear and found another lodging the better. Her best plan would be to go back to New Cross Street and get them now. was hardly likely as yet to have made the discovery. It would be wise, therefore, to take advantage of this lull, for at the most it was only a matter of a few hours before the truth would be known. And when known it was, No. — New Cross Street was the very last place in London in which she would choose to be. There was a chance of course that the murder wes out already, but she would have to take the risk of that. All that she had in the pounds, nine shillings and ninepence in her purse, was in the box in the garret. Her entire resources were about seventeen pounds in money, a scanty wardrobe and a few odds and ends of jewelry of little value, but if she could get hold of these they might suffice to tide her over a sorely anxious time. In the present state of her nerves cour- age was needed to return to New Cross Street. But it had to be. And it was now or never. If her box was to be got away she must go boldly back at once and claim it. How this was to be done without arousing suspicion she did not quite know, but the most hopeful method was to announce that she had been able to find a job and also good lodgings, and that she did not care to lay the burden of her presence upon Uncle Si one hour longer than was necessary. She had been brought up with a strict regard for the truth, but fate was driving her so hard that she could not afford to have scruples. Hanging by a strap on the Underground to Charing Cross, which seemed the quickest route—and time was the essence of the matter— she rehearsed the part she had now to play. Certainly the playing itself would not lack gusto. Noth- ing life so far had given her would yield quite so much pleasure as saying good-by to the old crocodile and ironically thanking him for all his kindness. At the same time the job-and-lodgings story must be pitched in just the right key or his suspicions would be aroused, and then something horribly unpleasant might occur. By the time June had turned out of the Strand into New Cross Street a heavy autumnal dusk had fallen upon the bleak thoroughfare. Somehow the dark pall struck at her heart. In a sense it was symbolic of the business upon which she was engaged. She felt like a thief whose instinct welcomes darkness but whose cor science fears it. Never in her life had she needed such courage to turn up that gloomy and dismal street and ee the forbidding threshold of S. Gedge, Antiques. The shop was still open, for it was hardly more than six o'clock, and two gas jets lit the interior in a way that added to its cheerlessness. She stood a moment with the knob of the shop door in her hand. All the nerve she could muster was wanted to venture within ‘But she did go in, and she felt a keen relief when a hasty gla ce told her that Uncle Si was not there. XXXII UNE e while she had a further moment of indecision thought out what her line must be. She resolved to go direct to her room and pack her box. Afterwards she must find William and enlist his help in bringing it downstairs, and then she would get a taxi and drive off with her things before Uncle Si discovered his loss. Other- wise Her mind had not time to shape the grisly alternative before the immediate course of events shaped it for her. Sud- denly she was aware of a presence lurking in the dark shadows of the shop interior. It was couchant, vengeful, hostile. Almost before June could guess what was happen ing it had sprung upon her. With astounding force her right wrist was grasped and twisted behind her back She gave a little yelp of pain. 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n the teeth OU can make any tooth brush reach the inside sur- faces of the teeth, if you try hard enough. But the curved handle of the Pro-phy-lac-tic Tooth Brush makes it easy to brush the hard- to-reach places. The tufted bristles reach be- tween the teeth and into depres- made by crooked teeth any special effort on your part. This brush gives you all the help in the world and makes every brushing a thorough one. Pro-phy-lac-tic Tooth Brushes are made in three sizes—adults’, youths’, and children’s; and in textures of bristle—hard, sions without three medium, and soft. Each brush is sterilized after being enclosed in the yellow box. Buy them at any store where tooth brushes are sold. If you buy one that does not give you satisfactory service, re- turn it to us and we will replace it. Send for interesting booklet on the Care of the Teeth FLORENCE MBG. CO., Florence, Mass. goes The ordinary tooth brush merely brushes the surfaces THE SATURDAY yelp followed as she struggled to free her- self, only to find that she was locked in a vise, and that to fight against it would be agony. “*Now, you hussy, where is it?"’ The low | voice hissing in her ear was surely that of | &@ maniac. **Where’s the picture?”” The | grip upon her had the strength of ten. | still locked she was at “Where is it—eh?” put her captor shook her fiercely. me!”’ He shook her again. “Oh, you won’t—won't you?” And then = — that there was something in his and. She called wildly for William, but there was no response. “No use lifting up your voice. The boy’s As the question was “Tell She fought to get free, but with a wrist his mercy. “Now then, where's that picture? Won't tell me | eh?” There was madness in that depth of | rage. Quite suddenly there came a sickening | erash upon her shoulders. She let out with | whole being. | of one possessed. | merely added to his savagery. her heels and found the shin of the enemy, she fought and screamed, yet, pinned like that, she felt her wrist must break and her arm be wrenched from its socket. ‘‘Where is it—you thief?” The stick crashed again, this time in a series of horrible blows. So severe was the pain that it appeared to drive through her She began to fear that he meant to kill her; and as the stick con- tinued to descend she felt sure that he would. She was a strong, determined girl, but her captor had her at a hopeless disad- vantage. His strength, besides, was that Her cries and — “Tell me where it is or I'll knock the life out of you!” | Utterly desperate, she contrived at last | to break away; and though with the force | of a maniac he tried to prevent her escape, somehow she mana od to get into the street. He followed her as far as the shop door, brandishing the stick, hurling impre- cations upon her and threatening what he would do if she diin’t bring the picture back at once. Bruised, ying, June reeled into the darkness, ectim more dead than alive she lingered near by after the old man had | gone in, trying to pull her battered self | together. She badly wanted her box, yet | the only hope of getting it now was by means of the police. As things were, how- ever, it would not be wise to ask their help. The old wretch was so clever he might be able to make her out a thief; besides, for the time being she had had more than enough of this horrible affair. | a night’s lodging. Cruelly hurt she moved at last with slow pain towards the Strand. By now she had decided that her most imperative need was Before starting to look | for one, however, the enticing doors of a tea shop gave her a renewed sense of weak- ness. Gratefully she went in and sat down, ordering a pot of tea and a little bread and butter, which she felt too ill to eat. Nearly half an hour she sat in the com- pany of her thoughts. Hard, unhappy thoughts they were. Without one friend | to whom in this crisis she could turn, the world which confronted her now was an abyss. The feeling of loneliness was deso- lating, yet, after all, far less so than it would have been were she not fortified by the memory of a certain slip of paper in her purse. A slow return of fighting power revived a spark of natural resolution within her. After all, a potent weapon was in her hands. She must think out a careful plan of turn- ing it to full account. And at the worst she was now beyond the reach of Uncle Si. Even if he kept her box and all its contents, weighed in the scale of the picture’s fabu- lous worth, her modest possessions amounted to very little. Stimulated by this conclusion she began to forget her aches. When a waitress came June asked for her bill. It was sixpence. She put her hand in the pocket of her coat. | Her purse was not there. With a little thrill of fear she felt in the pocket on the other side. The purse was not there either. She was stunned. This was a blow far worse than those she had just received. She grew so dazed that as she got up she swayed against the table and had to hold on to it to save herself from falling. The waitress who had written out the bill caught a glimpse of scared eyes set in a face of chalk. **Aren’t you well?” she asked. EVENING POST “T--I've lose my purse,”’ June stam- mered. “It’s fallen out of my pocket, I think.” As with frantic futility she ae her hand in again she was raked xy the true meaning of such a fact in all its horror. Unless her purse had been stolen on the Underground—and it was not very likely—it had almost certainly’ fallen out of her pocket in the course of the atruggle with Uncle Si. It was lying now on the shop floor unless the old wretch had found it already. And if he had he would lose no time in examin- ing its contents. He had only to do so for = cloakroom ticket to tell him where the Van Roon was deposited, and to provide him with a sure means of obtaining it. All this flashed through June’s mind in one wild vista just as the concerned voice of the waitress came to her again: “You may have had your pocket picked.” June did not think so. Yet, being unable to take the girl into her confidence, she did not choose to disclose her doubts. “Perhaps I have,”’ she gasped. And then, face to face with the extreme peril of the case, her overdriven nerves broke out in mutiny. She burst into tears. “I don’t know what I'll do!” she sobbed. The waitress was full of sympathy. “Your bill is only sixpence. Come in and Pay. tomorrow.” hrough her tears June thanked her. “’Tisn't my bill, although it’s very kind of you. There was something very im- portant in my purse.” “Where did you have it last?” “In the booking hall, when I took a ticket from Victoria to Charing Cross.” “Your pocket’s been picked,” said the waitress with conviction. “‘There’s a warn- ing in all the Tubes.” The comfort was cold, yet comfort it was of a kind. June saw a wan ray of hope. After all, there was a bare possibility that inexorable fate was not the thief. “I'd go to Scotland Yard if I were you,” said the waitress. “‘The police often get back stolen property. Last year my sister’s house was burgled, and they recovered nearly everything for her.” June began to pull herself together. It was not hope, however, that braced her faculties, but an effort of the will. Hope there was none of recovering the purse, but she was now faced by the stern necessity of getting back the picture. In the light of this tragedy it was in most serious peril. Delay might be fatal, if indeed it had not already proved to be so. She must go at once and get possession of the treasure lest it be too late. The waitress was a good Samaritan. Not only could the bill wait until the next day, but she went even further. “Is your home far from here?” she asked. “My home-—far?"” said June dazedly. For the moment she did not understand all that was implied by the question. “If you live on the District and you haven't a season, I don’t mind lending you a shilling to get you there.’ June accepted a shilling with earnest thanks. In the circumstances it might be worth untold gold. “You can give it me back any time you are passing,” said the waitress, as June thanked her again and made her way un- steadily out into the street. The chill air of the Strand revived her a little. She had decided already that she must go at once to Victoria. Every minute would count, and it now occurred to her that if she took the Underground several might be saved. To the Underground in Trafalgar Square she went. It was the hour of the evening rush. Queues were lining up at all the booking-office windows. And at the first window she came to, some three persons or so ahead of her, was a figure oddly familiar, which, however, in her present state of disintegration she did not recog- nize at once. It was clad in a somber tail coat of prehistoric design, frayed shepherd's plaid trousers braced high, and a hard, square felt hat that gave a crowning touch of oppressive respectability. Moreover, its progress was assisted by a heavy knotted walking stick, at the sight of which June gave an involuntary shiver. An instant later the shiver had developed into a long and paralyzing shudder. Uncle Si was just ahead of her; in fact she was near enough to hear a harsh voice demand almost with menace a ticket to Victoria. June’s worst fears were realized. The purse had fallen from her pocket to the shop floor in the struggle, the old wretch had found it, deciphered the precious August 5,1922 ticket, put two and two together and was now on his way to claim the parcel. All this was crystal clear to her swift mind. She felt a strong desire to faint, but she fought her weakness. She must go on. Everything was as good as lost—but she must go on. She took her ticket. And then in the long subway to the platform she raced on ahead of Uncle Si. He was so nearsighted that even had he been less absorbed in his own affairs he would not have been likely to notice her. June reached the platform well in front of the old man. But the train to Victoria was not in. It arrived two minutes later; by then Uncle Si had appeared, and they boarded it together. She was careful, however, not to enter the same compart- ment as the enemy. Short as the journey was, June had ample time to appreciate that the odds were heavily against her. The mere fact that the cloakroom receipt for the parcel was in the custody of Uncle Si would confer possession upon him; it had only to be presented for the Van Roon to be handed over without a question. The one chance she had now was to get on well ahead of the old beast and convince the clerk that in spite of the absence of the ticket the parcel was hers. She knew, how- ever, only too well that the hope of being able to do this was frail indeed—at all events before the holder of the ticket ar- rived on the scene to claim it. At Victoria June dashed out of the train even before it stopped. Running past the ticket collector at the barrier and along the subway she reached the escalator yards in front of Uncle Si, and in spite of being unused to this trap for the unwary, for Blackhampton’s more primitive civilization knew escalators not, she ascended to the street at a pace far beyond the powers of the old crocodile. By this means, indeed, she counted on gaining an advantage of several minutes, since it was hardly likely that Uncle Si would trust himself to such a contrivance, and in ignorance of the fact that she was just ahead would choose the dignified safety of the lift. So far as it went the thought was re- assuring. Alas, it did not go far. As June ran through the long station to the cloak- room at its farthest end she had but a very slender hope of being able to recover the parcel. She had no intention, however, of submitting tamely to fate. In this predica- ment, whatever the cost, she must make one last and final effort to get back her treasure. At the cloakroom counter she took her courage in both hands. A man sour and elderly had replaced the wearer of the green corduroy, who was nowhere to be seen. This was a piece of bad luck, for she had hoped that the nice-looking young man might remember her. Happily, no other passengers besieged the counter at the mo- ment, so that without loss of time June was able to describe the parcel and to an- nounce the fact that the ticket she had received for it was missing. Exactly as she had foreseen, the clerk raised an objection. Without a ticket she couldn’t have the parcel. ‘But I simply must have it!”’ said June. And spurred by the knowledge that there was not one mo- ment to lose in arguing the case she boldly lifted the flap of the counter and entered the cloakroom itself. “‘No use coming in here,”’ said the clerk crustily. ‘‘You can’t take nothing away without a ticket.” “But my purse has been stolen, you,” said June. “Then I should advise you to go and see the station master.”’ “T can’t wait to do that.”’ And with the defiance of despair, expecting each moment to hear the voice of Uncle Si at her back, June ignored the clerk and proceeded to gaze up and down the numerous and heav- ily burdened luggage racks for her property. I tell xxXXIV OT a bit o’ use, don’t I tell you?” The clerk was growing angry. June pretended not to hear. Her heart beating fast, she went on with her search for the parcel; yet in the midst of it she grew aware that somebody was approach- ing the counter. She dared not pause to look who it was, for she knew only too well that it was almost bound to be Uncle Si. The clerk uttered another snar! of pro- test as he turned away to attend to the newcomer. As he did so June breathed a (Continued on Page 44)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST — | Oakland Prices Are Lower! Effective August first, the materially reduced prices, at the factory, of all | New Oakland 6-44 cars, are: Roadster - - $975 2 Pass. Coupé $1185 Touring Car 995 4 Pass. Coupé 1445 Sport Car - 1165 Sedan - - 1545 These reductions are the natural consequence of ) the extraordinary popularity of the New Oakland Six-44. Its greatly increased sale enables us to effect the many material economies natural to large pro- duction and to share these savings with Oakland buyers in the very desirable form of lowered prices. The high quality of the New Oakland remains un- changed. It carries the same special 15,000 mile written guarantee—proof of the dependability of the Oakland-built engine. Only the price is lowered. We urge you to visit your Oakland dealer immedi- ately to examine this New Oakland Six at its new low price. ‘The more closely you analyze the high quality of its construction, the more fully will you realize its remarkable value. OAKLAND MOTOR CAR COMPANY, PONTIAC, MICHIGAN Division of Gene j — TheNewNakland Six

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THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 42) prayer that her eye might fall on the parcel in that instant, for her only hope now was to seize it and fly. That, however, was not She had omitted to notice the place in which it had been put, and do as she | would she could not find it now. At this crucial moment there emerged | trom the inner office her friend of the green corduroy. She simply leaped at what was now her one remaining chance. “Oh, I’m so glad you’ve come!” cried June in a voice that was a little frantic. “You remember my bringing a brown- paper parcel here, don’t you—about two hours ago?”’ The tone, tinged as it was with hysteria, caused Green Condurey to look at June with mild astonishment. “I’ve lost the ticket you gave me for it, but I’m sure you remember my bringing it.” Her brain seemed on fire. ‘Don’t you remember my giving you a ten-shilling note, and you had to goand get the change?” Green Corduroy was a_ slow-brained youth, but a knitting of the brow seemed to induce a hazy recollection of the inci- dent. But while the process was going on June gave a glance over her shoulder, and behold, there was Uncle Si the other side of the counter. A second glance told her, moreover, that Crusty Sides already had the fatal ticket in his hand. What must she do? It was not a moment for half measures. While she was stirring the memory of Green Corduroy the treas- ure would be gone, She did not hesitate. Observing Crusty Sides wheel, paper in hand, with the slow austerity of one of the company’s oldest and most respected serv- ants towards a luggage rack near by, June seized the clew. Of a sudden her eyes lit on the parcel at the top of the pile. Already the responsible fingers of Crusty Sides were straying upwards, yet before they could inclose the Van Roon, June made a dash for it and managed to whisk it away from under his nose. Her brain was like quicksilver now. She had a mad impulse to rush off with the treasure without further explanation; all the same she was able to resist it, for she realized that such a course would be too full of peril. ““Yes—this is it!’’ she said in an urgent whisper to Green Corduroy. And as she spoke, with a presence of mind which in the circumstances was a little uncanny, she slipped behind a large pile of boxes out of the view of Uncle Si. “Surely you remember my bringing it?” Green Corduroy seemed to think that he did remember. At this point Crusty Sides, with an air of outrage, sternly interposed. “But a pawty claims it. And here’s his ticket.” “The tic ket’s mine,” said June in a fierce whisper. ‘It’s been taken from my purse. " ‘Nothin’ to do with us, that ain’t,’’ said Crusty Sides. “But you do remember my bringing it, don’t you?”’ Beseechingly June turned to Green Corduroy. And he, that nice-looking young man, with a frown of ever-deepening perplexity, slowly affirmed that he thought he did remember. “The ticket’s what we've got to go by,” said Crusty Sides sternly. ‘Nothin’ else matters to us.” “Tf you'll look at it,’”’ said June to Green Corduroy, ‘‘you'll see that it’s made out sas ” | in your writing. Green Corduroy looked and saw that it As far as he was concerned, that seemed to clinch the argument. And even | Crusty Sides, a born bureaucrat, was rather impressed by it. “You say this here ticket’s been taken off of you?”’ he asked. “Yes,"’ breathed June, “ by my wicked Instantly she regretted the imprudence of her words. “Uncle a thief, eh?” proclaimed Crusty Sides in a voice of such carrying power that to June it seemed that the old crocodile could hardly fail to hear him. ** Anyhow, this gentleman knows that it was I who brought the parcel,’”’ she said determinedly to rene Corduroy. That young man looked her straight in the eye and then declared that he did know. Further, like many slow-minded persons, when once aroused he was prone to deep conclusions. ‘‘Seems to me, Nobby,” he weightily affirmed, under the mae no doubt of being addressed as a gentleman, in the company’ s time, by such a good-looking girl, “that as this lady has EVENING POST got the parcel, and we have got the ticket for it, she and uncle had better fight it out between ’ em.’ “TI don’t know about that,’”’ growled Nobby. Green Corduroy, however, stimulated by the fiery anguish of June’s glance, and no doubt still in thrall to the fact that she considered him a gentleman, was not to be moved from the statesmanlike attitude he had taken up. “You let ‘em fight it out, Nobby. This lady was the one as eM it here.” “IT gave you a ten-shilling note, didn’t I?” The voice of June was as honeyed as the state of her feelings would permit. “Yes, and I fetched the change for you, didn’t 1?” Crusty Sides shook a head of confirmed misogyny. ‘ Very irregular, that’s all I’ve got to say about it.” “Maybe it is, Nobby, but it’s nothing to do with you and me.” Green Corduroy, with almost the air of a knight-errant, took the all-important slip of paper from his colleague. Flaunting it in gallant fingers he moved up slowly to the counter. S. Gedge, Antiques, buying spectacles on nose, knotted cudgel in hand, was im- patiently waiting. ‘The parcel is claimed by the lady who brought it,” June heard Green Corduroy announce. She waited for no more. Following close behind Crusty Sides, who also moved up to the counter, she slipped quietly through an adjacent door to the main-line platform before Uncle Si grew fully alive to the sit- uation. Clasping the parcel to her bosom, she glided swiftly down the platform and out by the booking hall, traveling as fast as her legs would take her without breaking into a run, which would have looked like guilt and might have attracted public notice. She did not dare to glance back, for she was possessed by a fear that the old man and his stick were at her heels. Once clear of the station itself she yielded to the need of putting as much distance between Uncle Si and herself as a start so short would permit. There was now a hope of throwing him off the track. Thus as soon as she reached the Victoria Street corner she scrambled on to a bus that was in the a t of moving away. One seat only was vacant and, as in a state of imminent collapse she sank down upon it, she ventured for the first time to look behind her. She quite expected to find Uncle Si at her elbow already, but with a gasp of relief she learned that the old man was nowhere in sight. XxxV UNE did not know in which direction the bus was going. And when the con- ductor came for her fare, which he did as soon as the vehicle began to move, she was quite at a loss for a destination. There was nothing for it but to draw a bow at a venture. She asked for Oxford Circus, the only nodal point of the metropolis, besides Charing Cross, with which she was fa- miliar. By a rare piece of luck Oxford Circus was included in its route, and what remained of the shilling the girl at the tea shop had given her was sufficient to get her there, and leave fourpence in hand. Alighting at Oxford Circus she stood under a lamp to consider what she should do now. There was nowhere she could go, there was not one friend to whom she could turn. Battered and spent in body and spirit by all that had happened to her dur- ing the last few hours, + was now in a flux of terror to which she dared not yield. At first she thought of seeking advice of a policeman, but it would have been ex- tremely difficult just then to tell her strange story. Its complications were many and fantastic; besides—and she shivered at the idea—it was by no means clear that she would be able to establish her claim to the Van Roon in the eye of the law. Still, something would have to be done. She must find a home of some kind, not only for her treasure but for herself. Feel- ing desperately in need of help, she decided as a preliminary measure to spend three of her four remaining pence on a cup of tea. She had a vague 3 sam that in that magic are inspiration might lurk. vie oy as it chanced, was not vain. Near by was a tea shop; and she had hardly sat down at one of its marble- topped tables when, by an association of ideas, her mysterious acquaintance, Mr. Adolph Keller, sprang again into her mind August 5,1922 He had given her his address. Alas, the slip of paper on which it was written was in her purse, but she had a particularly good memory, and by raking it fiercely she was able to recall the fact that his place of domicile was Haiiburton Studios, Manning Square. She did not like trusting any man on an acquaintance so slight, especially as it had come about in so odd a fashion, but Mr. Keller had shown himself very friendly, and there was no one else to whom she could turn. Sipping her cup of tea in slow and grateful weariness, she began to de- velop this idea. Horse sense, Mr. Boultby had always said, was her long suit; there- fore she well understood the peril of taking a comparative stranger into her confidence in this pass. But very cogently she put to herself the question: What else could she do? Of sundry policemen, who were very obliging, June asked the way to Manning Square. It was in Soho, not so very far from Oxford Circus, as she remembered Mr. Keller saying, and, in spite of a local fog which had come on in the last twenty minutes, the police were so helpful that she had no great difficulty in getting there. During the short journey her mind was much engaged in settling just what she would and would not say to Mr. Keller. She decided that as far as might be prac- ticable she would leave the picture out of the case. It might not be possible to ex- clude it, but at any rate she would begin by offering to sit to him as a model in accordance with his suggestion; and with that the pretext of her visit she would see if she could get him to lend her a little money to tide over immediate needs. By the time she had come to Manning Square it was a few minutes past seven. Two complete circuits had to be made of this dingy, ill-smelling hiatus in the heart of Soho before she came upon Haliburton Studios, which were not in the square it- self but in a dismal by-street debouching from it. The tall block of buildings which comprised the studios was equally dismal, and as June entered a vestibule that showed no light she felt a sudden chill strike at her heart. This, however, was not a moment to quail. It was a case, if ever there was one, of any port in a storm. The hazard of her errand fell upon her like a pall, but the knowledge that she had only a penny left with which to obtain a night’s lodging was a veritable barb in the flesh. Try as she would she could not recall the number of Mr. Keller’s studio; nor was the information to be sought upon the walls of the vestibule, which she was not able to see. But while she stood at the foot of a winding flight of stone steps, striv- ing to meet the difficulty which faced her now, she heard someone coming down. At the sound she went back to the door by which she had entered, where a lamp con- tending feebly against the fog would enable her to see anyone who passed out. The person who did so proved to be one of June’s own sex, a youngish woman whose fur coat seemed to accentuate a note of tawdry and flamboyant finery. Even in the semidarkness June could see that her face was rouged. She had no illusion as to the kind of person she addressed. “You want Mr. Keller’s studio?”’ The woman peered into June’s face in a manner which she felt to be decidedly objection- able. ‘‘It’s the second door on the first landing.” The tone, offhand and more than a little contemptuous, was like a blow in the face. XXXVI | ie WAS not until the woman had passed out of the vestibule into the street that June could find courage to mount the stone stairs. The knocker on the second door was so crazy that it threatened to break off in her hand. Tact and skill were called for to draw sound from it at all; bell there was none; but a faint light percolated through the fanlight and it was a glimpse of this which heartened June to persevere. By dint of application she was able to coax a few sounds out of the knocker, and at last her feat brought reward. The beam be- yond the fanlight expanded, there was a shuffle of approaching slippers, and then the door came open. Mr. Keller, wearing a dressing gown in lieu of a coat, stood before her. “Hello!’’ hesaid. Before June could find words of her own she had been recognized. “Why—it’s you!” The gentlemanly voice (Continued on Page 47

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST PF elk TL || aoe N) A ee is PN . ‘ —research and experimental facilities that no ONE organization could maintain The buyer of a car or truck today is not influenced as much by what he SEES as by what he KNOWS. He is more than ever interested in the responsibility BEHIND the vehicle. The resources and facilities back of every genuine SPECIALIZED vehicle are practically unlimited. Take for example the vitally important matter of research and Sxperimental work. In the great Continental organization there is a staff of experts (entirely apart from the production department) who, aided by the most scientific apparatus and equipment, study the Continental motor in relation to automotive requirements. Their sole function is to suggest refinements—to experiment with ideas —striving always to perfect the performance of power-creating mechanism. Likewise, the manufac- turers of other units—the clutch, transmission, axles, universal joints—EACH maintains a com- pletely equipped experimental laboratory con- centrating on the study of ONE individual unit. The composite of all these staffs of specializing experts represents research and experimental facil- ities that no one car or truck manufacturer could possibly maintain. But the purchaser of a genuine SPECIALIZED vehicle knows that real continuous performance is assured by just such manufacturing facilities. Fur- thermore, he recognizes the advantages of owning a car or truck thatis guaranteed by its builder, backed by America’s great organizations of unit manufac- turers and supported by parts-distributing stations that dot the world. Make sure that your next car or truck is a genuine SPECIALIZED vehicle in which each major unit is a proven unit, such as the motor that bears on its crankcase that universally recognized hall mark of SPECIALIZATION —the Continental Red Seal. August 5,1922 ene ee een ee CONTINENTAL MOTORS CORPORATION Largest Exclusive Motor Manufacturers in the World Offices: Detroit, U. S. A. ‘factories: Detroit and Muskegon | " . Lontinental Motors ©

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(Continued from Page 44 sounded most agreeable. ‘* Walk right in. You’re welcome as the flowers in May.” Tossed by the tempest as Mr. Keller’s visitor still was, she could not help con- trasting such a welcome with the air and manner of Uncle Si. XXXVII TPHE geniality of Adolph Keller had a tonic effect upon June’s depression. She crossed his threshold with a sense of ex- treme relief, as one who finds a refuge from the storm. He closed the door of the flat, and then led the way into a spacious room with a high ceiling, which was fixed up as a studio. It was not without an air of comfort. The main part had been screened off; within a small but seductive inner space a bright fire mingled pleasant gleams with the radiance of the electric lamp. Two low wicker chairs were set invitingly near the hearth, and a table piled with books and magazines was between them. Amid these, however, space had been found for a to- bacco jar, a siphon, a glass and a bottle of whisky. On the floor was a French novel, which he had laid down open to let her in. Mr. Keller evidently was making him- self comfortable for the night. The con- trast between this snug and cheerful room and the rising fog from which June had just escaped struck her at once as delicious. With a little sigh of gratitude she sank at the cordial invitation of her host into the first of the easy-chairs. He remembered her quite well of course, yet for the moment he had forgotten her name, and what to June was the more surprising, the appointment she had made with him for that very afternoon seemed to have passed right out of his mind. Yet she was quick to see, for her wits were now working at high pressure, that this strange forgetfulness was in her favor. At any rate it was going to help her in the task of keeping, as far as possible, the Van Roon out of the case. ‘Lyons’, wasn’t it, we met at? One day last week? Your name’s - “I’m Miss Gedge.”” June’s tone was a shade stand-off, for that appeared to be correct in the circumstances. ““Miss Gedge—yes—of course. Stupid of me to forget.”’ He fixed the eye of a man with a sense of humor upon this odd visitor. “‘T’ve a shocking memory for names. Very glad to see you, anyhow, Miss Gedge.”’ He took the low chair opposite with the calm and easy air of a model host. ‘And very nice of you to come on a damp and foggy night.” The tone rather than the words put.it up to June to explain her coming. She did so rather awkwardly, with a touch of nerves. Yet before committing herself to any posi- tive statement as to why she was there she was careful to dispose the parcel she carried as far beyond the range of his eyes as was possible at the side of the wicker chair in which she sat. “You told me the other day’’—she found it impossible to control the queer little tremblein her voice— “that you wanted an artist’s model, and that my hair was just the color you were looking for.” “By Jove, yes,” he laughed. ‘Your hair’s topping.”” The laugh deepened to enthusiasm. ‘“‘It’s the color I want, to a hayseed.”” An eye of veiled appraisement passed slowly over her. ‘And what’s al- most as important, there’s stooks of it.” “Yes, there is,”’ said June, doing her best to pick up his light tone of intimacy. “Tt is important, I suppose, for an artist’s model to have hair long and thick.”

“‘Ra-ther!”” As he looked at her side- ways out of the corner of one eye his tone seemed to change a little; and then he got up alertly from his chair, the mantle of the model host again upon him. ‘I’m afraid there’s not much to offer you in the way of refreshment. There’s only whisky. If you'll excuse me I'll fetch another glass.” “Oh, no, please, not for me!” said June quickly. She was very tired and horribly depressed, but she had been brought up strictly The host seemed a little amused by her vehemence. He looked at her keenly with a pair of curious, small, near-set eyes that June liked even less now than when she had noticed them first. “Well, have a cigarette, anyhow. These are like mother’s milk.’’ And he offered a box of Virginia. June also declined a cigarette in the same odd, rather fluttered tone, which caused him to smile in a way that added to her nervousness. “No? Well, make yourself comfy any- how. Draw your chair up to the fire.” She thanked him in a voice which in spite of itself was a little prim, and which assured him that she was quite warm enough where she was. The attempted light- ness and ease had gone; a subtle sense of fear, bred of hidden danger, yet without any root in fact or logic, was rising in her. The position itself was embarrassing, yet so far Mr. Keller had shown no wish to pre sume upon it. Up till now he had been easy and charming; but June, in spite of worldly inexperience, had the intuitions of her sex to guide her; and she felt instinc- tively that there might be a great deal behind these graces. She was grateful all they were much-needed balm for many bruises. When Mr. Keller sat down again in the wicker chair, about two yards away from her, a sense of languor crept upon June. The warmth of the fire, the glow of the lamp, the notes of a singularly quiet voice were like a subtle drug. Alive to danger as she was, its caress was hard to resist. Such a position was one of acute peril, for she was lite rally throwing herself upon the mercy of a person who was very much an unknown quantity. Yet what alternative was there? “Don’t mind a pipe, I hope?”” The polite voice from the chair opposite was not really ironical; it was merely kind and friendly, yet feminine intuition shivering upon the dark threshold of adventure knew well enough how easily a tone of that kind could turn to something else. “Oh, no, I don’t mind at all.”’ She tried again to get the right key, but a laugh she could not control, high-pitched and irrele- vant, was horribly betraying. “That’s all right then.” For about a minute Mr. Keiler puffed away in a sort of whimsical silence. Then he said with a soft fall, whose mere sweet- ness had the power to alarm, “ Your hair’s jolly. Very jolly indeed!” June nervously muttered that she was very glad he liked it. “So much of it, don’t you know. Aw- fully useful to me just now. Quantity’s almost as valuable as the color. Does it reach your waist when you let it down?” June, not without a little pride, said that her hair when let down reached below her waist. ““Capital!’’ said Mr. Keller with a laugh. “The very thing I’m looking for just now. You'll make a stunning Andromeda.” June had not heard of Andromeda. She had read some Dickens and a little George Eliot, and she could remember bits of Shakspere learned at school, but her tastes the same; THE SATURDAY EVENING POST were not lit rary. She pre tended to know all about Andromeda, yet the next words of Mr. Keller were a proof that he was not deceived that he had ignorance June did not know, however, through her plerced clean “She's the altogether 4 clas il j wect ‘I like classical subje« myself By an association of ideas June’s mind went back to Miss Pree Perfumes AVA 18 ever \ rdant, evet odorous with jasmine, ylang ylang, cl paka, nagasart and tenjong. The Bedaya, dan ing girl ower their smooth skin with fragrant powder « they dance in the “ The shine svatic of ¢ Lene blends with ¢ t all nati ] i P it East. h =n of flow tlest ' plet t Core fal ly et | fl \ Jay wilight . 2 ha fa fe oF t Ww i } fe tras Y Cl leur POWDER

In Ornamental Crystal Jar with lamb’s wool puft

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ~The Poets’ Corner Queen Oats Only Just rich, plump, flavory grains Oat lovers the world over—millions of them—have been won to Quaker Oats The mothers of many nations send overseas to get them to foster the love of oats The reason lies in flavor. We flake the queen grains only The puny and insipid grains are all an ge \ bushel choice oats yields us but ten pounds « Quaker Oats. That flavor all-important You want children to love oats. The oat is the great- st food that grows. It has for ages held supreme place in the diet of the young. Then serve them Quaker Oats. Give them a dish to love Have in each all the flavor Nature gives to oats. You can get this brand anywhere, and without a faney price. Simply say that you want Quaker. It is well worth while uaker Oats Just the cream of the oats Try This Recipe 1 cup sugar, 1 tablespoon butter, 2 eggs, 249 cups Quaker Oats, 2 tea spoons baking powder, 1 teaspoon vanilla ‘ Cream butter and sugar. Add yolks of eggs. Add Quaker Oats, to which baking powder has been added, and add vanilla. Beat whites of eggs stiff and add last. Drop on buttered tins with teaspoon, but very few on each tin, as they spread. Bake in slow oven. Makes about 65 cookies | the miners’ union. Mr. The Nomads HE nomad strain is in our blood ; It haunts us in our crowded maris; It whispers subtly to our hearts Of steppe and desert, hill and wood, And memories, dimly understood, Of ancient raids and vanished arts. We built the city yesterday, Wearied, a moment, of the tent; But when we built we never meant Forever here to stop and stay; We thought when idle pleasure went To mount again and ride away. The city lured and held us back With easy joy and soft delight ; We lost our hardihood and might ; Our hearts grew tame, our sinews slack ; Then came the plainsmen who could fight, And gave us up to storm and sack We walled ourselves about with stone And moat, against the vandal raid, For we were feeble and afraid; Unused to weapons had we grown, And to the warlike tribes we paid A tribute to be let alone. Still, in the spring, we feel the call To travel northward with the grass, And never can the season pass Without the southward lure of fall These wander-longings grip us all Of every age and sex and class. There is a taste within our mouth, Of wild adventures on the plain, Of feast and famine, joy and pain, August 5,1922 Of cattle famishing of drouth, Of riding, in a swift campaign, To sack the cities of the south. The nomad strain is in our blood, It calls us north to golf and gun, It lures us, in the name of fun, South where the tarpon’s biting good, And sends the city’s pallid brood Adventuring in wind and sun. Thomas Lomax Hunter. Home EVEN flights high we twain have dwelt, Perched in a rotten tenement ; The rain dripped through a moldy roof, The landlord cursed us for his rent; Below, the crowded street tossed up Its endless tide of living foam; We ate or starved, as chance was kind Or cruel, dear—but that was home. And we have tramped, hand fast in hand, Under wet skies, forsaken ways, And slept beneath strange stars and seen Together good and evil days; And yet, whatever roof was ours, The tiled, the thatched, the starry dome, However brief our lingering, That roof, or lack of roof, was home. How deaf, how blind! The leaner years Themselves now slip down alien ways; Gone is the wanderlust, and gone The careless joy of gypsy days; For little hands are holding tight, And little feet aren’t made to roam: The children bind us gladly fast, And where the children are—-is home! Reginald Wright Kauffman. ORE ABOUT COAL EDITOR, THE SATURDAY EVENING Post, Dear Sir: N MY article entitled The Coal Miners’ Case, published in THE SATURDAY EVE- NING Post on the first of April, I said one of the primary objects of the coal operators in forcing the bituminous coal miners to | strike was to destroy the United Mine Workers of America and take away from the miners the protection which that union | affords them. Now comes Mr. C. E. | Lesher, in an article in a recent issue of THE SATURDAY EVENING Post, and says | this is not true. He says it is absolutely at | variance with the facts. This is the first time, to my knowledge, that anyone has denied that the operators were out to break P. H. Penna, an Indiana operator, recognized official spokes- man for the coal operators for twenty years and a member of the board of direc- tors of the National Coal Association, made a speech in the annual convention of that association in Chicago, in the latter part of May, in which he said: ‘I would like, if I could, to wipe out not only the United Mine Workers of America, but all memory of it.” Mr. Penna speaks for the coal operators. Many operators have openly declared that this was the right time to have a strike, for with it they could weaken or destroy the union. That’s what they started out to accomplish. But the plan is not working out that way. And Mr. Lesher denied my charge that the operators violated their agreement with the miners when they refused to meet with them this spring to negotiate a new wage contract. Again I quote Mr. Penna. A few days before the strike began on the first of April Mr. Penna said in a newspaper interview: “We are forced to admit that we have vio- lated our agreement.” Mr. Penna was one of the signers of the contract which the operators refused to live up to. He probably knows as much as Mr. Lesher about whether it was violated. Mr. J. D. A. Morrow, vice president of the National Coal Association, the opera- tors’ union, said in a letter to the editor of THE SATURDAY EVENING Post that I was mistaken when I quoted him as saying that the labor cost of producing bituminous coal in October, 1921, averaged $1.97 a ton and that the average retail selling price of bituminous throughout the United States in that month was $10.41. On bended knee I beg his pardon. He did testify be- fore the Interstate Commerce Commission that the labor cost was $1.972 a ton, but it was the United States Government that stated officially that the average retail selling price was $10.41. This is found in the Monthly Labor Review, published by the Bureau of Labor Statistics of the De- partment of Labor, in December, 1921. I was misinformed when I credited this state- ment to Mr. Morrow. But Mr. Morrow never has denied the accuracy of the fig- ures, and I respectfully sugges: that the $10.41 quotation loses none of its con- vincing weight when it comes from the United States Government instead of from Mr. Morrow, representing the coal opera- tors. If the miner got $1.97 for digging a ton of coal that was sold to the consumer for $10.41, who got the remaining $8.44? Coal operators and their spokesmen in- sist that they have not made any money. But the Federal Trade Commission, in a report to Congress on the first of June, shows that in the six-year period, 1916 to ‘1921, inclusive, coal companies made an average profit of 15 per cent, and that in August, 1920, they made 59 per cent in Ohio, 57 per cent in West Virginia, 64 per cent in Tennessee and 79 per cent in Kansas. That’s not so bad, when coal was selling as high as $5.23 a ton at the mine. At that rate the nonunion coal operators of West Virginia made a profit of $2.98 a ton. West Virginia produced 89,970,707 tons of coal in 1920. ELLIs SEARLES Editor United Mine Workers’ Journal.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Vie SINGLE-SIX SPORT The value of this new Packard Single-Six is so emphatic and unmistakable as to in- spire almost instant eagerness for owner- ship among those who appreciate cars of the highest class. It is value so great that it brought to the Single-Six the astounding retail sales volume of more than $10,000,000 in the first 40 days. It is value potent enough to induce 40 per cent of these buyers to purchase without offering a car in trade, and another 40 per cent to offer for trade cars other than Packard—clearly indicating that thou- sands must have been waiting for such a car as this new Packard. It is value expressed in a richness and dignity of embellishment surpassing the utmost you have always counted upon in Packard. It is value exemplified in a brilliant virility of performance which can only be de- scribed as Packard functioning at its finest. It is value outstanding and incontroverti ble, which will convince you of the futility of seeking for something comparable. = Five-Passenger Touring, #2485; Seven- Passenger Touring, #2685; Runabout, #2485; Sport Model, #2¢ Coupé, # Five Passenge? Sedan $3275, Seven Passenger Sedan, #3 525 Seven Pa nver ocddan I ImouUusi #3575 at Det The Packard Twin-Six pro ides a quality of motoring beyond which it is not | ble t » Tru users know tl profit in hauling with Packard Trucks. All Packard upkeep ig made still more economical by Packard standard: AC AAR

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cutting the reception shorter her anxious re- p ly was supposed to be: “Then we must cut it from the front end, le aving off some of the officials. It is the people’s party of the year, and not one of those who take the trouble to come shall be turned away. We must see that part through at least, and I can stand I'll rest afterwards.” And stand and shake hands and smile in wel- come both she aml the President did till long after five o'clock in the afternoon. The second story was a delightful one of how two small black citizens, a little col- ored boy and girl, squeezed in between the older people and moved along the lines through the long corridors, unnoticed; and how they came, smiling delightedly and holding hands, to where there was a little space before the President. Seeing them he laughed loudly, and exclaiming “See who have come to the party!” he leaned down, shook bands heartily, and passed the two pickaninnies on to his wife. I would not vouch for the truth of these tales, but they were enough illustrative of what people thought of the new occupants of the White House to seem quite probable. There was general rejoicing over such a hospitable spirit being shown, after years of gloomy closed doors and barred gates. Our little family—Russian refugees, as we technically were—seemed to have no place in the procession that filed past the receiving party on New Year’s Day, since we were neither foreign diplomats nor American citizens. Realizing this I had ventured that morning to send Mrs. Hard- ing a few flowers and a book of old White House memories, with our good wishes. The next day came a charming note of graceful thanks, dictated to Miss Harlan, “as Mrs. Harding’s arm and hand were completely out of commission.” It was said also that often this brave woman stood for her receptions with her legs bandaged tightly, and that her doctor was always anxiously watching her. He stated that she was always a most obedient in- valid, save where her duties to her hus- band’s position were concerned; and then through sheer strength of will she forced herself to make the necessary effort to appear, Apropos of our not attending this New Year reception, I had a most amusing con- versation with Lady Annesley, who was visiting Washington, the conference having douere ber there, while her great popularity and the invitations showered on car had held her. She wanted to go to this particular reception; said so quite frankly. Appar- ently Sir Auckland Geddes, the British Ambassador, had said she had better not, and had given her the same good reasons I had given myself. Apparently, also, she had put her Irish wits to work on the prob- lem, and our chat was the result. We were at dinner the evening before the reception. Foreign Lions “Are you going?" she asked me, and I answered no, and told her why. ‘‘But it isn’t an invitation affair; end no one’s invited; and I think all ought to go to wish the President a happy New Year. Now what do you think? You can’t go because you don't belong to any group indicated. You are a Russian re ugee; I don't go because I'm told I mayn’'t, since I'm also without diplomatic rank, yet a foreigner. I know! Let us go together, not with our ambassadors, but with one another: you as a Russian refugee, I as an Irish refugee; and we will make a very smart group all to ourselves!" Everyone present was delighted with this idea, and asked whether we should dress the parts or wear our jewels. Lady Annesley’s were as famous as her beauty was. I think the spirited “Irish refugee” was a little disappointed that her proposi- tion wasn't taken more seriously. Her joy in the feasting of Washington was very great; and perhaps also it seemed a little annoying to stay at home at the suggestion of the British Ambassador! The season's first parties were all built around the foreign lions who had come for the burial of the unknown soldier or to take part in the conference for the limitation of armaments. Some of these were very inter- esting men, and some of the functions for them were awfully well done. The Italian Embassy opened the season with a large re- ception and ball given for General Diaz. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST SOCIETY AND STATESMEN (Continued from Page 4) He was a miniature man physically, but his war record made him a great figure, and everyone rushed to the party in his honor. It was our little daughter’s first ball and she looked very young and sweet in a dress of soft green velvet and gold lace with a quaint wreath of tiny fruits and flowers, green and purple, on her head. It wasn’t at all a fash- ionable gown, but its style suited her type and was rather reminiscent of ancient Ren- aissance days. Somehow the child had an Old World look with a gentle natural man- ner, which with her radiant smile and happy eyes and the changing color brought on an excitement shown in no other way made her rather an unusual personality that night. She had never been to school, had had no dancing lessons, knew nothing of modern sports or methods; but after her first years of happy childhood she had had the hard experiences of war and revolution, had knitted for the wounded and the destitute, had known deep anxiety for her father’s life and the lives of many relatives and friends. Traveling, changing habits and point of view, as well as new associates and frame, left a strong impress on mind and nature susceptible in the extreme; and she had seen suffering and had suffered more than is ordinary for a lassie seventeen. Because she had had us elders for companions she was not shy, and she talked easily of many things much older than her yearc. Her strange past and peculiar traditions drew attention, and the soft charm of youth held those who saw and met the child. She was so grateful for the pleasures which came her way—music, light, joy and the rhythm of the dancing, which she learned quickly and well. She loved being young. People were introduced, and men asked her to dance; and her happiness warmed one’s heart to watch; it was the natural thing. Official Receptions I had not been to a ball for seven long years; and though there was no temptation to me in society’s whirl as I sat watching Bertha swing by with twinkling feet, her red lips parted in laughter that was gay, I remembered my emotions at my own first ball and felt glad the world renewed its joy with each succeeding generation, whatever went between of sadness. Not that I didn’t like going about, for there is much to enjoy in Washington, even for those who are old. There are many de- lightful houses. Some very splendid ones are full of rich art treasures; some with an attraction which only thoroughbred inhab- itants for generations give; and a perfume of history hung about some rooms, where carved rosewood and brocatel led one to feel one should be dressed in crinoline and a »0ke bonnet. Several houses of my grand- father’s time as President, a few far older, made historical frames for delightful dinner parties. No one has to be rich in Washing- ton, though money is pleasant everywhere. Most people seals offer something more worth while in one way or another; at least those one meets about the dinner table or at luncheon do. I’m free to confess that making hundreds of calls which amount to leaving cards with the maid or the butler seems rather a waste of time; and the herd- ing of human beings at teas and formal receptions didn’t seem to me a satisfactory thing. I made some casual inquiries about this and elicited a number of curious replies. Some people said, ‘Oh, well, it is some- thing to do with one’s afternoon.” Others said, ‘“ We hate it, but it is the reverse of the medal of official life, and must be done.” And others seemed to think it was an American, democratic institution, which should be respected es such. Then a few who stopped to consider the question said, *‘Many come to Washington, strangers; they go about to these teas, and they feel less lonesome. They write back to foreign or American homes that they are in society; and it gives them a little pleasure—some of the crumbs of others’ fun, as it were.”” Yet another answered: ‘These are the clearing house to which all can come and have an opportunity to meet. In a little time circles of intimates are formed from the cream, and the rest get no further than teas.” A few people really seemed to enjoy the noise and clatter and pushing, with the fragments of shouted talk; and two or three I saw evidently came to get a meal, even in conditions that suggested a riot. Once I met a friend in one of these crowds, and she said as she stood near me, before she was pushed off and whizzed into the current, “It is funny, isn’t it? We as a na- tion eliminate all we can from our days, as we are breathless with haste; yet we find time for this!”” And a man passing laughed and said, “‘This might make one name Washington the city of unfinished sen- tences.”’ It is a curious custom, this wild rush of a crowd, six or eight times larger than the rooms can hold, in and out of so-called pri- vate homes, and the noise, and heat, and quantities of refreshments which can't pos- sibly refresh; yet it is called pleasure by some. It is much abused by many im- postors who join the crowd; so that serv- ants, even detectives, must be on guard. The French Ambassador's wife told me she was often addressed by unknown hand- shakers in her own embassy as Lady Geddes; and a friend of mine making a dinner call on Madame Riafio was ac- costed by another woman on the crowded stairway with: “Say, what embassy are we in anyhow? I’ve been going the rounds, and I've got three more to do, but I got kinder mixed up.” I also passed down some of these receiving lines, where the hostess had only time to say a sentence half through to each guest; ee fe admired her amiabil- ity. Occasionally several other women or even a man—some lion like Diaz or Foch— received with her. When he was a for- eigner he generally looked dazed after the tenth person introduced, and he remem- bered nothing after another ten. If he saw a face he knew his eyes lighted up, he be- came conscious and tried to say something sane, with pleasure in it; then was in- stantly seized and dragged back into line. Mrs. Harding made a supreme effort at helping matters by bringing at least two sets of official ladies comfortably together. The ladies of the cabinet and of the Senate met one afternoon at the White House, and by mutual consent at Mrs. Harding’s suggestion they considered they had called on one another. Most people don’t like teas, they say. I mean these vast affairs, with the discomfort and fatigue which they entail. The papers contain constant an- nouncements that one or another hostess can’t receive because of any flimsy excuse she finds it possible to invent. Yet between November first and the end of May there were three or four of these functions daily. I soon discovered they took all my strength, and my business engagements at our re- lief committee’s office cut me out of the vast majority; but it is the one phase of society I cannot understand as civilized; for to my humble mind society means re- laxation from one’s work and pleasant human intercourse; dancing, music, con- versation, one’s friends; and as a result, some good to body, heart and mind. Space and quiet, an exchange of ideas, with bril- liant talk or soothing sound when possible, to give one rest from strain. Society can mean so much; and it does offer much in Washington, as well as elsewhere; but there should be a rule that a very good ex- cuse is required before a hostess is per- mitted to issue invitations for a crowded official reception or tea. Cosmopolitan Society As for the lunches and the dinners— never anywhere have I been to more charming parties or seen people better grouped than they are in Washington. One dines out daily and one lunches out almost as much; and I remember only a very few feasts where my neighbors were such that I noticed if the food were good or not. Men and women, distinguished for their brains and looks, abounded, and the con- versation was always interesting and agree- able; often of really rare quality. There were Englishmen like cand Beatty, Lord Balfour, Lord Lee, Sir Robert Borden and the British Ambassador, with their attrac- tive staffs of experts and aides; French like Briand and Joffre, Sarraut and America’s old friend, the French Ambassador; and Asia furnished the last of the shoguns and the most modern of Far Eastern statesmen. There were Italians well worth talking with, the cosmopolitan Austrian Jew, Schanzer, at their head; and charmin Dutch, Belgians -and Portuguese, an many, many others from different lands; the best each government could send. They brought their note of argument, of foreign August 5,1922 ideals, of admiration, of analysis, of differ- ent points of view, new on many subjects. Though I often found myself in opposition to their theories, I liked this international mingling, and the foreigners’ frank compli- ments and interest for the things they saw about them. The American capital looked its best; and it received its guests with open arms. It seemed to me that Washington must strike these strangers as a very beautiful and sympathetic city, with a great strength throbbing in the nation behind it; a strength for good, at the world’s service for constructive building, on right lines. They might have preferred us weaker, perhaps more easily exploited; but they could not be blind to our generosity, our merits and the fine brains of those they came to deal with here. Lord Balfour told me frankly that to him one of the greatest privileges of his life had been to work in association with Mr. Root; and to all the strangers the Amer- ican delegates were marvels. Root’s wis- dom shed clear light. Hughes’ strength and tact and great capacity were quite unri- valed, and Underwood’s fine judgment, his technical knowledge, with his patience and adroitness; the dignity and kindliness of all these men, were often spoken of and much appreciated. The President, who had made the foreigners so welcome and who loomed so large in power, had only generosity and praise for his own representatives. No jealousy or vanity or any meanness did he show. How different an atmosphere from that of Paris in 1919! Lord Balfour’s Golf Story Balfour looked his part of leader and was the much-spoiled favorite everywhere. With both men and women he was popular, and quite perfection in his réle as the guest of honor at many a dinner. He loved music sincerely and took great delight in the playing of artists, like Ernest Schelling, at some quiet evening gatherings, which Mrs. Bliss most frequently arranged. Her par- ties were of ideal blending, and as some Frenchman said, with sudden appreciation of her salon, “‘ Maybe the brain of Wash- ington is found at Continental Hall, in con- ference hours, but the heart of Washington throbs here!”’ Balfour liked a good yarn, even at his own expense, and he told one to us at a dinner of which he was the center at the British Embassy. It was asplendid weighty function, worthy of prewar days, when Europe was neither depressed nor hysterical. Someone had spoken of Balfour in compli- mentary fashion, of his great brain and his work at the conference, and he replied that this consoled him for an occurrence at Chevy Chase Club, where he had gone to play golf the day previous. Finding no one he knew about, he engaged a caddy and started off walking and chatting with the latter. He asked caddy’s opinion about the use of a certain club. The boy gave advice, which Lord Balfour attempted to follow; but he missed the shot. Caddy took the club, illustrated his explanations, also missed the ball; but further explained this was because he was too short for the club. Lord Balfour again tried to follow caddy’s instructions and again missed; whereupon eaddy eyed him and remarked in solemn sincerity: ‘‘Gee, if I was as tall as you or you had my, bra: ns, what corking golf we could play!’ But the talk of these foreigners visiting Washington wasn’t all in light vein. They had much that was serious to say, and they made many speec hes to associations or to groups gathered in one salon or another to hear them. They gave’ opinions on every conceivable subject, and we Washington- jans were considerably surprised by some of their theories. Also, they occasionally astonished one another, I found. There was the Indian, Sastri, for instance, who was a delegate in the British g group. Helectured on Gandhi and his movement; on India and her ambitions. His American audiences found him interesting and exciting of course. Per- sonally I did not care for Sastri. He was icturesque enough in dress, but fat and lazy- ooking, and he seemed to me to have the poses of ademagogue. Certainly he preened himself for the delectation of his many lady admirers. I didn’t go to hear him speak, but he had crowded audiences, and his (Continued on Page 54) ne =a rr gant eS

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—" ae \ cen ee AON TY age . ON EE Ti Ss gate if Ea HUDSON MOTOR CAR H E YS Os L-w ’ ’ OUR GREATEST ACHIEVEMENT IN QUALITY AND PRICE All former Hudson values are surpassed That means much—to excel values which have led fine car sales for six years Yet, everywhere motorists acclaim the fact. Each Hudson model affirms this rightful leadership. For instance, the Coach, a beautiful closed car, costing only 6°) above open models. It meets every essential closéd car requirement, with distinction, comfort, long-wearing quality and handsome appearance. Probably it will give you the very car you want, at a saving of from #800 to $1500. All Hudsons have the new motor—the most Prices Freight ind tax extra Speedster - - - $1645 7-Pass. Phaeton - 81695 THE SATURDAY EVENING talked of Super-Six ever built. It retains all that made the Super-Six famous, refined and developed to a higher point than was ever before possible. What it adds to car perform ance neither words nor comparisons express It is so smooth, quiet and delightful that even Hudson owners marvel at the difference Built in a finer, costlier way—received with a truly wonderful enthusiasm—it might easily justify a substantial increase in price. With out price advance, it is the surpassing Hudson value of all time Just a ride,—and you, too, will gladly confess its charm Coach - - - $1745 Sedan - $2295 COMPANY DETROIT

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 5,1922 Ohillaee Weadery Made in immaculate factories from refined chicle, flavored and sweetened with the highest quality ingredients. Only the best grade of sugar— only the best grade of chicle— only the best of everything— turned out by machines—un- touched by hands in the process. WRIGLEY’S aids digestion— satisfies the desire for sweets— soothes the stomach. Great in benefit, small in cost. WRIGLEY’S is wax-wrapped and sealed air-tight to keep all its goodness and flavor in— and all impurity out. It’s good and good for you! I I \ i ; /h Good 1 | Py

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Get the new WRIGLEY’S P. K. Peppermint-flavored, sugar-coated chewing sweet. 10 for 5c. Delicious. Behe Wrappers hey Are | \UuNreD)) ‘ aOAfT. 1 ; ' j - aamaanneael| > (LUMO) ry ef / ¥ % . . x 4 , j he ? on ; matt ‘ ; HE iv for Valuable + 4 ~ | “emiums ee ) [hen Weathers Hot - WRIGLEY'S _ r # =

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST N AIL. a penny post card tonight for our booklet entitled, ‘‘Care of Automobile Brakes.’’ Learn why effi- cient brakes are so essential to safe and comfortable motoring, whether on the sharp turns and long stretches of country roads or in the heavy jam of city traffic. And remember, whenever you see the outstretched hand, that brakes are saferand last longer with Johns- Manville Non-Burn Asbestos Brake Lining. iN SUT ATION BRAKE LININGS ROOPINGS AC KINGS , JOHNS MANVILLE Ine. Madison Avenue at 41st Street, New York Bran? , Large Cities CANADIAN JOHNS-MANVILLE CO., Ltd., JOHNS-MANVILLE NON ~BURN Asbestos Brake Lining (MENTS (Continued from Page 50) ! | talks were much discussed. They were not especially pro-British and were all about India’s hope to be free some day. I was told he even went so far as to say he hoped Americans would sympathize with this wish and aid India as Ireland had been aided from here! An old friend of mine, an Englishman in the Indian service for many years, was as surprised as I was at Sastri’s attitude and at the tolerance of the British delegates and embassy; and I wondered were they in- different or were they uncertain as to the result of a protest, and afraid therefore to make it. One of the English with whom I had several long and frank talks admitted that the position at home was so critical that almost anything offering a promise of success in straightening out both empire and European problems was welcome; and also he said that no one here realized what a terrible position Europe was in. Yet the British delegation and embassy held themselves with perfect calm and dignity, and presented no sign of trouble. They acted as if they owned the earth, as someone said. France as Frenchmen See Her It was very different with the French. They were openly having endless bother among themselves and at home; and they had a lot to tell about both. They com- plained bitterly of the treatment meted to them with reference to the conference and with reference to their position on all sorts of world questions. Briand, however, was a passing meteor, greatly applauded. Viviani was cordially hated, on the contrary; sys- tematically he made an enemy of everyone who came in contact with him. Jusserand, twenty years a resident in the United States, had many friends, and they were friends of France too. Sarraut was admi- rable, ready to discuss any and all subjects quite openly with a simplicity and calm that are rare ina Latin, and which won him many friends and for his cause much sym- pathy. I had several long talks with him and was much interested in his statement of the French case. He had a common- sense attitude, not sentimental at all; and I found myself agreeing with him and some of his compatriots on various subjects. “France is anti-Bolshevist always,”’ they said, ‘“‘ because there is no logical reason for recognizing a government of criminals who do not keep their word given or their con- tract signed, who do not recognize their debts or others’ rights to property, who try by every means in their power to wreck the governments from which they ask recogni- tion, and who want to trade with neither money nor materials supplied by their own side.” The French claimed propaganda was being made against them in the United States, by the British especially. Most of them thought it was largely France’s own fault, as she had not organized any news- paper campaign and had depended on Foch and the popularity of her delegates, with the friendliness of the Americans, to cham- pion the French cause. ‘‘ Nous sommes des imbéciles toul simplement,”’ said one of their experts, and shrugged his shoulders. I has- tened to assure him that whatever faults they possessed as a nation, they were not considered imbeciles as a rule. “But we are often misunderstood, prin- cess, and I am glad to talk with you, who know us well. It is a curious series of de- velopments, which has brought about in- justice, I think,’’ came from Sarraut as we sat at dinner one evening. “Let me tell you what happens: Americans come to us; seri- ous ones, I mean. They come to study one thing or another, and are well received and | greatly liked by our people of the same castes. They come home fond of France, keep up the friendships they have made, but there is no noise about this. The tourist, and to some extent those who went over to make war or even to aid us, come with money then, lots of it; and they throw it about wastefully, also some act in a noisy way. Our people were always thrifty; so poor that they must work hard, and save pennies—-pennies have built the riches of France-—and after generations of small economies we see thousands of Americans come to work or to play, always with gold to toss about. Our people snap at every chance to gather this harvest, which in their misery they feel is a godsend. Yet the | wastefulness of it all shocks them, and they feel the gold is legitimate prey. Their pride and natidnal vanity are often hurt by | an arrogance which is only seen, of course, August 5,1922 among the vulgar tourists. But those are the ones of your compatriots who make a noise and attract attention, just as these Americans come in contact also only with our worst elements—-the hotel and shop keepers, the race track and theatrical ex- ploiters. Many of these aren’t even French. Foreigners say the French as a people are immoral, too; yet tell me what country holds the family as a unit higher than we French? Among our peasants and our bourgeois, as among our industrial classes, I fancy there are more hearths respected than in other lands, fewer divorces, too; and children grow up protected, directed, educated by both parents together. The same of our deep respect for traditions, and for our parents or elders. I have visited many lands and found no such respect for these things, no such obedience to conven- tions and ideals, as 1 know there are at home in France. “In Paris there is considerable catering to human frailties, but note what small pro- portion of this is French, and how many English, American, South American, Ital- ian and even Oriental travelers come to Paris to amuse themselves, innocently or otherwise. Vice is less brutal perhaps with us than in London, Berlin and New York; for we are light, artistic and gay, even when we misbehave. We attract a cosmopolitan crowd who are jaded; and we amuse them, Those who are shocked and stay in their far-away homes talk of wicked Paris. They know little of the hideous side of their own cities or of the intellectual and virtuous side of France. The latter brings us so many quiet, dignified, fine friends, of whom we are very proud, but who make no noise. They are not often overcharged.” Another took up the tale and said: ‘‘Our people, like all of Europe, are a bit hysteri- cal just now; and our struggle for life and reconstruction is a difficult one. Our poli- tics is bad, too, for it belongs to the gene ral chaos and is governed by the same condi- tions which are making other countries face emergency treatment to recover from four years of war. We have lost our best men, and our richest lands have been de- stroyed; yet in spite of our many problems and failures it seems probable France will recuperate and rebuild rapidly. Everyone is interested, everyone owns property; the pennies will be saved and the people will work hard; and as we get to our feet we shall be better judged by outsiders.” The League of Nations A French journalist said: ‘‘One has to admit France is more generous with her blood than with her francs, but in a period of reconstruction, with debts to pay, this is a virtue!” Afterwards I was asked by an American if I thought that France, rich and prosper- ous, would have sent her armies over here, had we been fighting with our backs against the wall. And in spite of the Lafayette tradition I had to admit it seemed to mea certainty that no Western European nation would have done for us what we did for them in 1917. Natures of nations, like na- tures of individuals, seem greatly to differ. Obviously we all know this, yet we are surprised to find it so when the test comes. Individuals seem to be able to work to- gether in communities, however, in spite of this; even perhaps better because of their varied characters. Yet we expect somehow to have nations give an equal measure of generosity; and where they vary some are called at fault, and everyone complains of them. A league of nations where each country must furnish an equal portion of every needed thing is absurd, but understanding treaties strung around the globe, bringing those who have problems in common to discuss and settle them in peace, seem wise and fairly possible. In one family of chil dren—my own-—rougher treatment had to be given to our boy to prepare him for responsibility and to make his way in life; while our girls, to whom we try to give pro- tection, are saved from blows. So in this nation the farmer in the Northwest and the industrial in New England and the cotton grower of the Southern States all want and need quite different things, and they con- tribute different things also to the general treasury. We cannot measure England, France, Italy, Germany or Russia and the East by our home standards. If we want American ways and comforts we must live here and have them; if we go out to see the world we (Continued on Page 56) se ee nag eae, ety

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ee ee | ee p= hers | q For heavy-duty haul- age the Firestone Giant Solid is the recognized leader to-day as ut has been from the time thus tandard type was first announced by Firestone engineers The Firestone Truck Type Cord rep- resents the highest development in pneu matic truck tire construction he st carcass of gum-dipped cords, the broad flat tread in the effective non-skid pat- tern and the heavy shoulders that pre- vent rut wear are among us features THE SATURDAY EVENING POST am Fr» Be ie a = 7? We gt ~ , e - s\ ye \y =~ x fF pect haulage has entered upon an era of greater useful- ness than any that has gone before. Each season witnesses an increased volume of freight being transported this quick, dependable way. Experts predict an unprecedented turning to this efficient carrier. Firestone Truck Tires put mileage costs on a more reliable economy footing than ever in the past. - 90S EE Be gw ‘Ses a w/ For All Who Ship by Truck New developments in design and con- struction assure more effective cushion and lower mileage no matter how severe the operating conditions. Post yourself on the latest advance- ments in truck tire equipment by calling on the Firestone Service Deal- er in your vicinity. He will show you the complete Firestone line in the latest and most approved types. "Mow Miles per Dollar ireston

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THE SATURDAY Of all things in the years to come, The fun we wont forget, ‘Will be our Mid planer And the ‘gang's’ good old quartet Satisfaction comes only when True Value has been obtained. The STORY STORYeCLARK PLEAVER PIANO gives the satisfaction in design, tone and per- formance that only a fine instrument in the home can give—~and more! A greater satisfaction because through the increasing years the perma- nence of its wonderful quality becomes apparent You can own one now! Its True Ualue— lies in its low price and the easy terms upon which it is sold by our dealers [Have an instrument in your home that every member of your family can play and enjoy Maj and you will receive a beautiful bro- y+ y Mail the chure about our sin dhspet oe oa the [ ‘R FF: coupon details of the term paymentplan "©! “at Instruments of finest quality since 18.57 The Story ¢ Clark Piano Company 7 Chicago ) New York Brooklyn Philadelphia Pittsburgh Detroit | Storye Clark Piano Company ~s1s-317 So. Wabash Ave, Chicago, Ill! { Please send your booklet Name e ae lof designs and name of | nearest dealer. I havea Street | Pianol) APlayer Pianol) City | help the Russian misery were | effort! | the | suffered. | is putting all her strengt | realize. EVENING POST (Continued from Page 54) must take what we find there. Americans offered rich gifts in lives and money during the war; we were awfully hurt at the way these were accepted, the slight gratitude expressed, and—seemingly or actually— our deeds were forgotten and we were even criticized. Russia’s martyrdom is another such case. It is | ly made up of the good inten- tions and misunderstanding of those who were her friends. Americans often judged Russians by themselves at first, while the British thought English methods should apply, and the French theorized in their own way. Yet they all meant well. They fussed and fumed among themselves, too, over Russia, and did all sorts of right and wrong things; but 7 at the wrong time, in the wrong way, and all separately. Enough money and blood effectively to iven; and enough fighting was done to rid the world of this Bolshevik peril which Western Europe is now so anxious about. If it had | all only been given and done by everyone together, in one really wise and well-planned Now each country is wondering why Russians aren’t more grateful, why are starving, and what is the matter with the Russians anyhow. Simply the | matter needs understanding, and in time America is realizing best what the trouble was about, and how much Russia has For some odd reason the ideals and generosities, the feeling of unrecog- nized sacrifice, the wide horizons and the broadmindedness of these two peoples have made them nearer kin than any others are. Everywhere scattered exiled Russians cling to Americans with admiration and deep gratitude. Americans, men and women, who have seen the Russians’ cour- | age and their patience, their faith and energy through martyrdom, have under- | stood them best and have made friends. France now is learning the theory too; into her opposi- tion to the Bolshevists’ political invasion of Europe, and she has taken a share in help- ing the unhappy people exiled in her land. Also, France fed for a long time an army of our war waifs along the Bosporus shore. Other smaller states are doing their small shares. England still stands wavering. A conservative solid group of the best of Eng- land see the dangers. They aid the exiles with their charity and protest against the radicals at home who are pressing the British Government while propaganda from without is threatening. The men at the head, however calm their masks appear, are doubtless anxious, for they show a help- | lessness and weakness that are a most unBritish attitude. Impossible to believe, somehow, that an Anglo-Saxon nation can | be weak. One looks anxiously from day to day to see them put their backs against some wall and fight, and one expects it of | them. The English Spirit I remember during the early years of the war an Englishman in Russia said to me after the news of some disaster came in: ‘It’s annoying, but that’s the way with us. We think war is sport, and till we get a few hard blows we never settle down really to fight. When we do we put ourselves against a wall and attend to business.” “And then you English always win,” I said; and he ke at me with a rather gratefui smile. ‘Well, yes, we generally do,” he answered very quietly. So I’m hoping to see the English and the | French line up together soon and fight the | new enemy. One can’t admit that Euro- pean civilization should go down before the | Bolshevist commune. Somehow my mind refuses to accept de- feat for the Allies, and after the way they | fought during the war I am sure still that they can fight out problems of reconstruc- | tion, putting aside all sophistry and fear and all hysterical idealism impossible to One wishes some genius, a real leader, would arise and take hold of the | tangle, but the war produced none of im- portance over there, while late events seem to have drained the capacities of even the many secondary stars in the European con- stellations. They are too tired, or maybe their world is grown too old. There exists the ancient prophecy of a Slavic apostle from the northeast who is to come and save the world, but Russia’s bed of agony seems unpromising for the fulfill- ment soon of any prediction of the miracle man. There is need of haste too; and eyes August 5,1922 which looked for safety found it some time ago as on their battlefields they watched the arrival of a new type of youth, with cool eyes, calm nerves and implicit confi- dence in himself. He came from a distance to win the war. The older men with these youths, and even their women, all carried aid and this same conviction wherever they were seen; and having done the job they went abroad for, they disappeared again across the seas. They brought and took back their vast baggage and they left a legend in their trail which was undreamed of till then in European lore. It spelled hope and force for all the world to turn to and to count on for the future. I felt this spell of constructive power all winter in the capital, and there, strangely enough, it took expression mostly in the more mature among the American men, those p egypont grouped about the Presi- dent, who carried the nation’s burdens. Typical men, they deserve a chapter to themselves, for they mean the brain and sinew for construction, as much as their President means the normalcy he preaches and he lives. Honors to Madame Curie The reception to Madame Curie, when the President presented her a gram of radium, gift from her American admirers, was an interesting occasion. It was a hot day, late in May, but the lovely old White House looked cool as always, and too noble to shelter any but a dignified, well-ordered crowd. As a matter of fact there wasn’t a large crowd at all; and the guests of the President had space to sit comfortably. In the great East Room chairs had been placed forming a semicircle which faced the win- dows a - the East Facade. There was an aisle left through the middle of the room to a table, whereon lay a box of mahogany containing the precious gift, with engraved dedication and date on a bronze plate fastened to the lid. This heavy casket could not be opened, nor the radium seen by the public. It was like a mysterious Pandora’s box; no one must open it with- out knowledge and wisdom or the contents would burn and kill. Yet packed and iso- lated as it was, the radium was innocent and a tiny bottle made like an hourglass, about two inches high, held as much phos- phorescent salts as represented in size and aspect one gram of radium. It cost one hundred and twenty thousand dollars and was a fit gift to the discoverer of the fairy- like cure for so many ills. She was to use it for the good of suffering humanity, a power her gentle heart rejoiced in. The audience included a few diplomats, among whom were the ambassadors from France and Poland, Madame Curie’s adopted and native lands. There were of- ficials of the new cabinet, too, some army officers in their gay uniforms, and then a collection of scientists and a large number of women, representing those groups who had been instrumental in bringing Madame Curie over here, in entertaining her and in making her this gift. Madame Curie looked into space, quite unconscious of her im- portance or her surroundings. Someone had thrown a scarf of black lace about her shoulders, someone had also chosen her a thin black hat and told her to put it on. She had done so without a mirror, I’m sure, as there was no style at all in the way that hat set. Nevertheless she looked at- tractive, soft, feminine, ethereal and dis- tinguished. Soon double doors were thrown open, the audience rose and the President of the United States came quietly down the aisle. He made a very imposing figure, I thought. Quite tall, broad and strong look- ing, he had a face as powerful as his figure. The brow was fine; he had rather a long nose, with firm mouth and chin, and deep- set eyes that gleamed as he cast a kindly look about. I think everyone has a pleas- ant impression whenever he appears; and he seems very natural always as he speaks. That day the head of the women’s delega- tion made the first address, quite a fine one, giving the history of this movement which had made possible the box lying there and which had brought Madame Curie from France to receive it at the President’s hands. Mr. Harding thanked the speaker for the compliment paid him and then he turned to Madame Curie and said what the radium meant to him—its healing power, the ex- onan of admiration and of friendship to er and to France it was meant for by the women of America. She responded—just a (Continued on Page 58)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST a Lheres a story at your house that KODAK can a Whether or not the leading characters are the children, it 1s enough that the pictures are made at your house. Just this little fact gives them, as far as you and yours are concerned, an interest eternal. It’s all easy the Kodak way. Pleasure from the start—and good pictures. y dutographic Kodaks $0.50 up Eastman Kodak Company, Rochester, N. Y., Ze Kadaé City

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You will never know how comfort- able garters can be until you have worn Pioneer-Brighton Wide-Webs. There is something in the happy combination of soft, pliable weave and wide web of Pioneer-Brighton Wide-Webs that gives a perfect hold with absolute comfort. There is no tightness, no binding. And they are adjustable to your own idea of comlort, Moreover, the superior quality of elastic used in all Pioneer-Brighton Garters, is your surety of longer and more satisfactory wear. Ai the men's wear counter, ask for Pioneer Brightons, inthe smart blue and orange box, Pioneer Suspender Company Philadelphia, Pa. For Pioneer Suspenders Pioneer Belts Pioneer-Urighton Garters [PIONEER } 44 years manufacturers of Single Grip 35¢ up Double Grip 50c 3 | lead pencil in one of his pockets. | ing. | tinuance in the pitch business. THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 56 | few well-chosen words of humble gratitude. She told her desire to use the fine gift well, for the good of those who suffered and for science. The little ceremony was soon ended, and the President stood, with Mrs. Harding b his side, and littlke Madame Curie heoeed, | seated, by the doctor’s order, because she was too ill to stand. We, the audience, filed past this group; and the President and Mrs. Harding cordially shook hands with every guest and heartily bade them welcome. As I came up someone said to Mr. Harding that I had been born in the White House and gave him my maiden name. He smiled as he took my hand. “You belong here, madame, and I am glad to welcome you,” he said. And I replied, “‘I was born here, sir, but I come back now a foreign refugee, a Rus- sian.” “Then you must consider this as your second home, and we shall hope to see you often,’’ was his quick remark. He passed me on to Mrs. Harding, who gave a hearty greeting and introduced me to Madame Curie. The latter was looking dazed, but sud- denly grew attentive when 1 addressed her in French. We exchanged several sentences before other visitors pushed me on down the line, and I shook hands with all the EVENING POST ladies of the committee in charge of the lit- tle scientist. Somehow she and they made a curious contrast. They wereso healthy and efficient and organized; she was such a frail acci- dental lamp, but she gave out a flame, never- theless, which lighted all about her and threw its rays far into the future. Two types, the difference between the Old World and the New, representing some of the things which make it difficult for them to meet on the same footing. These capable, well-dressed, prosperous American women, with their genius of common sense and their practical success, were full of gener- osity and hospitality. They rejoiced in the gift they made from their riches and in the triumphs of their foreign sister, whom they considered a lion among lions. She, coming from a vague drab background where work, privation, fatigue and suffering had pre- dominated always, didn’t feel the success of the moment at all, nor the excitement around herself. She was unconscious of everything about her save her science, and was in rather a hurry to quit the noisy world and go back to her labors for hu- manity. She was somewhat unconscious also of all these kindly individuals. She did know for some unaccountable reason they were putting into her hands power to do more good, to save more humanity, as well as the possibility for her to work, abolishing August 5,1922 future anxiety over the financial side of her life. I kept wondering what at the back of their minds Madame Curie and the Amer- ican women’s committee really thought of one another. ‘I liked and knew both types, but they were a little amusing and a little pathetic to watch together. There were in that grouping the Orient and the West, the heavenly mystic and the worthy of the earth, the practically generous and the generosity which squanders its genius for an ideal and lets money it needs go by without counting the loss. My American compatriots wouldn’t one of them be caught by their early morning visitors—ice men or butcher boys—in the clothes Madame Curie wore to a public dinner or a White House ceremony when she was the central figure; yet they worshiped her and aided her generously. She was immensely grateful, yet won- dered, doubtless, why such a fuss should be made over her. I’m sure though that she liked the President’s simple speech, the tribute of the things he said, and the homage in his rich voice and chivalrous manner. She made a very direct appeal to all the big men about her, I found, yet she was always ready to leave a social func- tion. She seemed so very tired, and I knew she could find rest only in her quiet home and her laboratory. The latter was being fitted up by her American admirers. HIGH PITCH=-LOW PITCH of Ann and Nassau Streets and made the | first authentic pitch in the annals of street | fakery. There was something new about it, some- oy | different. Here was a boy, lecturing on the good qualities of an oil-tempered, bone-handled four-bladed knife, with a sample sharpened to a razor thinness, and the slivers flying in all directions as he whittled a piece of soft pine to demonstrate the cutting ability of an edge which could be purchased for twenty-five cents. The crowd gathered, the crowd watched him whittle; then the crowd bought. Nor was it long before George Stivers scoured the city of New York in vain. The stocks of rusty nonreturnable bargain knives were gone. Then another element entered —again with fortune on the side of the first pitch- man. This time it was another thing to appeal to the boy in man—lead pencils. A big pencil Laherr had burned, with practically every pencil in its stock dam- aged by scorching, blistering or by water. The firm of Stivers & Lehman hurried to | the place and purchased the salvage for almost nothing. Then Stivers went a step higher in his operations. He bought a pusheart, loaded it with pencils, sharpened a dozen or two of them for demonstration | purposes, and began to extol their virtues. Anyone at all who desired to test the writ- ing qualities of the offerings could step | right up and scribble to his heart's desire | on pads furnished for the purpose, and then | buy half a dozen pencils for the price that one would cost in a stationery store. There never was a small boy without a stub of a There never was a man who didn’t feel lost with- out a pencil or a fountain pen. Stivers had bumped headlong into another masculine failing, and a few days later the entire | stock of pencils was gone, while the com- bination of Stivers & Lehman - a gross profit of more than six thousand dollars. By this time Stivers had learned the | psychology of the spiel and of the personal recommendation and demonstration in sell- He held no other ideas than a con- Lehman, having been the backer, and not actively | engaged in the selling, looked on the ven- ture as more of a fluke than anything else, and determined to place his easily acquired wealth in something more sub- ' stantial. So he took his share of the profits, | three thousand dollars, to Chicago, and on | the strength of his cash obtained credit for many times the amount, opening a com- bined notions and dry-goods store. How- | ever, the pitchman idea followed through. | Lehman displayed his goods on tables, with everything before the eyes of the pro- spective purchaser, His stock disappeared, the profits rolled in, and the business ex- panded. - The idea of the tables expanded also into departments. The store which Lehman (Continued from Page 8&8) started is still running, agigantic place where women seek cheap prices in everything from baby buggies to filet lace; and all because a crowd of men once bought bargains at Ann and Nassau streets in slightly damaged lead pencils. So, after all, perhaps the feminine side of the household is right when she says that a woman isn’t any worse than a man when it comes to buying something below cheap. At least she has the alibi that she didn’t start it. None of her gender bought any of the rusty pocketknives which came from the hardware store of Joe Prince. So while the pitch idea was expanding in the dry-goods store it was expanding also in every part of the country. Agile-minded men had seen the possibilities in the game which George Stivers had played—that of bringing the thing to be sold directly before the eyes of the purchaser; of specializing, as it were, and inciting the interest of the buyer by personal contact and the en- hanced interest of demonstration. Within a year the pitch business had become widespread, with hundreds of men carrying little cases of notions, small outfits of cali- coes, dress goods and toys, into various parts of the country, especially the West, where railroads and stores were few, and into the South, where reconstruction, fol- lowing the war, was at its height. Like Topsy, who was famous about that time, the pitch business just grew. The venders found that to interest their prospective patrons they must do something to center their attention. They resorted to mounte- bank methods, sleight-of-hand perform- ances, songs and dances, card tricks and jokes to draw the crowd—and though this may be an enlightened age let it be known that the same things that drew the throngs in those days still draw the crowds today. Curiosity is ever rampant in the human mind, coupled with the idea of getting something for nothing. The man who stops on a street corner to watch a pitch- man tie a hard knot which the harder he ties it the easier it loosens, wants to be amused without paying for it. Nor does he figure that he has paid an admission charge when he walks on, fifteen minutes later, with anything from a patent window cleaner to a tube of gummy, or glass cement, guaranteed to hold broken china together in sun, storm, heat or rainy weather, and not to chip, crack, check or get black in the seams. Of course in the beginning the business was merely one of intensified peddling. The store was brought to the person’s atten- tion, that was all. Specialization was not a general thing. Then a pitchman discov- ered the German double-lever collar but- ton, and the finding of a diamond mine could not have been more remunerative. Why? Even a pitchman cannot ex- plain—despite the fact that he sells them today. The German double-lever collar button had been on the market for twenty years. Men had passed it by in stores with- out a second glance, and remained true to the old-style collar fasteners. Then cne day a man stood with his tripe and keister—which is pitchman slang for a tri- pod and demonstration case or suitcase filled with nothing but double-lever collar buttons. His name long has been forgotten in the maze of those who have claimed the distinction, but the effect still remains, a half century afterward. He had nothing but that collar button and a wonderful agility in taking off his collar and putting it on again. Naturally, there had been many an hour of practice before the mirror—but the crowd didn’t know that. On went the collar—and off it came—like a flash. More than that, stand-up collars could be made in an in- stant to do a strange and unaccountable thing—actually to hold a tie so that it would not ride the back of the wearer's neck. Within a year the man who didn’t wear a double-lever ccllar button was not abreast of the times. And today there are more than a score of old-time pitchmen who are living on the proceeds of their sales of fifty years ago—money derived from a thing that had been on the market nearly a quarter of a century before they discovered it. More than that, there are men who have sold nothing but those double-jointed collar buttons since the day of their entrance into popular use, and who make nearly as much through their demonstrations now as they did when the articles first were put on the market. It was the beginning of a mass of discov- eries. In like fashion the spud peeler—which will peel a potato, take out the eyes, and peel and core an apple, open cans and do a score of other useful things, and which is in nearly every American home today —came into common use, years after its introduc- tion. Safety razors found champions in the men who stood on street corners, shaved with their eyes blindfolded, and gave away a razor every time they cut themselves. Many cheap articles of common use were introduced by pitchmen after the public had walked past them time after time in the various stores—and consistently re- fused to buy. But the strange part is the fact that once a thing is introduced, it doesn’t interfere at all with the continued sale; in fact, it seems the more common the article the more easily is it sold at a bargain price. Of course there is a theory to it all, which, however, best can be explained by an ac- tive member of the clan. “It’s this way,” a pitchman will tell you—confidentially, of course. “The umpcha really doesn’t want to buy any- thing. That ain’t his racket at all. He’s thinking about something entirely different when he comes up to where I’m pitching. The last thing he’s got on his mind, we'll say, is a shave. And I’m selling German (Continued on Page 61)

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ce Why a GOOD tube ?— Because the tube represents a comparatively small investment to protect the return upon a much larger one—the money you have put into your casings. Leaky tubes mean lost mileage. Seldom can you stop and repair a tube injury quickly enough to prevent casing injury. It may not show on the outside but it is there, and in one mile on a soft tire you have cut several hundreds or even thou- sands of miles out of the casing. An old story? Yes, but we shall keep on telling it because it is the truth and we owe it to you to be sure you understand its importance. Why a BIG tube ?—Because if the tube is too small, it is over-distended when you pump up the tire. This stretching opens the tiny pores in the rubber and soon you have a slow leak- age that you don’t notice till the tire has already suffered injury. The SERLING RUBBER C0 ON, OHIO. THE SATURDAY EVENING ot only a GOOD Tube — but a BIG Tube also stretching also causes more heat from friction, the rubber loses its resiliency and the tube is worn out before its time. Put a Seiberling Tube in a Seiber- ling Tire. We want you to get every last mile out of your Seiberling Cords, and we do not like to think that any tube goes into one of our tires except the tube that we know is good enough and big enough, because we made it ourselves and made it not just to be sold but to keep Seiberling Cords in service on the road and out of the re- pair shop as long as possible. Seiberling Tubes are extra large and are made of pure gum, a floating stock. They are laminated, built of thin gum strips.: If a blow-out occurs, they will not rip as some tubes do. Ask your dealer for Seiberling Tubes—ask him, too, what pure gum, floating stock, lamination, and extra size mean to you from his view-point. If you do not find a Seiberling dealer in your community, write us for nearest address at which you can procure Seiberling Cords and Tubes. SEIBERLING RUBBER COMPANY AKRON, OHIO “A Tire that Will be Known Everywhere”’ Seiberling Cords are as good as the best mate- rials and human skill can make them. y's'n NI 30VW EIBERLING

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 5, 1922 All leather, made of genuine full grain Cordo Calf Goodyear Wing foot Rubber Hee/ Goodyear Welt Natural Finished Oak Sole, bringing /onger wear If you have paid more than $6.00 for your shoes you will appreciate a dealer who has voluntarily sacrificed part of his usual profit to give you a famous shoe at a close price. Kvery merchant handling the Selz ‘Six is doing this. Only by this co-operation with uus—for we, too, accept a smaller profit on this leader—can so good a shoe as the Selz ‘Six be offered you at so low a price! increasing patronage has shown every Selz dealer that the public does appreciate and believe in the merchant who seeks larger sales through smaller profits. The sales of the Selz ‘Six—now exceeding any other shoe of its kind—prove this beyond question. Ask your dealer for this special value shoe. If you do not know a Selz dealer, write us. Address Selz, Chicago or Pittsburgh. Twenty-one models to 4 x *y v4 . select from, high or [871 as 1922 low —street or dress ELEVEN FACTORIES—30,000 DEALERS MAKERS OF GOOD SHOES RETAILING AT $s TO $10, INCLUDING THE FAMOUS “ROYAL BLUE” CHICAGO PITTSBURGH

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(Continued from Page 58 safety razors that cost me eighteen dollars a gross, plus the blades, and which are made in straight imitation of one of the makes on the market. You can buy ’em at the store on the corner for forty-five cents. I’m selling ’em for fifty, with a dozen extra blades and a stick of shaving soap thrown in. But, you see, all I’m pay- ing is a reader, or license. No rent, no sal- ary list, no light, heat, taxes, no nothing “But as I say, the umpcha comes along the street with his head in the air and his mind ten miles off. Then he hears me plunk a couple of chords on a banjo. Some- thing for nothing—get me? If he’s a real umpcha and 90 per cent of men are he’ll stop, just to hear what I’m going to play. About that time another fink slides up and ~ Then a couple of shills. ‘A shill, you know, is a capper, or booster. P ractically every hobo is a natural born shill, willing to work any time, and be the first one to buy whatever a pitch- man’s selling. The old game of the sheep following a leader, you know. It’s a part of the pitchm: co game to slip ’em a two-bit piece afterward and return ’em the money for what they’ve bought. So, we'll say, by this time I’ve got three or four saps around me, and I’m talking as hard as I can: *“*Now, gents, I’m going to sing a few songs, tell a few jokes, play a couple of bright, sassy little tunes on the old box here, just for your edification and amusement. Not going to take up much of your time or bother you with a lot of stuff you don’t want to hear. It’s free, boys—you don’t have to buy; no obligation on your part! If you'll just move up a little closer “Get the idea? When I start telling ’em what I’m goin’ to do, that busts in on the entertainment, doesn’t it? Well, while I’m stallin’, a couple more umpchas breeze up, see the crowd and stop. So far I ain’t sung a song, and I ain’t told a joke, I ain’t done a card trick and I ain’t played a tune. If I ever do that I’m lost.” The Pitchman’s Yes Guys That’s all they want, that entertainment. But I’ve got to sell my safety razors. So I play a couple more chords and I welcome what new umpchas have gotten into the crowd. Then I pick up the deck of cards and start to shuffle ‘em, an’ about that time I begin looking for a yes guy. ‘Maybe you don’t know it, but half the men in the world are yes guys. All you've got to do is to put the idea “Get me? in their heads and they'll come right back at you with what you want. Sol \ begin fishing around for a yes guy or two while I’m | shuffling the cards. And } before I get through stalling I’ve found one of 'em. “There he is out in the push with his eyes glued on me. I speak to him—sort of friendly: ‘Howdy, brother.’ ‘Right away he yesses me. Comes back with the greeting. Then I know I’ve got him hooked, and the second step comes. To show you what I mean, every person in the world’s got tucked away somewhere in his head the desire to be an actor. The next time you see an accident, just make a canvass of all the birds who know just how it happened, and see if I ain’t right. Every other guy’ll tell you the whole story, just the way it was pulled off, and maybe he don’t know any more about it than you do. Yes guys and the would-be actors go to- gether. So I slide the cards over into one hand, and pick up the safety-razor case ‘Now,’ I say, and I pump my eyes sort of confidential on the yes guy, ‘you wouldn’t mind helpin’ me out on this little trick, would you?’ “*No,’ says he. It’s right in his head, you know. Then I start working. I hand him the case with the safety razor in it. ***Would you mind examining that care- fully?’ I ask him. ‘Don’t be afraid of it I ain’t selling em. No obligation, brother Being a yes guy he’s more than happy to do it. He’s acting, you see—helping me out in this little card trick I’m going to do; although, of course, he can’t quite get the connection. So he takes the razor out of its case, looks it all over carefully, and the rest of the push, just to be sure that 1 ain't going to A away with anything, crowds up and looks it over too. What they think, I don’t know—but they figure all the time that the razor—chiv, we call it--has some- thing to do with that card trick. The inter- est gets keen, and I look for some more yes guys. So I pass out a few more chivs. ‘“Now, here’s the punch of the thing: These same umpchas that stand there look- ing those chivs over from stem vo stern, probably have passed them by with hardly a look when they’re displayed in store windows. All they see is the price, and it’s cheap compared to the regular price for safeties. The chiv costs me twelve and a half cents, the blades fifteen cents, and a stick of soap two and a half cents. Thirty cents for the whole smear. Every chiv that 1 put out, with blades and soap thrown in, makes me 6624 per cent profit. And five or six dollars a day clear ain’t bad money, even for a pitchman. “‘By this time I’ve got five or six yes guys lookin’ at those razors. I’ve got their interest turned on something else besides that entertain- ment. Most people’ve got a single-track mind—only think The Medicine Pitch is About the Only One of the Hundreds Which Includes Women Among its Patrons THE SATURDAY EVENING POST of one thing atatime. By now half of ’em have forgotten the card trick and are all hooked up with the razors. I’ve accom plished what I wanted, and what the stores haven’t been able todo. I've put those chivs right in front of the umpcha’s eyes, and forced him to see their good qualities. I've gotten his interest aroused in’em—an’ that’s half the battle of selling. Now I goon with the yes guy “*Brother, if I toid you that razor cost me four dollars and a half you'd believe it, wouldn't you?’ Of course he yesses me right back. ‘And if you had to buy a dozen blade for that razor you'd expect to pay a dollar for "em, wouldn’t you?’ “Sure he would, He's a yes guy.” Something for Nothing “*And if I'd tell you I was going to demonstrate these razors by giving ‘em away absolutely free, you'd want one of ‘em, wouldn't you?’ “Did you ever see anybody who wouldn't take something for nothing? Sure he wants one. ‘And you'd want one, too, wouldn't you, brother?’ I’ve picked myself another yes guy. He’s frothing at the mouth for one. Then I find one or two more, and immediately go into my push-over. *** Aw-w-w-w-l-l-l right now, brothers! I shout. ‘l’ve told you I ain’t here to sell these razors. You couldn't buy one of ’em off me if you’d give me ten dollars! I’m here, gentlemen to give 'em away! Here to give 'em away, gentlemen--razors built on the same style and pattern that you'd walk into a store and plank down five dol- lars for.’ “Get that? I don’t say the same kind I tell 'em it’s the same style an’ patterr And I go on: “*So put up your hands, gents. Can't give this free introductory demonstration in less than a dozen lots! Let's have eight more now, gents— just eight more. There's another one—seven more now-—six; an- other sensible gent here now—that’s eight, nine, ten—eleven—one more to make it an even dozen *** And now, gents, just step up here and lay down a half a dollar, fifty cents, two quarters, five thin dimes, for a dozen extra razor blades and a stick of Doctor Lather’s Eucalyptus Oil Creamy Wave Shaving Soap for fifty cents—and I throw in the razor! Right this way—a guaranteed imported safety razor absolutely free!’ “They step up and buy. Why? It’s simple. In the first place, I’ve practically put that razor in their hands, ain't I? Continued on Page 64 A Finer Motor C TheWillsS The Wills Sainte Claire is a finer motor car, because it is finer in design, engineer- ing and workmanship; be- cause its eight-cylinder, overhead-cam- and-valve m NY gives it more power and greater flexibility; Pa its perfect balance gives it easier riding, finer road- ability; its Mo-lyb-den-um hee construction Sainte C makes it stronger i) safer and more *. durable. You go farther, faster and more surely in the Wills Sainte Claire. C. H. Wills & Company Marysville, Michigan

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 5,1922 THE LONG-BELL LUMBER COMPANY providesahome plan service to retail lum- berdealers. There are many home designs to choose from. The one pictured above is LONG-BELL Plan No. 431i. Ask your lum- berman. If he hasn't it, write us and we will give you the names of retail lumbermen in your com- munity where you can see the LONG.BELL piansheets. " on ) | Im | | I Ms,

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{ { } ) | | lumber THE SATURDAY EVENING POST you buy JEW PERSONS take time to give personal JH atention to selecting the lumber to be used in their homes. Yet they in- sist on their favorite brand of shirts or shoes because they know that brand means dependability and maximum quality for the amount spent. You buy shirts and shoes many times in a lifetime, buta home only once. It is your most valued possession. How important then to be sure the lumber is 77¢/¢, because you will live with it always and upon its quality may depend the permanence and beauty of the house. By identifying all its lumber and lumber products with a trade-marked brand, THe Lonc-Bett Lumper Company believes it has helped immeasurably to make lumber buy- ing easier, More convenient and safer for the home builder—to assure him that he is getting full value for the money he pays. To those who say ‘‘all lumber looks alike to me,’’ we point to these facts: Lonc-Bett Lumber has back of it 47 years of honorable enterprise. Lonc-Bett Lumber comes from excep- tional stands of virgin timber; manufac- tured in modern mills. Lonc-Bett Lumber is made by skilled workmen—men who take a personal pride in a product bearing their company’s name. Kach process of manufacture and each step in the grading is under the supervi- sion of experts who work to a standard. Kach log is cut for purposes for which it is best adapted. Lonc-Bett Lumber is of uni- form quality. Lonc-Bewt Lumber ts trade-marked. This means unmistakable identification —the same kind of a buying guide you demand on other merchanatse. Ask Your Lumberman The [onc-ReLt [umber Company R. A. LONG BUILDING Lumbermen Since 1875 KANSAS CITY, MISSOURI Southern Pine Lumber and Timbers; Creosoted Lumber, Timbers, Posts, Poles, Ties, Piling and Wood Blocks; California White Pine Lumber, Sash and Doors, Standerdized Woodwork; Southern Hardwoods, Oak Flooring.

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64 Watch This Column “In the Days of Buffalo Bill” is USED to dream of Buffalo Bill. He was my ideal American hero. He was the essence of Romance. He was scout, plainsman, Indian- fighter, trailer, hunter. He was the most picturesque figure in border history Hederivedhistitle from hisdash- ing raids on the vast herds of buf- falo that roamed the plains of the Northwest in his day. His cunning and courage in Indian warfare made him of inestimable value to the government. That his deeds may live in the American mind, I am producing them in mov ing- pic ture, in a series of thrilling chapters. Itis the most ambitious and expensive thing of the kind Universal has ever done. And every American boy will thrill to the core and see border history as it was enacted. The picture directed by Edward l_aemmle shows over 100 historical char- acters, such as Lincoln, Grant, Stanton, prominent army men of the period, cele- brated Indian chiefs, border ruffians and those determined and fearless men who settled the West. It teems with heroic action, hairbreadth escapes and exciting battles. ART ACORD, a sterling actor of West erns, is the hero, and his remarkable work distinguishes him from the type usually seen in Western plays. The cast is excep tional, and so faithfully has history been followed that you will see with your own eyes many of the heroes you love to read about. Tell the your favorite the patre to get “In the Days of Buffalo hil.” LE’very real American, young and old, will want to see it and ought to see it. ! am delighted with it. And | am proud to be the means of making it for you. CARL LAEMMLE, manager of President UNIVERSAL PICTURES 1600 Broadway, New York City | during the summer months. THE SATURDAY Continued from Page 61 Second place, I’m selling the small article and giving away the big one. What’s more, I’ve got twelve of ’em half obligated by holding up their hands. Now they know they don’t have to buy anything, but by this time they actually want the razor, and they're willing to pay for the blades and the soap to get it. Doesn’t make any dif- ference whether they've got a dozen razors at home, they want this particular one. And all they have to do is to purchase the blades and soap, and the razor is theirs, free for nothing! “So there’s the whole secret. Maybe you'll say it ain’t a high-minded way of selling stuff. But you can’t argue that way with us pitchmen. We look on it as honorable and straight; it’s just a matter of the way you hook the guy’s attention. We don’t see any difference between that and the lady demonstrator in the grocery department who passes you out the swellest cup of coffee that you ever drank in your life, all for the reason that she’s a shark at making it, and because she’s got all the | chemists in the factory behind her to show her just how to get every bit of juice there is in the bean into the consumer's cup and then sells you a pound of the berries and sends you away happy. It’s all the same.” For that matter, there is another line of argument, which the pitchman neglected. This is the fact that there are few forms of demonstration or of selling by the arous- | ing of personal interest the beginning of which cannot be traced back to George Stivers and his rusty knives. When a store holds a style demonstration or a manicure department installs an expert to show you just how your nails should be treated by some new form of cuticle remover; when the grocery department gives away hot biscuits the foundation of which is a cer- tain flour which that department desires to push, or when almost any kind of demon- | stration is staged to interest the public in a given article, a silent and unintentioned tribute is paid to a newsboy of the ’60's with a cigar box full of pocket knives, for the reason that all these things had their origin early in the pitch game, and it was the pitchmen themselves who first started them, through the necessity of making a living when the cold months of winter formed a barrier against their work on the street corners. In fact, were it not for this angle, the pitchman’s game might have withered and died. Things went well with its pioneers But when winter came, even legerdemain and jokes | and card tricks wouldn’t cause half-frozen umpchas to stand in the wind and storm to listen to the merits of the various offerings; with the result that the world of the pitch- man was bleak and bare and full of fore- bodings. Then someone conceived the idea of a pure-food show, and the pitchmen hurried to give their assistance. Within a week the promoters found that it was the booth with the man making the personal appeal which was doing the best business and the vocation of demonstrator thereby came into existence. Why Umpchas Buy However, years have to a certain meas- ure drawn a fairly distinct line between the two fields of effort. The pitchman remains a pitchman the year around unless sheer necessity forces him into the stores to demonstrate. He prefers to follow the sun- shine that he may continue to work on the street corners and where the police indicate, with his eye continually on the main stem, or important business street, but his actual place of effort is more often in the fringes of the actual retail district, owing to the oppo- sition of merchants, who hardly can be blamed for objecting to a man whose sole expense is his reader, or license, selling spud peelers by the gross before their very doors, when they have those same spud peelers in their kitchenware department which refuse to move, even by the dozen. Incidentally the relegation of the pitchmen to the less frequented parts of a town is often blamable upon a member of his own clan—for there is the distinctively crooked pitchman, just as there is the crooked banker or minister. The only difference is that when a dishonest pitchman jams a town the whole fraterr'ty must pay the penalty by finding only a refusal at the city hall when the visit is made to take out the reader, or license, which may run all the way from a dollar a year to ten dollars EVENING POST a day. The town has been closed, and the pitchman is under the ban. Naturally, the pitchmen and their selling methods easily can become a matter of argu- ment. The broad view is that they are shrewd psychologists who outguess the men to whom they sell, and do it by thinking faster than the other fellow. Their game is built largely upon the power of suggestion and extravagant inferences, and along the same principle which the sideshow ballyhoo man uses in inducing a crowd to take a look at the wild man whom it knows beforehand to be a fake, but upon whom it gazes, and goes away satisfied. The shrewd pitcnman merely makes a number of statements from which one can draw his own, and naturally obvious, conclusions. Then he sells the umpcha a cake of soap wrapped in tinfoil for ten cents, guaranteed to remove spots from the clothing, take out grease marks, restore goods to their natural color, and in no manner, shape or form harm or mar the most delicate fabric or destroy the texture, weave or coloring. The only thing about it all is that the price is ten cents for the little cake of soap wrapped in tinfoil, when sold by the fev cy and the same price for ten times the amount of the same soap, minus the tinfoil and the spiel, when bought at the corner grocery. Naturally, the corner- store soap hasn’t been dyed a delicate pink in its reboiling, perfumed with Jockey Club, and sold to the accompaniment of a couple of chords on an out-of-tune banjo. Nor does the grocer take the time to call up a subject, and remove before your very eyes, gentlemen, the spots from a yes guy’s clothing. So, there may be something in the joy of watching the demonstration, in- stead of merely following the directions. Besides, you know, no one is forced to buy. Behold the Gila Monster! In this connection it is the umpcha who does the purchasing, more than the pitch- man who does the selling; more the inter- pretation that the man in the crowd places upon the pitchman’s words than what is actually said. One of my main amuse- ments a year or so ago was to form a part of the push which gathered every afternoon before the tripe and keister of a pitchman on Larimer Street, in Denver, to watch the play of the crowd—and the incidental sale of Doctor Parks’ Infallible Salve, for cuts, wounds, scalds, sunburn, diseases of the skin and cuticle, and the bites of in- sects, man, beast and reptile. The doctor himself, inventor of this famous salve, did the selling. But did he lecture on the ointment in the true form? He did not. On the contrary, flanked by boxes of salve, by pamphlets and pictures of everything from puff adders to boa con- strictors, by stuffed tarantulas and hairy scorpions, the doctor carried as his main exhibit a live and slothful Gila monster, which had been procured from the low- lands of Arizona, and which snoozed away the hours under the wire grating which covered the doctor’s keister, And it was upon this Gila monster, instead of the salve, that the doctor dilated with extremely lucrative results. “I am here this afternoon,” he would announce, ‘‘to present to you the world’s renowned Doctor Parks’ Infallible Salve for cuts, wounds, abrasions, sunburn, dis- eases of the skin and cuticle, injuries to the tender membrane, and the bite of insect, man, beast or reptile. Now, gentlemen, I am not going to bore you with a descrip- tion of this wonderful remedy, I’m not going to take up your time by giving you a long list of medical phrases and pharma- ceutical combinations. But I wish to call your attention to these fierce and ferocious reptiles which repose in and about this exhibition case. “‘I know there is no one among you who is so ignorant as not to know that the bite of the hairy scorpion is deadly poisonous. The next time a scorpion bites you, what would you give for a box of Doctor Parks’ Infallible Salve, which I am retailing to- day for twenty-five cents, a quarter of a dollar? “And the tarantula!” His voice would become higher now. ‘The tarantula, gen- tlemen! Unfortunately, the only specimen which [ have is stuffed, owing to the fact that these beasts cannot live in this rarefied at- mosphere. However, suppose a tarantula should bite you? Eh? Or the deadly rattlesnake, or hooded cobra?” Nor did the fact that it might be neces- sary to take a trip to India to get into active connection with a hooded cobra affect the August 5,1922 crowd at all. It was taken for granted that Doctor Parks’ Infallible Salve would send any cobra writhing back to his lair in thwarted rage or the rattlesnake calling to its mate with the disappointing news that at last there was something more powerful than its venom. About the time that this had thoroughly sunk in, the eminent Doc- tor Parks would round into the main line of his argument. “But, gentlemen, I have something here today which will give you an accurate test of the remarkable curative properties of this wonderful ointment; a real, live, writh- ing Gila monster, the He loderma horridum of the everglades of Old Mexico, the most poisonous reptile known to man or science. If, gentlemen, one drop of the poison from the deadly teeth of the Heloderma horridum, or vicious Gila monster, were to be placed upon a baby’s tongue, the length of life thereafter would not be a greater span than three seconds. Two drops will kill a ten- year-old boy, and three a full-grown man. The Gila monster, gentlemen, famed in fable and story, the most deadly enemy to mortal man ever invented. Here he is! Look him over—the Heloderma horridum, whose bite is instant death, and whose deadly teeth can make a corpse of a strong man in five minutes! Step up and look him over—look him over, the Heloderma hor- ridum, the Gila monster!” Whereupon, led by the usual yes guys, the crowd would look him over through the wire netting, while the Gila monster snored on in peace and quiet. After which: “‘Now, gentlemen, if there is any one among you who has any doubts regarding the efficacy of this marvelous remedy, Doctor Parks’ Infallible Salve, for cuts, bruises and the bite of insect, man, beast or reptile, all he has to do is to stick his finger in there and let this Gila monster bite him. Then cover the wound immediately with Doctor Parks’ Infallible Salve. That’s all, gentlemen—just cover the wound im- mediately. Now if any of you gentlemen would like to make the test—right this way; don’t be afraid, don’t be skeptical! Make your own test and determine for yourself what Doctor Parks’ Infallible Salve will do to the bite of the deadly Gila monster, the Heloderma horridum, the most fearful beast of the reptilian world!” Nobody cared to make the experiment. Nevertheless, everyone had gained the im- pression that the infallible salve was a sure safeguard against anything poisonous. So they made their purchases and went their way, serene and safe against the bite of anything from a New Jersey mosquito to a hooded cobra. The Doctor’s Waterloo Day after day, month after month, it continued, into the hot days of summer. One afternoon the sun blazed particularly strong upon the board which formed the resting place of His Honor, the Heloderma. It brought him very much to life; so much, in fact, that in moving about, the wire netting was displaced. The famous doctor went on with his lecture, meanwhile, ab- sently putting forth a hand to restore the netting. And the Gila monster struck. There was a yelp, weird and racking. An eminent manufacturer of salve leaped wildly, with a mottled Gila monster hang- ing to one thumb. An anguished flip and the thing was dislodged, to fall lumpily and blinking to the pavement, while the doctor seized a brick, murdered his pet Heloderma horridum, and then, disregarding entirely his two gross or so of infallible salve, ran five blocks to the emergency hospital for treatment. A week later he left town, minus a Gila monster and one thumb. But he took his infallible salve; there were other towns and other times, and a true enthusiast never quits. Which brings about the statement of a queer condition of affairs. Twenty-five years ago, before the United States Gov- ernment began to inquire into the various ingredients of patent medicines, one of the main amusements of the small town was the medicine show. Then along came the drug laws, and the great doctors went out of business. Now ice has been a renais- sance, with more medicine shows than ever, and all of them making more money than ever was dreamed of, even in the days when a Kickapoo Indian remedy was sup- posed to cure everything from chilblains to paralysis. More, it is the same old medicine show that it always was. The same old outfit Continued on Page 67)

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____our Book: Send for THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Printing Gets Things Done

Anything You Say Can Be Misunderstood mistakes as bree d , to details, and have no standing as re¢ Oral ordet to date, as cords. Almost as bad are instructions on any old sheet of paper which cannot be instantly Written on a no doubt identified as ins tructions., } printed form, there 1 about an Instruction. Iigures in. writing are. fre que ntly misread. On a form the words in print are always a ¢ luc to the proper answer. : In verbal instructions a detail may be for gotten. The printed form has a space where the forgotten detail gets mention and attention. solution to these Practical and certain problems lies in the adoption of the printed form. Done conserve the minutes and prevent Our book, “Printing Gets Things tells and shows how printed forms mistakes Even in the purchase of printed forms, time can be saved and mistakes avoided. HAMMERMILL PAPER Look for this watermark — it is our word of honor to the public

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7 he Things Done : ‘ Bond. You will no twelve colo and that the pap ( write on with eithe: Hamn form, and durab bined with the tay price | tar ly nave mad papel for otce Hammern COMPANY,

forms RIE, The Utility Business Paper print t iw whit isV ft } | “Dp wok, “Prin d on Hammermi wie Vari ill oO pri rT } ( iting tv of color (sets ! I

Memo. from C. W. ADAMS Toe Date Sf-~ Subject Miss Coctiisge, gor Aorrsoune, Booth ou Signed

wee ee > C/ 2 * Figen J 4 ey! “ gs OTIS | {rom JAMI } Memeo it / ja lien 44 Tia f Daagorrle 1 subject © mag? as - eon" 4 ptr Pleas. spate Ley ths Lsaref Siein., e Anat Re ff i te of 14 pe? a Ghee 4 V Memo. from J r. HANNIBAL —_—=

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66 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 5,1922 The Land of Unborn Babies N Maeterlinck’s play — “The Blue Bird,” you see the exquisite Land—all misty blue—where countless babies are waiting their time to be born. As each one’s hour comes, Father Time swings wide the big gate. Out flies the stork with a tiny bundle addressed to Earth. The baby cries lustily at leaving its nest of soft, fleecy clouds—not knowing what kind of an earthly “nest” it will be dropped into. Every baby cannot be born into a luxurious hone— cannot find awaiting it a dainty, hygienic nursery, rivalling in beauty the misty cloud-land. But it is every child’s rightful heritage to be born into a clean, healthful home Happiness dwells. As each child is so born— the community, the nation, and the home are richer. For just as the safety of a building depends upon its foundation of rock or concrete so does the safety of the race depend upon its foundation—the baby. And just as there is no use in repairing a building above, if its foundation be weak, there is no use in hoping to build a strong civilization except through healthy, happy babies. Thousands of babies — die needlessly every year. Thousands of rickety little feet falter along Life’s Highway. Thousands of im- perfect baby-eyes strain to get a clear vision of the wonders that surround them. Thousands of defective ears cannot hear even a mother’s lullaby. where the Blue Bird of And thousands of physically unfit men and women occupy back seats in life, are counted failures—all because of the thousands and thousands of babies who have been denied the birthright of a sanitary and protective home. So that wherever one looks—the need for better homes is apparent. And wherever one listens can be heard the call for such homes from the Land of Unborn Babies. The call is being heard — by the schools and colleges that are establishing classes in homemaking and motherhood; by public nurses and other noble women who are visiting the homes of those who need help and instruction; by the hos- pitals that are holding Baby Clinics. By towns and cities that are holding Baby Weeks and health exhibits; by magazines and newspapers that are publishing articles on pre-natal care. By Congress that has Mothers and Babies Act, under which health boards in every State will be called upon to give information to expectant passed the mothers. All this is merely a beginning The ground has hardly been broken for the Nation’s only safe foundation— healthy babies—each of whom must have its rightful heritage—An Even Chance —a healthy body. The call will not be answered until every mother, every father and every community helps to make better homes in which to welcome visitors from the Land of Un- born Babies. The Metropolitan Life Insurance Company has been working years for improvement in home conditions and surroundings, and re- joices in having helped thereby to reduce materially the death rate of babies and of mothers in childbirth. During this period the death rate from infectious diseases of children has been reduced 37%. The total death rate has been reduced 31.9%. The work of this Company has been of such vital importance to its policy holders and the public that it is publishing the results, with the hope of showing to everyone, every- where, that there is nothing more impor- tant than protecting the people of our land from preventable diseases and unnecessary death. In 1921 the Metropolitan distributed 25,000,000 booklets dealing with the most | important phases of health and disease. It will be glad to furnish, on request, book- lets telling the mother how to prepare for the baby; how to keep the home sanitary; how to protect her children against contagious diseases; how to make the family healthier and happier. HALEY FISKE, President Published by METROPOLITAN LIFE INSURANCE COMPANY—NEW YORK

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Continued from Page 64 with its negro entertainers, its song-and- dance team, its ventriloquists, its monologue artist; with its same eminent doctors, and the same negro push worker out B seomng in the audience, with his same old shout of ‘Sold out ag’i n, doctah! Sold. out ag in! Two mo’ bottles of de Worl’ Famous Indian Kickapoo Herb Remedy, doctah! Sold out ag’in!” There is only y one difference. Where the nostrum of a bygone day was composed irgely of burnt sugar, a medicinal flavor and water, the medicine of today must contain some remedy or tonic properties which will stand the exami: of gov ernment chemists. That is all. The Gov ernment cant rule what is said by a person -—especially if that person is a living testimonial. All it can do is insist, via Leavenworth, Atlanta and other points of interest, that the label of the bottle be a i one regarding the contents and remedial qualities of the medicinal sult is that there are factorie which now do nothing but turn out medi- cines for the various med shows, all of which are pr yore 1 according to the pre- scription of » ph ysician. There are few physicians who d not include in their agent. ine ré prescriptions for ahnost any illness a tonic of some sort So the ine shows gain, with hardly were twenty-five or thirty yea same things hold the inter est of the people th did then, the turnovers of the world; again is it the idea of getting scmnstning for nothing despite all They y see the ente tainment, which Is free tertainment is give that But in the intermission the attention to a few very Terrifying Symptoms One of them is a th in the confidence of the audience immedi- ] tation of the horrible ng which places him penalties e who disregards the pure ood-and-dr ig laws Therefore he couldn't sell them anything that wasn’t right, could he? Of course not! But the audience forgets one important fact a little matter of p ychology and itchman who doesn’t make rha knowledge, studied or ing? The audience rage human is self- uld be a small thing tae ts the person ntlicted upon anyor r conce ed of hapy ness is a sh of miser intern bly sn’t hs o cor e the bil f r a few « ays that it at all, but % te complai oe simple fashion of: " Now I don’t want to frig} ¢ in this assemblage, but if you have spots before the eyes, aching of the eyeballs, sallow skin, lack of luster in the eyes, bad taste in the mouth, lack of digestion, and ing position, Which is done anyone dizziness on arising from a sitt it’s a matter which should be looked after I laint, my dear and is, is one of the gre atest enemies is the at once good frie of the human race. Liver complair e which makes young men and young n old before their time, causing lack n, faulty functioning of the vital d death far before one’s time. rn the anatomical chart to the the natural and the atrophied comp scour¢ wome of ambi organs R ger, WI here tne doc tor ipon Roger turns the chart and lectures upon the sorrows of Now no one wants an atrophied liver, but practically everyone in that audience at some time or other has spots before the eyes, bad taste in the digestion and dizziness on arising. Out goes Roger into the audience ith an armload of medicine. And in a mo- ment more his calls are echoing: ‘‘’ Notheh bottle of de famous Liver Reliever, doctah! Sold out ag’in!”’ So it goes on through the list. There are, indeed, few diseases which have distinc- tively peculiar primary symptoms. Given the proper imaginative aid, simple gas- tritis easily can become appendicitis; in- digestion carries certain heart symptoms; kidney symptoms often are only the result of some violent exercise about which we have forgotten, and so on ad infinitum. Most of us are fundamentally whole, with the exception of minor ailments and an ever-present imagination. However, once inward poisons. mouth, lack of that imagery has started working in the other direction, with its faith placed = tly in a bottle of medicine, the cure art ves Just as quich as the disease came S » about all that devolves upon the emi nent doctor is to cure a disease that doesn’t exist; and when that cure is effected—to come back in six months and do it ali over agai! It all is accomplished through the fact that we are self sy pathists. We e to think that our k life is harder thar that of yone else ‘If our head a hes it is the worst he adache on record If we have the flu we more nearly ap bi death than anyone else who ever slid up to the Great Divide and escaped to tell the story Therefore, when the cure i tected, isn’t y natural that it should be miraculous? And shes one of these r noteworthy, and including four or five major ailments, the doctor prevails upon living and, after that, little more is . { 5 Cl cures is especially come along as a la ly the med ne pit h about y one of the hundreds which in cludes women among its patrons. In prac- lly other form e pitchman’s try fully 95 per cent of the pushes are met One reason for this is the fact that a woman doesn’t like to stand with a crowd of men in the street. This that the ticle beir gso ld n ay be some ahs g for the y ho yusehold or distinctively for wom- ankind However, the absence of women little difference The man us laily buys it to take home and surprise his wife. iccee 1s. The medicine show general rule, to that l he high pitch; i division that most of the cro done. However, let it be sesame that the S} te of » fact victim rhe jam g is he Is led, isa ocial pariah among chme und he i t id ed to the rea of t! n gs best 30Ci€ q with a low pitch—usuall) at d case set up at a street corner is only a merchant, persuading persons to buy goods at a » which gives him an excellent profit. sually these shoddy or imitation; slum, or elry pokes, Or pocketbook The Moribund Chicken Naturally, mediately seized upon as a gold mine a novelty of any sort is in About two years ago some inventi' per on conceived the idea of altering the ipe of an ordinary squawker toy balloon from Its usu | gl ybular hape to that of a chicker with legs and painted wings, a head and a beak, and more, an inclination to wither and to die a squawking death as the air departed. He called it the dying chicker and for two years now, at Forty-second Street and Broadway, New York, sidewall pitchmen have sold ‘aves chickens by the great gross. In the stores they are just so many pieces of limp mibber, awaiting some and take an interest ir them. But on the sidewalk they become living, breathing things, squawking as they expire, and the twenty-five-cent pieces travel into the pitchmen’s tills in a steady one to come alor g strean So the novelties are welcomed, but the tanles he ud e] the A seat? stapies tne spuc peeiers, Yi a Die jointed collar buttons and the rest of the old favorites never fade It is merely a question of profit, and the lack of a general public | nowledge regarding the with which agen roods ca factured. ‘or in ice, a low-pitchmar working a load-up, or big- parcel sale, can sell a beautiful white-rock gold- plated ring, a gold-plated clutch pencil, a safety razor a metal hair comb and case, a rubber belt and a dying chicken, giving you eve from convenience to amusement, all for a dollar—and make more than 100 per ce profit! The rings cost eight dollar and fifty cents a gross, the pen a gross, the razors eighteen dollar ythir £ cils nine dollar a gros THE SATURDAY EVENING POST d seventy-five cents ghteen dollars ; a gross and t lying chickens twelve dollars a gross, making the cost for one of each, a total of about forty-six cents! He sells for profit only. So in many cases do the hig! pitchm or those who work from some sort of « veyance. But often, also, those high pitchmen have s ae Se minds, especially if they’re working what away sitah They also are the But when their method known there always enters that element of tl the play ing upon that desire to get something for nothing. It seems to be rampant in most ot us Of course there is li Or giv rhese are the crooks real money-makers of working e other fellow the usual pretense of entertainment to draw the crowd. Once that is present The high-pitchman looks down from the tonneau of an auto- mobile, which has a driver at the wheel, and the engine running. He picks out his yes gu) The He’s there merely to demonstrate First by all, he wishes the crowd to have : ke of some of the most famous shaving so — ever invented. Where upon he seizes a handful of the soap and begins to throw it out to the waiting ones sudder ly to halt, ang lagrined. “Just a minute t : st a minute What’s the use of being a hog about this? I said I sen aaied t on e of the se out omer, not three or four to That’s no to every cust some, and none to the others. oss naturally h looked around prit, the person with grasping spirit enough to seize three or four cakes of free soap while some e else gets none The pitchman goes on From Soap to Razors ‘Now, nts, while I intended to d nothing of the kind I see I've got to fix this propositior » that € verybody gets a fair to charge you going to give you ; But just to be sure that everybody gets Just one cake of soap, and one only, I’m going to ask all you gents that’ve got this soap to come up here and bad get give me a dime deposit on it " } | yur money back. And anybody else now wants a free sample of this famous -lathering, smooth-shaving soap, just a dime until all > sample are pa Something for not Up comes the dimes and out goe ip. It is insur ance that the rowd to be held until the pit hm achieve ! pyect There IS a dime depo ( eve ike of ap et that soap is free I'he ) the second tep: “Now, gents, ist hold tight to that because that’s ir receipt for that neanwhile”’ le of what not explained a want to draw your attention to what I'm really here to demonstrate today, the finest hollow-ground, smootl lve razor on the llow-groun¢ mooth-edge razor i v market today.” On goes the lecture regarding the mer of the razor, at last veering into a ver carefully prepared lit le “Now bed it a big notion, gent » to do the same with you on these razors that I’) done with the ap I wi ant one of thes e to be in your A. yme, so you can tell bidaten ng much how it get hg Now you”’—and he picks his yes guy—‘‘w vuld you put up a dollar deposit on a five-dollar razor?’ The ye ce goes iy would The infer irough th hat the same thing is about to happen with the razors that hap that the pitchman the razors, sit until they are all mmething for nothing pened with the is going to give asking a dollar de safely distributed merely is working strong in their brains About that time the tcl remembers that he asn’t 1 ed the deposits for that soap He hurries to an a} gy “Gent eg ) pardon. I ain’t re med you your dimes. Now every one ou that got a cake of soap, hold it up! p goes the soay To every holder of a cake, back goes a dime. Then the pitch- man veers swiftly again to those razors “All right now, gents, step right up, lay down a dollar and get a razor. Remember I'm here to treat you right, and to get t and I don’t ire how much it costs me to put ‘em down a dollar for the dey osit t renerail use, } Continued on Page 70 “It Clamps Everywhere’ ? READ- Clamp it on bed or chair; or anywhere WRITE- Clamp it or stand it on your table. SEW- Clamp it on sew ny machine ir table. SHAVE - Clamp it on the mirror or any handy place. | Aesto-Tise Ont ie lamp of a thousand practical u Mor 1S lail | longer you hav t the ha find it ( ! tand A anvwhere at rvwher wh ré you | ‘ P \ . h . home, office, stor All ¢h sate need wher j } , ‘ | , ’ Hun is of ti l ! i i a aon Lit per P cye-strain—1 t N other light *he

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ‘August 5,1922 J Iw! TOP? & GAS, Word trom the WoruD’s LarGeEstT Exclusive Makers of Genuine Silk Hostery Specializing on One Single Style only possible answer to this unprecedented success 1s ILLIONS OF WOMEN have become cus tomers of ours because they have tried Real Silk Fashioned Hosiery and /ike it better than any silk hosiery obtainable. They also much prefer to get their silk hose direét from the fresh, unhandled, daily replenished stocks of the mill itself. Furthermore, they like the advantages of dealing direct with a silk hosiery service expert, right at their very doors. 62% Otherwise, how can you account for the tremen- dous success of the Real Silk Hosiery Mills? Can you imagine a single mammoth silk hosiery institution with a daily capacity of bo, pairs? Remember that this astounding business has been developed abso lutely on the merit of Real Silk Fashioned Hosiery and on the superiority of the Rea/ Silk service system. The quality and service. We haveobserved that W hen anywoman expertent es the genuine silken feel of Re al Silk Fas hioned Hos le ry, and comes to realize from aftual usage how much longer it /asts and how much éetter it fits she becomes an enthusiastic business friend of the local Real Silk Representative, and immediately wants her neighbors and friends to know about the newer and more economical way of getting genuine silk hosiery. kee The finest silk in the world comes from Japan. In Japan today 4000 people are working to produce raw silk for the exclusive use of the Real Silk Hosiery Mills of Indianapolis. Our inspectors, right on the ground, insist that the quality standards of the Real Silk Hosiery Mills be strictly maintained. Every

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| silk worms, crossed to secure silk of maximum ten mulberry In our mills it 1s the same. Here we continue the fight for quality. Our people (the very highest type of native Americans) are viven every approved machine known toexperts in the manu facture of silk hosie ry; and 17 addition, exclusive, superior devices and attachments for

' making silk hosiery finer and better have been devised by us and these devices are not | avatlable to any other manu | facturer. \ Every person in our mills does just one thing with us Specialization rea h its highest peak. | Our people, on their pa { ticular work, are probably f the highe uf paid in the | stlk ho ery } lu ‘ry | x kK * H Our hosiery Sits. Real Silk Fashioned Hosiery invariably conforms perfectly to { the human anatomy. It takes into consideration the natural muscle play— bulging just en where the muscles thicken and tapering with ture over ' the trim ankle and the graceful arch of the instep. These people of ours sculpture sty le and shape into their work—that’s what we mean when we say Fashioned” hosiery. i INDIANAPOLIS, { us BRANCH OFFICES: Akron, Ohio Johnstow a Per . Albany,N.Y. k Mic Pet \ Albu rrgue 1 ! Ale I Pitts , Pa A I Pitts Vi as y Le Ply 1 I Por Little P Long P ( I p K I ) ss I } I kK 4 I Ma t y Mald N | i M = kK 5 M i‘ | Newar b ‘a N B ( New H 7 Niagara Falle,N la | rt i Va Pa aa } : Cumberland, Md. M Pa , W t.1 \ Dallas, Texas Jersey J P i t.P na i

detail is scientifically supervised

the selection of y trees from which the worms Absolutely nothing is left to chance. are sile strength and highest luster; their feeding and care, and the cultivation of the hundreds ef acres of

especl ery This local R v7 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “FROM MILL TO MILLIONS” In order that every the advantages and ioned Hosiery, a Re 1 ocality in the

him mn any peddler. IMPORTANT: it is NEVER sold in retail stores only from our mills way with | le has it}] Office in your locality INARE ire you are «ae u ed, lo al Real Silk REAL SILK HOSIERY MILLS INDIANA wy & HHS “NEVER SOLD IN RETAIL STORES” - vive you the phone nu You can buy a American 1 , . , aily trained and assigned to € f WW? y VA gn OR fo) ¢ Cy ? 12 (>) { . fam Pas WO &/ 4 ° A {> ) 4 { ey Jr J ) Ae FA es VX ny FO - \ \ 474 \¢ A . Yd) LAOS ag ( ¥ 7) . y * ¥m ww Ae we, ga CX? & . ay. ao , ¢ am. ) Cy » Tt fo) \ YO \FA " pe e a r hie \o"} yyo @* » 7 Oo ) t } > ge, > ) 4>Z I oh \,\ > dr a 4 | LA Io VIX CTY j : ( : 7) EY 4) CP) 9) > A) j al A 5 Fa Sy . MY 1\¥ 2) C { yo a @ ; t > ©) VY oO nom ae 2a oo A. ‘ ct { DI 6 2) \ fy “Ey ¥ 3 > LB ry x << -/ Cys )5 7% J x ef, t < 41 VK) s “

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nn Hotels or THE SATURDAY Keep House on a Large Scale Te SUCCEED with their large-scale housekeeping, hotel managers must thoroughly organize all of their work. Where the average housewife has eight or nine rooms to keep neat, a hotel has eight or nine hundred. That’s why a hotel manager could not possibly get along without appropriate trash baskets placed conveniently in each room wher- ever trash may accumulate. There’s a valuable lesson in this for the housekeeper. The eternal “picking things up,” the endless collecting of crumpled papers, bits of lint or string, odds and ends of every description, will automatically stop if you will let the Vul-Cot do your trash-collecting. Vul-Cot Office Baskets have been used for many years. Now an entirely new line of Vul-Cot Receptacles has been added for the home. And the which have made Vul-Cots so famous in offices, hotels and other institutions, are now making them indispensable in that greatest of all institutions—-the home. Same reasons Attached to every Vul-Cot is an abso- lute guarantee to replace any basket that Vul-Cots ; mail you a free AMERICAN VULCANIZED Wilmington, color-booklet illustrates all of the We'll be glad to An interesting you For the School fails in normal service within five years. Made of tough vulcanized fibre, they with- stand the roughest possible usage; they can’t dent or rust like a metal basket, they can’t break like a wicker basket; they can’t chip or crack like an enameled basket; nor can bits of paper and other trash sift through their solid sides and bottom. There is a Vul-Cot for every home need—a smaller basket, neat and trim, for the living room, library and bed room; a large, spacious one for the kitchen; a roomy hamper for the laundry. An attractive basket-weave has been stampe d right into the fibre. And they are finished in colors to harmonize with any of your furniture: a rich brown and a deep green for general use, and light appropriate with white enamel of kitchen, bath room and perhaps some bed rooms. Your favorite department store, sta thonery store, or house furnishings store should now have Vul-Cots in stock. If for some reason you can’t get Vul-Cots in your neighborhood, write us at once, giving us the of your dealer, and we will see that you are supplied. colors nhame gives sizes and many suggestions of their helpfulness to copy. Just ask for it on a postal FIBRE COMPANY Delaware For the Hospital For the Home | VUECOT RECEPTACLES Guaranteed for 5 Years | me! | it'll all come out all right. | know you gave, me twenty dollars! | other game of duplicity, EVENING POST (Continued from Page 67) gents, and get your razor. A razor—ah, one for you!” Someone has passed forward a dollar. Out goes a razor. Then another. About that time someone who hasn’t a dollar hands up a five-dollar bill, expecting a razor and his change. Instead: “And one, two, three, four, five razors to you!” comes the announcement as the pitchman shoves five of the chivs into the bewildered one’s hands, adding before the remonstrance can come: ‘‘That’s so I’ll know just exactly how much money you gave me, brother!” Following which he sights someone with dollar a | a ten-dollar bill, and another with a twenty. Into the hands of one goes ten razors, and to the other twenty. “Just so I'll know how much you gave No need to make change, brother; You’ve got twenty razors. When the time comes I'll Any- body else now? The conviction becomes stronger than ever that the razors are to be given away! Isn’t he merely passing out twenty razors for twenty dollars, just so he’ll know how much money they gave him? More of the crowd become interested now. More dol- lars go up to the pitchman. More razors travel outward. Finally: “All right, now. Has everybody got a razor that wants one? Remember, I took a deposit on the soap and I gave you the soap and returned your deposit. Anybody else? h, a man with a ten-dollar bill. There’s one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten razors for you, brother. Just so I'll know how much you gave me. Everybody supplied? Now, gents, just stand right where you are, and hold those razors up in the air where I can see them. Stand right where you are It is the signal to the man at the wheel. While the various assortments of razors are being lifted into the air the machine gives a lurch as the driver throws it into gear and presses hard on the gas. Before the push can realize it the pitchman is around the corner and gone, leaving every person who has patronized him with one cake of soap, received free, and from one to twenty razors purchased at a dollar apiece. Following which they hurry to police head- quarters. But the jam guy, as = is known | to the clan, already is hurrying for the city limits. The variations of this are many, the most important of which is the give-away pitch, in which there is a wealth of presents until the psychological moment. After that--the beginning is the same as in the but it is worked more thoroughly. The jam worker starts with a small article, sells it for a dime, and then gives back the dime, allowing the purchaser to keep the article. He works swiftly to a dollar—and gives back the dollar. Then he jumps to three dollars and finally to five. Altogether he gives away about a dollar’s worth of goods. But when he reaches the five-dollar mark, and the money has come in, he forgets to give anything back. Instead there comes the signal, and there is a quick get-away, leaving the push with the articles and the pitchman with the money. The Sheet Writer But, as has been mentioned before, these are things that are looked upon with dis- favor, and for a very good reason. After one of these gentle little games of give and take has been held, an order usually goes forth from police headquarters barring all pitchmen from the particular town for anything from a month to a year. And unless a pitchman can obtain a reader he cannot work. He is harassed by every policeman, driven from corner to corner like a hunted thing, and does the only possible thing—leaves town to escape the inevitable arrest. However, there is one form of the pitch- man’s art which is neither straight nor is looked upon with especial disfavor by the rest of the pitch clan—just why cannot be explained. This is the sheet writer. And of all, it would seem, this particular branch would cause more trouble than any. The sheet writer is the outgrowth of a desire on the part of certain magazines of a distinctly low class to obtain subscrip- tions without the slightest worry as to the manner in which it is accomplished. The law forbids magazine publishers to carry subscriptions in arrears for more than one August 5,1922 year, or tosend magazines free. Not until recently did the Government indicate the proportion of the advertised subscription price that the publisher must receive. The result is that magazines of this class, depend- ing upon a certain type of advertisements for their revenue, obtain their subscriptions by the sheet-writer method and the umpchas find themselves paying in the end almost as much for poor magazines as they would by legitimately subscribing for good ones. But to the method: The subscription agent, or sheet writer as he is called, pockets everything he can get above a certain figure, which he must send the magazine and which is sometimes as low as four or five cents for a year’s subscription. He works the main streets of small towns, house-to-house canvasses, and, in fact, any place where he can obtain an interview with the umpcha. Usually it is the fair grounds or the carnival lot, and his work is one of exceedingly clever manipu- lations of words and actions. The umpcha is thinking of nothing save prize hogs or perhaps a ride on the dip-the- dips. He is benign, self-satisfied. Then: “That’s for you, brother!” A fountain pen with a gold band around it, worth all of fifteen cents, is under his nose, and an obliging-appearing person is at the other end. The umpcha gasps, natu- rally. Then comes the second move. Bargain-Loving Umpchas I’ll show you unscrew this “Just a moment, brother; how to work it. See, just little cap and she’s ready towrite. Highest- grade fountain pen on the market, brother, and all yours, free of charge and without cost, as a special premium to the Blank group of magazines. About this time the umpcha recovers his breath. “But I’m not taking those magazines.” “Of course not, brother. What did you say your name was?” It is the old play on the yes guy. The answer comes almost immediately. ‘‘ Don’t think I mentioned it, but it’s Jones.”’ “Ah, Jones, of course. Not Tom Jones, from Meridian?’ “No. Henry Jones, from Breakwater.” “Of course. No street address?” “No; just Breakwater.” While this is going on the sheet writer has taken out his receipt book, written the man’s name and address, and the amount he is to pay, in it, this latter being figured on the spur of the moment, from the appearance of hardness or softness of the individual. Then he digresses and pulls from his pocket three or four magazines. ‘Thanks very much.” He folds the receipt. “I’ve put you down for these three magazines for two years. Of course you wouldn’t mind paying the postage? Practically nothing, you know. Three mag- azines for two years each, a total of six years of the best reading in the United States!”’ The umpcha doesn’t stop to figure. A mere matter of postage seems infinitesimal. Besides, the sheet writer has reached into a pocket and brought forth a handful of small change, planting a similar idea in the mind of the other man. Out comes a dol- lar. The sheet writer takes it, adding ‘Just three-forty more, brother.” In nine cases out of ten the money is forthcoming. It all is done so swiftly that the umpcha has time to think only of the fact that he has received a fountain pen and three magazines for two years abso- lutely free and that he is paying only the postage. If he makes the mistake of bring- ing forth a five-dollar bill he receives his change and pockets it without a true reali- zation of how much he has spent. ‘There now, brother, there’s your re- ceipt, so you'll know that you’ve got the magazines coming to you and to show to the postman in case he thinks the postage hasn't been paid!” Whereupon the umpcha wanders blankly on, not even stopping to think that postage is paid at the source, and the sheet writer searches for another victim. But withal, in the land of the pitchman, it is to his credit that the main revenue seems to come through shrewdness and not chicanery. He talks faster, works quicker and thinks more swiftly than the man to whom he sells—and they say there’s a premium on brains. And, incidentally, if in the reading of this you have found that you at some time during your life have played the umpcha, don’t let it worry you. Yours is the company of almost every other bargain- loving man in the United States

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) , These are the days of all days for Van Camp’s ( Pork and Beans. For luncheons, for picnics, for dinners —ever ready, hot or cold. It is the national dish—the best loved, hearty tood you know. Evervbody welcomes it, and few get it often enough. We bring it to you baked by experts—an incom i parable creation. And a dozen cans on the shelf means ba a dozen dinners ready at your call. A new-style dish f) Not **like mother used t ake’’ not ike others 1 bake today. Me gern culinar art has developed a vastly better way to bake beans ! In old times, beans were not even half-baked, so th were hard to digest. They were baked in ope dishes, so much of the q flavor escaped. They were boiled in hard water, so the skins were tough. Some were crisped, some mush al! through faulty baking. } Such pork ar {1 beans were for sturdy stomachs ht q was nota very tempting dish. Few homes served it more than once a week. An expert creation ¥ In the Van Camp kitchens, many experts have i i worked for years to perfect this premier dish. Famous i ; ; THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Summer Dinners | Ever ready—Baked in Van Camp’s matchless way them to di Van Camp's A Gift To Housewives Van Camp Products Co Indianapolis, Indiana Why Van Camp's? } LUS¢ chets, coliege-trained cooks, Gomestic s x re all have given it their best Ihe beans are grown or gen. Bach lot is analyzed before w art ft The water = ag oe i en 2 . beca minerals make skins tough I} ak { eam i h the stea I} I t hig plied with ing r con ! i AiV, ar pe Ihe 4 i ma i f omparing countles Th pork, the sauce ind t bea! are i Dar gether hey are bake c " flay r car rar I tango. the vect ar na in escape ne ing, M i i\ permeate every bear The dish of millions This dish has won n ! new delights It ha brought t peopie a ik I Now a mammoth mod: he f the world Nas been ltto KeeyT re pp If you n’tknow Van Ca r ( pare | h other i} beans \ ! ed It y u ¢ k vw Va ( ny n har te 1V ‘ ng itl La plenty with you wher amy Cans to serve 2, 3 and § Other Van Camp Products include Tomato Souf Chile Con Carne Salad Dressing Vustard Dressing Catsup, Etc., Et Spaghetti Evaporated Milk Peanut Butter

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 5,1922 THE GATE OPENS Continued from Page 16) forgot this passage. Kate helped him to for- get; nothing in his string ran like the Bronx branch. So, when the war was over, when Mr. Gowdy came back with his wound stripes and his captain’s bars to take a place directly under Barrows in the head branch, Kate stayed on—even had her salary raised. The savings—now all in Liberty Bonds were mounting into the thousands. Externally even, Kate was only first cousin to the girl who had stood staring at a white glove on the night Mike Naugh- ton died. She was passing, now, into her middle twenties, and looked older. But this maturity became her. Except for her eyes and her hair, she had not been pretty in her teens. Her nose, fine but a little too | long, her mouth with its thin-rimmed tri- angle of red under a short upper lip, her round forehead —only character could give them beauty. Those years of a hard, self- | disciplined life crowned with success had Controlled Heat" Why dont you ask Williams ? wre intense interest, Mr. Jones watched every move as Wiiliams, the steam fitter, and Jim, his helper, in- stalled the radiators in the new house next door. Mr. Jones was planning a new home of his own. “What's that, Williams?” he asked pointing. ‘This Valve?’ said Williams. ‘‘Why it’s part of this new ‘Controlled Heat.’ Touch this handle and it regulates the amount of steam in the radiator—gives you just the heat you want in the room.”’ *“*Mean to say you can have any temperature you want in any room?” ‘Absolutely! Living room 70°. Bed room 65°, any way you want ‘em. Ata touch of your finger!”’ “tum! That ought to save coal bills!"’ “Sure it does! You never have more heat than you want ina room. Not a bit of coal wasted in this system; it only generates: heat as needed. Why! Mr. Jones, if people would take the trouble to investigate, we wouldn't install anything but ‘Controlled Heat.’ Would we, Jim?”’ ‘*Nope!”’ said Jim. Jim was right and Williams was right! The more thor- oughly you investigate the more certain you are to choose “Controlled Heat.’’ To help you in making your decision we have prepared an interesting booklet called ‘‘Controlled Heat.’’ Send for this booklet today! HOFFMAN SPECIALTY CoO., Inc. Main Office and Factory, Waterbury, Conn. | less time for courses in the Y.W.C = | on Sundays, more work, more reading |} twice a | everything to Baldy, granted them that final touch. -New pa- trons of Barrows’ found themselves looking past the milkmaid charms of very young | waitresses to this woman, always so busy about the cashier’s desk or the counter. Though she could smile pleasantly enough when explaining to a captious customer why the steak was late, she had usually a brisk professional air that choked in- cipient love words in the very throat of the Bronx Lothario. A little hard on others, she was hardest of all on herself. When she became mana- ger she found it live in a better room, to buy a few clothes. She had but under guidance of the Still was her life as rigid work, reading, church Its lights were those evenings when she sat down to tell that afternoon once a fortnight when she took from her box in the branch post office his letter in return. She had committed the extravagance of that box lest the regular arrival of a coarse yellow envelope postmarked from a prison town should betray her at her rooming house or the shop. Luck and the immensi- necessary to she read much English teacher. and ruled asa nun’s only golden week | ties of New York had guarded her secret so far as she knew. No one had identified her as the siren of that minor murder case which had its little day in the newspapers. The old life, save for the one not disagree- able fact of Baldy, was growing a little dim. She need no longer keep her mind shut to the memory of that evening in a back room. It was effacing itself-—-with | one exception. Kate was shopping in a department Across an aisle two counters away a figure passed in the crowd, for a moment clearly revealed, then blotted out by the shelves. Was it-— Dolly? Eyes like slits between the black smudges of their make-up, a big gray squirrel coat below, a hat too feathered for shopping above, a kind of assured air tempering that little girlish swing of movement which had always marked Dolly— Kate registered this before the figure disappeared. Kate dropped her bundles on the counter and wriggled through the crowd; there was no squirrel coat in sight. She told herself that she must have heen mistaken; but whenever she thought store. | of this in the fortnight before she forgot, BOSTON CHICAGO NEW YORK LOS ANGELES ~ od Sa HOFFMAN EQUIPMENT ~ for Vapor heat control an uneasy conscience raised a regret that she had not taken Dolly’s address when last they met. They were renovating Barrows’ now after its wartime neglect— almost a vaca- tion for Kate, who had little to do but sit in the place and read. The guard was off | from her eyes when she read; they softened | and let the dreams through. They looked now, as she raised them from The Outline of History, like Highland lakes misted with April. Or so it seemed to Angus Knight, foreman of the painting gang. Little had Angus Knight said to her since he reported to her as boss, heard exactly what was wanted. Angus Knight had in his working hours the true taciturnity of the Scot. But once on the second day he had looked over his shoulder to see her standing above him as he dumped a tin of Prussian blue into a pail of chrome yellow, and “What are you doing?” she had asked. “Making gr-reen paint,’ replied Angus. But instead of turning back to his work he continued to look up, as if awaiting her | next question. ° “‘Oh—do blue and yellow make green?” she asked. The cropped mustache of Angus quivered for a moment with Scotch scorn for the learning of the inferior peoples. Yet there was only a trace of irony in his burr as he answered, ‘‘Usually. If they’re mixed r-right.”” Then he added a littie apologet ically, ‘‘There’ll be two blues in this to get the pr-roper shade.” “Oh!” said Kate, and withdrew to her desk and her book. But her glance now and then traveled to him involuntarily as she rested her eyes from reading. In spite of his heavy work- ing boots he was light and precise of step; his shoulders, for a workingman’s, were singularly erect. He seemed about thirty His face was massive but clean-cut, like the irregularities of a cliff. The jaunty cropped little mustache at first seemed ir odd, almost comical contrast. Then realized that you liked it. She had to pass him again that noon. He was splashing away at board. He looked up; and as though the conversation had never broken he said, ‘‘ And green and yellow can near make black if you understand how. That puz- zles you till you study the spectr-rum.’ “You don’t say replied Kate with any intention of sarcasm but be she did not know what else to sa When he left that night, having that the tools were gathered up, ha given tomorrow’s directions, tersely and emphatically, to his staff of three, he drifted past her on his way to the door. He wa a plain blue suit which set off the br and erectness of his figure; under he carried his overalls in a canva he approached she noticed for thi that a scar ran from the t sandy hair obliquely across |} And still as though the conver been but momentarily broke: marked, ‘‘I used all that, the war.” It was with only formal polite: she answered, “Oh then?” “King’s Own Scottish Bord plied Angus. ‘‘The kilties. the Armistice.” “Oh, you're Scotch then?” “Amer-rican now,” said ‘or soon to be. A mon’ r-republic.”’ The mouth of Angus Knight though he were going to say thought better of it. Then most rudely, he turned away. her a backward glance from heavy brows which spoke a desire for f ther acquaintance, spoke shyness, interest-—-especially interest. She herself looking after him and smiling; s thing about him tenderly stirred thin sense of humor. Next day she was standing by hin as he lined a molding with brown. “Now,” said Angus Knight “‘what would you say was in this color She stood off and regarded it with ing eyes. ‘Yellow,”’ she replied; and isn’t there a little bit of blue?”’ “Good for a beginner,” said Angus. ‘‘ And those br-ricks out there now—what would you say of them?” Kate looked with new which had confronted her from acros street these six years. “Lavender,” she pronounced; and almost to herself, “I never thought of that before.”’ “It’s the kind of thinking that ar-rtists,’"’ complimented Angus “Do you paint pictures too Kate. She was in one of those moment mile posts of life to the intellectually curious, when a gate on vistas of a new world. A picture had always been a picture to her; it was pretty or it wasn’t prett) you just painted it—she had never consid ered how. ‘We all try,” said Angus. “I’ve spoiled much canvas. But I haven't the trick. Only appree-ciation.”’ Then as suddenly as though the cork had been pulled from his conversation Angus Knight bubbled forth into talk wonderful talk, Kate thought, though she but half understood, Such talk as she had never heard from a man before. She caught herself realizing that men must talk this Continued on Page 74 you after- a hase been or 50. roots of you were , S his sudden! >» squint eyes at the wall tne ther makes asked opens

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “You Bet I Want that ) Massage Cream” Traveling or at home, your face needs thorough cleansing and vigorous exercise to keep it young. Washing cannot completely remove the dust and | dirt that works into the pores of your skin. The safest and surest way is to use Pompeian Mas- | sage Cream regularly. It will give you the fresh, glowing color of perfect cleanliness. Clears the Skin: Pompeian Massage Cream thoroughly cleanses all dust and dirt from the pores. It helps clear up blackheads and pimples in the natural, sensible way—by keeping the skin clean and the pores open. f Easy to Use: Rub it in; rub it out. After shaving or washing, apply the Massage Cream to your face. Rub it in gently. Continue rub- bing and immediately it rolls out, bringing with it all the dirt and skin impurities. Result—a clean, healthy skin and clear, glowing color. For a smooth finishing touch, use Pompeian : Fragrance—a delightful new talc. Pompeian Massage Cream . . 60c Special Trial Offer Pompeian Fragrance,atalc. . 30c Jar of Massage Cream; Can of Talcum Powder f For 10c we will send you a Special T | lar of Por At all druggists’ Massage Cream and a miniature can of P Fragrance, a delightful new talcum powder T! packages contain sufficient Massage Cream fot eral invigorating massages and Talc enough for a st tl finishing touch to several weeks’ shave Send { trial packages now. PI! se coupon tenn -cemaneniiiliac. tease Be Dompelan Massage (ream ' ’ } " : Massage (ream ssc onrsoe , ; 4 ay i Gh REAR ARTIC 5 it a porcammmmauat ‘ Make PF: , i ; THE POMPEIAN COMPAN : j rs rf A « nd, OF this Test: Ke j : = As GUARANTEE ' G 7 3 I J I e¢ an i Wash your hands thoroughly. Apply i aa tile nae i ; ” “ : Fragran , ] Pompeian Massage Cream on the back ‘ aa “pore aoe al = a "eae et nt - q of the hand as in the above illustration. pyc hinds ce: Mice plagetata de Mee agetoar ath dpte ont Dat pgm ! Rub gently, but firmly. The darkened, ly pletely np te cg he purchase price will be gladly : / a dirt-laden cream that comes from the 4 refunded by The Pompeian Company, Cleveland, Ohio i ae pores will astonish you. l “4 J Addres ' . —« pe THE POMPEIAN COMPANY, 2049 Payne Avenue, Cleveland, Ohio i ‘ SE ee eae SS © 1922, The Pompeian ¢ Also Made in Canada 5 ci

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tn cabal 2 Ae AR Tb Pri se SATURDAY to insist on Dunlops': The golf ball you use can do a lot to make or mar your sea- son and the pleasure you get from the game. With many new brands of golf balls on the market this year, the player’s game is often hurt by experimentation. always hazard in the recommendation — just got in an order of them. “try out this ball, I’ve The present perfection of Dunlops is the result of more than fifteen years of careful development. larly find it pays to insist on Dunlops. Golfers who play regu- From experience they have learned the reasons why. because because because because because Pitt DUNLOP 162 NOW 85c EACH The largest sell ing Imported Brand of Golf Balls punish ¢ ight are durable. They stand up under ordinary balls. On = the pick up your Dunlop in round with confidence. Dunlops ment that cripples eenth yreen you can shape anothe ¥ good and begin Dunlop are full of distance It is those extra ten or twelve yards on your drive that decide whether it shall be mashie or midiron—a Dunlop will get the yards for you. Dunlops fly straight and are made to stay in the fair-ways. No ball, of course, will make a man shoot straight form is bad, but Dunlops, with their fine construction and perfect balance, will take the margin from the occasional hooks and Ww he se slice S. Many players importance of the accurately ‘| he y re likely to blame need 18 a truly easily deflected Dunlops perform truly on the green. are ignorant of the balanced ball in putting externals when what they ps rfec tly Dunlop. spherical, ball—a balanced, not Dunlops are now only 85c. This price is most un usual when you consider that this is an imported ball of the very highest qualities and sells for only a trifle more than domestic brands and less than most other imported balls. Golfers who realize how much the right ball can add to the season’s enjoyment will in- sist on that ball. And that is why so many golfers who play regularly stston Dunlops. RUBBER CORP’'N OF AMERICA DUNLOP TIRE & Golf Ball Sales 17 East 42nd Street Department New York City Canadian Distribn Dunlop Tire & Rubber Goods Company, Ltd., Toronto, Ont. | a camouflage job to the Italian Front. | again; | ing | with the cooks in the | Kate busied herself seeing that the dishes ry ’ l here S$ | | brushes, | the ia Celt, EVENING POST Continued from Page 72 way sometimes—instead of business and baseball and the chatter of flirtation. It was full of names of men, a few of which she recognized dimly from her reading Raphael, Velasquez, Rubens; of foreign places, almost as dimly recognized. He dwelt long and longingly on Florence. He called it the jewel of cities, as people speak in books. He had taken a three-day leave in Tuscany, he said, when they sent him on She found herself absorbed for a moment in his picture of the jewel town, so that she lost the thread of his talk. When she came back he was saying, “You've seen that, maybe, in your Metro- politan Musee-um—you know it, I sup- pose?’’ “No,” she been there.” He poised his paintbrush and glanced over his shoulder at her, his cool Scotch eye registering a tender scorn. “Pity,” said he; “’tis a liberal educa- tion. Though it’s not the National Gal- lery.”’ Then his flow of talk suddenly froze as a journeyman painter came up to ask for another brush. And on the next day she talked to him and the next. Not always of paint- though at each conversation he tested her eye for color—but of the war and of Edinburgh and London. Saturday came, and a rush in which Angus Knight drove his gang quietly but masterfully to finish the job before noon. He had his luncheon kitchen; and while replied simply, “I’ve never were washed and put away, the kitchen tables scrubbed, the doors and windows locked, Angus Knight took an uncon- scionably long time to gather up paint, ladders and overalls. She was putting on her hat at the mirror behind cashier’s desk when he approached, dressed for the street. His voice caught as he began to speak; she should have taken warning by that. “T thocht,” said Angus, his speech grown suddenly broad, staccato, entirely Scotch, ‘that it’s time you were lookin’ at that Metropolitan Musee-um—if you’ve no plans for the afternoon.” a“ . own breath caught. like said Kate. And then: “I'd In the writing room of the Y. W. (¢ Kate was composing a letter to Baldy. first page, done without difficulty, face down, on the desk before her had started the second three times, up the sheet, put bag, begun again. And this, finally, was what she wrote on the subject nearest to her thoughts: jae The reposed, She torn the fragments into her I've been out once or twice in the past week with Mr. Knight. He's a painter who worked on the restaurant when we renovated. Just to the museum to look at some painting, and to the pictures, ete. It’s the first man I’ve gone any where with since you went away, and I won't even see him again if you tell me you mind one tiny bit. I managed to let him know that I didn’t go out with men regularly—I guess I hinted enough to make him under stand why. My little boy it changed now into a real love letter. Having discharged herself of this, having posted the letter, Kate felt free somehow to accept all Angus Knight's invitations, of which there were three. More and more deeply was Angus Knight revealing himself to her. She knew now of his reading, whose breadth stretched far beyond al: her intellectual horizons; of his farnily in Scotland, about whom he was ten- derly humorous; of his deeper emotions when he went over the top at Loos; even of his religion. Nor did Angus Knight talk entirely about himself. “You've felt that yourself perhaps?” or “Like, you've exper-rienced the same,”’ he would say, and pause, his head cocked on one side, for her answer. These thrusts she parried; and when his delicate tact forbade a longer stop on the subject Angus Knight would perform one of the mental somersaults of a child or attack some remote subject, and talk wonderfully. Sometimes, though, Kate lost the thread of what he was saying Ilogically, | in contemplation of the twinkle in his eye as he took a humorous turn or of the set of his shoulders or the manner in which his clay-blond hair grew from the nape of his neck like a baby’s. But when on Sunday morning she found him in her own church, when he waited for * Knight, August 5,1922 her at the door, when he walked back to the restaurant with her and tour of the zoo in her afternoon realized that the road was becoming dar gerous. Hadn’t he understood her hint? She hesitated—and accepted. 3aldy’s fortnightly letter was overdue. When it came she could decide. In the meantime when you have pulled so long against a hard current it is pleasant to drift a little in a quiet pool. propo ed a le sure, she The letter came in the middle of the week. Her anxieties about his jealousies of Mr. Knight, Baldy dismissed with a tol- erant permission. “ Enjoy yourself. I know you'll play square,”’ he And then Kate forgot this toy worry in the hock the next sentences. “I shouldn’t wonder if I’d see you pretty soon,” he wrote. ‘‘I guess my bit’s about done. The Board of Parole is going meet, and they tell me I stand chance. I've got a good-conduct record because of saving grace, and the chaplai will put in a word for me, besides the boys. That little business proposition | wrote you about before is stirring. A guy will come to see you pretty want to help out do what he Says a as he shows he’s O.K. | day now, but I don’t want to miss chance.” Baldy was coming out. Bald; ing out! Kate, leaning against the t t said. a swell soon. If you soon may be out was com- tier ol mail boxes in the branch po letter crumpled in her hands, r to herself blankly, month perhaps—a Baldy. See him! See Suddenly, ur accountably, the truth tore that ve illusion which she had weaving six years. As though her mind had veloped a photographic plate she hac picture of the Baldy she was goir It was not the Baldy of her pityir That Baldy—white but interesting wit) prison pallor, refined by his religious version—was gone forever. In its place came the old Baldy with his touch of swaggering wickedness which she } ad once sO loved ar d coulk i never ] ve aga ir , wit his good-natured but empty; *, witl his sudden brutalities. } revealing truth came which she had held for some tin admitting it to herself. Baldy been conve rted. The Sc riptural in his letters chanical. He was playing a game for parol: purposes. He w same Baldy. But he was hers her expia ion, her re sponsibility, her burden. She faced it nov Her burden to bear as I live. Then—Angus Knight with his fresi skin, his clear, muscular figure, his wrinkles about the eyes, planted hir on the screen and would not go away She glanced up. The crowd in the | post was beginning to star crumpled the letter into her ’ ried away. But in the stre out again, reread it. Through tl language of a prisoner she struct what Baldy was referring, doubtless, to the had written of that before. Whe out he wanted to go Syrac where people knew him as a boy I his eye on a garage and transfer b With her savings and his he could swing it. That was arranged be- tween them long ago. Why, nov guarded language? Well, happen in prisons. That afternoon the picture of Angus flashing in and out beside th e ture of Baldy, became suddenly flesh blood. He was standing befor with the military set of “his shi tender, humorous light in his eyes. He was sayi ig, “I thought perhaps } like to be goin’ to a show tomorrow ning?” office, the peated thi j mechani ally. In a week—she would sec peen gz to se g fancie were too regular as the lor } } } long aS she should otfice eX} ected her clean in own he thought CUrLOUS eve- No more of Angus Knight! Yet she could not dismiss him there, wit] the whole establishment looking on. And sh siead i not played quite fair with him. She had hinted, and, hinting, had fooled even herself. She owed him something more than an abrupt break—-she had become as involved as that! All this she thought wh looking down at the counter, mechar aranging a plate of doughnuts. “No, not a show,” she said finally. “I ought to go to bed early tomorrow night But I'll walk over to the park with you if you'd Customers, entering, brokein. He merely nodded and withdrew, looking back over (Continued on Page 77

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“You Bet I Want that Massage Cream” Traveling or at home, your face needs thorough cleansing and vigorous exercise to keep it young. Washing cannot completely remove the dust and dirt that works into the pores of your skin. The safest and surest way is to use Pompeian Mas- sage Cream regularly. It will give you the fresh, glowing color of perfect cleanliness. Clears the Skin: Pompeian Massage Cream thoroughly cleanses all dust and dirt from the pores. It helps clear up blackheads and pimples in the natural, sensible way—by keeping the skin clean and the pores open. Easy to Use: Rub it in; rub it out. After shaving or washing, apply the Massage Cream to your face. Rub it in gently. Continue rub- bing and immediately it rolls out, bringing with it all the dirt and skin impurities. Result— clean, healthy skin and clear, glowing color. For a smooth finishing touch, use Pompeian Fragrance—a delightful new talc. Pompeian Massage Cream . . 60c Pompeian Fragrance,atalc. . 30c At all druggists’ Make this Test: Wash your hands thoroughly. Apply Pompeian Massage Cream on the back of the hand as in the above illustration. Rub gently, but firmly. The darkened, dirt-laden cream that comes from the pores will astonish you. pletely THE POMPEIAN COMPANY, - 2 i © 1922, The Pompeian C THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Pompelan The name Pompeian on any package is your guar- antee of quality and safet satisfied, the purchase price will be gladly refunded by The Pompeian Company, Cleveland, Ohio Special Trial Offer Jar of Massage Cream; Can of Talcum Powder For 10c we will send you a Special Trial Jar of Pompeian Massage Cream and a miniature can of I npeian Fragrance, a delightful new talcum powder These trial packages contain sufficient Massage Cream for several invigorating massages and Talc enough for a smooth finishing touch to several weeks’ shave Send t trial packages now. Please u s¢ COUPON Massage (ream rs omsow fg erapermenteatornies arturo op aege eames THE POMPEIAN COMPANY 049 Pa cA e, Cleveland, Ohio GUARANTEE Should you not be com 2049 Payne Avenue, Cleveland, Ohio Also Made in Canada

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SATURDAY to insist cn Dunlops The golf ball you use can do a lot to make or mar your sea- son and the pleasure you get from the game. With many new brands of golf balls on the market this year, the player’s game is often hurt by experimentation. always hazard in the recommendation — ‘ There’s ‘try out this ball, I’ve just got in an order of them. The present perfection of Dunlops is the result of more than fifteen years of careful development. larly find it pays to insist on Dunlops. Golfers who play regu- From experience they have learned the reasons why. because because because because because /DUNLOP. 162 NOW 85c EACH The largest sell ing Imported Brand of Golf Balls | Dunlops are durable. They stand up under punish ment that cripples ordinary balls. On_ the eenth green you can pick up your Dunlop in good another round with confidence. eight and begin shape It is those extra ten that decide whether a Dunlop will get full of distance. arive Dunlops are or twe lve yards on your it shall be mashie or midiron the yards for you. Dunlops fly straight and are made to stay in th fair-ways. No ball, of course, will make a man shoot straight form is bad, but Dunlops, with their fine construction and perfect balance, will take the margin from the occasional hooks and slices. Ww he se Dunlops perform truly on the green. Many players are ignorant of the importance of the accurately balanced ball in putting. They are likely to blame externals when what they need is a truly spherical, not easily deflected ball—a perfectly balanced, Dunlop. Dunlops are now only RS This price Is most un usual when you consider that this is an imported ball of the very highest qualities and sells for only a trie more than domestic brands and less than most other imported balls. Golfers who realize how much the right ball can add to the season’s e njoyment will in- sist on that ball. And that is why so many golfers who play regularly aszston Dunlops. DUNLOP TIRE & RUBBER CORP’N OF AMERICA Golf Ball Sales Department 17 East 42nd Street New York City iadian Distributors & Rubber Goods Company, Ltd., Toronto, Ont. | the EVENING POST ' Continued from Page 72 | way sometimes—instead of business and | baseball and the chatter of flirtation. It | was full of names of men, a few of which she recognized dimly from her reading Raphael, Velasquez, Rubens; of foreign places, almost as dimly recognized. He dwelt long and longingly on Florence. He called it the jewel of cities, as people speak in books. He had taken a three-day leave in Tuscany, he said, when they sent him on | a camouflage job to the Italian Front. She found herself absorbed for a moment in his picture of the jewel town, so that she lost the thread of his talk. | When she came back he was saying, “You've seen that, maybe, in your Metro- | politan Musee-um—you know it, I sup- | pose?”’ | "No," | been there. He poised his paintbrush and glanced over his shoulder at her, his cool Scotch eye registering a tender scorn. “Pity,” said he; ‘“’tis a liberal educa- tion. _ Though it’s not the National Gal- lery. Then his flow of talk suddenly froze as a journeyman painter came up to ask for another brush. And on the next day she talked to him again; and the next. Not always of paint- | ing—though at each conversation he tested her eye for color—but of the war and of Edinburgh and London. Saturday came, and a rush in which Angus Knight drove his gang quietly but masterfully to finish the job before noon. He had his luncheon | with the cooks in the kitchen; and while Kate busied herself seeing that the dishes | were washed and put away, the kitchen tables scrubbed, the doors and windows locked, Angus Knight took an uncon- scionably long time to gather up paint, brushes, ladders and overalls. She was | putting on her hat at the mirror behind cashier’s desk when he approached, dressed for the street. His voice caught as he began to speak; she should have taken warning by that. “T thocht,” said Angus, his speech grown suddenly broad, staccato, entirely Scotch, “that it’s time you were lookin’ at that Metropolitan Musee-um—if you've no plans for the afternoon.” Her own breath caught. like it,”’ said Kate. she replied simply, ‘I’ve never And then: ‘‘I’d In the writing room of the Y. W. A., Kate was composing a letter to Bal« a The first page, done without difficulty, reposed, face down, on the desk before her. She had started the second three times, torn up the sheet, put the fragments into her bag, begun again. And this, finally, was what she wrote on the subject nearest to her thoughts: ‘ve been out once or wice in the past week with Mr. Knight. He's a painter who worked on the restaurant when we renovated. Just to the museum to look at some painting, and to the pictures, etc. It’s the first man I’ve gone anywhere with since you went away, and I won't even see him again if you tell me you mind one tiny bit. I managed to let him know that I didn’t go put with men regularly —I guess I hinted enough to make him under stand why. My little boy Illogically, it changed now into a real love letter. Having discharged herself of this, having posted the potter, Kate felt free somehow to accept all Angus Knight's invitations, of which there were three. More and more deeply was Angus Knight revealing himself to her. She knew now of his reading, whose breadth stretched far beyond all her intellectual horizons; of his family in Scotland, about whom he was ten- derly humorous; of his deeper emotions when he went over the top at Loos; even of his religion. Nor did Angus Knight talk entirely about himself. “You've felt that yourself perhaps?” or “Like, you've exper-rienced the same,” he would say, and pause, his head cocked on one side, for her answer. These thrusts she parried; and when his delicate tact forbade a longer stop on the subject Angus Knight would perform one of the mental somersaults of a child or a Celt, attack some remote subject, and talk wonderfully. Sometimes, though, Kate lost the thread of what he was saying | in contemplation of the twinkle in his eye as he took a humorous turn or of the set of his shoulders or the manner in which his | clay-blond hair grew from the nape of his | neck like a baby’s. | But when on Sunday morning she found | him in her own church, when he waited for August 5,1922 door, when he walked back to the restaurant with her and tour of the zoo in her afternoon realized that the road was becoming da gerous. Hadn’t he understood her hint? She hesitated—and accepted. Jaldy’s fortnightly letter was overdue. When it came she could decide. In the meantime when you have pulled so long hard current it to drift : in a quiet pool. The letter came in the middle week. Her anxieties about his jealousi Mr. Knight, Baldy dismi erant permission. ‘‘ Enjoy yourself you ll play Square ”” he said. And t Kate forgot this tos worry in the the next sentences. “T shouldn’t wonder if I'd see y soon,”’ he wrote. ‘‘] guess my done. The Board of Parole i meet, and they tell me I stk chance. I’ve got a because of saving grace, and the chapla will put in a word for me, besides boys. That little business proposition wrote you about before is stirring. A s will come to see you pretty ; want to help out do what he Say as he shows he’s O.K. I may be out day now, but I don’t want to mi chi ince. B aldy was coming out. Baldy was ing out! Kate, leaning against the t mail boxes in the branch post office, tl letter crumpled in her ha ids, repeated thi to herself blankly, mechanically I month perhaps—a week she would Baldy. See him! See Suddenly, accountably, the — tore that veil illusion which she had been weaving six years. As though her mind had ¢ veloped a photographic plate he had picture of the Baldy she was going It was not the Bal ly of her pitying f That Baldy white but nte! ting Wil prison pallor, refined by his religious cor version—was gone forever. n its pla came the old Baldy with his touch swaggering wickedness which she had so loved and could never love agai his good-natured but empty ch: his sudden brutalities. In that revealing truth came another con which she had held for some time wit] admitting it to herself. Baldy had been converted. The Se riptur il reier in his letters were i chanical. He was playing a game for purposes. He was the same Baldy. But he was hers—her expiation, her re- sponsibility, her burden. She faced it now Her burden to bear as long as she should live. Then—Angus Knight with his f skin, his clear, eer } her at the proposed ad leisure, she against . ] is pieasant SS ed shock good-conduct soon. mnce one too regular figure, his wrinkles about the ry plar ted on the screen and would not go away. She glanced up. The crowd in post office was beginning to star crumpled the letter into her bag ried away. But in the out again, reread it. Through re guarded language of a prisoner she tried to cor struct what Bal dy expected "hes to do. He was referring, to the garage le had written of that When he out he wanted to go clean in where people knew him as his eye on a garage and trar With her savings and hi he could swing it. That v tween them long ago. guarded language? Well, happen in prisons. That afternoon the picture o Knight, flashing in and out be side ture of Baldy, became suddenly blood. He was standing before with the military set of his sh tender, humorous light in his eye He was saying, “‘I thought perhay goin’ to a show tomorr: himse lf street she drew it doubtl Ss, before. a boy. sfer | own like to be ning?” No more of Angus Knight! Yet could not dismiss him there, nt nt the establishment looking on. AY ds] had 1 not played quite fair with him. She had hinted, and, hinting, had fool even herse if. SI e owed him something more than an abrup break—she had become as involved a that! All this she thought while she sat looking down at the counter, mecha aranging a plate of doughnuts. “‘No, not a show,” she said finally. ought to go to bed early tomorrow night But I'll we u Ik over to the park with you if you’d Customers, entering, broke in. nodded and withdrew, Continued on Page 77 nically He merely looking back over

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SS THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Even a Small Business Can Afford Bookkeeping that Pays a Profit p = ——— Td FT a , an } Bu | Pe aa" “Orrye® PRET s a a | ~ e.” = > ‘a = wg “7 : aor. na ~ ' > } ’ i 5 “ . | A 1 , oad wt —: — “You see we haven’t a very big store, but we wouldn’t think of doing business without a Burroughs Bookkeeping Machine “Any business worth running at all ought to make a real profit. “And the owner ought to have some way of knowing every day whether he’s making that profit or not. “But thousands of merchants don’t know, because they think it’s too troublesome and too costly to find out. “Perhaps it is too troublesome by old fashioned methods, but not with the Burroughs Simplified Accounting Plan. It’s the most economical plan I’ve seen, considering what it gives you, and it is certainly easy to operate. “With it I am satisfied that I can afford to own a Burroughs Bookkeeping Machine, and that it would cost me more to do without it than,to have it. “TI believe any Burroughs owner could say the same thing.” C. S. PAXTON General Store Georgetown, III. Burroughs Simplified Accounting Plan is a Profit-Maker It not only enables you to keep all the books you need in a few minutes each day, but it quickly gives you the important figures on your operatior facts which give you a cross section of your business daily —which show you how to make more money on the same capital investment With this Plan and a Burroughs Auto matic Bookkeeping Machine, a clerk can make out a report in a few minutes which shows you at a glance how much money 18 owing you. You can keep each customer's account posted, balanced and proved daily, as well as all your accounts pay eble and general ledger An account need never get out of bounds, for you can watch it daily The machine enables you to keep a daily record of your sales. You can run off totals, classified in any way you like that show which sections of your business | | are not producing as they should In this | Way you can watch turnover—see that stock is moving properly—keep expenses down in proportion to sales. And thi takes but a few minutes daily with « Small Amount Down and Easy Monthly Payments Burroughs! | | } | ed! fe ~, The Machine Soon Pays for Itself In the time saved handling your boo) keeping and miscellaneous figuring a the machine soon returns its cost addition it gives you information which may be worth th ands in business Many owners itself and returr profit t At this rate it pay you pay for it Let how you how ican | apply the Simplified Accounting I your busine with a Bur gl Tele the lo || Use this Coupon —— Burroughs Adding Machine Co. 6050 Second Ave., Detroit, Mich

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST soca

Me a Rae emer

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i { ; { | oe iy i) ae i) \ { ’ f f . U ae Continued from Page 74 his shoulder, the sun wrinkles making at- tractive little creases about his perplexed eyes. As she came up the front steps of her house that night a man stepped from the doorway —a small, neat-stepping man. He spoke to her by name. “I’m from your friend in Auburn,” he said. ‘Wrote to you about me, didn’t he?” ““Come in,” she said simply. She turned up the light in the tiny parlor of the lodging house. They were alone; nevertheless, she closed the door and looked behind the portiéres before motioning him to a seat, drawing her own chair close. He was dressed nattily in a brown suit with a diamond in his purple tie; his face was pale, his long eyes were narrow-lidded and shrewd. He exhaled a faint odor of al- cohol and cigarettes, which recalled Baldy and recalled him disagreeably. Such were to be her associates the rest of her life but he was holding out a letter to her. She shut her imagination and set her mind to business. “IT was to show you this,” he said. It was prison paper; it was Baldy’s hand: Dear Kate: This will be handed you by John B. Comers of Syracuse my partner in the garage business he’s got a fine opening on Street but it will take all you got to hold it until I get out which wont be long now. If you want to do this its a grand chance for us girlie yours with love BALDWIN H. MARTIN. She glanced up into the shrewd eye of Mr. Comers. “The letter’s genuine, of course,”’ she said in her crispest accent, “‘but how do I know you're John B. Comers?” He smiled. She did not like his smile. It was oily. Partner—yes, she must make him an asso- ciate too. ‘*No offense,” said Mr. Comers. ‘‘ Here’s my proof.” He drew from his pocket a chauffeur’s license, with an inartistically accurate pho- tograph of himself. It bore also his signa- ture. Mr. Comers produced a fountain pen, after a fumbling search for paper borrowed the letter, scratched “John B. Comers” on its back, held up the two sig- natures side by side. They matched. Kate nodded her satisfaction. Mr. Comers slipped the license and the letter back into his pocket, and as he did so began to talk: “It’s the best proposition in Syracuse, you see. Three blocks from the business center, you see. Sale of gas alone rs But Kate cut in abruptly: ‘‘How much is wanted? All right. Meet me at three to- morrow by the safety-deposit entrance of the Bronx Mutual Bank.” She was on her way upstairs before she reflected that she should have kept Baldy’s letter. She would ask Mr. Comers for it tomorrow. Still, it mattered little-—in the face of all her perplexities. The fact that by tomorrow night she would have less than a hundred dollars in her bank account figured as the least of these. When Angus mounted to the rooming house she confronted him suddenly from the steps. The shadows of her eyes were moonlit mists; at what he saw there his cheerful ‘Good evening’’ seemed to choke in his throat, and “Is there anything wrong?” he asked. ““No,” replied Kate, and then, ‘ Yes,” and then, “ Let’s walk.” ““Can you tell me?” he inquired. when you’re ready.” “Wait until we can get somewhere alone,” she said. As they stepped along he was turning his head to try to catch a glimpse of the face under her broad hat. Suddenly she spoke; her tone was low, constrained: ‘‘Talk to me. Oh, do please talk!” With a touch of embarrassment making broader his burr, Angus Knight attacked the first subject that flashed through his mind—an old story of camouflage days on the Western Front. He spoke rapidly for him, nervously, with little breaks here and there, as one talks when he is not certain that he has the attention of his auditor. Only once did she look up at him; and then her absent gaze rested not on his eyes but seemed to sweep his brows. They were in the park now. Angus had turned into a bypath, climbing to a hill of artificial rocks. He stopped talking as suddenly as he had begun, spoke no word until they reached a bench half shaded by an elm. “Will you seat yourself?” he said. His voice and hand were both trembling. Or THE SATURDAY She sank down and faced him. Even in the dim, uncertain light he could see how something had drawn her face into the lines of misery. ““ Angus * she began, and stopped. She had never called him by that name | before. And suddenly things seemed to go out of his own control. She was in his em- brace; he was kissing her eyes, her cheeks, her lips. She was returning his kisses. She grew first limp and then stiff in his arms, as though she had melted and then frozen. With a tender but steady thrust she put him away. Her hands flew to her face and she burst into a torrent of weeping. He let her cry. Once he began in Scotch as broad as a moor, as soft as a mist, “‘Lass, bonnie lass ’* but she stopped that with ashake of her head. The storm died away. Angus crammed a clean handkerchief into her hand. “You'll be wantin’ this,” he said. She dried her eyes; but when she began to speak there came a little after-shower of tears, which overflowed on her cheeks with- out choking her voice. ““Oh, why did you do that, Angus?” she asked. ‘I came to tell you the truth, and I guess’’--here for a moment the tears did catch her voice—‘‘I guess I’ve got to tell you the whole truth now. Angus, you must go away from me. I came to tell you that we weren't to go out together any more. I’ve got to tell you now that I’m never to see you again—never, never!” His “Why?” came out of him like a groan from the wounded. “Because I’ve been wicked, wicked because I am wicked now!” “Isthatall?”’ said Angus Knight. ‘“‘Have I been an angel mysel’?”’ “You are not to see me again,”’ she per- sisted. “In this life, maybe,” replied Angus Knight. ‘‘There’s another life as broad as the whole wide world beside my little fin- ger. You an’ I don’t govern that life, lass. When you were made for me an’ I for you, it was ordained that somebody or some- thing else might have you in time, but I’d have you in eternity.” “Till death, then,”’ said Kate. Her voice grew matter of fact. “I’m going to tell you all about it, Angus. I never told it all before. When I’m through, you your- self won’t want to see me any more.” She was surprised, now, at her own calm. Fluently, steadily, in a tone as even as though she were directing operations in the restaurant, she related the story from the moment when she first met Baldy Martin to the latest news— his approaching parole. Angus listened in silence, though now and then she could hear the hiss of a breath sucked through his teeth. She finished and sat twisting his handkerchief in her fingers. And only then did she say a word of excuse for herself: “You see, I never had anybody to tell me what was right and what was wrong. I've had to figure it out for myself. I tried to hint to you—but, oh, I should have done more than that! And I didn’t see until until just lately—that I had no right to let you go with me even as a pal—that I’m almost as good as married.” She looked at him now timidly and for the first time. The distant park lights threw deep shadows along the lines drawn suddenly in his face. He spoke in a tone as low and even as hers: “T understand. I couldn’t love you if you took any other course. But it’s awfu’, awfu’!”” He choked here. ‘And when I looked over my shoulder and saw you standin’ there like a wraith, I knew that what I'd waited for all my days * “Don’t!” she said. “‘Don’t talk of that!’ Angus was silent for a moment, as though giving the subject a long, Scotch considera- tion. “You've got to stick wi’ him—or at least as long as it lasts,’”’ he announced at length. “I see that plain. marryin’ without lovin’—but this is a special case. I'll not trouble you more now, at least.” He paused again. ‘‘Only once more. I'll be dee-visin’ some address where you can always write to me in case you want me—if anything changes or if you need me. If ’tis fifty years and I’m alive—I'll be waitin’ to claim you or to serve you. You believe that, don’t you, lass?” “T believe anything you tell me, Angus,” she said. ‘‘And I promise.’”’ Suddenly she was on her feet. ‘‘It had better be now.” “*Yes,”’ he agreed, and rose too. She held out her hand. He took it, but made no movement to approac h nearer. I’m not for EVENING POST } | | | 77 ‘Ditto is Saving Us $10,000 this Year “Ditto, serving its first year in our organiza- tion, will save us $10,000 or more,” reports the Lincoln National Life Insurance headquarters at Fort Wayne, Ind. This company uses© Ditto for making multi- ple card records of policies, and for duplicating reports and similar data. Formerly, 9 girls could make only 105 sets of card records daily. With* Ditto, § girls make 160 setsevery day. “Errors are eliminated,” says this Ditto user. “All routine runs smoothly with Ditto.” Other Types of Firms Have Other Uses for Ditto In every office or factory, shop or mill, there is work for Ditto right now — work that can be done better, iaster and more economically with “Ditto’s help. All" paper work" needing quick, accurate and legible duplication is best handled by “Ditto, as any “Ditto user will testily From any original that can be typed, written or drawn, Ditto makes up to a hundred facsimiles, All or any part of the original can be speedily duplicated without error Orders, stock records, invoices, bills of lading, reports, ma terial bills—and any of the other thousand -and -one forms needed—are handled by“ Ditto without re-writing More than likely, we can cite you businesses similar to your own that are using “ Ditto with great success Send for the Ditto Book —use the coupon—and learn how you can save with™ Ditto This is Ditto A simple machine that swiftly and economically duplicates all or any part of any data that can be typed, written or drawn. Colors can be used. “Ditto has no carbon paper to pack, no stencil to cut, no type to set. Any bright boy or girl can operate it. “Ditto does not change existing sys tems; it simply improves present methods. 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THE SATURDAY Lverywhere in the Red Pennant Bags Just Dive Into a Bag of Planters Pennant Salted Peanuts the big, crisp kind, so good to eat and so chock full of nourishment. Just the thing to fillthe long gaps between meals and to satisfy that hun- gry feeling after cxercise. There is a particular method of roasting “Pennants” in a combinationof rich vegetable Planters Nut & Chocolate Co. Suffolk, Va. Boston Wilkes-Barre, Pa. New York oils that accounts for their delicious flavor. They're an actual and natural aid to di- gestion because of their high oil content. You can buy “Pennants” any- where in the glassine bags for sc. Eat them daily for hunger and health. Chicago San Francisco PENNANT ‘SALTED PEANUTS | market reports. | page was the inconspicuous item, “‘ Parole | Board Acts.” | eye caught this line: | plucked at his sleeve. | of panic stabbed through | she veiled it in bravado. | “What are you doing up here anyhow? EVENING POST “Your soul will always be mine,” said he. “Go wi’ God.” “Go with God,” she whispered. She dropped his hand, turned and sped down the path. At its foot she weakened, but only for an instant—just long enough | to look back and see that he had sunk down | on the park bench, that his face was bur- | ied in his hands, that his shoulders were | heaving. She had cut the knot just in time. It was next day when, going languidly, ab- sently about her daily routine, she opened the evening newspaper to find the produce- Tucked away on a back She skimmed the text. Her Baldwin H. Martin, convicted in April, 1915, | of the murder of Michael Naughton, He had not written her the news; she | had visited the post office that afternoon. | It was as though he did not want her to know. The spurt of hope that followed this thought warned her of the danger that she might weaken yet. That was why she rushed suddenly to the telephone booth, called up Grand Central, engaged a berth on the night train to Auburn. From the railroad station it is a ten- minute walk to where old Auburn lies in broad gardens behind sweeping elms; but | as though to prove how easy are the paths | of vice | the gray turreted walls, the bars and spikes | of Auburn prison. | she realized that she might be too late. By | the door stood it is only a step to the great doors, As Kate approached a small, intent crowd men, mostly, two of them in Salvation Army uniform, but women here and there. re | The gate clanked, opened; a man stepped out, walked rapidly, jerkily away. One of the Salvation Army uniforms fell in beside him, gesticulating. On the other side, like his bad angel disputing with his good, walked a man in citizen’s clothes who Kate hurried for- ward, The door clanked again —and Baldy stepped into the sunlight. His face was pasty. His shoulders sagged and—he was blotted out by a woman’s figure which came between them. A woman in a smart brown beaver coat and a smarter hat. She had thrown herself into his arms. They were embracing. They fell apart now, and stood looking at each other, he with his arm about her waist, she patting his cheek. The woman was Dolly—a Dolly older by years, leaner, with much hard experience lined under her rouge. Hand in hand they started to walk away—and confronted Kate, waiting in their path. A moment Dolly’s eyes; “Why, look who’s here!” said Dolly. But Kate was addressing herself to Baldy. His face was sullen; in spite of the prison pallor its lines seemed black. “You didn’t tell me you were paroled,” said Kate, “Did you—-did you write it to her?” “Sure. Ain’t she my girl?” he asked. + August 5,1922 ““You know what I’m doing up here,”’ she replied simply. Then a little emotion caught her voice. “I wanted you to go straight, Baldy. You won’t go straight with her. I’ve been good for six years. I’ve saved my money for you—just to make it right —if I could. I killed Mike Naughton as much as you—working you up by flirting with him—I always told you that si “Say,” said Baldy, addressing Dolly, “the kid ain’t stuck on herself, is she?’’ He turned on Kate. ‘I plugged the stiff be- cause he was after Dolly here—see! I was through with you. If you wanted to dream id “And the garage in Syracuse?” put in Kate. “And my money 7 “What garage in Syracuse?” asked Baldy nonchalantly enough. But into his eyes came that look she knew so well as of old years—the one they assumed when he was lying. ‘“‘What money? Dreamin’ again?” Kate’s glance went for the first time to Dolly. It caught a trifling, significant ges- ture. Dolly’s hand had started toward her throat, had stopped halfway. Just above the opening of her waist glittered a diamond in new platinum. “I see,” said Kate. There was not the slightest sarcasm in her voice. It was al- most meditative. “‘I see! That’s why I was never to come up on visitors’ day. I might meet you and *8 A red tide surged up Dolly’s throat caught Baldy by the arm. “*Aw, shake her and come on!” she said. Kate waited while they took two steps, and then sprang forward as by reflex action. Her hands clutched at Baldy’s shoulders She loathed the touch of them, but she held on. He was her burden—she must! Angus would agree with that —she must. “Don’t go with her, Baldy!” she pleaded. “You're a crook for life if you do.” That explosive, blind temper of Martin went off like a blast He whirled, he shook her free; there, in the very presence of the law to which he had been making expiation for six years, he struck her on the face so that she stag gered and fell. “C’mon—get out of this!” drawing him away. Without looking back they hurried down the path. Jim the guard, talking that night with Bob the turnkey, told the rest. I've seen some funny things out by the gate,”’ he said, ‘“‘but this had ’em all skinned. Yes, sir, he hit her —good, snappy jolt—and waltzed off with the other skirt You remember him—a parson’s pet that would slip anything over on you behind your back. Well, I ain’t supposed to pay any attention to what happens after they go out, but when a man hits a woman you know. I run up to her to see if she was hurt before I fixed him. She was on her knees with her hands up to her face—like that—and wouldn’t pay any attention to me at all. She was saying ‘Thank God!’ Over and over just like that—‘ Thank God! Thank God!’” She Saldy cried Dolly, PHOTO. GY THE THATCHER 87 Lake George, New York

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| | McQuay - Norris Wainwright Pistons THE SATURDAY EVENING POST McQUAY-NORRIS PISTON RINGS PISTONS “I’m glad That’s what the car owner says when the cylinders of his motor have been reground or rebored and fitted with McQuay- Norris Piston Rings, Pistons and Pins. You don’t have to buy a new car just because your motor is worn, any more than you would buy a new house just because the roof leaks. Motor wear can be corrected for but a fraction of the cost of a new car. In all parts of the United States, there are now well-equipped shops where cylinder blocks can be reground or rebored and new piston rings, pistons and pins installed. Any good repairman can tell, by measuring your cylinders, if they need regrinding or reboring. Car life will be lengthened many, many thousands of miles by this method. In having a I didn’t trade her in” motor rebuilt, see that its three vital units—piston rings, pistons and pins—are made by McQuay-Norris. You can not add new life to your car if poor cylinder equipment is installed. There are many cases, however, where a car’s cylinders are not badly out of round and where regrinding or reboring is not necessary. Your repairman can tell you what is needed. If new piston rings are all your car needs, he can supply a McQuay-Norris ring—made of Electric Iron—for every purpose and _ price. If the cylinders also need rebuilding, he can install McQuay- Norris Wainwright Pistons and Pins—a complete line espe- cially designed for replacements, in all standard sizes and over-sizes. McQuay-Norris Manufacturing Co., St. Louis, U.S. A. Canadian Factory \eaniRoor—an exclusive two McQuay-Norris Mfg. Co. of Canada, Ltd Superoyl — Keeps lubricating oil Toronto JIFFY- GRIP—a one-piece ving Snap Rings —of the hig 79 Copyright by McQuay-Norris Mfg. Co. 1922. and Pins — gray iron pistons as light in piece design, preventing loss of gas out of combustion chamber. Col Non-butting joint, which can be grade. Raised above the average as safety permits—specially de and comoression Gives equal lects excess oil on each down stroke fitted closer than ordinary step by McQuay-Norris manufactur for replacements -y available in pressure 4t all points on cylinder of piston and empties on each up cut—velvet finish—quick seeting ing methods. Their use insures all standard sizes and over-sizes—also in walls. For all piston grooves ex stroke, which ordinary grooved Seats in a jiffy.” To keep them the eatisfaction possible for you t semi-finished form 75-thous:ndths over cept top, which should have rings cannot do. Each ring packed clean and free from rust, each ring ect from a plain snap ring. They size—pins of special hardened steel, ground . Each ring packed in a in a parchment container. Price is packed in an individual glassine are packed twelve rings to the car to exceptional accuracy Pistons and Pins of quality parchment container Price per ~ $125 In Canada, $1.50 McQUAY-NORRIS PISTON RINGS 7 Ran ans = $100 In Canada, $1.25 envelope. Price per ring— 50c In Canada, 50« ton and And Snap Rings of the SNAP RINGS rolled in waxed paper highest grade & 4d ‘iM NORRIS

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When “Mad Anthony” Wayne Quit Fighting Indians — and in the name of the United States Government made the peace first permit ting our « olonists east of the Alleghanies to trek safely into the great Northwest in that year, 1795, the first Bird product was made. Today, Bird products each 1 its parti ular field ate know! 5 standard mer chandise from Halifax to Portland, Oregon, and from Hudson's Bay to the Rio Grande Bird's Paroid Roofing (Smooth Surface and Slate Surfaced) Bird's Art Craft Roofing Bird's Shingle Design Roofing Bird's Asphalt Shingles Bird’s NEPONSET Black Building Paper Bird’s NEPONSET Wallboard, Cream White Finish Bird's Asphalt Felt Bird's Built-up Roof Bird’s NEPONSET Fiber Shipping Cases and Shoe Cartons Bird’s NEPONSET Felt-Base Printed Rigs and Floor Coverings Bird’s Press Board and Special Papers BIRD'S NEPONSET PRODUCTS Look for this mark when buying floor coverings. itis your guarantee of satisfaction or your money back. SATURDAY EVENING POST August 5, 1922 Bird’s Neponset Rug No. 700, an attractive combi nation of bright blue and delicate yellow flowers, outlined in black on a soft, two-tone gray background OME-KEEPERS today are quickly waking up to the fact that, to equip new rooms or renew old ones, it is no longer necessary to face a heavy expenditure for floor coverings. And Bird’s Neponset Rugs -— inexpensive, beautiful, durable have largely contributed to this awakening. , The sizes in which they come are 6’ x 9’, 7!2’ x 9’, 9 x 1014’ and 9’ x 12’. The prices range from $8.25 to $16.50. Easily cleaned with a damp mop, 100 per cent waterproof and mothproof. Be sure to see these Bird’s Neponset felt-base printed rugs, floor coverings and rug borders at your dealer’s before you spend another dollar on floor coverings. Their suitability for many floors in your home will immediately be apparent to you. BIRD & SON, Inc. Established 1795 | East Walpole, Mass. NEW YORK: 200 Fifth Avenue CHICAGO: 1429 Lytton Building Canadian Office and Plant: Hamilton, Ontario

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE HEART OF THE LOAF be nice? Happy days ahead.” He walked on toward the Mayfield House. “But at that, these little greenbacks sure do feel grateful to the touch.’ For an hour he sat around the lobby of the hotel, hoping for a glimpse of some fa- miliar face, but none appeared. When the dining-room doors were thrown open for lunch he went over and glanced inside. One look discouraged him—that, and the weird uncomfortable feeling in his chest. For his health didn’t seem just right, his geniai spirits of the morning had evaporated, he felt depressed and gloomy. He went up- stairs and lay down on the bed. At three that afternoon he crossed the park and set out up Maple Avenue. His mood had not improved. He was conscious of a silly irritation over nothing, a sudden dissatisfaction with the world which he was accustomed to regard through cheerful, approving eyes. What, he wondered, ailed him anyhow. Under the tallest elms in town lay Maple Avenue, unchanged. Here were the houses of the town’s élite, outmoded piles of brick or stone standing in the midst of beautiful lawns. He came shortly to the Benedict mansion, the finest of all; in the old days it had represented for him wealth and the aristocracy. He smiled to himself as he entered the big gate and strolled up the front walk past a well-remembered cast- iron deer. Della Benedict was reading a novel on the front porch, and Bob felt a little better at sight of her. Another link with his past, and assuredly a link that had greatly improved since he last saw her. He had always liked Dell, though he remembered her as a nervous, spindling girl who moved in a constant whirlwind of energy that was decidedly wearing. He had never thought her pretty, but time and an Eastern college had changed her mightily. Her slenderness was now a rather alluring item in her favor, she had seemingly gained in repose, and you might almost call her—well, if not pretty, at least charming and alive. “*Hello, Dell,” he said. “Hello, Bob.” She gazed at him approv- in gly. ‘Little Bobby’s grown up. either—as far as you've gone.” ‘I’m not going any farther, Dell. Got to like me as I am.” He dropped into a chair beside her. ‘‘You’ve changed, Dell. But you're still wearing it, I see.” “Wearing what?” “Little old freckle on the end of your nose: I was wondering if it would still be there.”’ “What an eye for trifles,’’ she laughed. ‘Trifles,” he said solemnly, “make per- fection, and perfection is no trifle. Got that straight from Mike Angelo. Studied unde or him in Italy.’ “Oh, yes—you and Angelo. artist now, aren t you?” ‘Who Says so? “T read about you in a newspaper. It said you had a lot of talent.” “Did it say I had a lot of money too? You can’t believe all you read in the news- papers, my child. By the way, did that article move you to recommend me for this job?” “Did I do that?” “Didn't you?” “T don’t know—lI forget. Anyhow it isn’t much of a job—not for you. “*My dear girl, it’s a life saver, and I’m mighty grateful. Even the most talented of us must eat now and then. I'll give this Not so bad, Famous assignment my best, to justify your recom- mendation. And I may add that I’m going to enjoy the row.” “Oh,” she smiled. ‘‘ Father told you.” “Yes. Gave me a free ride to the ceme- tery and everything. The old story of the Montagues and Capulets. By the way, who’s playing Romeo? Clarence Ward had a precious son if I’m not mistaken.” “‘Herb Ward,” she answered. “Just graduated from law school—Harvard.” “Oh, yes—little Herb. Pale young shrimp with curls and the air of a crown prince. Used to ride round town in a pony cart. Nearly ran over a dog of mine once, and I pulled him out of the cart and blacked his eye. Them was the happy days.” “You always did have such brutal in- stincts,” she reminded him. “Even now you look more like a boiler maker than an artist. It’s hard to believe. Are you sure you're the Bob Dana who paints?” (Continued from Page 7 “Lead me to my new studio and I'll prove it to you. By the way, your father said A “Oh, yes. Come inside.’’ She led him into a big cool hall. ‘‘You’re the white- haired boy round here—any room in the house you want. That’s orders. Anybody who happens to be established there must be dropped from the window.” “Look out or I'll take your room.”’ He followed her up the stairs and they made the rounds of the second floor. His selec- tion fell on a large guest room with a good north light not too impeded by the trees ““Move everything out—rugs and all,”” h said. “Just a kitchen chair and maybe a little table.” “Tt shall be done, O rajah,’’ laughed Dell. They returned to the upper hall. The girl snapped on an electric ight; illumi- nating a dark corner. ‘“‘By the way, you'd better take a look at that,” she said. She pointed to a crayon portrait of a tired, dyspeptic-looking man in middle age. His lips were a thin line on a thin face, his eyes fishy, his entire aspect chill and bleak and seemingly lacking in all human feeling. “Oh, yes—your grandfather,” said Bob Dana, and his heart sank. For a long mo- ment he and Henry Benedict stared at each other. “TI know what you're thinking,” Dell said. ‘‘ You’re thinking, ‘There's old Eight- per-cent Benedict. I've got to resurrect him, and gosh, how I dread it!’” “You wrong me,”’ Bob smiled. ‘I was just wondering—how do we get from him to you? No connection that I can see.” ‘Thanks for the ad. Well, the least said about poor grandfather the soonest mended. As a tyrant he made the Kaiser look weak. However, do the best you can.” “Your father says he wants a speaking liker ess.” “Heaven forbid!” said Dell. She snapped off the light, and Henry Benedict receded into the shadows. ‘‘I moved him up here myself. Some battle, but I won. We've got a few other photographs—an old tintype, and one of him on his wedding day. He looked quite human then.” “Oh, I'll make out,” Bob told her. “‘Your father has promised to keep a sharp watch on me and tell me when I’m wrong.” “You poor thing I'm afraid he will. Pretty tough for you.” “That's all right,”’ he assured her as he followed her downstairs. “I've got a strong constitution and a cheerful disposition. At least I always did have—up to today. Somehow I feel terribly depressed and mean this afternoon.” ““Why’s that?” “I can’t make out.”’ He held the screen door for her and they returned to the porch. A shaft of sunlight fell across her hair. “Honey!” Bob Dana cried. “W hat?” she inquired, surprised. “‘Honey,” he repeated enthusiastic =. “The color of your hair, I mean. I’ve been trying ever since I saw you again to think what that shade reminded me of. I know now. It’s honey —the sort of honey I used to have for breakfast at a little pension in Rome. Lots of butter, and this honey, and delicious hot rolls Oh, my Lord!” “What now? Bob, you are absurd.”’ “No, I’m not. I just remembered what's wrong with me. This depressed, sad feel- ing. This wave of bitter regret. I ate two of Herman Schall’s rolls for breakfast, and the darned things weren’t half baked.” “Oh,” said Dell, “that’s too bad. But you'll get over it. Only keep off Herman Schall’s bread, fresh every day, Do you really like my hair?”’ “Like it? It’s lovely! As a matter of fact—I don’t want to spoil you, Dell —but you're quite wonderful. I wish it was your portrait I was going to paint.” “Well, I’m father’s favorite child. There are ‘a others, of course, but I’m well in the lead. Maybe after you do grandfather you ‘ll get an order to do me.” “No,” he said, sternly shaking his head. “T couldn’t consider it. Sorry —something else I just remembered. Artist, you know. Can’t support myself, let alone a What I mean is, I’ve got to keep my mind off girls. Not so much as look at one. Dangerous. First thing I knew ‘ “What are you talking about? You don’t for a minute think that I as “No, Dell; no. I mean to say, might get to know you, like you, think better of your whole sex. Go right on from bad to worse, meet some little flapper, fall for the wed- ding idea—another artist gone wrong!”’ “You're in no danger here, my lad,” said Dell. “Shall I tell father you'll punch the time clock in the morning?” “Expect me at nine.”’ “All right I'm afraid you’!] have to put up with me around the house; I live here, you know. But I want to set your mind at rest, so I'll tell you a little secret. Keep it dark. This thing is more like the Capulets and Montagues than you im- agined. I’m engaged to Herbert Ward.” “What! Little Herb Ward?” “Yes. He’s not so bad. The curls are gone and he drives a racing car now. ‘Well, I’m glad,” said Bob grimly “Thanks. I knew you would be.”’ “You don’t understand. I mean I'm glad I blacked his eye that time. I only wish it had been permanent. “You—an artist!’’ she said derisively. “With all those brutal instincts struggling inside you. “Ain't any brutal instincts struggling inside me,” he told her. “Just the little old indigestion I bought from Herman Schall.” And he went from her down the walk, as solemn as the cast-iron deer. a Mg snes wng ed morning at ten o'clock,” said the Evening Tribune some weeks later, “‘the doors of the First National Bank’s new home will be thrown open to the public. The citizens of Mayfield may be pardoned a keen pride in what they will behold. It is doubtful if any city of similar size between New York and Chicago can boast finer banking rooms. Pillars, parti- tions and walls of marble, mahogany paneled rooms for the directors and the presi- dent, in the basement safety vaults of the newest design and construction—all in all a revelation in modern banking quarters a the strains of sweet music discoursed by the Mayfield Silver Clarinet Band the directors and officers will be happy to meet their friends and show them about. It is understood that the chef d’@uvre of the main banking room is to be a portrait of Henry Benedict, the late president of the institu- ion, painted by our talented and up-and- | coming young townsman, Robert Dana, son of the late Melville Dana, well and fa- vorably known to all our people. one, come all’ is the invitation extended by the bank.” At about the time Will Varney’s words were being read by the citizens of May- field Bob Dana sat before his finished job of work in his studio on the second floor of the Benedict house. He looked at the mo- ment neither up nor coming, but rather down and out. The feeling of hopelessness, of doubt concerning his own ability, that all true artists experience at the moment of final achievement was his, and the re- marks of the small but select group of spectators at his back did little to dispel if ‘Well, I don’t know,”’ I igene Benedict was saying dubious) “What do you think, Nellie?” He appealed to his wife, a haughty beauty in her time, but somewh at faded now. She adjusted her glasses and stared-—a famous stare in Mayfield, where she had long been the social arbiter gathered “T don’t know either,”’ she admitted ‘Sometimes I think it looks like father and sometimes I don't.” “My case exactly,’’ said Eugene. “Around the chin—somehow Did you make the chin full Bot », as I suggested?”’ ad think i t's just wonderful,”’ Dell an- nounced. Bob gave he ra grate! il look = I've done my best,’ he said to Fugene. ‘I’ve changed it and changer d it and changed it, day after day, as your opinions altered. Sometimes I think-—you’ll pardon my saying it—that the thing would have been be tte rif I hadn't listened to you quite so much.’ “But we knew father better than you did,”’ Mrs. Benedict reminded him “Yes,"’ Bob sighed wearily “Yet you never did agree on the color of his hair. And as for the eyes—one of you said gray, and another green, and another light blue. It’s what alwe ays happens on this sort of por- trait. I’ve done my best, as I said, and if you don’t like it I’ll be happy to draw a knife through it now, and pay you back that advance when I can.” ‘Come | ISTINCTION — — (What Owning | a Marmon Means all admit it The Marmon’s graceful lines and high- bred appearance give it | style dominance. Performance for years Marmon has yes, been acknowledged a wonderful performer, | easier to handle, speedy, comfortable. | Price? Now $ 318 8 | a new low price for suc h More money can’t buyafiner | car. a superior car. Maintenance? 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THE SATURDAY Cleans INSIDE THERE IS a smaller size Dr. West's Tooth Brush made for children too. Every Mother knows the necessity of teaching them the proper care of the teeth early in life. Dr. West's Tooth Brush is truly a safeguard to good health. It really cleans teeth better. That means that it is designed to clean with ease inside, outside and between the teeth. Glance at the illustrations at the right — follow this method carefully, and you'll not only clean the teeth perfectly but actually improve the condition of the gums. 3. Brush lower TRE WESTERN COMPANY outside up > 402 W. Randolph CHICAGO 1170 Broadway NEW YORK es SIZES ules, 50x c Children 2 sabe by all goed deate supply you, ess On mar Youths, 35« A brush for every member o amily —lettered A to I Cleans OUTSIDE 4. Brush lower inside up “ | dict’s. | . . expected business to look after first. EVENING POST “No, Bob, no!” cried Benedict, alarmed. “It’s not so bad as that, my boy. Perhaps we've given you a wrong impression. We were so close to father, of course we'd be overcritical. It’s not bad—not bad‘at all I'll be mighty glad to hang it. Besides,” he added with the usual tact of-the layman discussing an artist’s work, “the inscription is to be the important thing, after all.” Bob and Della te de a long, under- ” Bob said. ‘That's standing look. “Sure, The inscription will the way to look at it. take off the curse.”’ “Now let’s get down to dinner,”” Eugene ordered. “I’ve got a busy night ahead at the bank. Will you stay, Bob?” “Not tonight, thank you,”’ Bob answered, “Well, I’ll take the picture down in the car tomorrow morning. Drop in about nine and help me hang it. Now, Nellie, let’s get along. Della!’ The two older people left the room. picked up his coat. “Don't you mind them,” smiled Dell. “They don’t know anything about art not even what they like.” “It does resemble the ol’ boy, Dell?” “Bob—it’s uncanny. I’m darn glad it’s going to hang in the bank, and not up here. It would make me nervous.” “Then maybe that newspaper was right. I mean—perhaps I have a little talent.” “A little? Bob—what ails you?” “Oh, I always feel like this just after I’ve finished a thing. Gloomy.” “Then you ought always to have some- one around—someone who thinks you're wonderful.” He stood staring into her eyes. He had been staring into them a good deal of late in the intervals of work; at luncheon, which he had been taking daily with the Benedicts; sometimes at dinner, too; and in the evenings. There had been a period when Eugene urged him warmly to look into Dell’s eyes, Eugene's feeling being that they somewhat resembled Henry Bene- After a thorough investigation Bob denied this. But now the portrait was finished. Bob Dana held open the door of the guest-room studio. **You're wanted at dinner,” he smiled. Dell followed him out onto the front porch. “I suppose you'll be going back East soon?” she inquired. “Yes; in a few days. Bob Got some un- Poor father left me a little plot of land on the north side—the only thing he owned after along, hard struggle. They’re thinking of a factory there, and I may sell it for fabulous wealth. All the money in the world—six thousand dollars.” **Good luck,” she said. ‘‘ You must come | up often until you go.” | “But” “I'll come for my things,”” he told her he shook his head—‘‘that’ll be about all, Dell. That had better be about all.” “Della!” “*Good-by, trait, Bob world.” “Thanks,” he smiled. ‘‘The same goes for you. You've helped me through; I'd have quit cold long ago if you hadn't been hanging around. You see, I'm sort of silly and temperamental in many ways —even if I do look like a boiler maker. Good-by, Dell.” He endured dinner at the Mayfield House, and passed a solemn evening with a magazine in the apartments of the late Mr. Cornell. Premethy at nine in the morn- ing he appeared at the First National Bank. Entering the big front doors he found himself in a fragrant bower of roses and other blooms. “Well, things certainly look festive,’’ he remarked when he encountered the perspir- ing president. He took hold of the tag on a big basket of roses. ‘Compliments of the Mayfield Lumber Company,” he read. Eugene smiled. ‘Yes, everybody whose notes we shold has come across,” he re- marked. “And yet some people say there is no sentiment in business.”” Bob looked at him in sudden wonder. Had little Eu- gene a sense of humor, after all? The banker pointed to the spot where the por- trait was to hang. “Pretty good light, eh? That brass plate shows up fine. I’m glad I had it in big letters. ‘More than any of his contemporaries influenced the life of his times and left his impress on the town.’ That ought to hold Clarence Ward for a while. Now, boys, bring the ladder.” He picked up the portrait and turned to Bob. “All the fellows have looked this over. her mother called. " said Dell. And the por- it’s wonderful. I'll tell the August 5,1922 Say it’s father They’re delighted with it. to the life. Congratulations.’ Bob saw the portrait hung, and collected a check for eight hundred dollars. “Like to have you stay and meet our lead- ing citizens,”’ Eugene suggested. ‘ Might interest you to hear their comments on the picture.” Bob was’alarmed. that?” “Oh, no, of course not.” “Then I think I’d—I'd rather not.” “Funny fellows, these artists,” thought Eugene Benedict. Bob left the bank just as the Mayfield band began to discourse sweet music and the eager citizens were crowding in. From others later he heard of that day’s hz appen- ings. The opening proved a big success, and no small part of the interest shown was accorded Henry Benedict's portrait. But the painting itself, Bob judged, figured only incidentally in the excitement. It was the sentiment on the brass plate underneath that won most comment. Everyone recog- nized it at once for what it was, a direct challenge to the Ward family. The non- combatants were amused and warmed at once to the fray; arguments arose. The spirit seemed to be: ‘Is this a private fight, or can anybody get into it?” Clarence Ward, slim, dignified, gray- haired, with the manner of the law courts, came, all unsuspecting, into the bank about noon. He was standing before the portrait of old Henry Benedict when Eugene emerged from his office on the way to lunch. There, just as the sweet music came to a sudden stop, the two met. The spectators held their breath. “Hello, Clarence,” said Eugene bree zily. “What ¢> you think of our new home?” “Very fine,” admitted Mr. Ward voldly. “I have just been reading the inscription under your father’s portrait.”’ ** Ah, yes,” said Eugene, smiling sweetly. “You ought to write fiction, Eugene,” Mr. Ward advised. “Fiction, I believe, is mostly lies.’’ Eugene flushed. ‘“‘I am not aware of any inaccuracy in that inscription,"’ he said. “A pinch-penny banker!’’ sneered Mr. Ward. ‘ Eight-per-cent Benedict, I believe they called him, though I don’t recall that he was ever satisfied with that modest rate.”’ “That will do!’ “You have insulted the memory,” Mr. Ward went oh, flushing, too, “‘of one of the finest men who ever lived, an ine orruptible judge, an honored member of C ongress ‘A country lawye rwitha alee as broad as a knife blade!” Eugene cut in. “A mill- stone round the neck of progress!’ “Enough!” shouted Mr. Ward. “You started it,’’ the banker said. ‘Boasting on your dead father’s tombstone. Did you think you could get away with that fairy story? Not likely!” “I intend,” interrupted Mr. Ward, “‘to withdraw my personal account from this bank. I shall also withdraw all funds of which I am trustee.” “Withdraw, and be damned to you!” roared Eugene. He turned. and walked from the Mr. Ward -glared after him. The was on. That evening, the warmest of the sum- mer, to date, Bob Dana walked the streets of his native town. His dominant emotion was joy. Henry Benedict was finished; never again need he stare at that horrible crayon portrait, never again writhe in his chair over the problem of Henry’s He had eight hundred dollars in his pocket, he was twenty-five, life stretched before him gay and wonderful. At the corner of Park Avenue and Market Street he narrowly escaped being hit by an automobile. He awoke in time, however, and leaped nimbly to safety. The car ran up to the curb, stopped, and a familiar voice called *“*Whoo-oo!”” “What's the idea?” asked Dell went up to her. “Trying to end it all? gave me a turn, I'll say.” “Sorry,” he apologized. “Just one of those boneheaded pedestrians. You should have run me down. World’s better without my sort. Better for motorists, I mean.” “Hop in,” she ordered. “I'll give you a spin. It will cool your fevered brow.” “Thanks.” He climbed into the seat at her side, and seized his hat just in time as she shot the car off into the night. The cushions were soft, the breeze rushed over (Continued on Page 85) “You don’t insist on ’ Eugene cried. bank. feud eyes, as he You

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They All Like It VRromowaced THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 83 Glecadade Yee “Ko GINGER ALE It’s a happy drink There never was such a friendly drink as Clicquot Club Ginger Ale. You can depend upon it always. Day after day, in summer or winter, in New- port or Los Angeles, the taste never varies. It's a man’s drink and a woman's. Little children love it, and it is kind to them, The fussiest people accept it grate- fully and are perfectly satisfied. The good-natured, easy-going folk, who usually take anything that comes along, ask for, and often insist upon, Clicquot Club Ginger Ale. There is the secret of Clicquot’s popularity— they all like it. But don’t think that the happy blend, the taste of Clic- quot is all. Within every danc- ing drop of the golden liquid is purity itself. The water from which it is made is drawn from springs in cool caverns. No gin- ger but real Jamaica ginger is used; no sugar or fruit juice that is not as pure as can be bought or grown. There are other Clicquot beverages All are pure and good. Besides Ginger Ale, Clicquot makes Sar- saparilla, Birch Beer and Root Beer. We don’t know a better way to tell you how pure and good these drinks are than to say they are worthy companions of Clicquot Club Ginget Ale. Get a few bottles of these flavors when you buy a case of Clicquot Club for the home. THE CLICQUOT CLUB COMPANY, Millis, Mass., U.S.A. Ge (RD wee PATED nfs No ORY Ginger Ale Sarsaparilla Root Beer Birch Beer

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 5,1922 FRICTION GE HEAT primailtive ing flame, big problem the source of 95 blow © Proofed against friction against road burn Make this test E offer you a new day con- ception of tire service, of tire endurance, and invite you to a test by trial. Be convinced by your own experi- ence. Compare by actual use a Brunswick 84% Friction-Proofed tire, with any other tire. We ask only that you pit cord against cord, fabric against fabric. We will rest our case on the results of this test. And you’ll gain a new ideal of tire service, endurance and freedom from worry. Kriction heat the foe of tire life Friction is the foe of tire life. For fric- tion causes heat, and heat destroys rubber. Yet friction is inevitable in gaining road hold. Every touch of the brake multiplies it. Every impulse of the accelerator doubles it. It lessens tire life by half. 95 blowouts in 100 are due to fric- tion heat. Now we offer you an 84% friction-proofed tire that combats it. Cost no more Note this! the 84% Friction-Proofed Brunswick conforms to the stand- ard list. It is delivered to the con- sumer at the price of ordinary tires. Learn the facts about Brunswick Tires. There is a Brunswick dealer near you who will give you careful and earnest service. THE BRUNSWICK- BALKE-COLLENDER CO. General Offices: 623-633 S. Wabash Ave., Chicage Branches in Principal Cities of the United States What 84% friction- proofed means Friction is the enemy of every tire in service—the source of 95 blowcuts in 100. By special process Bruns- wick Tires are 84% friction- proofed. A new conception of tire endurance is thus effected. Service is multi plied. Road troubles reduced to an amazing minimum. RUNSWI TIRES CK 84% Friction-Proofed

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— h | i } (Continued from Page 82 him pleasantly. ‘‘This is elegant,” he said. “And it’s an old story to you. Curse the rich! " “Cut out the cursing,” Dell answered. ‘We had plenty of that at dinner. Father held forth on the subject of Clarence Ward.” “That so? I heard there was quite a little grapple at the bank.” “Sure was! Father’s inscription did the work. He asked for a row, and now he’s got it. I hope he’s satisfied.” “Well, the lad’s jazzed things up. Give him credit. Say, I rather like the moon. Take a look at iy ““No, thanks. I was doing just that when I nearly ran over you. Better keep my eyes on the job.” ‘All right. I'll look at it for you and re- port. It’s a grand old moon, Dell. Same moon I’ve seen shining on the Arno and on the roses that bloom on the long road up to Fiesole. I’ve seen it shining on the Colos- seum and on the Seine and on lovers in the Luxembourg, and from the Embankment watched it silver the roofs of Parliament and Big Ben in his tower. I’ve seen it shin- ing on the Atlantic in the wake of a ship when the band was playing an old- fashioned waltz—and now I've seen it shining on your hair.” “Still fond of honey?’ “Oh, Dell! If I could ile get up in the morning and have those rolis in Rome melt in your mouth, they would, and the golden butter, and that honey! Life, Dell, life has possibilities.” “*You sound rather happy tonight,”’ she said 1. ““Why not? Eight hundred hard-earned dollars in my pocket. Going to put over a big real-estate de al in a di ay or two. Then—there are a few places I haven't caught that old moon shining, and thank God the boats still run.” “I wish I were a man!” denly. “Well, you’re mighty nice as you are, he told her. “‘But of course—there are advantages. Now, take my own case. So many interesting things I can do. First of all, I ought to find a place to do a bit of work before I wander off again. Know what I’m planning? Little cottage out on the end of Cape Cod, in Provincetown. Ex- hilarating spot, air like good red licker, sea spray in your face when you go down to watch the fishing boats come in. I can get it for twenty-eight hundred cash. Going to buy it, fill it with my traps, work there when the spirit moves, pull out when the soles itch again. Good idea, eh, Dell?” ““Splendid!”’ she answered gayly. “When I’m hard up,’ he went on, “I can eat fish. They give ’em away. Fish aren't so bad, you know.” “I know,” she said softly. “Little half acre I can call my own. Every man ought to have a place like that. Go there and paint. And whe on I get blue and lonely, discouraged — “Yes?! “T can hit the old trail again.” They drove along in silence for a time. “Say, Dell,”” he inquired presently, “have you told your father you’re engaged to Herb Ward?” “No, I haven’t,”” said Dell. Bob suddenly noticed where they were. year had swung into the Benedict drive and ow she brought the car to a stop under ran old- fashioned porte-cochére, Perhaps she had remembered that the front porch was in shadow, that the air was filled with the odor of syringa, and the moon so highly spoken of was tracing fan- tastic patterns on the close-cropped lawn, Perhaps. The touch of her strong, slender hand gave him a thrill as he helped her to alight, and as he followed her across the lawn he was saying to himself: “Be careful, you fool. Man in your position can’t marry. Silly thing to do, spoils everything, travel all over, nose to the grindstone. Watch your step!” They went side by side up onto the dark porch. A figure emerged promptly from the shadows to greet them, a rather frail figure in white flannels. ““‘Why—hello, He rbert,’ said “What are you doing here?” “Hello, Dell. Oh, Fesoinad you, Bob. Say, Dell, if you don’t mind I must see you alone—right away.” “Well, good night,’’ Bob Dana said. “Had a fine ride, Dell.” “Don’t go,” Dell protested. ‘Herb just wants to talk about the family feud.” Dell said sud- ” Della. THE SATURDAY “None of my business,’’ Bob answered briskly. I leave town.” He walked rapidly, like a man seeking to get out from under some overhanging menace. Through the big gate, down Maple Avenue under the tallest elms in town. ““My boy, my boy,’ was a narrow one! I’d have said something rash. have taken me too; women are foolish at times. Me married! Dreadful, dreadful! Herb, old boy, you saved my life. You cer- tainly popped up in the nick of time. Often wondered what the lad was good for—now ’ he thought, “that I know.” He stopped for a moment under the trees. ‘‘Dell’s darn sweet,” he ad- mitted. ‘‘Darn sweet. If only I had a prosperous hardware business or something of that sort. No use wishing, though. But I wonder is this Ward boy good enough for her?” His way led him past the office of the Mayfield Tribune. Inside, under a green shaded lamp, he saw Will Varney bending over his desk. He went in. “T want to thank you for what you wrote about me in the paper tonight,” he said. ‘That about the picture, you know. Did you really mean it?”’ “With all my heart,” Will Varney an- swered. His pale, kindly face lighted with enthusiasm. ‘‘ You're a genius, Bob. You'll make little old Mayfield mighty proud some day.” “T hope so, I’m sure,’’ Bob told him. ‘But I guess it was the inscription under “Must run along. See you before | Another minute and | She might | my latest effort that made the big hit this | morning. I hear the riot’s on. Will Varney laughed and tappe od a little pile of letters at his elbow. ‘“‘Here they a * he St said. ‘The first fruits of the con- trove rsy. ‘What do you mean?” ““Who did the most to influence the life of his times and leave his impress on the town? The letter writers are limbering up. This bunch came in the evening mail. It's just a beginning. Some say Ward, some Benedict, and some have other candidates. Here’s a letter from poor old Mrs. Hughes. She thinks her husband, Reverend Elan Hughes—you remember, he preached at the First Church for years—should be elected. Sour old Elan—a gloomy view of the hereafter he expounded. And the Masters family wants to edge in. Their vote goes solid to Fred Masters. But these are also-rans. The main race will be be- tween Benedict and Ward.” “Funny thing to get excited about,” commented Bob. “Isn't it?’’ Will Varney agreed. ‘Look about you. Why should any man want to see his father get the credit for sleepy old Mayfield? I can’t figure it. And, thinking it over—there’s my own father member him, Bob. paper, he chronicled the history of the town and shaped its opinions. I guess if any man You re- | Year after year, in this | can lay claim But, Great Scott, I’m | afraid I’m as bad as any of them!” ‘Looks that way,” Bob laughed. He stood up. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Just came in to say thank you. I’m leaving in a day or two.” “No?” Varney’s face clouded. “I'll be sorry, Bob. You'll never know how I’ve enjoyed our talks here. you told me about Europe—it was almost as good as though I'd had the trip myself. And about as near as I'll ever get, I guess.” He was silent for a moment, thinking of his frustri ated ambitions. ‘‘ Well, I’ve got my job here.” He turned to the pile of copy paper on his desk. you spell Stuttgart? You know, that town in Germany. Two ‘t’s’ in the middle of it, or o! e?” _ “Two, I believe,” Bob told him. “But what are you doing in Stuttgart? “Why, that was He rman § Schall’s birth- place,”’ Varney explained. “I’ve just been writing his obituary. left us this afternoon.” mt ITH regard to the controversy now disrupting Mayfield,” Will Varney wrote two days later, ‘it must be under stood that the position of this newspaper is strictly neutral. We have been accused of favoritism by both sides, which is the best proof of our disinterest. Samuel Ward was a splendid type of the old-school jurist, and Henry Benedict was well known up and down the of the highest integrity. The question as to which exerted the largest influence on valley as a conservative banker | All those things | “By the ae how do | You know Herman EVENING POST re fi i F iieao goals theme source er Ameri- ind power. Upon its efficient mining — oe mie tee: Both production and transpor- tation depend. Two and two-thirds pounds are required to pro- duce | KWH of electrie power, 200 pounds for a barrel of cement, four tons for a ton of finished steel. Each of the great basic industries draws heavily upon the mige. From its 338,000 acres in the important coal producing states, The Consolidation Coal Com- pany sends fuel of highest quality to American industry. Two fundamentals determine its excel- lence—one its cleanliness, due to elimination of all possible non-combustible materials; the other careful selection, which means supplying the right coal in the right place. Industrial executives interested in economy results of Consolidation Coal are invited to com- municate with us. THE CONSOLIDATION COAL COMPANY Munson ‘Building . wes w ‘York Cily FIRST NAT'L BANK BLDG Detroit, Mich UNION TI T BLDG Washington, D.¢ MARKET STREET, Portsmouth, N. 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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Your car deserves it l’se Plate Glass for: Windows Mirrors Desk Tops Table Tops Counter Tops Shelves ia Plate glass is the only glass good enough for your car. It costs a trifle more than ordinary glass, but it makes all the difference in the world in the appearance of a car. It’s the plate glass windows that make it look ‘‘ well-groomed” and spruce. The surface is perfectly smooth and clean. There are no waves, hollows or bumps to annoy the eye. Plate glass is absolutely uniform in thickness. It stands road shocks and vibration without rattling. It slides easily in the windows and doors, while common glass sticks, rattles and is easily shattered from sudden jolts. Yet the difference in cost is so small it is hardly worth mentioning. The view through a plate glass windshield is clear, unobstructed and undistorted, like looking through the open air itself, Architects specify plate glass for i.) windows in houses, hotels and office ‘buildings for its greater strength, clearness and beauty. For the same # reasons, specify plate glass for your me Speak to your repair Tell him no other motor car, man about it. glass will do. PLATE GLASS MANUFACTURERS of AMERICA Genuine PLATE GLASS | Nothing Else | is Like it —_ | Mayfield seems to us an academic one im- | possible of solution, but we love excite- ment and we have furthered the discussion by printing all letters received, save for a few that were anonymous and abusive. Seventeen epistles written by the Ward faction have appeared in print, as have | fourteen from the Benedict side. Such is the box score as we go to press. Let the battle rage.” Obligingly the battle did just that. | Clarence Ward and Eugene Benedict fought the main engagement in full view of the populace, cutting each other in public, each discovering daily some new means by which to embarrass or belittle the other. Here | and there minor skirmishes took place be- tween lesser dependents of the rival houses. Nor did the women hesitate to enter the arena. Few who were present will forget the afternoon meeting of the Ladies’ Guild | of the First Church, when Mrs. Clarence and Mrs. Eugene encountered each other and demonstrated the possibility of fight- ing a war with no weapon save the human eye. Dell Benedict and Herbert Ward alone of the two rival camps remained on friendly terms. Meeting Bob Dana on the street the morning after his abrupt departure when he found Herb Ward among those present on the porch, Dell explained the situation. “Herb had just dropped over to discuss the great war,” she said. ‘‘ We decided not to let it make any difference between us.” “That's the sensible view to take,”” Bob approved wget ‘I knew you'd think so," said Dell with amazing sweetness. “Oh, absolutely. Silly row anyhow. How can you decide a thing like that? Then you and Herb are still engaged?” “More so than ever. Herb’s been awfully sweet.” She held up her hand, displaying a diamond-and-platinum ring. ‘We told our people all about it. Sort of had to, under the circumstances.” “Must have been good news for your father.” “He nearly passed out. But he knows better than to interfere. Well, that’s that. I wanted to tell you—just to make you comfortable in your mind.” “I’m mighty glad you’re happy, Dell. That is, of course—if you are happy?” “Delirious.” She smiled up at him. ‘Come and see me before you leave.” “T sure will.” In the bright light of the morning, with his thoughts traveling the highroad of common sense, on which no moon may shine, this seemed to him excellent news. | Good old Herb! The lad was showing a surprisingly level head. But for Herb he might by now be painfully entangled, his career endangered, his wanderings ended. Herb was his insurance, his protection. “Ought to invite Herb to lunch,” he thought. ‘‘Show my appreciation some- how.” The following Tuesday night, when he wandered out to the country club to the regular weekly dance, he felt the same way. His business had dragged on longer than he had expected, but it was practically | settled now, and he could leave Mayfield | very soon. He sat on the club veranda, | staring in at the dancers. The orchestra | was playing a popular song that referred in sentimental strain to the moment “when it’s moonlight in Kalua.” Kalua. Sounded like Hawaii. That was the direction in which he would travel next. The South Seas, on Gauguin’s trail, and Stevenson’s. He promised himself many a languorous afternoon on some white bathing beach, many a calm, breathless night with the Southern Cross flaming overhead. Through the open window he caught sight of Dell Benedict ay in Herb Ward’s arms. Dependable old Herb! He watched them approvingly. Dell was lovely, and no mistake. Sometimes, when he was lonely and discouraged, he would think sadly of what might have been. That would, in the last analysis, be much more satisfactory than if what might have been had been. “He travels fastest who travels alone.” True talk. He was still musing gently in this strain when, ten minutes fie, Dell appeared, | somewhat breathless, before him. “Bob—I want you to take me home,” she said. He jumped to his feet. “Sure. But I thought—you came with Herb Ward.” Herb and I have just had the most | frightful row,” she explained. Bob saw August 5,1922 that her eyes were flashing, her cheeks flushed. ‘“‘He said you’d done a speakin likeness of grandfather, and that severa people had heard it say distinctly: ‘Pay up tomorrow or I'll put you on the street.’”’ “Pretty snappy for Herb.” “And I told him that his old fossil of a grandfather ——- Oh, I don’t know what I said! I was furious! I may have my own opinion of my family, but no one else can knock it and live.”” She drew her cloak about her white shoulders. “Come on, Bob.” Bob started nervously. “The ring’s gone!” he cried. “You bet it’s gone! Forever!” “Well, now, Dell—you ought not to get drawn into this foolish argument. It’s be- neath r. If you'll take my advice ——”’ “All right. I can go home alone.” She walked briskly away. “Hold on! Wait a minute! Wait till I get my hat.” He dashed into the club. hen he reappeared Dell was far down the drive, going strong despite high-heeled dancing pumps. He caught up with her. “T’m mighty sorry, Dell—I have no car. I came by trolley,” “‘That’s the way I’m going home.” “May I—er—come along?” Dell hadn’t a penny with her, and his company was rather essential. But all she said was “If you think you can choke off your fatherly advice.” Conversation sort of languished in the moonlight. He helped her onto the trolley and climbed up beside her. ‘‘ Not so soft as the seat of Herb’s car,” he suggested. “Tf you can’t talk about anything but Herb, don’t talk.” He subsided, hurt. Oh, well, women were like this, of course. All sorts of moods and whims and fancies. Sunshine and shadow. Keep a lad stirred up all the time. Better | on to that precious freedom of his. “When it’s moonlight in Kalua”’—couldn’t get the insidious thing out of his head. “Because you are—not there.’”” Just as well too. He glanced sideways at Dell’s haughty countenance. In spite of himself he could not smother his approval. ‘Your profile’s pure Greek,” he said admiringly. “Grandfather didn’t start with a fruit- stand, if that’s what you mean,” said Dell. Well, if she wanted to be cross, let her be cross. He'd keep his future thoughts to himself. In silence ov alighted from the street car and crossed the park; still with no word — they passed on up the avenue and through the big gate. The porch lay calm in shadow, syringa bloomed on the lawn. Dell held out her hand. “Thanks for bringing me home. Good- by—if I don’t see you again.” “But, Dell—look here—of course you'll see me. I'll come round.” “Oh—don't trouble.” She was gone inside the door—-hadn’t even asked him to stop a minute. Treated him like arather tiresome stranger. Women, inexplicable women! He strolled along down the avenue. Cer- tainly did act haughty, that girl. He pic- tured her now in her room, head held high, eyes flashing. Which was all he knew about it. In her room Dell had flung herself across the bed and was weeping bitterly. For Herb, and all the lost glories of romance? Herb, of course, Will Varney’s light was burning. Look- ing through the window, Bob saw the little editor bending above his pile of exchanges. He went inside. “See here, Mr. Varney—something’s got to be done.” “What do you mean, Bob?” “This silly feud between the Montagues and Capulets. It’s gone far enough. Hearts are being broken, young lovers wrenched apart.” “TI suppose so. country.” “You know,” Bob told him, ‘before I leave town I'd like to settle this foolish argument once for all. Just naturally kill it.” “Easier said than done. Unless you have an idea.” “‘Well—something flashed through my mind the other day. I don’t know—it seems reasonable. Til sit down if you don’t mind.” “Sure, Bob; sure. Push those papers off the chair—that’s right.” Bob Dana sat and crossed his long legs. “You know, when I’m away from Mayfield (Continued on Page 88) Such is life in the feud

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SATURDAY EVENING POST At last, a padless Garter for the Men Step up to the show case, men, and ask to see the new Wilson Bro’s Padless Garter. It does away with the hot, old, clumsy pad that’s always wrinkling and buckling-up. This garter holds up a man’s hose and keeps them up, yet it never reminds you of its presence. Cool, comfortable and efficient, what more can you ask of any garter? All colors, wide or narrow bands; two grades, 50 and 75 cents; at all Wilson Bro’s dealers. Step up to the show case, men, and be first to wear the first comfortable, sadless garter. 5 Wilior O70 The signature, Wilson Bro’s, is n mly a guaranty of quality but iti also an unfailing index of fashion and correct dress. The higher type of store the country over can supply you with these Wilson Bro's gar ments shirts, hose, nightshirts pajamas, underwear, belts, cravats, mufflers, handkerchiefs, knit gloves, Wu.sen Bro’'s, Cuicaco garters, suspenders | now, wherever they may be. (Continued from Page 86) and think about the town I always remem- ber the amazing amount of sickness here. My mother was never very well, and I used to go to the doctor for her—in the evenings mostly. And I can still picture Doe Cun- ningham’s office, every chair taken, peo- ple standing along the walls—dreary, discouraged-looking people.” “Yes.” Will Varney nodded. ‘Always been a surprising lot of doctoring here. Doctoring for this and that. You've no- ticed Cunningham’s big house on Maple Avenue. Doctoring built that.” ‘Precisely. Now, Mr. Varney, tell me- what sort of men were the leading citizens here-—the ones who ran the town?” Will Varney smiled. “You mean Ward and Benedict and that crowd? Takealook at Mayfield for your an- swer. Twenty years behind the times, this townis; you've heard mesay sobefore. Ly- ing here sound asleep through the biggest boom this valley has ever known. Bene- dict and Ward and their gang did that conservative, suspicious of everything new, shouting their selfish slogan ‘Keep the strangers out.’”’ “I thought so,"” Bob Dana said. ‘Sour old parties, as I remember them. Looked at life through jaundiced eyes. Depressed and irritable and grouchy.” “You've said it,”” Varney agreed. ‘‘ And their dispositions molded this town. I could give you a thousand examples, and Benedict would figure in a lot of them. We might have been on the main line of the | railroad, but Benedict got a stubborn spell over some land he owned that was neces- sary to the scheme. Oh, he was a lovely old chap. I can still see him sitting in that little office of his, looking at prospective borrowers through those cold, fishy eyes. Heaven help the man who had to go to Benedict for a loan! It didn’t take long for the word to spread that the banking inter- ests here were unfriendly, so new business gave this town a wide berth.” The little editor leaned back in his chair; it creaked faintly beneath him. ‘“‘And Ward! The Turner steel mills might have located here, but Judge Ward blocked the move. Said it would bring in a lot of dirty foreigners. I think of him as he sat on the bench—never dishonest, I don’t mean that—but severe. Too blamed severe. Mercy wasn’t in his vocabulary. He wrecked a good many lives that a little sympathy and understanding would have carried along to happiness. I tell you, Bob, this town owes a lot to Ward and Benedict and their gang,” Will Varney finished. ‘‘ A lot they’re not boasting about “Rather mean old men,” Bob Dana | said. ‘‘That’s how I picture them. Mean and dissatisfied and bitter."” He leaned for- ward suddenly. ‘‘I'll bet both Ward and Benedict suffered tortures from dyspep- sia,”’ he added. ““Most people do—-most middle-aged people,”’ Varney replied. ‘“‘In Mayfield, at any rate. For years we've had a lot of trou- ble with hired girls here—eating has been a rather catch-as-catch-can affair. Now you mention it, Ward and Benedict did have dyspepsia. Yes, both of ’em had it mighty bad.” Bob Dana laughed, and stood up. “That’s all I want to know,”’ he said. Will Varney gave him a long look. “By Gad,” he cried, ‘‘I begin to get you!”” He leaped enthusiastically to his feet. ‘And you're right, boy, you're dead right!” “I'm going to hop on a train and run up to Cleveland in the morning,” Bob told him. ‘I can get what I need up there. A modest supply of modeling clay.” “Modeling clay,” Varney chuckled. “Yes, that’s what you want.” “You'll help me with this?’”’ Bob asked. “Will I?” The little editor’s eyes twin- kled. ‘‘ You bet your life I will!” For three days Bob Dana was not much in evidence on the streets of Mayfield. The hotel help reported that he seemed to be extremely busy in his room. On Saturday morning Eugene Benedict drove down to the bank about 8:30, as was his custom. The sun lay blazing hot on the brick pavement of Maple Avenue, and Eugene sped over it savagely, for he was feeling hot himself. He had just seen Clarence and Herbert Ward strolling down to their law office, and the sight of them nowadays tended to in- furiate him. As Eugene approached the corner of the park at Main and Market streets he was surprised to see a crowd gathered on the lawn in open violation of the notice, posted August 5,1922 everywhere: “Keep Off the Grass!"" He slowed down his car. An old friend caught sight of him and waved. ““Come here, ’Gene,”’ he shouted. ‘* This will interest you.” His curiosity suddenly aroused, Fugene parked his car at the curb and pushed his way through the crowd. It parted to give him gangway, a favor he accepted as due to the president of the First National Bank. In another moment he came upon the center of Mayfield’s interest. On a cheap oak pedestal that suggested the Mayfield Furniture Store he beheld a figure about three feet high. It was mod- eled in clay and took the form of a short, heavy man in middle age. The face was flat and on a pudgy little nose spectacles rested. The generous stomach was covered by what appeared to be an apron; a cap rested on the head. It was a tribute to Bob Dana’s skill that Eugene, like all the other spectators, recognized the figure at first glance. As the banker stood there staring he could almost hear the querulous, cracked voice: ‘‘Louie—Louie—turn down dot gas!” Hanging about the feet of the figure was a placard that might have been printed in the job department of the Mayfield Daily Tribune. Eugene read: ERECTED IN MEMORY OF HERMAN SCHALL THE BAKER Wuo GAVE ALL His CONTEMPORARIES INDI GESTION AND THUS MORE THAN ANY OTHER MAN INFLUENCED THE LIFE or His Times AND Lert His IMPRESS ON THE TOWN WE ASKED FOR BREAD AND HE GAve USA STONE While the citizens of Mayfield grinned and nudged one another Eugene Benedict read the placard a second time. Iv T SIX o'clock that evening Bob Dana sat in old man Cornell’s easy-chair with the last edition of the Tribune before him. In his leading editorial, entitled Herman Schall, Will Varney ably seconded Bob’s efforts of the morning. He began with the Herman of fifty years before, a young man newly arrived from Germany, who came to Mayfield and started the town’s first bakeshop. He carried him along until the time, years later, when Herman's delivery wagon stood before the houses of both high and low, and Herman’s bread was the daily diet of all Mayfield. ““Such bread !’’ Will Varney wrote. ‘‘Her- man had the habit of thrift. To the out- ward view his product was O.K., but the heart of the loaf was only partially baked, still fermenting, indigestible. Those who ate it experienced very shortly a deep and dark depression, their outlook on life turned gloomy. “Herman never figured as a leading citi- zen of Mayfield. Other men were in the limelight, directing the destinies of the town. But back of these men were a num- ber of vital influences, and not the least of these, moving on tiptoe through his dim kitchen, doling out the coal or turning down the gas, was Herman Schall the baker. It is not at all improbable that to Herman’s bread may be traced a thousand heart- aches and tragedies—divorces, business failures, meannesses and wrongs. “The editor. of. this newspaper has thought things over, and he has no hesita- tion in announcing that, in so far as his columns are concerned, the controversy that has been raging hereabouts for some days is settled for all time. ‘ “Settled by the election of Herman Schall to the post of honor that stood as the ulti- mate prize.” Bob dropped the paper and sat staring out across the park. His telephone rang “Hello,”’ he said. “Hello, Dell. What's the good word?” “Seems to be Schall,’’ she answered. “Started a lot of excitement, didn’t you?” “Think so? How is your father feeling?” “Oh, he'll recover. As a matter of fact the old dear seems to have a sense of humor, after all.. His dignity was outraged for a while, but he’s come round. He's just talked with Clarence Ward over the tele- phone.” “No! An armistice? “Permanent peace, I fancy. They agreed that maybe you're right. Father is going to take down that inscription and replace it with a simple plate—just grandfather’s name and the dates. Clarence Ward is wondering how you edit a tombstone. ”

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You see, that famous sentiment won't sound anything but ridiculous round here for a long time to come.” “Well, Dell, I’m certainly glad to hear all this. It’s what I was trying to do, you know. Put an end to the feud.” “T gathered that.” Silence over the wire. ““Er—have you called up Herb Ward and waved the white flag?”’ “Me? Say, Bob, you certainly know all about girls. An open book to you.” “Well, has he called you up?” “IT don’t know. I’ve been out. Mighty kind of you to take such an interest.” “Not at all. Want the young people to be happy.” “Old Grandpa Fixit. Leaving soon?” “Been packing all afternoon. Pull out tomorrow.” ‘Well, good-by —if I don’t see you again.”’ “Dell—where do you get that stuff? I’ll be up this evening to say good-by.” “Sweet of you to trouble. I’ll try and have Herb on hand.” “‘Oh, never mind Herb.” “T’ll have him here. Want you to be happy, too, old lad. See you later.” Bob ate one final dinner at the Mayfield House. His pockets bulged with money, life was beckoning, rumor had it that the boats still ran. But somehow he wasn’t feeling so elated after all. At eight o'clock he came abreast of the cast-iron deer on the Benedict lawn, and three seconds later Dell gave him her hand at the top of the steps. An amazingly lovely Dell, starry-eyed in the dusk, gentle and calm and restful. Bob looked anxiously about. “I don’t see young Herb.” “No,” said Dell. ‘‘Herb hasn't called up. Pity, isn’t it?” “Oh, don’t worry. He'll come round. Herb’s no fool.” “I’m not worrying. Have you time to sit down?” “Sure.”” Bob dropped into a chair. Life was certainly mighty peaceful, there in the shadow on the porch. He leaned back and heaved a sigh of deep content. The syringa was still in blossom, lilies nodded in the distance, roses climbed a trellis. Roses with the moon on them, recalling the fragrant walls on the long road up to Fiesole. “Are you really leaving tomorrow?” Dell asked. ‘‘I’d begun to think you were never going.” “That’s true hospitality. But don’t fret—I’m off this time.” “‘Provincetown, I believe you said.” “Yes—Provincetown,” he answered. “*T’ve wired a friend to get me an option on that cottage. Going to be just the place for me.” **Sounds like it, I’m sure.”” Her tone was brisk and cheerful. “T love the roar of the surf. Some peo- ple find it disturbing. Restful, I call it.” “That's good. You'll get a lot of work done, I hope 4 “T’ll certainly have a try at it. And after- wards—well, look to the East for me. The South Seas. China. Pick up all in a minute some bright morning. Just lock the door and go.” “It must be wonderful,’”’ Dell said. ‘I mean—to have no ties. Nothing to hold THE SATURDAY you. Just yourself.””. Somewhere in the house a telephone rang. ‘“*Yes—pretty good feeling,” Bob assured her. A maid appeared at the door. “It’s that Mr. Ward again, miss.” “T'll go,” said Dell. “If you'll excuse | me, Bob.” She was away some time. When she re- appeared, Bob Dana was anxious. “Young Herb, eh? Fix everything up?’ “Count on me,” Dell said. ‘“‘It’s all fixed. Nothing to worry about.’ “Sensible thing to do, of course,”’ said Bob. “Of course,” Dell’ agreed. He tipped back his chair, leaned his head against the cool bricks of the house. After a long silence he spoke: ‘“‘That cottage only has three rooms,” “Three ought to be plenty for you,” said Dell. “‘For me—yes. But I’ve been thinking times when I’ve just finished a picture sort of depressed—need somebody round who thinks I’m wonderful.” ‘*How about a dog?” “Dog, nothing.” “‘Some people prefer cats,” Dell said Another silence. ‘Dell,”’ he said. “I don’t know what ails me.” “Something ail you?” she inquired po- litely. “Seems to. My head’s all wrong. Mind's affected. Keep thinking to myself how almighty sweet you are.” ‘Better stop it,’’ Dell advised. ‘‘Spoil all your fun, a girl would.” “Oh, I don’t know. Depend a lot on the girl. If she happened to be a good scout ready to pick up and go at a minute’s no tice ae **Ain’t no such animal,” said Dell “How'd you like fish, Dell? As a steady diet, I mean?” “‘T’d hate ’em.” He pondered. ‘Sorry to hear that There’s one room in that cottage—you'd love it. Looks right over at Spain.” “‘Spain—where the boats run. You'll travel faster alone. For your own sake, Bob—try and be sensible.” Again the telephone rang. The two on the porch waited in silence. In a moment the maid reappeared, and Dell rose. Bob stood beside her “It was only Mr. Ward, miss. I hung up the receiver—just the way you did.” The girl vanished into the dim hall. Bob turned slowly toward Dell. He seized her hand. ‘Look here, Dell— you never intended to take him!” “Who says so?”’ “TIT do. Well, this settles it.’ He held her close. ‘And maybe it won’t be so bad You didn’t really mean that— about hating fish / a I guess not, Bob.” “Dell! And that bright morning —just before we lock the door. It won't take you long to pack?” ‘Five minutes. Only an overnight bag.” “That's the talk!” He kissed her. He was a little breath- less. ‘“‘Hard luck for you, Dell. I mean marrying me.” “Oh, I don’t know,”’ Dell whi pered, “J believe I’m going to like it.” | — es | PHOTO. BY COURTESY OF THE NATIONAL PARK SERVICE, WASHINGTON, 0. © Out on a Limb—Yellowstone National Park EVENING POST This is the “Neglected Inch” —the inch between the furniture and the floor = bal Two ways to eliminate the “Neglected Inch” from your home HERE are two ways to curb the damage done by the ‘**Neglected Inch’. Stop moving your furniture, or equip it with Bassick Casters. The first is impossible— you must move a chair; you can’t very well sweep behind a Davenport without pushing it to one side. Yet if you move your furni- ture on faulty casters, casters which stick and drag broadside across the floor, you are bound to have torn rugs, marred floors, rickety furniture When two hundred pounds of steel or iron rubs against a piece of wood, the wood can't help gelling scral hed Bassick Casters are made the proper size to sustain the weight of your furniture They roll easily with as little friction as possible. When a chair or table is turned, the caster wivel immediately. The Diamond Velvet Socket takes care of that And then Bassick Casters for use on hardwood floors are equipped with the Feltoid Wheel Thi pecial feature eliminate ary chance of m id ul ind all noise For every piece of furniture in ir | e, no 1 t hat weight or on what kind of floors or floor covering it 1 ed, there is the proper set of Bassick Caster Your deale | them in stock. Pick out from his display the type of Bassick Cester which need Bassick Casters THE BASSICK COMPANY Bridgeport, Conn. 7 For thirty years the leading makers of high grade casters for the home, office, hospital, warehouse,and factory

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THE SATURDAY lo Starching | Wears Long “Is Coolest} VAN HEUSEN the Worlds Smartest COLLAR N neatness and the correctness of their dress are wearing the VAN HEUSEN Collar these days because of its ease and comfort. To a VAN HEUSEN, neat- ness and ease are one and inseparable, correctness and comfort go together and are indivisible. Those who wear it say that it still would be their favorite collar even if it didn’t outwear half a dozen ordinary collars. But, of course, they know that it does. Saves »5 Shirts &Ties PHILLIPS-JONES CORPORATION Makers +» 1225 BROADWAY + NEW YORK ee Nu metal can touch you Paris Garters work for you \6 hours a day PARIS CARTERS NO METAL CAN TOUCH YOU 3000 Hows of Sotid Comfort Declare a dividend in garter security on a par with none other. Make your legs shareholders in 3000 hours of solid comfort for 35 cents. Single Grips 35 cents and up. Double Grips 50 cents and up. A small cost for a big service. More men than ever are wearing PARIS Garters in silk at 50 cents and up. Have you tried them? A.STEIN & COMPANY MAKERS Children’s HICKORY Garters CHICAGO NEW YORK ’ Double Grip Paris * 50¢ and up . | the salaried group. | children. | to New York from a small New England | town to take a position found for him in an | office. | jobs, | Once he was out of work nearly a year. | $760 remaining after paying rent? | they skimp by. | New York as standard. | of special training. | shoe store. | store, | Rents were | nation-wide | war, and since then they have gone up 50 | per cent—often 100 per cent. | earning capacity and expenses. | factor—lacking in New York for the vast EVENING POST August 5,1922 THE PEOPLE WHO LIVE IN NEW YORK (Continued from Page 23) | was figured, in the days of sane proportions, | that the ratio of rent toincome should not by | any means keep pace with the increase of | income. A man hesitated to pay over thirty | dollars a month for a house on an income of | $200 a month. Incomes above that were the | exception, and still are. In the smaller com- munities there is still a large measure of expense sanity; in New York, almost none. Here in this typical New York apartment house is this group of average New Yorkers contributing 70-odd per cent of their earn- ings for living quarters, pathetically inade- | quate at that! To broaden the survey I investigated | rents by personal visits to other apartment houses, district by district. Then searching the city directory for names lying within these districts, I classified 1000 persons of By comparisons and tabulations of occupations and living dis- tricts, it was easy to estimate the propor- | tion of their probable income to the indi- cated rent. And the total income of the 1000 persons was something more than half | the total rentals. How can these people pay such rents? | Take, for example, the case of John X, who | is one of the forty-three tenants of the | apartment house I | salary as clerk in a downtown office is $2200 cited. At forty his a year, and he has a wife and two young Twenty years ago John X came Since then he has held six clerical with intervals of unemployment. The memory of that year has seared his soul, How do John X and his family live on He says Surely their sacrifices are heroic. Sometimes contributions of second- hand clothing come from relatives else- where, and sometimes they have a boarder. But they are eternally on the ragged edge of | the abyss. John Y, another of the forty-three ten- ants, is an accountant on forty dollars a week, or $2080 a year. He has one of the apartments at $150 a month, or 86.5 per cent of his salary. But he has two sons at work, and their meager joint income is wholly consumed in the struggle. Having known no other plane of living they regard These boys never they stand no chance They are job hunters. went to high school; Making Ends Meet Then there is John Z, a salesman in 2 His wife works in a department and his daughter in a small shop. Their rent is 50-odd per cent of their com- i . . | bined income. In New York the normal proportions of | various items of living costs are indeed altered. The one overwhelming, enor- mously pyramided item is housing cost. 300 per cent above normal proportions even before the Before the United States can restore its sociological equilibrium this factor of pro- | portion must be restored to something near its correct figure. But in New York a normal ratio has not existed for generations, and of course cannot be expected. Ags long as New York is New York, people cannot live there and enjoy the right proportions | of rent and living costs. And don’t forget that the fundamental | basis of family prosperity is and always will the margin between On this be the ability to save rests the fate of the family, So the majority- which means the fate of the nation. | bigger our cities grow the more families will descend to penury. You cannot get away from the funda- mentals of human nature. Within a few generations something is going to happen. If it comes suddenly it will be social revolu- tion and war. The spark of independence still remaining will ignite. Let us hope the revulsion will come gradually from a change of sentiment and the scattering of people to where they can restore the normal pro- portions of life. This article is not meant to be destruc- tive, but to point the way so far as possi- ble. But first we must face conditions as they are. Consider the habit of mind into which John X has drifted during his two decades in New York. He still retains some of the instincts of the independence he knew in New England, and he’d like to escape from New York if he could find a way out; but like several million other New Yorkers, he has utterly lost his power to reach out for his independence. The dominating trait in John X's char- acter has come to be fear. The shadow of possible job hunting continually darkens his daily grind. Next to old age and de- pendence, unemployment is the thing he fears most. John X fears poverty, fears the landlord, fears his employer and those who execute his employer’s orders. Every morning his chief concern is fear of being late at the office, which will militate against his job. All day he is beset by a host of fears over trifling details of his work. He fears to as- sume the slightest authority. The Tyrant in the Basement At home he fears the janitor next to the rent man, for this functionary in his petty way holds extraordinary powers. If John X fails to come across with satisfactory tribute the family may find itself on a hot day or in illness without milk or ice. Other deliveries may be mysteriously missing or delayed. Likewise, friendly relations must be maintained with the elevator boy and the telephone girl. There are sure methods of revenge. Even in many high-grade apart- ment houses the janitor dictates who shall or shall not delive er goods in the building and this includes milk and in some measure other edibles. If maids are advertised for applicants may be sidetracked in some unaccountable way. But John X scarcely resents this sort of thing. He bows under the yoke meekly; clammy acceptance is part of the New York mind. He even accepts the landlord’s idea of a heated flat. In winter he takes it as a matter of course that his apartment will be cold between ten at night and seven in the morning; he fears continually the danger and discomfort of the cold during night sickness. The habit of fear has undermined John X’s individuality. Every movement and thought is tyrannically dictated by others; he is incapacitated for directing his own for tune, and hopelessly overshadowed by vast institutions. In the New York mind you find little of the pioneering spirit the red-blooded eagerness for adventure and_ rebellion against adverse conditions. There is no longer the resolve to be master of one’s own destiny. Once inoculated with the virus of the New York mind, the atrophy of will, courage and vision quickly begins. Ex- ceptions are relatively few. New York’s tonic is furnished in constant doses from outside. The big concerns send to the smaller communities for new blood. A few generations ago the iron men of the open were at least masters of them- selves and of their work and homes. With grim but unhesitating valor they packed their belongings into covered wagons and took their families, with rifle and dog, out into the unknown. And if their ultimate destiny was not scintillating fame it was at least their own; and the strong men and big things of this nation have come from these pioneers. Not so today with the millions of people herded into the confines of the metropolis, Here hundreds of thousands of men, young and old alike, meekly submit. Their blood no longer boils at the normal man’s boiling point. The right to their own souls is no more an inalienable prerogative. In the vast crush of humanity they go with the crowd; there is no escape unless they get out of the current, and they have forgotten how to navigate rapids. The New York classified directory lists 4600 apartment houses on Manhattan Island and in the Bronx district. There are numberless thousands of other apartments (Continued on Page 93)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Mohammed at Mecca, abo 620 A. D, * * * “Increase he wager, but lengthen the Time!" } Value of ‘Jime By Kronos y ee Paintings by HAROLD DELAY Pree Lehi oo 2 4 # ts MOHAMMED, life was a waiting game. I ime lifted him from “ Mocea” Bow. $325 * The Ps poverty to power. Like Caesar, he sensed Time’s value to the full, but entation Series embodies the n for the Roman’s whirlwind dispatch he substituted the patience of the aa "12+ goon Orient. ‘‘Now!’’ was Caesar’s watchword. ‘‘Wait!’’ was Mohammed’s. emely thin An Arab rival ridiculed Mohammed’s prophecy of the end of Persian Il watches of this » ie domination. ‘‘Master,’’ cried Abu, the Prophet’s zealous bodyguard, ' eae, yD spe spurring hotly through the gates of Mecca, ‘I have wagered him ten Ee ain om “ a (epee ss camels that it will come true within three years!”’ : ea , stay ES pe ss “Increase the wager,’’ came the Prophet’s crafty whisper, ‘* but “ngthen ; ; PE he sn phyA the Time!’ Abu promptly trebled the Time and staked one hundred camel: sleasing variety of exclusion and won! igns, in W : , } i ges: Me hanes $500 * ° The flight of thirteen centuries—which has increased Mohammed’: U _ ote = eat preg following to three hundred million souls—has brought to the world a k i Ee ax amie te: medion steadily deepening sense of the Va/ue of Time, and of the responsibility which } musiness and social requirement rests on those mate hless guardians of the pric eless minutes of our day (> tee ) Olgin Mate Os

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 5, 1922 Spams An SSeS | SS FECES Sia” ees LTS. BMS 3! Bind a Fre SR ast = ial On the Heights of Chapultepec At E/ Castillo de Chapultepec, standing high above the Capital City of Mexico, a Wayne Pump has been chosen to supply gasoline to the official automobile of Mexico’s chief executive—the political, if not the lineal, descendant of Montezuma of the ancient empire. And naturally so. Wayne equipment will be found wherever the desire exists for year-in and year-out depend- ability, continuous accuracy, and rapidity and cleanliness ot operation those essential qualities sought by expert buyers of gasoline pumps, oil storage systems, water soften- ing systems, and air compressors, the world over. And, too, what is more natural than that the dis- tinction of serving leaders of governments should fall upon the leader of its industry? Wayne’s position as a manu- facturer of gasoline pumps, and oil storage systems has been gained by sheer superiority of product. Wayne Tank & Pump Company, Fort Wayne, Ind. » OBLvriston Oetet es: £m #.& = Atlanta, Ga Boston, Mass. Chicago, Il Cleveland, O. Dallas, Tex. Measuring Pumps Detroit, Mich. Kansas City, Mo, Minneapolis, Minn. New York, N,Y. : a Philadelphia, Pa, Pittsburgh, Pa. San Francisco, Cal. Los Angeles, Cal. Storage Tanks (From 20 to 20,000 gals Wayne MAKEs Warehouses in Philadelphia and San Francisco , oi . , : Air Compressors An International Organization With Sales and Service Offices Everywhere Oil Burning Systems, Furnaces and Forges Oil Filtration Systems AND Wayne Rapid-Rate Water Softening Systems (Borrowman Patents)

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(Continued from Page 90) in smaller buildings. In one typical four- story brownstone row I found two-room furnished suites renting from fifteen to nine- teen dollars a week. The latter rental would aggregate $988 a year. In the Bronx, with 750,000 people, only 8 per cent own their homes. These the apartment houses are displacing. On upper Broadway are numerous great apartment buildings where the rentals range from $400 to $1000 a room per year. On Broadway between Seventieth and Fightieth streets is a twelve-story building where you can get three unfurnished rooms for $3300; or the same rooms furnished for $3600; or two unfurnished rooms for $1900. On Broadway in the seventies you may find a seven-room unfurnished apartment with three baths for $3500, and a little farther north, nine rooms, unfurnished, for $5000. On Broadway in the eighties are some seven-room apartments, including two rooms with a bath between for maids, for $3500. In this building are more than 160 apartments. On Broadway near Ninetieth Street is a great building, with five, six and seven room unfurnished suites that rent from $2200 to $3500. Near by you may find some very nice five-room suites for $3000, but if you want one with a maid’s room you will pay $600 additional. With wages from fifteen to twenty-five dollars a week, and food, a maid costs from $1500 to $2500 a year. On Riverside Drive, bordering the Hud- son for nine miles, some of the older buildings have apartments of nine or ten rooms, at $4000 and up. Suitesin new build- ings, four to six rooms, run from $2000 to $3500. Where do such tenants come from? Of course many are business men, and others to whom even $10,000 a year is reasonable rent. There are apartments on Park and Fifth avenues that rent from $25,000 to $30,000, whole floors of fifteen to twenty rooms. A building on Fifth Avenue has apartments where the lowest rental is $6000 and the highest $12,500. Hundreds of rich men drift inte New York every year from all over the country, to make their homes. Thousands of near-rich families come there to spend a year or two, much as they would go to Europe. Many families bring their children for educational purposes. These groups continually supply a market for expensive apartments. Yet the great bulk of renters must come from the families who live permanently in New York and subsist on salaries, New York Salaries Even in New York $10,000 salaries are not plentiful. Here are average figures I obtained through personal inquiry from a large number of concerns: Sales managers range from $6000 to $15,000; assistants, $3500 to $8000; topnotch salesmen, $5000 to $15,000; branch managers, $5000 to $15,000; merchandise managers, $4000 to $8000; high mercantile executives in gen- eral, $6000 to $18,000; traffic managers, $3000 to $6000; engineers of reputation, $5000 to $10,000; purchasing agents, up to $10,000; advertising men, $6000 to $15,000. The higher extremes mentioned are infrequent. In surveying this type of renters, too, I made a city-directory investigation of sev- eral hundred names, occupations and home locations, and it showed the proportion of rent just as high as that paid by the middle class. ‘ Inquiry among the agents of such build- ings brings to light many curious stories. A theater executive drawing $5000 a year paid $2900 for hisapartment; adepartment- store man on $6500 paid $3100; two young bachelors earning not far from $3000 apiece pay $3600 for a suite of two bedrooms and living room. An instance is given of a corporation executive whose rent of $6500 actually exceeded his salary by $500, but was paid for a couple of years on borrowed money to further the social ambitions of his wife. A high executive on a salary of $30,000 cut a swell in a $15,000 apartment, and kept five servants, but had to econo- mize by moving into a $10,000 apartment. A lawyer who paid $10,500 for a nine-room suite ran behind many months and was evicted. What is the mind of these peopie that they will pay—and continue to pay year after year—a killing percentage of their income for a place to live? What are the THE SATURDAY mental phenomena taking place in the family lives of this higher group? Are their minds materially different from those of the middle group? Ask the average head of such a family why he pays $2500 to $3000 a year for a small apartment in New York, when for $1000 he could get a fairly large and attrac tive apartment or house in the suburbs, and he will answer something like this: ‘‘] don’t want any of that commuting busi ness; besides, my family will not listen to leaving the city. Inconvenient to the theaters, you know—and so far from the heart of things!” But for the average New Yorker the theater and the dress suit are not really important considerations. Theaters feed largely on outsiders; few New Yorkers go more than once a month during the winter They must and do economize somewhere Being in the heart of things simply means crowds, glaring lights, noise, towering buildings. Even granting the lure of these things, the fact remains that it overcomes the better judgment and wipes out the sense of proportion which is always the founda tion of financial independence. The intoxi- cating but subtly poisonous aura of New York holds its people in bondage and kills bold and independent thinking. Housing in the Suburbs For the higher-salaried New Yorkers the suburbs certainly offer enormous reduc tions in rents. But for the middle-class salaried people suburban life is full of ob- stacles; at least, obstacles to the New York mind. To the independent and dar- ing mind of former decades this would not be so. There are hundreds of thousands of suitable building sites available within twenty miles of New York for a few hun dred dollars, and owners, largely with their own hands, could build temporary homes of two or three rooms. Groups of neigh bors could unite in this procedure. A man of this mind could acquire for very little money a place to live, pending the accu- mulation of means to build a permanent home. Indeed, all around New York you will find such temporary homes by the hundreds— built by men who have escaped from the New York mind. But things which the pioneer accepted as commonplace the New Yorker considers impossible. He thinks only in terms of six or twelve story buildings; of janitors, steam heat, rent collectors. Live in a shanty? No, not even temporarily to lay the foundation of later independence John Doe is employed in a New York office at $2400 a year. Twelve miles out in New Jersey he pays $70 a month for an apartment. His monthly commutation ticket costs about $100 a year. This takes him only to the Hudson River; then he goes by tunnel train to uptown New York, paying ten cents. This brings his personal transportation up to $160. Others of his family together average two trips to New York a week, totaling $135 without additional car fare in New York. He lives a mile from the railroad station and stores in his home town, and local transportation amounts to $75 a year; with an occasional taxicab, $100 This brings the total around $400. Seven- teen per cent of his income for transporta tion is enormously out of proportion. Doe pays for rent and transportation $100 a month—out of an income of $200. Every morning tens of thousands of girls and women teem into New York from suburban communities. Today the average wage for a stenographer is twenty or twenty-two dollars a week—less than the average in smaller cities. Yet these women have a transportation expense of forty to sixty cents a day. This and modest lunches cost around 23 per cent of earnings Then a girl spends an hour and a half to two hours a day getting’*to and from her work, and often must stand the whole distance. Above One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street on Manhattan Island one finds mort apartments bordering on the tenemer class, at rents from fifteen to twenty dollar a room per month. The tenants include a large percentage of people of fair education and associations, who are out of their ele- ment in these bare and often dirty walk-up buildings. Typical three-room apartments can be rented for fifty to sixty-five dollars a month.*-I was in a fifty-five-dollar apartment on the fifth floor opening only on an inside court. i ‘ It was occupied by. the EVENING POST -——-- CHAMPION SPARK Champion Spark Plug Ce Dependable ampions ete ee Neen cae CHAMPION, Insure Your Engine - a Champion Regular now 75c Champion X. . . now 60¢c Champion accuracy in construction assures absolute uniformity of spark in each cylinder; consequently a more perfect timing of the engine Ask your dealer to sell you a full set. PLUG CO. - TOLEDO, OHIO af indsor, Ontario of Canada, Limited In St Joseph Mo od ta Aunt Jemima Mills are large Ay» a, users of Baker Vawter printed rm f forms. machine books ‘ and filing supplie s eeping EDGER leaves -in fact all printed office forms should not only be well printed but effectively designed. \Ve do both for thousands of business houses and banks. 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THE SATURDAY BULL DOG ~ BOUNCE ABSORBER | ‘The Bumps Can’t Come Too Fast for Gilmer’”’ —says Happy Van “Or COURSE Gilmer absorbs the dig bumps that you meet every once in a while on the best roads. Any good absorber will take care of those big fellows. “But it’s the pesky little jars and jounces, coming thirteen to the dozen, that make an absorber earn its keep. And that’s where Gilmer rises and shines! Gilmer has only 2 working parts. And each one of those sent is dn the job swallowing up the bump almost before the car hits it. They can’t come thick for Gilmer” —says Happy Van. That simple construction means light- ning action. And it means economy. It means easy installation and instant ad- justability to any weight of car, any stiffness of spring, any driver’s prefer ence. Gilmer makes the light car ride like a limousine, and the heavy car ride like a breeze. Ask your dealer to dem- onstrate a Gilmer to you. For Ford Cars For All Other Cars Set of Four . . $15.00 Set of Four . . $24.00 Per pair.... $7.50 Per pair .. . . $12.00 For Denver and points West add 25c per pair for Fords and 50c for other cars L. H. Gilmer Co., Philadelphia, Pa. too Remember these 4 Points: 1—Only 2 Working Parts 2--Lightning Action 3—Easily Installed, Instant Adjustability 4—Attractively Priced eet hurt /Look to your heels SHABBY, heel distortion — a serious condition. bones giving under the weight of the body, are forced run-over heels give outward evidence of Weakened heel ‘ of alignment. Other bones in the delicate foot structure are carried with them and the unnatural pressure results in pain in the leg and even the thigh bones. Heel distortion is dangerous should be corrected before serious disability sets in. h arch and This con by leather Leading physicians everywhere endorse this System. The most progressive shoe dealers employ one or more experts who have studied the subject and know how to correct foot troubles by the Wizard Lightfoot System. Ask your dealer if he’can provide you with this service. If not, phone Tel-U-Where Bureau or write us. dition can be corrected in the shoe a pliable de vice pl wihy so formed as to counteract the abnormal ten- of your foot. By this Wizard Lightfoot System fallen calk leaning heels other foot troubles are suc- sstullycorrected without pain or discomtort. Relief is immediate. d hcies arches, 11SC5, and . Louis, Mo. Liverpool. Wizard Lightfoot Co., 1767 Locust St., St Ave., Wizare GIGHY OF Foor = ~t2- Yus se 461 8th New York Cunard Bld ROOT. CORRECTION | roof. EVENING POST family of a salesman who works on com- mission and earns less than $100 a month. Many of these apartments are occupied by young married couples who cannot finance more suitable quarters. In New York are multitudes of such men working for twenty- five or thirty dollars a week. You may see girl-mothers dragging baby carriages up four or five flights of stairs. These vehicles do double duty as beds. Across the Harlem River in the Bronx and northward as far as the transportation lines run are vast mazes of apartment buildings, mostly walk-ups, where the flats range from fifteen to twenty dollars a room per month. Many of the new buildings have light and fairly attractive five-room suites at $100. In older buildings are five- room apartments at eighty dollars—often on the fifth or sixth floor. Neighbors call on friends in adjacent buildings via the In metropolitan Brooklyn the scale | of rents is slightly lower. From many of these buildings I secured large groups of names, which I again tabu- lated by occupations. The result was the same, Superintendents and janitors like- wise gave numerous instances showing that tenants’ rentals were 50 per cent or more of their incomes. In one typical case a | young couple with two small children were paying ninety-five dollars a month for five rooms, on an income of $150. The husband lost his position without notice and had scarcely a dollar of reserve. Friends took in the family temporarily. The difficulties that hem in these young married men are not altogether of their own making. Such a man is in veritable bondage—though landlords are not respon- sible for the high rents. The fault lies with the New York mind. Probably the average landlord is not earning excessive profits. Nothing short of outside assistance will ever remedy the dire evil wrought by two or three generations of the New York mind. A Typical Struggle Most of those who do get ahead in New York are foreigners, who beat the abnormal expense proportions by crowding. Thus they are able to acquire a little capital. The story of the tenement districts is not a part of this article. Nor is it the most dis- tressing feature of New York. These peo- ple could escape far easier than the types we have been considering. Their conven- tions would permit them to go elsewhere as laborers and live under conditions hopeless for the other types. But most of them are just as truly slaves to New York and a growing menace to that fundamental, family life. Business expense in New Y ork, like living expense, is grotesquely out of proportion as compared with business expense in the more normal communities. A man of forty- five engages d in a small way as sasnulec- turers’ agent gave me_ the following information: He came to New York twenty years ago from a small town, and after desperate search for employment secured work in a wholesale house, where he remained ten years. Then he went into business as representative for two or three manufacturing concerns. Today he is paying $2400 a year for two small rooms in a downtown office building. He employs two girls who together cost him about $2000 a year, and his other business expense, including some traveling in the adjacent territory, brings the total close to $10,000. His volume is not large enough to warrant a salesman, and he does his selling himself. For his living apartment of five rooms he pays $125 a month, although he really needs seven rooms to house his family of six. He says it is difficult to keep his other living expenses within $3500 and make the August 5,1922 necessary front his business associations re- quire. So he must earn in commissions at least $15,000 a year before he can begin to lay aside any money. For three years he has run behind. year ago he began to look for some way out, and always the one big item that loomed up was rent—for both business and home. He figured that if he could cut his office rent to seventy-five dollars a month and his home rent to fifty he would be able to put in the bank as a personal surplus $2400 a year. Assuming that he could do this for ten years, and invest his money in high-grade bonds, he would have a neat little fortune of $35,000. But in New York this was manifestly impossible. He then began to investigate to deter- mine whether he could do it in some other locality. Finally he arranged with his companies to represent them in a Western city of 100,000, to which he will soon transfer his home and business. He is con- fident he can do at least as much business as he does in New York, with less strain, and with the reduction in rent to the figures indicated above. He has made a trip to this Western town and rented both office and home. For fifty dollars he gets a de- tached eight-room house, with yard and trees thrown in. The business is there if he goes after it, and if he gets his $35,000 surplus in ten years the bulk of it will come from a reduction in his rents. Decentralization Needful Unless a man has some special advantage in the way of markets, commissions or com- petition, it is virtually impossible to make any net profit in business in New York. The barrier which he cannot climb is rent. Other expenses may be ill proportioned also, but the one thing he cannot beat is the cost of office space and living quarters. In 1920 there were in New York 121,671 retail dealers, or one to forty-six custome Altogether beyond the question of rent, is it strange that the great majority of re- tailers who appeared in the direc tory a few years ago are no longer there? Competi- tion in New York is superdifficult; unless a man is capitalized and specially equipped with knowledge of business finance and other important factors he cannot last. And what is true of retailers is more or less true in every line. Men are swallowed - in this maelstrom and disappear almost inevitably. There are large agencies in New York engaged in disposing of unprofitable retail businesses, with some salvage to the owner but large commissions to the agent. In the decade preceding 1920 there was an increase of 54 per cent in bookkeepers, cashiers, office clerks and sales persons in New York City. The total increase in New York’s population was 17 per cent. Inde- pendence, both of the individual and the family, is waning much faster than the cities grow. The solution must lie in the spread of information showing the small chance the man or family will find in the large city for individuality, comfort and ultimate com- petence. Decentralization must be accom- plished. This could be done in large measure by smaller-community organiza- tion and systematic dissemination of knowledge. Country and small-city news- papers, as well as chambers of commerce and other organizations, could enlighten the people and influence a vast multitude toward the building up of these smaller places. Perhaps, more than all, the public schools, through special studies and re- search in local opportunities and funda- mental economics, could impress on the rising generation the lunacy and hopeless- ness of the great cities. Sean ee

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST TOURING CAR ‘ DEMI-SEDAN 7 RUNABOU1 : COUPE DEMI-COUPE ‘ BROUGHAM F POURING-LIMOUSINI $1950 $2250 $1900 $2750 $2100 $2750 $3150 All prices f. 0. b. Svracus \ 7O CAR bearing the Franklin name has 1 ever before sold in such numbers as the Franklin of to-day. April, 1922, was the biggest April that Franklin ever knew. | May broke all records, not only for May, but for any previous month in Franklin’s twenty-year history. On May Ist and June 19th, our two record sales-days, the Franklin was the choice of 480 owners of water-cooled cars. June factory output was never higher than this year. And the pace continues without let-up. There are two main reasons: the car is the finest we ever built, and its price has never been lower, except for four months in 1916. FRANKLIN AUTOMOBILE COMPANY, Syracuse, N. Y,

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| | | him, THE SATURDAY EVENING POST | | CONCERNING JOE AND JEMIMA | Continued from Page 11 With one stride Joe was towering over his black eyes flashing and his fists | clenched. Silk Stockings— a real economy! hse IN CLAD 904 are beau- tiful hose, comfortable to wear, very durable, and cost but $1.65 a pair (East of the Rox ki 8) Have fine thread silk leg ribbed elastic top, pure ankle and hitting seamless foot. Back fashion marks present all the of full fashioned hose. high 4 ply , close scam irk appear ince Long splic ed he ¢ l wear is insured by the heel, doubl und toe, ; sole and Colors—Black, White, African Brown » 10h, Cordovan and Nude. Get several pairs of Brown, izes St ' . , 104 (3 pairs in a box) trom dealer. If he does or ie r your not carry them, remittance direct, enclosing and mentioning size and colors cde sired. Your order will be promptly fille 1, postpi nid. Cooper, Wells & Co. 212 Vine St., St. Joseph, Mich PROPELLERS OUR BOOKLET “PROPELLER EFFICIENCY” ler soe bee nee come! HYDE WINDLASS COMPANY P.O, Box 326 BATH, MAINE RADIO ' Make Radio a profenion instead of a plaything. You can earn big 1 money as a Radio-trician. Learn by mail, in epare time w to design, construct, install, repair, main- tain, oper a sell and demonstrate comple te radio outfits. Write fk ow free 32-page catalog descrit ving Our course en- titled, “ How to Learn Radio at Home.’ answered with quiet dignity. National Radio Institute, Dept. 1193, Washington, D.C. “What's that you said?’’ he demanded in his most belligerent tone. “Say that again.” The blond young man flushed, but con- trolled himself, I thought, remarkably well. “T was not speaking to you, sir,’’ he “T know that,” said Joe. “‘You’d have | to speak to me in a language that human beings use of these dirty, yellow, baby-killing Deutsch real men, get me? You're one swine, aren’t you?” “I’m an American, if you wish to know, but I’m not ashamed of my parentage,’’ the young man answered indignantly. “What is it? What’s your name?” Joe snapped, I put my hand on his arm and tried to draw him away, but he shook me off roughly. People were leaving their seats and crowding around. “My name is ee - Wasserman—and I’ “T’ll show you veat I think of an Amer- ican named Herman Wasserman,” said Joe. With that he hauled off and biffed Her- man on the nose and sent him reeling back against another table. As wanton and unprovoked an attack as could be im- agined. He had no sooner accomplished this feat than Herman’s companion bounced a heavy coffee cup on the aggressor’s head, and chaos came again. There are quite a few Germans in Chicago, and a number of them were among those present and taking part. For a minute or two the air about us was guttural with Teutonic oaths and ob- scured by brandished fists and flying table- ware. Then the police came. At the central station after first aid had been rendered we did some telephoning that brought us bail, and the next morning Joe was lucky enough to get off with a twenty-fivé-dollar fine and settlement for the damages. He wanted to pay my fine, too, contending that it was on his account that [ had mixed in. It wasn’t, though. I had simply acted in self-defense. I wouldn’t have lifted a finger to have saved Mr. Joe from the worst kind of a beating, under the circumstances, and I told him so. I was sore, “You ought to have got thirty days,” I told him; ‘‘and i’ll bet that Wasserman is as good an American as you are, and maybe better.”’ “You're a liar,” and offensively. I turned my back on him and was walk- ing away, but he overtook me and apolo- gized. “All right,” I said. to me, you plug-ugly.” “T can’t take much of that, you know, Bill,”’ he interrupted. “ You are n’t one of these German lovers, are you? “TI can sympathize with a man who is handicapped by a German name and Ger- man parents, anyway,’ I replied. “I can sympathize with a German, too, if he’s a decent German. There are lots of em going to need sympathy, too, if we go into this.” “You bet your life,’’ he grinned. “T mean American Germans,” I said. “As for me, I’m neutral. That’s what we're supposed to be.” He looked at his knuckles. ‘That's the kind of a neutral guy I am,” he muttered. Herman he returned promptly “Then you'll listen I’m getting pretty far off the track per- haps, but it may show you what kind of a guy Joe was. We met frequently after that and had some mighty good times together. Then Mr. Wilson either got to the end of his string or cut it off, and I met Joe and he told me that he had enlisted and was leav- ing the next day for the training camp. “Good leather!” I said. “I won't be long after you. It’s up to us to stop this ba eerie. I love my life, but oh, you civilization!” “Civilization nothing!” he _ replied. “We're getting altogether too darned civi- lized as it is. What I’ ve joined up for is to get some good scrapping. I proposed that he should come home with me. I wanted him to see my girl before he left. ‘‘And you can call on your old sweetheart, Jemima Hogan,” I added. “You're on,” said he. We had talked of Jemima before or, rather, I had and Joe had listened. I had plenty to tell him: How she was reckoned the prettiest girl in the suburb—or in any other suburb for that matter; how she had all the boys daffy about her; how the rest of the siele loved her for it, but neverthe- less sought her company and put up with her impertinences for the sake of the boy overflow; how the matrons roasted her for her willfulness, her lightness, her immodesty and extravagance in the matter of dress and her selfish, heartless conduct toward her foolish parents; how gayly and saucily Jemima triumphed over all her critics, did what she pleased and got away with it; how it was predicted that she would come to no good, and heaven pity the man who married her! “Sure,” Joe had agreed with a grin. “T’ve heard ’em.”” He looked thoughtful. “Did you ever tell her you’d met me?” “TI did. She didn’t remember you at first. Then she said, ‘Oh, yes, that little tough. The one who never washed his face. “*She’s a little liar,” said Joe, laughing. “T washed my face right along after she spoke to me about it. I guess that’s how I got the habit.” “Shined your shoes too,” him. “Sure. I was thinking of changing my name to Ronald or Howard or Harold or sumpin’ to please her. But I'll tell you what that girl needs, Bill. She needs a guy that will take and straighten her out; a fellow that won't stand for any foolishness and that will show her that he’s the boss make her understand that he is—get me? Somebody that will come right back at her and give her just a little better than she sends.” “Cave-man stuff,”’ I suggested. “That’s the idea,” said Joe. say beat her up or drag her around by the hair; but somebody that will tell her where I reminded she gets off and see that she doesn’t pass | I believe I'll | take an afternoon off sometime and call on | her corner; not cater to her. her.” of it until the time I speak of enlisted. We called first on Adeline—my girl Adeline took to Joe right off. I could see that she liked him. Not in any way that would make me uneasy, posed walking over to the Hogans’. “You two boys go over if you want to,’ said Adeline. “I don’t feel like walking.’ “T’ll order the limousine around, ’ something was wrong. “Not even in a limousine,” “You'd have to get an ambulance or a patrol wagon to get me over to Jemima’s | °° “Ty | didn’t want to, anyway, but Bill said it was | now. “Then we won't go,”’ declared Joe. his only chance—to take me along. He would go alone if he thought you would stand for it, and you bet that would suit me.” “Just for that you're both going right now,” Adeline declared, and she gave us our hats and hustled us out; trouble was. “Oh, no trouble,” I'm through with Jemima. said Adeline. her vanity just as long as I’m going to, and that’s all there is about it. Now you run on, Bill dear, and you can come back after supper if you want to. Oh, of course I know you want to; I’m not afraid of Jemima vamping you. Scat!” I overtook Joe, who grinned and asked me if he had put me in bad. I reassured im. “It’s just some little spat she’s had with Jemima,” I explained. ‘‘ What do you want to walk so fast for?” He slowed down at once, and the result of that was that we almost missed seeing Jemima. She was just in the act of step- ping into a classy roadster that I recognized as the property of Archie Groves. The identification was completed by Archie himself, who was sitting at the wheel. Archie was Jemima’s latest offense in the eyes of her girl friends. He was the one and only son of Judge Alexander Groves, and was understood to be a promising young architect—just squaring off, as it I think I know who you mean. | “TIT don’t | But he either dotnet it or thought better | after he had | and } but they just | seemed to hit it off. After a while I pro- | ae ” said | Joe humorously; but he could see and I | could see by Adeline’s altered manner that she laughed. | but I left Joe | at the gate and ran back to ask what the | “Only I’ve put up | with her temper and her selfish whims and | August 5,1922 GARCO Asbestos Pro- ducts are produced by the largest makers of as- bestostextilesin America. Only public demand plus satisfactory service could build this great, success- ful business. From crude asbestos— DYyek buing packings: & eerie Every protees! in produc- tion is undek our control —the fandambgta reason for the high Quality of a// GARCO Asbestys Pro- ducts. ASBESTOS PRODUCTS- General Asbestos & Rubber Company Branches New York Chicago Pittsburgh Main Offices and Factories Charleston, 8. C. After a hot, tiresome walk a hammock and CosyToes are welcome comforts. Appropriate styles in beautiful color com binations for Men, Women and C hil dren. At Leading Dealers’. Booklet on request STANDARD FELT CO. West Alhambra, California Cosyloes feltwear California’ Qualiteed Slippers FROM SUN-BLEACHED WOOL ORD OWN ERS LEARN ABOUT WONDERFUL NEW POWER MAKER. Practically eliminates spark lever—stops fr adds power and specd —saves gas and is wate is a wonderful new ignition system now of America’s high a — motor cars and pul it by the biggest concern of ind. Pr 3 low. Ask for booklet and learn oben FREE TRIAL OFFER. AMERICAN BOSCH MAGNETO CORPORATION Box 1348 Brightwood, Mass. WRITE for free illustrated * pe oo and “RECORD OF IN BLANK.” Send model or sketch and PUA a on *) invention for our free opinion of its patentable nature. Victor J. Evans & Co., 727 Ninth,Washington, D.C. sfiring

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50c Patented OPULAR? Why not? Well-dressed men have always liked the bow tie— Trade Mark reg. U.S, Pat. Of except for the bother of tying it. Now comes the Spur Tie— all made up— ready to slip on. And with the dashing, jaunty style made possible by a shape- holding, exclusive patented feature. Others may copy— but not equal. Make sure you get the Spur Tie. Your dealer will show you the Spur Tie in two attractive sizes, large and small two styles elastic neckband or slip-on-grip, guaranteed not to rust or soil the collar. Numerous pat- black, polka, fancy and many others. Get your Spur Tie today. terns: If ’ } / ur dealer won't supply you, send $1.00 fort SOc for one, spe ing r / snd ‘ r preference and whethe e-astic band or slip-on-grip LOOK FOR THE NAME SPUR ON THE TI Hewes & Potter, Boston Makers of BULL DOG: SUSPENDERS (double we BELTS, GARTERS (wide and narrow wet and VESTOFF SUSPENDERS (worn out of ight, under the shirt), 75 On the Pacific Coast, PAUL B. HAY, Inc 120 Battery Street, San Francisco MR, DEALER Write for 3 dozen Sample A ortment of Spur Ties on approval

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SATURDAY EVENING POST You ride on a liquid cushion Hoo-Dye is an hydraulic device that ends the shocks that bring nerve exhaustion and frequent ill-health to the motorist —by © is regula laying a gentle and restraining hand upon springs enthusiasm. shock compels your car to move with velvet ease over any kind the majority of the ment Grelee: cere, and in Not merely a absorber — but a liquid cushion—that ounotry it is standard sment on Cunning , while many thou of road. It ends the day of tiresome motor travel—of road ‘shell shock’’, and makes it instead a restful recreation, We have published a booklet by Dr. R. Kendrick Smith, M. D., D.O., one of America’s foremost physicians and osteo- “How Motoring Shocks Affect the Nervous System”. Kor his own health’s sake, every motorist should have a copy. Send for it today, and thenever after Ride Easy with Hoo-Dye’s. ands have been applied to ckards, Pierce-Arrows, Cadillacs, Studebakers, Hudsons, Buicks and other of America’s best Cars paths, Call Tel-t Our Near Where for a Distributer 1416 West Avenue, Buffalo, New York Manufactured by the Houde Engineering Corp. Canadian Distributors HOO-DYE SHOCK ABSORBERS Tue Hovupaitte Company, Cana dian Pairbanks Morse Co., Ltd., Montreal (HOU DAILLE ) HYDRAULI $6.00 to $7.00 A Day Extra \ Stanley, of Indiana, how many Curtis dollars he has earned in one day hg replied: “ Between six and And then he added: “ Just from friendly little visits with people I had known and worked with I have secured 24 subscriptions in three days; and that doesn’t include the order of 25 just sent you which J got in two days.” Mr. Stanley found our work so easy that he has now contracted to send us s00 new and renewal sub- scriptions for The Saturday Evening Post, The Ladies’ Home Fournal and The For this we pay him a weekly salary in addition to commission. Do You, too, Want More Money? here is an opening in your locality right now for men and women who will do ” Seven, Country Gentleman. just what Mr. Stanley is doing. Whether you can sell us four hours a day, an hour a day or even an hour a week, we will pay generous commissions and liberal bonus. Let us tell vou all about it. And you need no experience, Your only expense is the two cent stamp required to send the coupon provided below. bought bales of wool without a whimper. He also put the entire rainy-day fund into Liberty Bonds at her instance. She was on more committees than you could shake a stick at, and when it came to raising money, Adeline said, and I believed her, that every man Jemima tackled gave until it hurt. I was at the Great Lakes then. It had always been a sailor's life, a sailor’s life for me, yo-ho, my boys, from the days when I first piloted Tony Laird’s staunch twelve-footer from the Lincoln Park lagoon into the lake or rowed Adeline in a skiff on the heaving bosom of the Kalamazoo; so I naturally chose the Navy. Adeline and her mother occasionally came out to see me at the camp, and it was there I learned that Jemima was corresponding with Joe, that Archie “had got his commission and was designing huts and had, perhaps, the glossiest boots in the Army; that he man- aged to get a good deal of leave and drove Jemima around in his car on official business. The next thing I had a letter from Joe in camp at Rockford. Read between the lines it was reeking with insubordination and disrespect for constituted authority who, out of pure cussedness, denied deserving | men the little matter of a furlough unless | they were lucky enough to have dying parents or something of that sort. ** All that I can hope for now,” he wrote, “is that they will get it through their ivory domes that we are in as good shape to scrap now as we ever will be, and ship us over and = = oe ee ee oe oe cee oe For Your Convenience ee ee ee eee ee ree The Curtis Publishing Company 757 Independence Square, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Gentlemen: Indeed I do want to make more money. Please tell me how I may do so, but without obligation Name fddress eee eaeaneawd City turn us loose. If we can’t clean up and | start back home in a couple of weeks after we land I'll eat my hat and blankets. How are all the. Deepdene people? How is Adeline? Do you ever see Bandoline | Bertie? I heard he had got some desk job. I'll bet his mother doesn’t have to die to get him a furlough.” The next news was that Jemima and two other girls, accompanied by Mrs. Spencer as chaperon, had been out to Rockford to see the Deepdene boys. On Jemima’s re- turn she had confided to Adeline that she found Joe rather interesting. “ As interesting as Archie Groves?” Ade- line had asked. Jemima wasn’t sure. Archie was lovely and knew just exactly how to talk to a girl, and always did the right things. Of course he had had lots of experience and no doubt | it was that which made him so tactful and understanding. “He understands me_ perfectly—too darned perfectly,’ said Jemima. ‘He's reaily not a bit afraid of me.” “Why should he be?” Adeline had asked. “Well, I can flare up and be pretiy | fierce once in a while,” Jemima confessed. ‘‘ You know that, I guess. Archie never laughs at me or tries to joke it off, but I feel sure that he isn’t at all terrified. Joe—Mr. Bing- | ham—is. He's afraid of me. He was when | we were at school together.” Adeline asked her if she had flared up at Joe when she was at the camp or the after- noon that he called. Jemima said that she | certainly had not. | “I'd be afraid to,” she added. | Joe got his wish before very long. One fine day they put him on a train and took him to a port somewhere in America and | landed him somewhere in France. The | Navy oe ope considered that I was too valuable to risk losing at sea, so they sent me to the navy yard at Philadelphia, where, if I do say it myself, I did them yeoman’s service. Of course what I wanted was the stormy blast and the reeling deck with the cannon’s roar and the hail of steel and maybe a glorious death in the moment of victory; but we of the Navy had to obey orders at any personal sacrifice, and Ade- line consoled me a great deal by coming down to Philadelphia and marrying me. So from that time until Joe and his com- rades had finished their cleaning-up job we heard little of Jemima, except an occasional reference to her in Deepdene letters. She | was still carrying on, it seemed, but in the old-fashioned, provincial American sense of the phrase. The old people were drudg- ing along as usual. Well, we didn’t care much. No especial reason why we should. We had plenty to do and our own affairs to think of. After the armistice I got my discharge and the offer of a pretty good job from an old friend | of my father’s in Chicago, so we went back to Deepdene and bought a little house | there. Of course we saw Jemima then and | got many an earful of talk regarding her. «J | She was as beautiful as ever, but to Adeline August 5,1922 and me she seemed to have grown more fragile, less blooming, and though at times she was as vivacious and full of the Old Nick as ever, at other times—she simply and distinctly wasn’t. She would be talk- ing and laughing sixteen to the dozen, and all at once she would become silent and you would realize that for the moment she had forgotten where she was, who was talking to her and what they were talking about. Oblivious and dreamy. She looked well in those trances too. Now that the war work had petered out, she was attending classes in design at the institute, although Deep- dene considered her designing enough al- ready, heaven knew. But the classes took her away from Dee yom a good deal, and her new Chicago friends—society people who had taken her up—made more de- mands on her time, so we saw little of her. What we saw and heard convinced us that her swains still swarmed and that she was as useless as ever. It got out that Archie had finally pro- posed and been rejected. Fred Parsons, after several rejections, had got a consola- tion prize in Becky Adams. Of the old boy bunch, George Rumney and Everett Blaine were the only ones that had straggled back to Deepdene after their discharge from the Army, and it was known that Everett went up to the Hogans’ within a couple of hours after he got home and, returning within another hour, never went there again. After he had gone to Arizona his mother said that he had been writing to Jemima and that she had been writing to him all the time that he was at the front; but I don’t think that there was anything in Jemima’s letters to make the old lady feel so bitter. In fact Jemima told Adeline that she had not written a word that any friend might not have written. “TI wrote to George Rumney, too, for that matter,” she said, ‘‘and George knew perfectly well that it was Lge out of friend- iness. He owned that he did “And you wrote to Joe Bingham, didn’t you?” asked Adeline; and at that, to her amazement, Jemima burst into tears. “TI haven’t heard a word from him for nearly six months,” she sobbed, “‘and his regiment got back three weeks ago.” “Well, what do you know about that!” I exclaimed when Adeline told me this. “Do you suppose she’s been in love with Joe all this time?” “I don’t,” replied Adeline. have had a fancy for him, but she was never in love with anyone but herself. Her vanity’s hurt, and she’s nervous and run- down, too, with the life she’s leading. I noticed today how thin she’s getting. She’d better marry that Leslie Gammett there’s so much talk about, and settle down as far as she’s capable of it. He’s got more money now than all the Groves outfit put together, and he made it himself and isn’t so old that he won’t make more. No, it’s just nerves and pique.” I was inclined to think that Adeline was right. She generally is. Gammett was the latest of Jemima’s conquests, according to rumor. He was rich before the war, and richer after; in his middle forties and a widower, but looking younger than his age. He was supposed to be watching Jemima’s finger with eager eyes and bated breath. If she chose to lift it Of course you can’t tell, but there was no doubt that, as old John H. boasted to me one day, Jemima could pick and choose. “Why the devil doesn’t she?” to ask him. As to Joe, I felt rather conscience- stricken because I had never definitely tried to get track of him. But what with shaking down into my new job and into our new house—you know how it is. But I had thought of him often. So he was back! Probably brought some little French girl with him, and that was why he had stopped writing to Jemima. But was wrong, and Adeline was wrong. In less than a week after the con- versation before recorded Adeline and I were going by the Hogans’ house, when we saw Jemima and her father sitting together on the front porch. I asked Adeline if we shouldn’t stop a minute and see them. “I don’t care,” said Adeline, smiling and waving to Jemima. “‘We won't stop long though. You notice her and tell me if you don’t think she’s getting thin and falling off in her looks.” We didn’t stop long. Not so long as we had intended, even, for we were hardly seated and fairly started talking when a (Continued on Page 100) “She may I wanted

Page 105

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THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 98) man in the uniform of a private soldier of | the United States Army came limping along with a stick, his hatbrim tilted down over his eyes. “Who's that, I wonder?” I said, and we all looked. Whoever he was, he seemed to be going | by without any sign of recognition, when cards in sight i Jemima cried “Joe!” in a voice that | thrilled us, and in the same instant she took flight. It is the only way I can describe it. She did not seem to run so much as to wing her way like a bird from the porch along the graveled path and through the gate. 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Not so very soon, for the unmentionably filthy, inde- cent, degraded vermin who owed their prosperity, their very existence, to Joe as Joe told them, in words to that effect, only more so—these sordid animals who promised Joe that he would find his job waiting for him when he came back had regretfully informed him that the best they could offer him at present was a com- mission proposition on the outside. He had called on them before coming to Deepdene, and that, I suppose, was one reason why he seemed to want to sneak by when he saw us all on the porch. He admitted, in fact, that he had felt himself a failure. Nothing to show for his service but three wound stripes and a measly c ag de guerre. He had been promoted twice, but the promotions didn’t stick, not being high enough to allow him to do and say what he darned pleased with- out unpleasant consequences, A first-class fighting man, but overstocked with initia- | tive and frankness of speech, so I gathered. And here he was, crippled up still, and out of work. But he soon recovered his old aggressive self-confidence, if he ever had really lost it, | and his bodily strength and vigor returned quickly. Within a week or two he had another job and threw himself into it heart and soul, and although it was no big thing he eventually made it produce enough to cover house rent and living expenses for two. Quite a comedown for Jemima, so Deep- dene opined. And you couldn't make Deepdene believe that she didn’t realize it, for all the magnificent bluff that she made; and, said Deepdene, the old folks must feel pretty cheap, too, if the truth were known—and would feel cheaper yet, you mark my words, when Jemima went back to them. Just wait and see! Wait until this young man found out what he had got—when all this really quite sickeningly spoony lovy-doving wore off a little. Wait until she gets into one of her tantrums and = what he'll think of little angel wife! I don’t say that Adeline and I didn’t feel much the same way about it. We did think that the beautiful devotion and perfect happiness of Joe and Jemima could not, in the nature of things, last long. It was lovely to witness—not sickening at all, in our opinion—but Adeline knew Jemima and I knew Joe. It was a wonder that their engagement went so smoothly to its fulfillment, but that the intimacy of mar- ried life would net result in rather more than less frequent spats was too much to expect. Yet month after month passed without a cloud on the sky so far as any- body could see. ‘‘Perhaps they are going to hit it off,” I said to Adeline. Adeline had been telling me about her latest call on Jemima and the talk they had had together. ‘*T will say that her kitchen was as neat as a pin,” said Adeline. ‘‘The whole house was, and she’s as proud of it! She’s really taking a tremendous interest in cooking, but [ must say she isn’t very successful and if it wasn’t for her mother always running in with some little thing I don’t believe that poor Joe would get much that was fit toeat. She said, though, that he ate every- thing and pretended it was delicious, but she knew that it wasn’t. Still, some of EVENING POST these days Joe was going to be able to brag | about her without lying, she said. . It was Joe, Joe, Joe! She just seems to think there’s nobody on earth like him.” “She’s right; there isn’t,” I “That’s going to be the trouble.” “Don’t let her hear you say that,’”’ Ade- line warned me. ‘Bill, dear, I really was quite touched by the way she spoke about him and about herself. It didn’t seem like Jemima at all. The tears just stood in her eyes when she told me how happy she was and how little she deserved it. Would you believe that she has been in love with him ever since they were at school together? I don’t myself; but she declares that she was always thinking of him and wondering about him ever since she was a child, and | that he—well, I certainly don’t believe that he was, or he would have hunted her up.” “T don’t know,” I disagreed. ‘A fellow sometimes likes to dream about something and doesn’t want to have reality spoil it— if you know what I mean.” } Adeline let that go by. ‘“‘Anyway, when they did meet, the time you brought him down, they came together just like that. | And since. I think that she really did | suffer when he was away; and when he was wounded the last time and she didn’t hear from him on account of his letters mis- carrying—well, it must have been awful for her. She says she just tried to forget him and to bring herself to accept Leslie Gam- mett. She thinks she is the luckiest girl in the world. She really does.” It was then I said that perhaps they might hit it off; but I was doubtful in my own mind, for I knew Joe. I decided that Jemima would know more about him before very long. said. But the months went off and still no sign of trouble. In those months other things happened too. Joe’s Uncle Joseph died and left him quite a little piece of money; but instead of moving into a larger house, buy- ing all kinds of new clothes and a car and hiring a servant or two, the Joe Binghams simply let the legacy lie in its safe invest- ment to await the big opportunity that Joe saw ahead of him. I thought that was a pretty sensible thing for Jee to do, but I felt a little sympathy for Jemima. Joe certainly got her a few labor-saving electri- cal devices, but that was the extent of the holdout. I thought I saw in that the begin- | ning of the end—Joe putting his foot down. Still, when there were any sort of festive | doings in Deepdene, and we of the younger married set saw to it that they were fairly | frequent, Joe and Jemima were the gayest and happiest of the crowd, and Jemima, ove in well-known frocks, was as much the belle as ever. Joe didn’t seem to mind in the least the admiring attention that the men paid her or her charming responsiveness to it. He himself was quite popular, and with the women as well as the men, which didn’t seem to disturb Jemima a bit. Nevertheless I fancied that there might be elements of trouble in this. Then, watch- ing, I would see Mr. and Mrs. Bingham exchange a look and a smile that put me wrong again. But shucks! it couldn’t be! No such an animal! I knew it and Adeline knew it; all the world knew it; the Dunmow archives attested it with their six-century record of but ten couples who had lived in perfect accord for a year and a day—and of these ten, who shall say that five didn’t perjure themselves, tempted by the bacon? Married people will bluff, of course. Any of them. Even Adeline and I—but that doesn't matter, The point is that even when wives and husbands are well suited to | each other in all respects, naturally ami- able, tactful, forbearing, and slow to anger, still little differences will arise; little clashes of opinion resulting in rows. Were we to believe that Joe, tactless, touchy and opinionated, and Jemima with her fiery disposition, her sensitive refinement, pette d and humored as she had always been—that these two didn’t spat? Certainly not! They just managed to put up an extra good | front, that was all, and it was only a ques- tion of time before Joe would raise his voice loud enough for the neighbors to hear. We all waited for something like that to happen, and still the months went by, leaving our predictions unverified. A year went by, and a day, and several days after that. Dinner was over. I was in my armchair with my pipe drawing smoothly and a book that Adeline and I were reading together in my lap. I was waiting until Adeline had August 5,1922 The Laser has sane tea 32 Sq. in. Patching (strongest be cause fabric reinforced) enough for 30 ordinary repairs. ¥/,"x 4" Tube Cement—sticks tight instantly —outlasts the tube Tube Clamp—an exclusive conven tence Buffer Top Tin Container litho graphed in 3 colors. 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THE SATURDAY

adjusted the table lamp and settled herself to listen, and she had just got the light right and was opening a box of candy that I had brought from town, when the doorbell rang. It rang sharply, half a dozen times in quick succession and then with one loud continuous ring. At the same time we heard Joe Bingham’s voice. “Bill! Oh, Bill! Hurry up and open this door! Bill! Adeline! Get ta wiggle on!” The bell stopped and the door quivered FAVORITE S aes Sloe Wan to a loud peremptory kicking. I dropped YEARS my book and ran out and opened to a gasp- ing lunatic. “What the dickens ” T began. “Don’t stop to talk!” said Joe impa- tiently, and I saw that his broad chest was heaving and that his forehead was wet with perspiration. ‘‘Pants—I want your pants, quick! Run up and get ’em. Your dress pants.” ““My dress pants?” I said wonderingly. Ovun | “Great guns! Don’t you understand? 100 Yes, your soup-and-fish trousers—pants. SHIP AND TYPES Hello, Adeline! Listen, I want Bill’s { MATERIAL AND pants—his dress pants. Want to borrow SUPREME SIZEs ‘em. Ina rush.” f I don’t know what Adeline said because I mounted the stairs three at a time, jerked the trousers of my dress suit off the hanger and hurried down with them. Joe snatched them from my hand, gave them a quick glance, rolled them up and stuffed them ;) A NATIONAL i STANDARD OF | ACCURACY WORKMAN-

) under his coat. } “Thanks,” he said, turning to the door. | “Explain later. G’night.”’ { He pushed me aside to get out and then whirled around to face us.: “‘ Forgot to tell you. Don’t mention this to Jemima. Get H that? Don’t want her to know I’ve been } here. Don’t tell a soul. Not on any ac- count. G’-by He made a leap down the outside steps, and, standing there, we saw him scudding down the avenue like a bounding gazelle or { a dog with a can tied to his tail. Before we could say a word he had turned the corner of our street and was out of sight. “Is he crazy?” Adeline exclaimed. } “Looks like it,” I replied. ‘“‘He’s got \ his own dress suit, but even so, why the spectacular rush, and why doesn’t he want ; t Jemima to know? And kic king our door | down! Paint must be cheap where he last | came from.” | _ Well, we discussed it up and down so that we got little of our book read that | night; but all we could decide on was that | there must have been something mighty queer happening, and it looked pretty fishy. ; Smoke a Pipe? | The explanation was given to me when ET yourfavorite pipe'sbest friend, || | by appointment I lunched with Joe the LOCKTITE Tobacco Pouch! || | "ext day. It was, on the whole, the most t Compect, convenient, common explanatory explanation that I ever lis- » sense. No stringsor buttons. Easy | | tened to. : , ‘ opening, tight closing top keeps || | To begin with, I was about three minutes ’ diana whee Sin. | late getting to the restaurant where we had , longs—inpouch. || | arranged to meet, and Joe called my atten- , Sold at cigar, || | tion to the fact not very politely. rhen the drug and || | place was pretty well crowded and the leather || | delay irked my friend extremely. He did goodestores. | some of his table rapping and called for a f If dealer can. || | little service in a tone of voice that was cer- noteupplysend || | tainly sufficiently loud and peremptory to Genuine Buide a | get either service or a chuck-out. As it hap- pened, it brought a waiter on the jump, and 4 THE Made and Fully Guaranteed by YY. Joe, somewhat appeased, gave a large and | substantial order. “‘And see that that steak is cooked the way I tell you or it goes back kiting and you miss out on your tip,” he included, with a glare at the man. Now I’m as big as Joe and I think I could look as fierce as he did, yet I know I couldn’t have got that sort of thing across.

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EVENING POST But the waiter only said meekly that he would see to it; and what is more, he did see to it. “T get hungry ‘at this time of day,”’ Joe said, attacking the bread tray when the waiter had gone. “I make lunch my prin- cipal meal.” Not like home cooking though,” I in- sinuated. “No, not like home cooking,”’ he replied firmly. “I tell you, Jemmy is some little cook. Still, I hate to see her scorching her face and bliste “ing her poor fingers the way she does just for chow. She will do it though. Well, it won’t be long before we'll have a good cook hired to attend to that department. I wanted to get one when we got that money from Uncle Joseph's estate, but Jemmy wouldn’t listen toit. ‘Thetime’s coming when you'll need a little capital to start a business,’ she told me. Made me salt it down. I wanted to blow her to two or three little dewdads that I thought she wanted; but no! I couldn't spend a cent on her. She said she’d wait for all that. Well, in a way maybe she was right. Any- way, I’ve got a chance now to get a block of stock in our concern that will give me a place on the directorate, besides being a gilt-edge investment. If my name isn’t on the office stationery before another year | miss my guess. Here’s the steak.” He ate like a wolf, and between bites talked about the stock investment and bragged of Jemima’s foresight, her careful economy — which, however, hedeprecated her artistic knack evidenced in those won- derful lampshades and things, and her angelic temper. I interrupted him here. “Huh?” ““Whadya mean ‘Huh’?” he demanded belligerently. “You heard what I said.” “How about your temper, I mean?” “Oh!” He chuckled. “Listen, Bill. I know I’ve got a rotten disposition, but listen. What kind of a plain, unvarnished fool would I be to let it out when I’m with her? I ask you. Here I am, a big rough- neck with no particular brains or education or money—nothing that most women like, and yet I get a girl like my wife, and she she kind of thinks I’m all right, at that. I'd have lots of sense to show my appreciation by acting ugly to her and making her think I was all wrong—what? It wouldn't be hard. She’s got plénty of spirit—heaps of it—and all I’d have to do would be to start something and she'd be in at the finish all right, all right. I know that. Well, I tell you there’s nothing doing in that line When I get ice cream I don’t empty the pepper shaker on it—get me? I’m mighty fond of ice cream the way it is and Ay save the pepper for some thing that I think it will improve. You can’t improve on Jemima.’ ee 7 *n the gloss hasn't rubbed off yet?” I said He grinned and laid down his knife and fork for a minute “T’m foolish about it, I suppose,” he said, “but I guess you are too. Nothing like it, Bill, is there? Every night when I come home I look at the little house, kidding myself I've never seen it before. ‘Darned -nice little house!’ says I to myself. ‘Those window boxes with the geraniums look mighty pretty, and I'll say there’s real class to that lawn, even if it isn’t a big one. Wonder what lucky guy lives there! Guess I'll make some excuse to knock at the door.’ ‘*Well, I don’t have to, because the door opens before I get anywhere near it, and I find out from the lady that Mr. Joseph ea am lives there and that she’s Mr Joseph Bingham. Then I realize that thi

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Monarch Coffee grows steadily he quality is always the cause the quality ts always the coe same. Sale with us one year or longer {Mr. ». G, Settergren has been with us forty-four years | are enjoying SATURDAY EVENING POST JoRetail Wanted Grocers ee not The demand and surely be- SWEET PICKLES , cutting overhead a ihe al id LO. men who have been SALAD DRESSING substantial and ever-growing Because of our organization, expenses, and style of packing, Monarch Coffee has a price advantage readily recognized by alert mer- chants. Youadd something to the net value of your estate when you purchase Monarch Coffee, because there is none better ob- | guy, Joseph Bingham, is me. Me, Joe! 708 He finished the last of his steak and looked around for the waiter. “Of course that makes me want to scrap with her,” he observed in a moment or two, and then waited until the waiter cleared the table and brought him an enormous slab | of mince pie. “‘And then to go upstairs,” he resumed. “To open a closet door and see her dresses hanging there, silky and cobwebby stuff in most all the colors of the rainbow, and lacy, frilly things; and her little shoes all inarow! And to think that you don’t have to excuse yourself and back off and shut the door, because all these are what belong to your own wife! Your own wife! You can stretch out your hand and touch ‘em if you like-—just to make sure they’re real and | that the whole thing’s real. Oh, I know | when I’m well off.” “But you don’t confide in Jemima,” I suggested. ‘‘You have secrets from her.” He stared at me for half a second in that mad-bull way of his, and then his face cleared and he laughed. “Yes, that’s right,” he admitted. ‘I called Adeline up this morning and made her swear by all that was holy that she wouldn’t breathe a word to Jemmy now or hereafter. And I know you won’t. Why, it was like this: You know we had to go to town to that affair at the Walmeslys’. We told you about it. Well, Jemmy was ready, all but changing her dress, before I got home last night, but I had to bathe, August 5, 1922 “Then what ——” I began. “The only trouble was she had pressed them the wrong way—got the creases at the sides--see? How would the poor girl know? Well, it was up to me to do some- thing sudden, and just then I thought of you, and ran downstairs and told her that I was going to step over to the corner drug store for a stick of shaving soap. Then I beat it over to your place. I guess I did that ten blocks in about one thirty, flat. Nearly a mile, isn’t it?” Even then it took me a moment to grasp it all. ‘‘You mean that you didn’t tell Jemima where you were really going, and what for?” “* After she had gone to all that trouble for me?” He snorted with contempt. “Well, I wouldn’t have told her for a mil- lion dollars.» No, I sneaked your pants upstairs and put ’em on, and she never knew the difference. She was as pleased and proud of herself! But I made her prom- ise not to do it hoe I'll swap back with you tonight, Bill. That settled it! For me, a top dressing of ashes and sackcloth underwear. Wanted, a vigorous and speedy man, good punter on football team preferred, to kick unresisting person around bloek. Joe, misjudged and calumniated by thy boyhood friend! Jemima, pattern and ex- ample to all loving young wives! Forgive us pinheaded pessimists and doubters of Deepdene, and let us learn from you both that in married life the fear of fussing is tainable at any price, and it costs you less. A trial on your table will bring to you positive proof. Particular care is given to all mail \ orders from retail merchants not reached by our salesmen. In ter- ritory west of Pittsburgh address Reid, Murdoch & Co., Clark business and have also the satisfactory patronage given other Monarch table supplies. Weare now placing additional salesmenin New England and AclanticCoast States. Menunder C woffee CATSUP and other MONARCH shave and change from the skin out, so as soon as we had got through dinner I skipped upstairs to begin the struggle. Everything was ready; tie all laid out, coat all brushed and on the back of a chair, and pants do you know! the beginning of wisdom! One little thing. studs in my shirt, collar and divorce statistics until your voice Say, what That girl had gone to work Something else has to go with it, though. You can talk all you want to about incompatibility and reel off husks down to a whisper; “you can put up the smoothest kind of argument to prove that ¢ ) grocery training. 4 >» a G j i | ( dan rred. We consider only y FOOD PRODUCTS plications made in pe erson Y with retail of Pittsburgh, ad- Oe acs as below. by men REID, MURDOCH & CO. 882 Third Ave. Brooklyn oa (Bush Terminal) cas a Cass )\__ New York St. Bridge, Chicago, lll.; east that afternoon and pressed 'em. She hol- lered upstairs that she had. There’s where I've always drawn the line. But here, just to save fifty cents or maybe because she’s always trying to do something for me, bless her dear little heart, she’d stood up a day like it was yesterday, pushing a hot iron that weighed about a ton, back and forth over a steamy cloth! | “First time, by gosh, she’d ever tried to do such a thing in her life, and say, you | never saw a better job of pressing. Any- | thing that little lady turns her hand to she | does in shape, I tell you!” His face beamed with pride. the institution of marriage has outlived its usefulness and that self-expression and in- dividuality demand the larger freedom; you can also advocate the abolition of parental mismanagement of offspring, argu- ing for the sane rearing of children—es- pecially pretty, red-headed. girls—by the state; but, given that one little thing as an eternal factor, the business of marrying and raising kids will muddle through pretty well. Mrs. Hogan and old John H. have that essential; Joe and Jemima have it, and Adeline and I —— But I won’t be per- sonal. They say it makes the world go round. EASY TO SELL Mr. La Rocco Sells to Three out of Five of the People He. Interviews Mr. La Rocco began selling The Saturday Evening Post, The Ladies’ Home Journal and The Country Gentleman in his spare hours to earn money to pay for an education. He is very much pleased with his new work, which has brought him generous returns from the start. In his very first week he wrote more than 20 orders. He works solely among strangers, yet he finds the popularity of the Curtis publications so great that he sells to three out of five of the people he interviews. We've a Splendid Opening for You Mr. La Rocco had no experience when he began this work—he found that he needed none to make big profits. And you need no experience to enjoy the same opportunity. Just send the coupon below— it involves no obligation-—and we will tell you all about our plan for making your spare hours profitable to you. Literature, supplies, a special sales- manship course, personal assistance are CHARLES LA ROCCO, Massachusctts all offered FREE to new workers. THe CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY, 758 Independence Square, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Please tell me, without obligation, how I can easily earn extra money Gentlemen: by your plan. Name Address City State THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (More Than Two Million and a Quarter Weekly) IS fully protected by copyright and nothing that appears in it may be reprinted, either wholly or in part, without special permission. The use of our articles or quotations from them for advertising promotions and stock-selling schemes is never authorized. Table of Contents August 5, 1922 Cover Design by Paul Bransom SHORT STORIES -Earl Derr Biggers Kennett Harris The Heart of the Loaf Concerning Joe and Jemima The Gate Opens— Will! Irwin ARTICLES Princess Cantacuzéne Courtney Ryley Cooper Society and Statesmen High Pitch — Low Pitch My Life— Emma Calvé The People Who Live in New York Edward Mott Woolley SERIALS The Van Roon (Fourth part)—J. C. Snaith a , The Follansbee Imbroglio (Conclusion) — Frederick lew ing Aralereon ‘ DEPARTMENTS Editorial . , The Poets’ Corasr A REQUEST FOR CHANGE OF ADDRESS must reach us at least thirty days before the date of issue with which it is to take effect. Duplicate copies cannot be sent to replace those undelivered through failure to send such advance notice. With your new address be sure also to send us the old one, inclosing if possible your address label from a recent copy.

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THE SATURDAY TIRE that is big, strong and A resilient to the most casual observer is the tire that will give long mileage without interrupted service. Even known tires differ in appear- ance as they do in actual results. EVENING POST The Fisk Cord Tire even on a sales- room floor gives plain evidence of its bigness, strength, resiliency and safety. When you are buying a tire ask to see a Fisk. There’s a Fisk Tire of extra value in every size for car, truck or speed wagon iw fat Fe ; wat os are ke ee eae! PF eS iy. oh ve saree + a pas RET, cella’, soy

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104 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 5, 1922 Buy Swifts Premium Bacon in the carton [t is most convenient Uniform slices of Premium Bacon, all ready for the frying pan; with no waste, for the rind is all removed. Convenient to buy; convenient to cook; convenient to carry for camping trips or outdoor meals. Not touched by hands From the time it hangs in slabs in the smoke- house, through the entire process of slicing and packing, Premium Bacon is never touched by hands. In a white-enameled room, spotlessly clean, the sliced bacon is packed in sanitary parchment-lined cartons, then wrapped and sealed to retain all its freshness. The name’ on the box When you buy Premium Bacon in the sealed coe ons carton you know you are getting that deli- Swift Swill cate flavor, that tenderness which only the Swift's Premium Bacon special Premium cure and the unhurried Soon aibleen’ week te smoking over hardwood fires can give. Your sat assurance of Swift’s Premium quality is the Swift name on the box. Swift & Company, U.S.A. Then youre sure its Premium

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4 at ——. Ww A moe “¥F / a { | ah i A floor that stands the daily tread of scuffling feet For Business Floors HOL SANDS of people tramp back and \ good way to instal forth, every day and evening, overt le um a perma t Tramp! Tramp! Tramp! this floor in th corridor of the Boston Arena iown firmly ove! needs refinishing. Occasional } t 1f never waxing and polishing are sufficient to keep main as snug and looking bright and new. put e dowr \|| . Hy al i This floor is Armstrong Plain Brown Linoleum. Such a floor nexpensive 1 If you are planni I ft first cost and upke p, and will give good wear under the hardest usage. Because linoleum ts made chiefly of cork, ul rcha this floor is springy to the tread, non-slip We shall | er rY rf bl t Ik n i stan } pery, comfortable to waik on and stand on ficati And linoleum floor give » busv offic , Our ft stores and public buildings the blessing of talr pl quietness. They deaden the sound of toot steps, ana reauce other noises which at choo reflected from hard, non-resilient floors. ARMSTRONG CorK Company, LINOLEUM Divisio , GLAS | ll At | x 4] 7 1ie, rhe fre dsome Ht 1 Patierns . r Inlaid Designs in “vestae : m may be had. f p Vv ¢ la thie il bo h for the CIRCLE A trademark on the hurlap hac } Write for Armstrong's Linoleum for Every Floor in the House

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, AP with . | Old Dutch Cleanser Cie Old Dutch Cleanset Grease and Stains Vanish Like’ Magic . : because: Old Dutch is the ideal cleaning material—a fine, flat, flaky substance veobbelereibene) ee @elomo-bueem aer-ti erases the dirt and grease. —Doesn’'t scratch because pore ole: thet elemel- teem -sule