The Saturday Evening Post 1924-07-05: Vol 197 Iss 1

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dTURDAY ZG POST ly Franklin a eee NL OT TNT TT ee ": ~

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YA. verdict of profit rendered in terms of performance . . « Operators of buses and commercial cars have learned that they must rate pneumatic tires according to how they answer the test of profitable performance . .. Read the reports of Goodrich Heavy Duty Cords in the words of men who have invested in them and collected the profit...) They say that Heavy Duty Cords answer the question of pneumatic truck tires . . . There is an underlying reason: Heavy Duty Cords are manu- factured expressly for bus and commercial car service. | Testimony that proves P the case of Heavy Duty Cords Proved in Gruelling Work .. “We have been using this truck in road construction work, haul- ing over very rough roads, with large overloads, and especially bad pull out of aquarry...Road is hilly and full of flint stones... Tires still on and look good for many miles more... We have since equipped every one of our trucks with Heavy Duty Tires.” C. C. Vanderboom & Sons Milwaukee, Wisc. y ry 7 Solve Stageman’s Troubles “The res sults we ‘ave ob- tained from these tires zre very gratifying, having used them the past year with an average of 23,568 miles per tire ... We rec- ognize them as the tire to solve the stageman’s trouble ... Bigger mileage ... Better traction.”.. Triangle Taxi & Stage Co., Yakima, Wash. 7 y y Extraordinary Service... “Of the ten original tires, seven are still in service after the buses have covered some 70,000 miles .. One ran over 40,000, and the other two close to 60,000. . Buses make 200 to 225 miles a day.” ..- International Bus Line, Las Cruces, N. Mex. 7 7 7 Long-time Service ‘Using Heavy Duty Truck Tires two years... One pair on 2-ton Velie Truck has had more than twelve months’ service . . . Best truck tires we ever used.” Ft. Worth Poultry & Egg Co., a Ft. Worth, Texas. 7 r 7 Reduce Operating Costs .. . “Your new Goodrich Heavy Duty Pneumatic Truck Tires tried on one of our trucks, stood up better than any pneumatic tires we have been able tobuy... Our deliveries require going over newest roads and into con- struction roadways, and our pneumatic tire costs were ex- orbitant until we tried your Heavy Duty Tires. . . Our fore- man has been instructed to pur- chase only your Heavy Duty Tires for all our ne truck tire requirements.” . . Bowen Brick & Supply Co., ™ Cleveland, Ohio. | fat ome 4 To round out economical 7 and efficient service in the operation of Trucks and Buses, Goodrich also pro- vides the famous De Luxe Solid in Smooth and Trac- Se Types, and Gocdrich Semi-Pneumatics. THE B. F. GOODRICH RUBBER CO. Akron, Ohio In Canada: The B. F. Goodrich Rubber Company, Ltd., Toronto “BEST IN THE LONG RUN” : 4

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST os Cs nt°S? THE CV:it OF8 BOVA+- Ct GtlwH 28 TAA Coeur re PEO OO IO 2O® FOR COMFORT AND FOR LOOKS THE CUTS THE THING IN SUMMER CLOTHES Many well dressed men still hesitate to buy hot weather clothes because they do not know they can get the cut and tailoring to which they are accustomed. The fact is that Society Brand Clothes, made up in fine summer fab- rics, are correctly cut and smart in every detail. They com- bine the comfort of cool fabrics, the comfort of proper cut and the satisfaction of thoroughly correct appearance. Society Hwrand Clothes CE DIODE DOE ~~ oto SOLEIL “LS ALFRED DECKER @ COHN, MAKERS - CHICAGO NEW YORK : IN CANADA: SOCIETY BRAND CLOTHES LIMITED, MONTREAL : e194, A.D.aC, CSBSYGYGDOWCW GY’ CB°GB2OBGDGVC RGD OVOWOWGYOV A

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST July 5,1924 “She is gloriously paintable, Mrs. Jollyco. I’ve never seen a more beautiful complexion!” Let this simple truth guide you IVORY SOAP 99 44/100% PURE @ror, by The Procter & Gambie Co., Cincinnati IT FLOATS to natural beauty VERY woman should rightly make a special effort to main- tain a beautiful complexion. But this effort may cause you to over- look one simple truth—soap’s func- tion is to cleanse, not to cure or to transform. Dermatologists agree on this im- portant point: Only by cleansing the skin thoroughly, yet gently and safely, can any soap help to promote beauty. And only pure soap can cleanse thoroughly and safely. You know already that Ivory Soap is pure—that it contains no medica- ments, no coloring matter, no strong perfumes. If we had felt that any additional ingredients would im- prove Ivory, you may be sure we would have used them long ago. But perhaps it may surprise you to know that simple washing with Ivory is the very finest treatment you can give to your skin. A face-bath of Ivory and warm water, once or twice daily, gently removes the film of dust, oil or powder and thoroughly cleanses the pores. Then a quick dash or two of cold water brings a fresh, lovely, natural color. For unusually dry skins, the use of a small amount of pure cold cream is recommended. This simple treatment is effective, safe and economical. The millions of friends of Ivory and the multitude of women who have been using much more costly soaps, have welcomed the new, graceful cake of Guest Ivory. Fashioned for slim fingers, this dainty white cake is genuine Ivory Soap—with all of Ivory’s traditional purity and mildness—as fine as soap can be. Yet Guest Ivory costs but five cents. PROCTER & GAMBLE

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Published Weekly The Curtis Publishing Company Cyrus H. K. Curtis, President C.H, Luding’ Vice-Presid and Treasurer P.S. Collins, General Bus‘ ness Manager Walter D. Fuller, Sscretary William Boyd, Advertising Director London: 6, Henrietta Street Covent Garden, W.C. THE SATURDAY a Founded A’D' 1728 Sy Benj. Franklin Copyright, 1924, by The Curtis Publishing Company in the United States and Great Britein Tile Registered in U. S. Patent Office and in Foreign Countries George Horace Lorimer EDITOR Churchill Williams, F. S. Bigelow, A.W. Neall, Thomas B.Costain, Thomas L.Masson, Mareh 3.1879. Additional Entry at Cohumbus, O., St. Louis, Mo., Chicege, IL, Indianepolis, lad Saginaw, Mich., Des Moines, la, Portland, Ore. Milweuhee, Wis.. end St. Paul, Minn Entered as Second-Closs Metter at the Post-Office Depertment, Otrawa, Caneda Volume 197 Sc. THE copy PHILADELPHIA, PA., JULY 5, 1924 Number i THE YEAR $2. Oo by Subscription PP YHERE are more danger ad- monitions in the oil game than there are along the lines of the transcontinental railroads; ‘ama can beat that game you are on vour way to a billion yourself. Not that a great deal of money has not been made in oil—not that. more advice beginning with ‘ Don’t” than there is oil. I could fill two pages of this journal with wise warn- ings and cautionary cracks concerning the difficulties and disasters attendant on the enterprise in getting, and try- ing to get, oil out of the ground; but what would be the use? Undoubtedly two days after they were printed some intrepid gambler would bring in a wildcat well in some hitherto undrilled territory, and for sixty days thereafter the heavens would be obscured by the dust kicked up by the thousands of oi! lunatics rushing thither to throw their dollars into the cleaginous maw of the new field—rushing thither more or less laden with new oil money, and later walking painfully back heavily up- holstered with experience that has no collateral value at the bank. The greatest and most fascinating gamble in the world is the gamble of drilling for oil. More money has been lost in searching for oil—and in find- ing it, too—than in any other single enterprise man has engaged in since the dawn of time. Everybody who has dabbled in oil production knows that. Yet at the moment of writing, undaunted and untaught by the mel- ancholy experiences of the vast ma- jority of oil seekers, great numbers of wild-eyed men are tearing up the turf to get to the new fields discov- ered in Colorado. And so it will be until the last drop is brought to the surface and sold to the big companies at whatever price the big companies deign to pay. Let George Do It HE man who said that a sucker is born every minute underestimated the supply. At least two oil suckers are born every minute, to say nothing of the other kinds. There isn’t a com- ¢. Vast amounts have been made and ‘| will be made; billions, probably, in addition to the Rockefeller one. But that, if you could round up on one side of the oil ledger the ameunts spent in the endeavor to produce oil since Colonel Drake got his first well on Oil Creek in Pennsylvania in 1859, and on the other side the amounts realized from the oil produced by the producers until this present moment, you would find that more money has been put into the ground than has been taken out of it. That stops nobody. Indeed, it excites every- body. Why worry about the bad luck of others? Potentially, there is a 5000-barrel gusher at the tip of every drill, on the next spin of every rotary. It may be our turn now. Dig up a few more thousands and sock her down 100 feet or so. The treasure sand must be just below. The Only Sure Way HERE is one sure way of making money in the oil-producing game- one—count it. That way is to own or have a lease on a piece of ground that has good oil in good quantities beneath it and to contract with some responsible producer to drill that ground at his own expense and to pay you a royalty on all oil produced, or to sell the land outright to some producer at the fancy price that will be paid for oil land. Either way you win. If you strike oil you get a share of it without expense; and the first share if you know your business, If you sell outright you get anywhere from ten to a hundred times what the land is worth for any other purpose, because there is no frenzy compar- able to the frenzy of the oil man who wants a piece of land in producing or proved territory, and no situation to which a buyer and seller can come munity in this country that.hasn’t its quota, and the amazing thing about them is that they never grow out of it. The oil sharks know this. If they can get a bite they can land and keep the fish. Once an oil sucker, always an oil sucker, because there is always the lure of sudden and easy wealth. An investor may have had his money down on a dozen dry holes, and money down on dry holes is farther down than any other money whatsoever; but the next one— the next one! Lookit the fortunes that have been made in oil! Sure! Look at them! There’s John D, Rockefeller, a good and pious person, and worth $1,000,000,000; maybe more. Richest man in the world. Well, he got his in oil, didn’t he? And this is a free country and any man may do the same. There’s plenty of oil. Right! There’s no end of oil, if you can find it, and John D. certainly did get his billion out of oil. But there are a couple of qualifying details, mere trifles, of course, but existing. The first is that our mass production of people since we began to populate produced only one John D. Rockefeller, and the second is that the bulk of John D.’s billion didn’t come from producing oil, and did come from manufacturing oil, which is quite another story. The wonder is not that Rockefeller has one billion, but that he hasn’t ten. John D. originated and operated the only sure thing in the sil game; which is, let George do it. George represents the tens and hundreds of thousands of investors who gambled their money on production, took the big risk, spent the big money, and discovered and dug out the oil. Thereupon, John D. bought it and fixed the price himself, If you CCPYRIGHT BY UNDERWOOD & UNDERWOOD, WN. Y. C. Oil From the Bottom of the Sea, Summertand, California where the buyer loses so completely the sense of money values. Oil ter- ritory, and especially new and prom- ising oil territory, makes men lunatics in a money way. They throw thousand-dollar bills around as if they were worth only a nickel apiece, which is as much as a lot of them are worth so far as rvsults are concerned. That is the one sure way. All other ways are gambles, even with the big companies. Occasionally the big companies lose money. It doesn’t seem possible, but it is. That adds to the lure of it. When you see a herd of high-priced geologists employed by one or the other of the big companies—experts, you know, who can tell where the oil is inciting the big companies to the drilling of mile-deep holes in territories where there is no more oil than there is in the corner pocket of a pool table, you say, “ Well, by gosh, even the big fellows are not infallible! They don’t always find it, and my luck is likely to be as good as their experts’. Let’s go!” Occasionally the big fellows lose money. I recall a most sorrowful tale related to me by an official of one of the biggest oil companies in California. “Where do these independents get off with their eternal grousing about the big companies?” he asked. ‘It’s frightfully unjust. You fellows don’t know the half of our troubles,” he continued, and there.was a plaintiveness in his speech that wrung my heart “Why, only this year our company has spent $7,000,000 drilling dry holes. Think of that!”

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST I thought of it, and it aimost made me ery. ! was over- come with a deep and sympathetic emotion. I pictured this big company spending $7,000,000 in drilling for oil where there was no oil, and I also pictured this big com- pany, which fixes the price of oil, and—with the four other big companies—-is practically the only market for oil, in my state cutting the price to the independent producers three times in a year and fifty cents a barrel atime. Again, | pictured this big company with its own oil wells shut in and its own oi! conserved in the ground, while it grabbed up the oil of the incependents at whatever price it chose to pay.. I pictured that, and, believe me, my tears fell, not because of the $7,000,000 lost in dry holes, but because it wasn’t $17,000,000. They must have heard about this, for the next day they cut the price of oil again. As in every other gamble, the oil investor never hears of, nor considers, the losses. He hears of the winnings. The fact that Jim Bell got $12,000,000, or some such sum, for isis little orange grove down at Santa Fé Springs in South- ern California, probably cost oil investors three times $12,000,000. There was that conductor on the Santa Fe Railroad who had paid $5000 for a piece of land in thac Santa Fé Springs town site that, in a year, was transformed from a sleepy community of little orange groves to a roar- ing, hissing, frenzied oi] district with more than 500 derricks on it, and was getting an income of $95,000 a month from it; and the florist who had twenty acres right in the middle of it, and got $1,000,000 an acre, and the rich strikes on Signal Hill and elsewhere. These are what the investor hears about, and these are what he gambles on. He's just as lucky as the next one, and his well may hit it—may. Oil, in the broad sense, has always been synonymous with quick and easy money, and tons of it. It is the general public opinion and belief that to strike oi] means to become rich. So it does, if you strike enough of it; but, on the expensive other hand, to strike oil means to spend money; and there is no business in the universe, none, where so much money is spent, where the procedures are so wasteful, where the gamble on profit is so great, where the hazards are so desperate, where the grief is so abundant. Bitten by the Oil Bug F YOU happen to think that to drill a hole a mile or more into the ground after oil is an undertaking that does not require great capital, skill, pertinacity, luck and provi- dence, you are misinformed. If you are under the impression that all that is necessary in getting oil out of the ground is to set up a derrick and hurry a hole down to the oil sand, with the certainty of golden returns as soon as you hit that sand, you are in a haze. If you think that having struck oil your troubles are over and you have created a balance at the bank, the continuity and consequence of your thought will be disrupted rudely when you talk to the banker about it Drilling for oil in territory where the oil sands are deep is an enterprise that costs incredible sums in terms of the ordinary investor. Depending on luck and skill, a hole that goes down to, say, 4500 or 5000 feet will cost at least $100,000 and may cost $200,000. It takes a lot of oil at eighty cents a barrel to pay that first expense, and a lot of very costly equipment to drill it. And after you get an oil well, as will be shown later, you may not be able to maintain it as an oil well. An oil well is a tricky and ma- lignant object. It has more ways of getting into nonpro- ductive trouble than an oil-stock salesman has excuses for not paying dividends—which is an infinity. “It is my opinion,” said a man who brought a small oil company up through the various stages of development until it now has a record of having paid more than $70,- 000,000 in dividends to its stockholders, ‘‘that there are only two classes of people who should engage in oil pro- duction. These are rich men who have enough money to enable them to stand losses and not suffer from those losses, and poor men who have little to lose and must take a chance to get more than they have.” That, perhaps, draws the line too sharply, but the gen- eral idea is correct. When this man said “oil production” he meant the actual work of drilling for oil, getting oil out of the ground. He did not mean investing in oil stocks in good substantial oil companies that have capital, facilities, properties, equipment and a record for dividends. He did not mean those favored of fortune who discover themselves to be the owners of land that has oil beneath it. He did not mean those experts in location who can get leases on land that has oil underneath and who collect royalties on the work of others in development. He meant those others those fatuous and frenzied others—who rush in to get all the money and attempt to do the drilling themselves. He meant the small producers. He meant the weaker inde- pendents. He meant the individual gamblers who shoot all they have, and more, on one hole. He meant the wild- catters who stray out to far distances from proved territory and make their hundred-to-one bets with more courage than capital. He meant the town-lot drillers who get small leases in big territory and are hampered in a hundred ways and ruined in a hundred more. In short, he meant about half those who seek fortunes in oil; perhaps two-thirds. He meant the men who, bitten by the oil bug, excited by the stories of oil wealth, living in the vicinity of a new field, organize small companies, get small leases and set out to become Rockefellers; or those who rush to new fields to get some of the quick and easy money. He meant the hundreds and thousands of men, with their hundreds or thousands of dollars, who, without experience in or knowl- edge of the most complicated of all mining businesses, the most difficult of all enterprises requiring the removal of anything from beneath the surface of the earth, the most expensive of all combats with the reluctant hidden treas- ures of Nature, the greatest gamble for concealed and unknowable stakes, foolishly think because they have enough capital to build a derrick and get astring of tools they ean become oil millionaires. And he meant those millions of others who back these brash adventurers, these simpletons who try to play the most intricate of production games without knowing the rudiments of it—the millions who buy stock in and units in and shares in these small companies, to say nothing of larger companies organized by professional seekers after and finders of sucker money. But there is nothing to be done about these. So long as every man is looking for easy money, so long will stock in oil companies find ready sale. It is idle to discuss that phase of human nature. Oil stock has been the flame in which the small-moneyed moths of this country have burned their wings for more than sixty years. As often as a new field is discovered, a new flight of moths develops. There is no end to them, nor any cure, They come back for more and more. July 5,1924 Any person familiar with the facts would think that enough people in California had lost money in oil stocks, oil promotions, oil fakes and oil disasters during the past two years forever to estop any further sale of oil stocks in that territory. But they are gayly selling oil stocks there today; not in ‘‘\e near-by fields, which are dwindling, but in other fields. There’s no way to cure them. Once an oil sucker, always an oil sucker. I was having my shoes shined in Los Angeles at a stand facing Pershing Square. This was at the height of the Signal Hill, Santa Fé Springs and Huntington Beach ex- citements, and the oil stock and oil unit sellers were run- ning big rubberneck wagons out to the fields, filled with prospects to show them their wells and get their money. These sucker conveyances were lined up along the curb in large numbers. “Many people go out in those busses?’’ I asked the negro who was shining my shoes. “Yes-suh, right sma’t goes out every day.”’ “Do they buy stock?” “Oh, yes-suh, they suttinly does.” “Do they get any oil?” “Yes-suh, they gits oil. My boss here has three of them units in three wells, and one done struck oil.” “How much did the units cost him?” “A hundred dollars apiece.” “How much does he get?” “Well, suh, he figgers he’ll make a dollah an’ fohty cents dividends on his payin’ unit this year; but he’s savin’ up to buy some more in another well that’s sure to be a gusher.”” Spudding in With Prayer HAT’S the story. The next one is always going to be the gusher. But the next one rarely is. Or if it is, it belongs to one of the big companies;. or when it begins to gush the big companies cut the price of oil; or something else happens. More things can happen to keep an oil well from paying dividends than could be tabulated on a page. It’s a hard death to die. In reality, the most merciful thing that can happen to the small oil investor or the small intending producer is to have the oil wells turn out dusters- to be dry holes. Then it’s all over when the hole is aban- doned. Otherwise, in most cases, the misery is dragged out for months. The well is producing some oil, but there are no profits for the owners. Successful oil production re- quires highly specialized knowledge, exceptional skill, shrewd marketing, tremendous luck and a dozen other things entirely apart from the equipment of the ordinary small attempts at production. That is, all these qualities, and many others, are required after oil has been struck. The qualities required to drill a well successfully and strike the oil come in another category; and those are numerous, and exceptional also. The methods of the stock sellers and the unit sellers are familiar. Mostly, the old stuff is used over and over newspaper advertisements, circulars, solicitors, and so on. They introduced a new wrinkle or two in the latest Cali- fornia excitement. One was the taking out of prospects to the fields, showing them wells that were producing, giving them barbecued meals and selling stock right under the shadows of the derricks. One enterprising company hired a minister to bless the well every time they spudded in for a new hole. One of the mangiest of the fakes was to seli (Continued on Page 71) Wildcatting is a Crazy Enterprise for Any But the Big Companies. The Little Fellow May be Able to Horn in on a Field Where There Has Been a Discovery, But if He is Wise He Will Not Attempt to do the Discovering

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LORENCE is a city where, i: the stars be right and if your luck hold good, any- thing may happen. Events breed in the stones of her ancient palaces and lie in wait for you down the dark narrows of her byways, and it is right that this should be so. It is a heritage. Because he sensed something of this, Alden Ware crossed the seas to Italy hopefully. He came from Boston, where, no matter what the position of the stars in their houses, nor how splendid your luck, nothing can happen, for it is regarded as bad form. This is especially true of the first families, who inhabit a region known as the Back Bay. Ironically enough Alden Ware had entered the world accompanied by a powerful desire to experience the ro- mantic, and no amount of Harvard or of Commonwealth Avenue had been able to abolish it. From the very begin- ning he had yearned for it, and in his somewhat timid and stand-offish way, had searched for it; but early in life he came to know that the commodity he desired was not to be found in the markets of his native city, so he took up the reading of books and the cultivation of his imagination. The most critical could not deny that he was handsome in a restrained, patrician way; you were perfectly aware from his appearance that he could tell you who his great- great-grandfather was; and nobody need inform you that his family had been wealthy for more than a generation. In short, he was quite the best Boston could turn out— and Boston can do well when it sets itself to the task. There is no pride like the pride of a family such as the Wares, which is a fact to bear in mind as you go along; and Alden had been instructed in this pride by a mother who was a mistress of the art and by a father who was qualified to be dean'df a department devoted to such instruction. It was the kind of pride which is so proud it is wholly unconscious of itself; which, as anybody will admit, is the worst possible kind. Alden graduated from Harvard University, where he had been a very great man, and, bearing in mind certain admonitions of his father and voluminous warnings by his mother, engaged passage for Italy, hopefully, as was said in the begin- ning. Hope wasall he had. There was no certainty, but he knew if romance and adventure persisted on an earth which seemed utterly prosaic it must be in the land of Beatrice and of Ben- venuto and of Lorenzo the Magnifi- cent. In order to miss no opportuni- ties he had equipped himself with so exhaustive a knowledge of the lan- guage of the country that he could read Fogazzaro in the original and carry on conversations with men who sold fruit on the streets of Boston. He took train from Naples to Rome and thence to Florence, where he ar- rived in the evening and was driven in a decidedly commonplace auto bus through cobbled streets to the Grand Hotel, which is on the Lungarno and from whose windows he could look across the river and, in the distance, see lights twinkling high above him in lofty Fiesole—all very promising. But when he descended to the dining room and found himself in a welter of Germans whom the war had so im- poverished that they spent hoarded American dollars like limberjacks just down with the drive, he experi- enced a setback. From that hour he had breakfast served in his room and took the two other daily meals in crowded restaurants unknown to tourists and where the minestrone was a dish to recall with pleasure even in the midst of a symphony concert. For several days he prowled about the city by day and by night, making intimately the acquaintance of Della Robbia, and of fritto misto of Chianti served in huge fiaschi, and of Cellini’s Perseus hard by the Uffizi Palace and facing the square where Savonarola died of the great- ness which resided in him. He glanced cursorily at acres upon acres of canvases in the Uffizi and Pitti palaces, and more or less agreed with a weary Cook’s tourist who mopped his brow and deplored that so much fabric which might have been used to make circus tents was wasted upon pictures which the tourist would not give to an enemy as a wedding present. He was charmed with the library and impressed by the statues of the Medici by Michelangelo, and mused upon the peculiarities of that family whose supreme magnificence was the erection of a THE SATURDAY EVENING POST By Clarence Budington Kelland ILLUSTRATED BY H. WESTON TAYLOR Aiden Ware Was Lost. Followed. The Way Led Back Into the City and Away From Traveled Streets He Followed; Witheut Shame He great chapel to be the mausoleum for themselves and their posterity. But all these things—excepting the Chianti and the fritto misto and the tourist—were of the years which were dead, and did nothing but sharpen his appetite for romance, which was becoming brisk. In all that week he saw no lurking assassin in black cloak, nor did he hear the cry of beauty in distress. The background was there, the stage settings, but not the actuality; nothing but a peaceful, rather humdrum popu- lace which went about its business with many gesticula- tions, a host of German tourists peering seriously at art and architecture, and numerous fascinating shops where antiques of authenticity for those who knew, and decidedly apochryphal for those who did not know, might be bargained for. It was discouraging, but Alden was not discouraged. What if the Arno were an unappetizing stream whose sole purpose seemed to be to furnish water over which bridges might be built? What if very modern posters signed with Mussolini’s name testified from every ancient wall to a new day in Italy? In spite of all, he knew that romance lived and that, if he persisted, it must pass his way. It was of a Friday and he was stand- ing at the foot of that famous mon- strosity, Giotto’s Tower—for want of a better occupation—watching the passers-by in the piazza, and now and again turning his eyes toward the im- mense bulk of the Duomo and wonder- ; ing at the florid taste in marbles of its “at architect, when, of a sudden, the day changed. It leaped backward from } 1924 to a long-dead century—and all ai because Alden Ware saw a face. P| An old woman of comfortable girth , and severe countenance emerged from the door of the great church, holding aside the heavy quilt which so efficiently keeps cold and dampness inside cathe- drals and prevents warmth and spring from entering them. It was apparent she was a servant, but, thought Alden, : her companion could be nothing less than a princess, and he looked about for ‘4 waiting coach and four and retinue, but these trappings were lacking. The girl and her companion descended the steps and passed on foot within a yard of Alden, exactly as ordinary human be- ings might do—so that Alden was able to scrutinize the face of the girl at his leisure. He made the most of his op- portunity. At first he thought her tall to stateli- ness, but found this was but in appear- ance; her bearing, the unconscious car- riage of her chin, the splendor cf her movements deceived him. She was slender and graceful with a grace hith- erto unknown to him—so that he was close to the error of studying it and not her face; but he avoided this pitfall, and all was well—or ill. He did not guess her age, except unconsciously to arrive at the decision that she was ex- actly young enough and exactly old enough. Her skin was of a curious, lovely whiteness, yet there was upon her cheeks so dainty a tinting of color that one was inclined to deny its pres- ence until verified by a second glance. Her brows were dark, arched, slender and perfect, and her eyes were of liquid blackness. Her profile, he thought, might have been the medel for some button done by Cellini in an inspired moment, and Leonardo da Vinci himself might have dreamed the full oval of her face. None other couid have dreamed it. . Alden Ware was lost. He followed; without shame he followed. The way led back into the city and away from traveled streets; it wound and seemed to turn upon itself, as streets in Florence seem to have a way of doing, until it brought the two women to an arched gateway, through whose old-time gates of wrought iron they disappeared. Alden sauntered past, spying out the land and observing that the gate opened upon a small but charming walled garden. He walked fifty paces; turned and slowly retraced his steps As he reached the gate again the serving woman emerged and stationed herself across the narrow walk with evident intention. Alden paused. “The signor followed us,” said the woman in an uncom- promising voice. “It is true,” said Alden; “meaning no harm and intend- ing no offense.” “Are you German?” she demanded. “ American.” “So.” She drew out the word slowly and gave to it a wealth of meaning. The Americans—they might do any- thing and with no purpose. One could never tell about Americans. “Then why?” she asked

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “Because,” he said, “the principessa is beautiful.” “It is no answer,” she said, beetling her brows, “And, then, you know the principessa?” So she was a princess! It was not _ t that she should be anything else. “No,” he said. “I called her looked like a princess because she prince “At least the signor has eyes,” said the woman; and then, star- tlingly: “Is the signor rich?” “TL suppose you would call meso.” She sighed, shook her head and hrugged he ri shoulders. “It is as God wills,” she said; “ but, none the ‘ou must not follow. For me, I say it is too bad, for the signor is pleasing totheeye. You followed, meaning no offense, So. Then con- tinue to mean no offense by follow- ingnomore, When one hasa pigeon to guard from prowling cats 4 She left the sentence unfinished. “T shall not follow again,” said Alden, “Then,” said the old woman un- der her breath, “you are indeed a fool—but what can one hope from men nowadays?” Lifting her voice she snapped her eyes at him. ‘ Remember, if you follow again, ill will befall you.” Whereupon she turned on her heel and re- treated through the gateway, and if he could have heard the words she muttered to her- elf as she trod the graveled path he might have been more than surprised—he might been enchanted. “American, rich, and handsome,” shesaid,and sighed again. “Weil, lcando nomore. I have or- dered him te follow no more; I have threat- ened him. In my day that would be enough to set a young signor upon his way. When my eyes were bright nothing could stop him after that. Buttimes have changed. Times have changed.”’ Which from the guardian of so sweet a pigeon was a strange and in- comprehensible saying. Alden retraced his steps toward his hotel, but hotels were not for him that day. No, he would saunter along the Lungarno and dream a conclusion to his romance, for now he was ure romance-beckoned. But what to do! True, he knew where the lady lived, but he was unacquainted with her name or anything about her, save that she was a princess, And he had promised not to follow again. How could he win to her; by what makeshift penetrate the defenses which guarded such as she? It is true he might procure himself a guitar and sing under her window, but somehow he could not see a Ware of the Back Bay taking on a contract of that sort. He could imagine his mother’s lifted eye- brows if word should reach her that her son stood in the streets and sang love songs under a barred window. Never- theiess, there must be a way; even a commonplace, con- servative, conventional way would answer. And then it was that he saw Mrs. Jack Gilbery ap- proaching in her carriage, and his heart leaped. He had not known Mrs. Jack to be in Florence, but, then, one should never be astonished to find her anywhere. She was as much at home in Italy as in Boston, and in France as in London. She was credited with giving her permanent address as the Atlantic Ocean, because, said she, it was upon its bosom she spent the greater part of her life. Her younger sister had married an Italian of ancient family and title, and the circle did not exist to which the entrée was denied her. Her particular penchant was for buying large and important objects of ancient art, and then muking life miserable for American consuls because the Italian Government refused permission to take them out of the country. Alden advanced to the curb and lifted his hat, but she had seen him even before het recognized her, and her horses dre w up beside him, “ My dear,” she said, “get j in first and tell the particulars afterward, You're a veritable fin off the sacred codfish.” Mrs. Jack,” he declared, “I have neyer been so glad to see anybody in my life.” She peered up into the air pensively. “Can the child be intending to make love to me—at my age? No, it can’t be that. He’s homesick or he wants to know the Italian for beefsteak.”” “Wrong,” said Alden. “I am more than contented to be in Florence and I can argue with a coachman in his own vernacular, but there’s one thing I can’t manage.” “You've bought something the government won’t let you také home!"’ she exclaimed. “ Well, I hope you didn’t pay too much, You can present it to the American Acad- emy in Rome—the dears.” “Worse than that. How do you meet a princess?” less, y have young Somehow he was glad of that. *‘ Just a princess or some particular princess?” “A very special one, Mrs. Jack.” “Um. What’s her name?” “T don’t know.” “Now,” she said, “you become interesting. Makeit clearer.” “T saw her coming out of the Duomo with a duenna or some such dragon—the most beauti- ful girl in—in ——” “The world,” said Mrs. Jack, and nodded her head vigorously. “Go on.” “And I followed her home, and the dragon caught me at it and warned me off.” “The name is Ware, isn’t it? Commonwealth Avenue, Bos- ton? Are you, by any chance, spoofing an old lady? But nat- urally. The Ware never existed who could trail an unknown in- amorata through the streets. Un- less’’—she spoke hopefully—“you’ve escaped from your keeper.” “T’m alone, and it’strue; andif you don’t find some way to help me out I'll buy a guitar and have my voice trained.” Tt Was a Glove, Still Warm and Fragrant, He Heid it, Un« believing, in His Paim; He Stared Upward Unavailingly “That doesn’t work out the way it used to,” she said. “The local police force might chase you away. What like was she to look at?” “Beautiful!” said Alden. “Perfectly clear and recognizable description. Photo- graphic, one might say. Beyond that, the particulars are that she had the usual number of arms and legs ——”’ “She is beautiful.” “At any rate you retained presence of mind to note her address?”’ asked Mrs. Jack. ‘Stopping at the Grand, I suppose? After we drive a bit and I extract al] the home scandal from you I'll drop you there. You’re dining at my house tonight; you know I have a house here.” “T didn’t know, but if you told me you had one in the Forbidden City I shouldn’t be amazed.” “Alice will know who she is,”’ said Mrs. Jack. ‘Boston and Florence!’”’ She chuckled. “I can see you leading a principessa up the front steps to your mother. She’d proba- bly fumigate her. Isn’t the Arno an especially messy-looking river? Been absorbing culture in the July 5,1924 galleries? Whatever became of Ethelberta Brown after she divorced ——-” And so on, with the most remarkable inconsequence. Mrs. Jack set about it to prove herself a mistress of the non sequitur. Alden dined with Mrs. Jack that evening in what she was pleased to call her house, but which was a structure only less pretentious than the Pitti Palace. She wrung him dry of Back Bay news, to his vast but courteously concealed impatience, and then casually, as if it were not the one vast overshadowing question of the hour, reverted to the unknown principessa. “By the way,” she said, “I scampered off to Alice as soon as I left you, and her name is Faustina—imagine it!—and her father is Prince Rienzi de’ Billiati, which is a mouthful, and he’s a tremendous scholar and a thumping aristocrat, and one of his ancestors eloped with a daughter of a Venetian doge, and the family tree is spangled with cardinals and dukes. and princes until it looks like Christ- mas Eve—and they’re queer.” “Queer!’’ It was a word Alden resented as applied to his princess. “Nobody sees che old prince; though within the mem- ory even of young things like Alice and myself he was the life of the party. He’s simply never seen by day or night, and as nearly as Alice can guess, your little principessa is worried to death. Alice guesses the old gentleman is a button short, but it’s not the sort of thing one bandies words about in Firenze. Your Faustina seems to have dug herself a hole and crawled into it, and to all appearances is all glazed over with melancholy. But Alice promises to excavate her for you if it can be done. She’s going to throw a dinner Friday night and you're bid, and Alice promises to have the Principessa Faustina there if she has to bribe a company of Fascisti to drag her out by the lovely hair. And that’s that. I dote on romance,” fin- ished Mrs. Jack. ‘I’m doing this so I can see your mother’s face.” “Tt sounds difficult,” said Alden. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” asked Mrs. acutely. ‘“‘Romance with all the trimmings.” It was not yet ten when Alden took his leave, but in- stead of walking directly to his hotel he strolled through dim winding streets, drinking in the fascination of the city, its glamour, its softened beauty. His mood responded to it; it lifted him above himself, and he felt that, at last, he really lived. Presently he sauntered across the Piazza Victor Emmanuel, and with aimless steps passed closed shops, skirted the massive stone walls of ancient grandeurs which had looked down upon Medici and Sforzas, which had echoed the steps of Michelangelo and Ghiberti, the words of Savonarola, the ringing of those city bells which in time of danger called the citizens to arms. Embassies ‘rom Charles V, ambassadors from Venice and from Genoa had passed here in their splendor of color. And Alden sensed it all. Here, in this city, beauty, the arts, learning had been reborn to a darkened world, and he thanked old Cosimo, pater patriw, from whose blood and wisdom and strength so much of glory and beauty and death and evil and madness and immor- tality had sprung. Of a sudden he paused, interrupted in his dreaming by the sound of that instrument which in his igno- rance of such matters he named an accordion. It, accompanied by a guitar, was playing a strain from Lucia; then two voices, a barytone and a tenor, took up the business, and Alden listened, enthralled. The sounds came from a basement win low, from the cellars of a palace erected when Columbus had freshly discovered America, and he drew neaver, crossing the pavement and peering through a barred window to satisfy his curiosity. Below he saw tables, well filled—a café—and before he had time to take the resolution he was seeking for the entrance. This, under a dim light, was located in a sort of alley, and at first he was in doubt if this were the proper means of reaching the room below, for it led past the scullery, where a fatigued elderly man with a wisp of mustache was washing dishes, down four or five steps, through the kitchen, and so to the outer room of the restaurant proper. He cast an appraising eye at the tiny kitchen space, where a couple of charcoal bra- ziers seemed sufficient to cook for many guests, and then was greeted by an affable young man who led him to an unoccupied table in the room beyond—a room with vaulted ceiling upon which had been affixed posters advertising spumanti and motors and other matters of trade and com- merce. In the arch between the rooms sat the musicians, a droll trio, and Alden studied them with satisfaction. This, he said to himself, was the real thing at last. It was not, he observed at once, a place frequented by tourists, but was of Florence and for Florence. A dozen young officers with swords tucked across their knees were laughing and talking and drinking, each from a huge fiasco set before him, the fine Chianti of the city; each making love after his individual fashion to the young woman whose dark eyes had attracted him for the evening. At other tables sat staid families or little parties of older men or of younger men, all in the excellent evening humor Jack

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which seems to characterize the Italian; and all apparently habitués de la maison, for they flung light conversation to one another, called out directions to the musicians and spoke familiarly with the waiters. These waiters, four young men, seemed never to progress at a rate of speed less than a run, and their enjoyment was as quick as that of any patron. And why should it not be, for they were the four Brothers Molossi, who, with their mother, who cooked, were proprietors of the establisnent? The name of the place, Alden learned from his carte du jour, was La Buca, which he correctly translated as The Hole. Already he felt singularly at home and welcome it was a peculiarity of the place. Having given the neces- sary order, he turned his attention to the musicians. The first, sitting in the archway, was a heavy-set man with a stolid face and enlarged nose who seemed to take litile interest in the proceedings, but who fingered the intricate keyboard of his concertina with ail the skill and feeling of the true artist. Alden gave him scant notice in the be- ginning, nor did he bestow more than a glance upon the guitar-playing barytone with the drooping features. All the lines of his face were outward and downward curves, as if he had been drawn by a freakish artist who wished to see what he could accomplish with parentheses. It was upon the tenor that Alden’s eyes rested and stayed. Already he had heard the man addressed famil- iarly as Caruso, and that, through the length of his ac- quaintance, was the only name he ever heard applied. This individual was fat. His most marked characteristic was his trousers, which would have made his fortune on an American vaudeville stage. They were describable only in terms of acreage; fold upon fold of them fell to the floor and cascaded over Caruso’s shoes. They were without form, but not void, for exceedingly sturdy legs did what they could to fill them. After his trousers, ranked the man’s chins. He was festooned with chins, above which was a rosebud mouth, a minute nose of the pug variety, and then great round staring onion eyes. When hesang he became very red indeed, and from time to time, when his endeavors failed to suit his own taste, he would smile deprecatingly at the audience and wriggle between thumb and finger that part of his throat where the Adam’s apple was deeply embedded. But he could sing. Or at least he could have sung. Even now, in the years past middle age, THE SATURDAY EVENING POST after much abuse and hard usage, there were glorious notes, a marvelous timbre and a power to astonish. Alden, vho had listened to the golden voices of the world, said to himself that here, gone to waste and weeds, was a voice which might have equaled or surpassed any of them. The song ended, Caruso passed a plate about the audi- ence, and when Alden tossed upon it a veritable ten-lira note the little fat man tossed up his hands, seized his plate and rushed off to his companions to exhibit the treasure. From that moment Alden was his friend. He returned to the table and chatted. “Signor Caruso,” said Alden, “‘you have a voice.” ““Once—ah, once, that is true. But the damp and the cold are in my throat. The voice I have I ruined, signor, singing to the sheep in the neighborhood of Leghorn.” “You were a shepherd, then?” “Signor, I have sung to sleep more sheep than there are human beings in Naples. It is the truth.” Of a sudden there arose from all parts of the room cvies of “The Cavalier! Here is the Cavalier! He is here at last!" Seeking the cause of this demonstration, Alden saw enter the room a little old man dressed in a shiny frock coat, carrying a tray upon which were offered for sale a number of tiny gayly colored dolls. The old man bowed graciously with a sort of benignant dignity and walked about, shaking this and that hand offered him in welcome. It was a fine old face he wore beneath his shock of snow- white hair, a face set off and distinguished by the whitest of mustaches and imperials. His smile was ingratiating and he offered his wares here and there in so ridiculously embarrassed a manner as to constitute a salesmanship of highest rank. “Cavalier! Cavalier!” all sections of the restaurant. Twelve Mothers.” The old man paused with a deprecating gesture, as if taken utterly by surprise, but responded to the shouts by walking toward the musicians and there taking his stand. A hush fell, and then, to the accompaniment of the guitar, he began to sing. It may be he once possessed a voice; it might even have been truth that a voice was still his, but none was aware of its presence or its lack. Alden leaned forward after the first few words, gripped, amazed, for he Demands were shouted from “Twelve Mothers! Sing perceived that he was listening to a great mimic artist. In all that merrymaking crowd was not a whisper or a rustle. The Cavalier sang that song, so well known in Italy since the war, the song of twelve mothers of twelve babes, of how the babes were born, of how the twelve mothers watched them come to manhood, of how the twelve moth- ers watched them go to war—and of how not one of the twelve sons returned to his mother. It was consummate artistry. There followed a hush and then a thunder of applause. “ Bis! Bis!"" shouted the diners. The Cavalier shook his head deprecatingly, and spread his hands with a fetch- ing gesture of helplessness and embarrassment. Caruso seized a plate and canvassed the room, returning to his place with the dish heaped with lira notes—-no great taking when one considers that ten lire are today leas than fifty cents. Again a hush fell, for the little old man stepped away from the supporting table and once more faced his audi- ence. Alden watched his face, saw it change. It shed its dignity and kindliness, became vacant—an ancient Bac- chus. Without uttering a word, without a movement which spread beyond his features, the Cavalier passed through preliminary stages of drunkenness until he reached garrulity. And then he commenced to speak. Not ele- vating, perhaps, but none the less art. From the high pathos of the song he passed to the low comedy of the intoxicated, and for ten full minutes the room rocked and held its sides and shouted, and as the illness of the wine drinker began gradually to master, the audience became unrestrained in their delight. Alden was seeing a genius of the theater who, incompre- hensibly, had never risen higher than to be a mountebank in a lesser wineshop! Again the plate was passed, and again and again. The versatility of the Cavalier was astounding. And then, suddenly, he was gone. “It is always so,"’ informed one of the Brothers Molossi. “‘He comes; he sings or recites; then he goes.” “Who is he? Some great actor fallen upon hard times?”’ ‘Who knows?” said the Brother Molossi with a shrug. “Tt is enough that he favors our place, He is an asset. He is welcome.” (Continued on Page 40) She Glanced for an Instant at Aiden With a Look in Her Eyes Which He Would Never Forget. In Them He Read Horror

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summer afternoon when the merchants along the west side of Main Street in a certain Western town are wont to emerge from their stores, one after another, and lower their awn- ings against the glare of the afternoon sun. Down the street hurried a young man, perhaps twenty-three years of age, youthfully tail, dark haired, earnest of countenance, carry- ing a sample case in one hand and a grip in the other. Arriving at the double screen doors of the Franklin House, unforgettable by virtue of their illusive decoration of Swiss Alpine scenery, he bumped one of the screen doors open with his sample case and entered, “Any mail for Arthur Donaldson?” he asked the clerk at the desk as he put down his luggage. As though he didn’t know by heart the names on the dog-eared envelopes in the Hold pigeonhole, the clerk thumbed them through with a great show of importance and finally handed out a baronial envelope inscribed in an unmistakably feminine hand. “That's all,” he said briskly. Then with a professional glanee at the grips, “Staying with us tonight, Mr. Donaldson?” “Not sure yet, Mr. Wright,” replied Donaldson, catch- ing the name from the little Clerk-on-Duty sign hanging over the key rack, the name in which hadn’t been changed since Mr. Wright's departure three months before. “‘ Like to leave my grip with you’’—and he passed a cigar across the desk—“‘until I make a call down the street.” “Sure. Just shove it under the desk here. There, that'll be safe enough.” His grip disposed of, Donaldson picked up his sample case and stepped quickly over to the row of deserted leather armchairs in front of the big plate-glass window overlook- ing Main Street. Perching himself transiently on the arm of one of the chairs he tore open the baronial envelope. “‘T'll just stop long enough to glance through this letter from mother to see if there’s any special news,"’ he informed himself “Father is better but still has to watch his diet. ‘ Orville Chase was elected president of the tennis club Tues- day night. | understand your new boss, Mr. Wainright, has joined, He’s a bachelor and is boarding at The Oakley, on Greenwood Avenue. Fred Drew is home from college. Eleanor Wheeler stopped on the porch for a few minutes last evening. She wanted to be remembered toyou.. . .” He read this last over three times, and experienced a tingling sensation at the roots of his hair each time. The fact is, he read it “Eleanor Wheeler stopped on the porch for a few minutes last evening. SHE WANTED TO BE REMEMBERED TO You!" Then Doubt arose in his mind, and as he read it again it seemed to sink into a conversa- tional commonplace. Then Hope whispered, “But she mentioned you,” He looked up from the letter, and between his eyes and the werkaday Main Street outside the window there spread a magic film which changed Main Street into Greenwood Avenue, two thousand odd miles away, of a Sunday morn- ing-—his last Sunday before he came West. He saw himself walking home from church with the bobbed-haired, brown- eyed girl, becomingly slender, smartly dressed, exceedingly self-possessed, whose bewitching face had been traveling with him all through the West all these months, a face that somehow seemed always to be just on the verge of dis- appearing two or three blocks away as he hurried over his territory. It had a trick of moving along just in front of him-—then of suddenly starting to fade away; and he would hurry faster, as though to catch up. To catch up somehow with the future. The future and the face—they both kept fading. If only he dared write her—that is, really write her. Not just send perfunctory notes and picture postcards of Main Streets and Soldier Memorial Menuments and Dellwood Parks. (How was he to know that under that protective veneer of calm self-possession and breezy independence beat the heart of a girl who was wishing he would?) But gosh! A girl iike Eleanor. Brought up with everything. Half the fellows in town crazy over her, Kind of a girl even older men fell for, too, which was worse—in fact, dangerous to the prespects of young fellows with their futures still to be worked out. What chance had he, two thousand three hundred and eighty-five miles away in point of distance, and just about four thousand dollars a year away in income? He glanced at the letter again, then out of the window into the summer-afternoon sleepiness of Main Street. The magic film was gone; the picture had faded. Slipping the letter quickly into his pocket he grabbed his sample case and bolted out threugh the swinging screen doors. This being his second trip over the territory, he knew just where he was going. Two short blocks distant, facing the |: WAS that hour of a rather sultry early By Robert R. Br ILLUSTRATED THE SATURDAY EVENING POST LET RALPH PALLEN. He Saw Himsetf Watking Home From Church With the Bobbed-Haired, Brown-Eyed Girt, Whose Bewitching Face Had Been Traveling With Him All Through the West All These Months head of Main Street, stood the New York Furniture Store— A. Katzenberger, Prop.—Furniture, Carpets, Crockery, Pianos on Easy Terms. In front of this store, its big round face turned toward Main Street, stood a giant side- walk clock whose dial, bearing the letters of the proprietor’s surname—happily twelve in number—in place of the cus- tomary roman numerals, informed all who looked that way that the hour was almost T minutes after Z. It was toward this store that Arthur Donaldson bear- ing his weighty sample case had turned his footsteps. And R NO. Updegraff COLEMAN July 5,1924 as he hurried down the street there a7ose, in place of the front of the New York Furniture Store, the face of a girl with bobbed hair and brown eyes, and the expression on her face seemed to say to his anguished spirit, “‘You’ll have to hurry up, Mr. Salesman, if you expect to sell yourself to me.”’ Again, how was he to know that the dropping in on his mother’s porch had been anything more than the casual thing it had seemed? He lengthened his steps. The picture began to fade, and in its place stood the sidewalk clock with its hands now registering exactly T minutes after Z. “Ten minutes after three,”’ he said to himself, and quite automatically took out his watch by way of verification. The aproned proprietor of Waite’s Market, its display of green groceries extending well out on the sidewalk, straight- ened up at this moment from reaching for the particular hook-necked summer squash indicated as the choice of one of his most particular customers. In doing so he backed into Donaldson and jolted his elbow with such suddenness and force as to knock the watch out of his hand. “Beg yer pardon, young man. Did it break?” “Seems to be ticking,”’ said Donaldson, as he picked up the watch and instinctively placed it to his ear. And he hurried on, his mind filled with his mission. “Now if I can finish with Katzenberger in thirty-eight minutes I’ll be able to pick up my bag at the Franklin House and catch the seven-minutes-to-four interurban car and get the Cres- cent Furniture Company in to-day’s calls and keep up my new average,”’ he informed himself earnestly. By this time he had reached the New York Furniture Store, entered, and was making his way briskly toward the steep little stairway at the back of the store leading to the low-ceilinged balcony which served as the proprietor’s private office. As the third step squeaked to his tread A. Katzenberger, seated behind his forbiddingly high roll-top desk, looked over his spectacles and as- sumed his best commercial frown, a frown so thoroughly seasoned by years of exposure to the trade winds of retailing as to be read as irritation in case the caller proved to be a salesman or one of his own clerks, or troubled solicitude in case the caller was a valued cus- tomer. “Good afternoon, Mr. Katzen- berger,” said Donaldson, setting down his sample case. “Vell?”’ replied Mr. Katzen- berger, which word in some one of a dozen tonal variations rang- ing in significance from ill re- strained impatience to warm and friendly interest, constituted his invariable greeting to callers. “‘Remember—not whether, but how many?” Donaldson coached himself by mental reference to a certain letter received recently from Wainright, the new sales manager at the home office back East. “Mr. Katzenberger,” he began, opening his sample case and lift- ing out a sample square of lino- leum, “how many rolls of this special new gray-and-blue Wedg- wood pattern could you sell if the price was right?” Mr. Katzenberger grinned a slow mirthless grin. “A garload,”’ he said—‘“‘eef the price vas right. But id ain’t.” “Maybe it’s nearer right than you think, Mr. Katzen- berger. You see, we’ve put one whoie battery of special high-speed machines on this pattern and we're turning it out at a price.” He lowered his voice and spoke confidentially—as an- other of Wainright’s letters had suggested. “How many rolls could you use if I told you it would cost you just fifty-four cents a square yard?”’ “Who said I can use some at all?” demanded Katzen- berger. “Say ten rolls?” suggested Donaldson, ignoring the question. ‘‘As a special—to sell at seventy-nine cents a yard, laid?” Mr. Katzenberger pursed his lips and was starting to speak when the telephone on his desk rang. Darn it, why did dealers’ telephones always ring just at the crucial second?

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| ' ' if i While the proprietor was engaged in an argumentative conversation with some irate -ustomer Donaldson con- sulted his watch anxiously. That watch was beginning to play an extremely important part in his selling. Ever since he had received that third letter from the new sales man- ager a week back. “Vell, please to holt the wire, Mrs. Magolius, while I go see the bookkeeper aboud it,’’ Katzenberger reques‘ed, and hurried down the steep steps. Donaldson leaned back in his chair with a grunt of im- patience. At the end of a minute he glanced at his watch again. No time to lose if he was to catch the seven- minutes-to-four car for Martinsville. How could he get Katzenberger downstairs and into the carpet depart- ment to look over his stock of staple numbers after he had booked a substantial order for the Wedgwood pattern? He fidgeted and looked at his watch again. Almost an- other minute gone. He fumbled in his pocket nervously for something to occupy his mind. His hand brought out a letter—the letter. To him it had seemed personal enough, but in the sales department at the plant it was known as Individualized Pep Letter No. 3. His new boss, Wainright, sales manager of the Beardsley Linoleum Company since the first day of May, had written out the form. The figur- ing had been done by one of the department clerks on a calculating machine. In the days when Donaldson had worked as an order clerk in the sales department at the plant, before they had sent him out West to try his hand at selling, the sort of high-pressure jazzing that this letter represented was not dreamed of. And even now every other man on the Beards- ley sales force had seen through the letter and grinned over it. But to Donaldson, hardly six months old in selling, it meant worlds. Every time he read it he got a feeting that there really was a chance of catching up with that picture. Perhaps he could make a remarkable record and earn a transfer to one of the fatter territories nearer the factory, where he could get home for week-ends frequently. What chance had a fellow ‘two thousand three hundred THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ‘What suggestions can I make, from my perspective on the territory, that will help Donaldson?’ “This morning as I was going over your report of calls for the past six months I noticed that you have a daily Call Average of 3.33 and a daily Sale Average of 2.7, which is a very good ratio between calls and sales. “*But,’ I said to myself, ‘what is it that keeps Donald- son from getting more business?’ The answer is simple: The large proportion of your time spent in going from one town to another and from one store to another. If you could only cut down that time in any way by a little EX- TRA EFFORT; if you could get in, say, three more calls a week—one every other day—you would increase your Call Average to 3.83. Now, figuring on the present ratio of 2.7 orders to 3.33 calls, if you increased your daily calls by .5, you would AUTOMATICALLY increase your sales IN PROPORTION. Which, being an increase in calls of .15, you would increase your orders by that same ratio, bringing you up to 3.105.” This part always sort of dizzied Donaldson, but he caught the idea. Mrs. Magolius must be getting terribly impa- tient at the other end of that wire. Had Katzenberger died? “This you can readily see would make a substantial in- crease in your volume of sales. And it CAN be DONE! “How? “Simply by Watching your Watch! When you get toa town, before you call on your first customer, plan your campaign for that town and decide what train or trolley or boat you will have to make to get to the next town in time to get in ONE MORE CALL THAT DAY, if it isa possible thing. Or to get you there YET THAT NIGHT, so you can Start Selling instead of Start Traveling, first thing the next morning. “In short, consider your Watch as your Silent Partner and ——” and eighty-five He interrupted his thoughts to look at his watch again. Another two minutes gone and Katzen- berger still interviewing the bookkeeper. His eye sought the letter: “ Dear Mr. Donaldson: I have been studying your sales record and I find that you have been making ex- cellent progress in your sell- ing since the first of the year. In fact, I am grati- fied to note that you are running six points ahead of your quota, up to date. “That's fine, but unless I’m very much mistaken you are not the kind of man to be satisfied with a record of six points above quota. Unless I miss my guess, Mr. Donaldson, you have set your heart on being the man to win this year’s Presi- dent’s Prize for the best showing for the year above quota. As you doubtless know, the President never announces in advance what his prize will be; but I un- derstand that it is always something that makes the men gasp when it is pre- sented—gasp and wish THEY had worked harder on THEIR territories. And WON.” Donaldson glanced up. The telephone receiver was still reposing mutely on Katzenberger’s desk. “TI am keenly interested in seeing you GET AHEAD, get into the run- ning for the President’s Prize, Mr. Donaldson, and I’ve been asking myself how I can help you from this end. Of course, you have to do the actual sell- ing, out in the territory. But I’ve been wondering, “Arthur, Dear, What Time is it Anyway?" By for Six Months. “‘Six o'Clock,’’ He Said With a Grin Arthur Patted Out His Watch —the Watch He Had Been Seiting The third step squeaked, and Katzenberger came lum bering hastily into view. “Our meesdake, Mrs. Magolius. I hope you will eggscuse it. My bookkeeper he vas out vith mumps. By the vay, ve have some new’’—he paused and his eyes sought for something to fasten on; they rested on the sample of lino- leum on the top of Donaldson's sample case— ‘some new keetchen linoleum I'd like you should zee when you are downtown next, Mrs. Magolius. Vedgveed paddern, id iss. Very reasonable. Good-by, Mrs. Magotius “Vell, young man”’—swinging around abruptly and ap- parently wiping his last remark off his mental slate as he swabbed his perspiring forehead with a big handkerchief “you vant I should buy ten rolls of your new paddern when already I have so large a stock of linoleum?’’ And he shook his head. This was Donaldson’s cue. “ Well, now, suppose we go down and see just what you have in the way of stock, Mr. Katzenberger.” Half an hour later, at exactly 3:52 by his watch, which had been consulted at increasingly frequent intervals dur- ing the last eight minutes, Arthur Donaldson stood on the sidewalk under Katzenberger’s sidewalk clock waiting for the seven-minutes-to-four interurban for Martinsville, having picked up his grip at the Franklin House. He was congratulating himself on a ten-roll sale of the new Wedgwood pattern and five rolls of staple patterns But most of all congratulating himself on the fact that he could get in his extra call that day and keep up his new 3.83 call average and his 3.105 sale average. Little did he sus- pect that in a mail car which was even at that hour bowling westward was a letter showing him how by further inten sive methods he might raise those figures to 4.12 and 3.3387 respectively. Individualized Pep Letter No. 4, that would be. Impatiently he looked up the street. Would the Martins- ville car never come? He would have little enough time with the proprietor of the Crescent Furniture Company, anyway, without the car being late. Mechanically he glanced up at the big clock above him. His mouth fell open. Not R minutes to E! It couldn't be! He glanced at his watch. No; it was only 3:54, and the car would be along shortly. Just a little late Then a sickening feeling came over him that it really was 3:55 and he had missed his car--with no other due for half an hour. Some- thing must be wrong with his watch. He pulled it out and regarded it belliger- ently. Then he remem- bered. Of course! It had dropped when the grocer bumped into him. It was still ticking, but He looked around hast- ily. Yes; there was a jew- eler’s shop right across the way. He hurried over “This watch is losing time,’’ he explained “Dropped it on the side- walk.” The old man with the lit tle black apron over his stomach affixed his magni- fying glass to his eye and squinted in the back of the watch with a professional scowl. “Bent the balance staff,’’ he pronounced “Needs cleaning too, Cost you four-fifty. Leave it here for a couple of weeks." “Can't,” said Donald- son. “I'ma traveling man Won't it run?” The old man shrugged his shoulders. ‘‘Maybe. Maybe a year, maybe ten minutes,”” he stated indif- ferently, turning back to his bench. Donaldson walked. out, crossed the street and put down his grip and sample case under Mr. Katzenher- ger’s sidewalk clock. There aaa — was no course but to wait for the next car. At least (Continued on Page 44)

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10 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST SELL OUR years ago something side- wiped the good ship Industry and sent want an Al cost man andsystematizer. I un- derstand thebanks have been carrying them for her te dry dock for re- pairs. The exact nature of that something has never been determined. Nevertheless, there are several million men in the who can and do bear voluble evi- Me had a day's country today mute or dence to the fact chanics who N2IVid + taser yokqm] searcely lost wage unless by choice; Angelo, h ad checked in at the steel mill every working day ince helanded; Stubbs, who who had kept books and made up the pay roll at the lumberyard since graduation from business college ten years before; Sharp, who had sold the South ern jobbing trade; and who had sat back in a swivel chair and told him how~-all suddenly found them- selves drafted into.the great army of the un- employed. Thousands to whom help-wanted columns Smitey, the past six months and they are due for a re- organization. Beat it down there as fast as you can and ask for the works manager. I didn’t get his name, but I could tell from the questions he asked me that there’s a real job waiting for the first man who has the stuff and can sell it.” About a week later I ran across the motor- truck official. I in- quired if my friend had succeeded in landing the position; he had given me as a character reference. “Yes, he got the job all right,” he replied slowly, “‘but just be- tween us girls, some of these mechanical engi- neering andtechnicalin- stitutions ought to run night schools to teach their students how to sell what they have in the back of their heads. It takes a diamond drill and dynamite to make and employment offices were simply institutions for helping those who could not help themselves then learned for the first time that it is one thing to have and hold a job, but quite a dif- ferent thing to get one, The war taught us many things, most of which we have forgotten; but those two grim years of business and indus- trial! stagnation taught millions much they will not soon forget. They taught thrift to some and the value of thrift to others, They taught men something about the other fel- low's problems and point of view. They taught the mer- chandiser that the book value of his goods mattered little unti! he could find a market and sell his goods in that mar- ket. And that is precisely what the man who then looked for work learned about his own services; that whether he was a kitchen scullion or a technically trained engineer, his ability to peel potatoes or design a machine was of no more immediate use to him than an expired insurance policy un- less he knew where and how to sell that ability. For sales- manship has been the master key to all doors men knock upon since the world's canniest wholesaler polished the first apple. And what has been will be until all of us be- come buyers. A man I know was a private in that now disbanded army. I mention him because as I look back he always impresses me as a type composite of the thousands who before the crash had occupied like positions and who during the suc- ceeding months went through similar experiences, And as long as employers seek men and men seek work he will have his counterpart. No Place to Go But North F TER graduation from the mechanical department of an Eastern university, he was employed as a draftsman by a large company manufacturing railway equipment, A year later he was transferred to the shops, where he was placed in charge of an assernbling gang. His ready adaptability quickly carried him into time-study work, rate setting and cost accounting, with the result that he organized and was put in complete charge of the company’s production de- partment. This latter position he held for five years. He was thirty-four years of age when in the fall of 1920 the railway-supply business slowed up and finally came to a dead stop. In the weeks that followed he missed, one by one, familiar faces in the offices and the plant, He saw the pur- chasing department wiped out, and a month later the em- ployment, welfare and housing bureaus among the missing. Finally one bright spring morning what he had expected for months he found camping upon his desk blotter—a re- gretful, appreciative letter from the president of the com- pany granting him thirty days’ leave of absence with salary, Headquarters in Chicago Where Uncite Sam's Men Find Jobs for the Unemployed during which time it was earnestly hoped he would be able to procure a position for which his unquestioned abilities qualified him. He accepted the verdict with good feeling; it gave him no great concern. He felt he had a real vacation coming to him after twelve years of long hours and constantly in- creasing responsibilities. Therefore, instead of hunting a position immediately, he dedicated his days of grace to rest and relaxation. When these expired he set out confi- dently to find a position that would square with his indus- trial background and financial requirements. The first week was consumed in personal calls upon officials of com- panies engaged in similar or allied manufacture. These interviews netted him nothing more tangible than the in- formation that all employers were trimming their sails and lightening ship in order to weather the storm. This, how- ever, did not greatly disturb him, as it simply meant, he felt, that he would either have to go to another city where his training would land him a position or try his luck in a different line of manufacture in the local district. He decided to storm the help-wanted columns of the lo- cal newspapers and to follow up every advertisement which had the earmarks of a position or offered a toe hold on a real job. During the two to three weeks devoted to this cam- paign he wrote a score of letters, most of them addressed to box numbers, hopefully outlining his business qualifica- tions and such bills of particulars about himself as were re- quested by the firms that inserted the advertisements. He received three replies acknowledging his applications and requesting him to call. He lost no time. One firm wished him to enroll in a one-month course in salesmanship under its Mr. Keen—twenty lessons, one hundred dollars— at the completion of which he could take his choice of ter- ritories in handling, on a commission basis, the company’s indispensable line of household utensils. Their Mr. Keen, so they said, had only a few days before spurned a flatter- ing offer from Charley Schwab to solve his sales problerns. The other opportunities were stock selling on a very liberal commission basis—too liberal in fact for the buyer’s safety and his own conscience. Disillusioned, he packed his grip, drained his bank ac- count to the carrying-charge limit and embarked on a tour of Middle West industrial centers. A month later he was back home, jobless, discouraged and with not even a rift in the clouds that enshrouded him. Then, as so often happens to us when we have no place to go but north, a fellow traveler on the job trail gave him a lift and a word of encouragement: “‘T stumbled into an opening this morning that you could fill to perfection if you can sell yourself to the man who has the final say. It’s over at the old motor-truck plant. They most of them loosen up and lay their wares on the table. And when you have finally probed through and found what looks like the goods you are in the market for you have to use a suction pump to make most of them realize that though honesty and ability come first an employer likes to feel occasionally that he is getting a little extra thrown in. “Take that chap, for example. He knew what the posi- tion was and he knew he could fill it; knew it as well as I did, which was something, for I had heard of his work through officials of the company he last worked for. And that was the only reason in the world I hired him; I felt sure he would fill the job and grow with it. But heaven help him if ever he tries for a position where he isn’t known!” Wanted it on a Platter “AFTER I had drawn him out to the limit I explained the opening to him in detail. When I had finished I waited for him tomake the next move. I wanted tosee what initia- tive he had, for I always feel that if a man has an ounce of up-and-at-’em spirit he ought to show it to best advantage when he is looking for a position. Did he move? Not that fellow! It was two full minutes by the clock before I broke the silence. “*Well, there’s the situation.’ ripple. “‘Finally he piped up, more, I think, to forestall embar- rassment than to bring things to a showdown: ‘Yes, that’s the situation; how do you feel about it?’ “Now just get that,”’ continued the official. ‘‘There was the job he wanted at his finger tips and he asked me how I felt about it. I looked at him open-mouthed. I was sore clean through. ‘Just how bad do you want this job?’ I snapped at him. ‘Never wanted a job worse in my life,’ he answered with a glimmer of surprise.- ‘Any job, or this particular one?’ I asked. ‘This one; this one you have been telling me about,’ he replied. ““* And yet you sit there expecting me to hand it to you on a platter. You want me tw sell it to you; is that the idea? Tell me this,’ I went on: ‘Did you put over your rate-setting program, your cost-accounting stuff and your production schedules on your last job by talking a little history, laying a typewritten statement on a table, agreeing that that’s the situation, and then asking other department heads how they felt about them?’ “He was on the edge of his chair. were on,’ he flared. them.’ “Exactly, I shot at him; ‘by selling what you believed in. That's the reason I have been sitting back here and waiting for you to register. I wanted to feel sure you had (Centinued on Page 88) More silence; not even a ‘Not while the lights ‘I put them across by fighting for

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—————— ' | | ty it 7 } 1 HW iy vi the matter, you can easily be convinced that there are in these United States about a million old boys like myself who began life on the business end of a cornet or similar semi-musical contrivance. Such a fact may not be particularly impres- sive in itself, but if you delve a little deeper you will learn that the vast amount of energy thus directed has had a most important effect upon our civilization. Putting it bluntly, the band boys of America made America pos- sible. I know that sounds like swanking, but wait a minute. In my own case, playing the cornet saved my life. This, in turn, may strike you as a paradox, and in a way it is. Many a boy has been brought up on a brass musical in- strument and has reached years of discretion only through the protection of Providence and the exercise of home- town charity, as exemplified by our next-door neighbor, Aaron Cass. Aaron Cass came into my case because when I was eight years old I was badly injured in a playground episode, I emerged from one year’s illness a candidate for the ceme- tery, and was, for safety’s sake, connected with the mouthpiece of a side-keyed cornet. Whereupon I tooted industriously and side-stepped consumption. We had a fine unfenced lawn and Aaron had several excessively healthy ponies for his boys to ride. One day when I was wrestling with scales and intervals the Cass ponies escaped from their corral and danced a quadrille on our lawn. Father called Neighbor Cass to account. “What would you do, Mr. Cass,” he queried in high sarcasm, “if your neighbor’s boys’ ponies cut up your lawn?” Aaron Cass cocked his ear in my direction a moment, then calmly replied, “‘I’d buy my boy a cornet.” This retort rankled in our family bosom for a generation, for Aaron Cass did not divine the whole truth of the situ- ation. The whole truth is that the home-town band is a necessary institution and has given us a musical America. The home-town band, especially in periods of preparation, may not be an unmixed blessing; but few communities could function completely without it. Hence it thrives today as it has never thrived before, though there may be murder in the hearts of mature citizens when the hopeful sounder of brass does his daily dozen for the benefit of the wide and wild world. I: YOU care to go into the mathematics of Playing in the Kid Band VEN I, who for twenty years conspired with my kind to increase the local vibrations, have to admit that when I am trying to compose a sonnet from a studio overlooking Gramercy Park, New York, and a vigorous trombonist across the way is struggling vainly with The Lost Chord, I have some diffi- culty in control- THE SATURDAY EVENING POST By EARL CHAPIN MAY Most of our inspiration came from the show bands that appeared in our midst with Ring- ling Brothers’ Circus, Beach and Bowers’ Min- strels or the Buchanan Comedy Company, Rand accident and illness from which I emerged a wraith- like candidate for the cemetery or the cornet. Father de- cided— more or less erroneously — upon the cornet as the lesser of two evils. It required years of corneting tomake me fit for the battle of life. I became a grotesquely gan- gling boyand thevil- lage cornet soloist but I lived! - During my long upward climb to physical health I committed many crimes in the name of music, not- ably that of organiz- ing and conducting the Rochelle Kid Band, so-called be- cause of our tender years and innocence. At some stage of its development, ev- ery town, both great and small, has its and Orchestra. Our ambition was to play Cap- iscolas March, for it had a stunning unison passage for bass, barytone and trombone that made a tremendous flash on the street. Al}l the show bands played it. But our bass, barytone and trombone could never quite get away with it, could never quite come out even. There were two or three paramount reasons for our musical delinquencies. For one reason, we lacked financial support. There were just two remunerative engagements each year—the Fourth of July celebration and the agricultural! fair. This is a rather broad statement, for, as in other small towns, patriotism waxed and waned in Rochelle. The Perennial Petition OMETIMES the committee on the Fourth of July celebration fell down financially and there wasn’t any money for the band. But the agricultural fair was a permanent iistitu- tion as long as it lasted. Once we got as much as seventy-five dollars for a three days’ engage- ment. We made all our annual plans for this event, practicing persistently during the spring and summer, then laying off in a dormant con- dition after the fair had gone and fall was upon us. There was another pretty regular engage ment, on Decoration Day, but we rarely got real money for that. Bill Akerson’s G. A. R. Fife and Drum Corps contributed its talents to the success of the Decoration Day parade kid band, and the townsfolk take a foolish pride in their infant instrumentalists. There are more kid bands at large today than in any earlier epoch; and there is a rea- son, as will presently be pointed out. In our kid band we had phlegmatic Ed Cleveland on tuba, romantic Clint Hartong on barytone, taciturn George England on trombone, bucolic Johnny Bain and swarthy Wilbur McHenry on peck horns, or altos; pastoral Elmer Countryman, persistent Arthur Lazier, the clowning Lloyd Ingraham and myself on cornets; Fernando Palmer and Will Gage Carey on clarinets and handsome Willis Calkins and mute Clam Oyster on drums. That was a pretty good-sized band for those days and that town. I Became a Grotesquely Gangling Boy and the Village Cornet Soloist — But I Lived! and the band boys were expected to do likewise This Decoration Day contribution was a judgment upon us. When we emerged from our winter cocoons we were musically and financially ragged. And we usually celebrated the advent of spring by circu- lating a paper to which the patriotic merchants and wealthy citizenry affixed their names opposite various amounts pledged to buy new uniforms and music for the band. Once in a blue moon the reluctant profligacy of these prominent citizens permitted us to engage a professional teacher. But his tenure of office was brief. For the most part—oh, ter- rible thought !—-we taught ourselves. And yet somehow our band held together year after year, sometimes with red coats and caps and white pants for uniforms and sometimes with all-blue uniforms. The bass drum and tuba belonged to the public at large. The other instruments were individually ling my artistic temperament. But that simply shows that bands- men we have al- ways withus. For better or for worse, I accept the bandsmen, in city or country. This may be de- batable taste. If I am biased it is probably because the cornet did save my life by building up my bellows, and it or its fellow band in- struments have saved many lives in much the same way. You see, I was so husky before my early injury that most of my parents’ time was devoted to chas- ing and spanking me. In those days I yearned to be an engine hostler and haunted the rail- road tracks when owned, and a jolly good time we had trying to tune up too, In time the Ro- chelle Kid Band grew up into the Rochelle Cornet Band. Clarinet players were hard to keep in captiv- ity in those small- town bands. They were apt to be flighty. Fernando Palmer, who played a yellow clarinet, was train butcher on the C. B. & Q. R. R. be- tween Aurora and Rochelle and a perfect devil for the ladies; Will Gage Carey, who played a black clarinet, was a poet. They were exceedingly diffi cult for the disci- plinarian. Hence the cornet ranked as the real leading instrument. Hence, also, when a A not beingspanked. Then came the That Was a Pretty Good:Sized Band for Those Days and That Town (Continued on Page 113)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ALLING B By George Kibbe Turner The huge national publicity drive, which was to end the Great War, was onthe drive for the conservation of the bean. On every wall, in every newspaper, upon every tongue was the slogan: Beans for Our Boys. Six million school children were working every evening on their national prize essays on The Message of the Bean. Beautiful artists’ models of every type were seen on every billboard, bending tenderly over flowering beans. Upon every woman's page in the press appeared the modei menus for beanless days. In the darkening office of Ben Bumpus Boone, the great Southwestern publicity senator, in the white Senate Office Building, his confidential publicity secretary, John Bunyan Jones, was at his typewriter alone, busy again, trying to crack out in three jines the sentiment which was to present, with brevity and pep, the main essence of the call for in- creased acreage and national conservation of the bean: i WAS the end of October, 1918. Napoleon said: ‘‘An army moves upon its stomach!’ Foch says: ‘‘War without beans is inconceivable!" America answers: ‘Beans for our boys!” Tt was late-—after hours. He was entirely alone. Around him, as he wrote, the electric typewriters for Senator Boone's personal publicity stunts stood silent. But he toiled on, knowing that the heart of his principal was in his work One of the ablest of the radical or free-publicity sena- tors, alert and close to the inner policies of the war, Ben Bumpus Boone not only was himself the acknowledged leader of the shouting Western school of free publicity at the capital, but coéperated to the full in every way with the great and wonderful publicity and propaganda ma- chinery of the Government. He stood very high indeed with all the publicity agencies and agents in Washington, both as a friend. informant and a publicity maker; so much so that he was not infrequently mentioned as a future possibility for the presidency. And now, in this last great cause, he wes more than anxious to assist. For he was a leader not alone in con- servation and increased bean acreage, but in the proposed government guaranty of bean prices, in which his admirers and constituents in the great winter-bean belt of the West and Southwest were so interested. The Stranger Looked Up and Then Down Before Answering. “‘Welt, Perhaps," He Said. “‘The Time is Short, and the Matter is Very Urgent" His secretary for publicity, Mr. Jones, a small gray- faced young man with a sharp nose and somewhat slippery eyes, pulled his copy from his machine to start it over again. The argument was all there, but the phrasing did not suit him. He could see that it was still far from a finished piece of work. At this time, just as he was restarting, his desk telephone rang. He answered in a habitually low and hoarsely whis- pering voice, “Hullo.” + A low voice answered it. “This is Q. V. 3.” He saw now who it must be. It was that voice, that whisper that had come so often in the past; the voice of that secret intelligence service operator that he had so often blown to lunch. “Yes,” he said, and listened eagerly. The whisper at the telephone had the rhythm of one reading. “General Order 17,263. Cease buying beans!’’ it said, and stopped, interrupted. For Mr. Jones, the confidential publicity secretary, had reared from his chair, carrying the telephone with him. “No!” he called loudly into it. ‘It is impossible!” “Tt is true,” reaffirmed the secret, almost solemn voice upon the telephone. “The United States War Depart- ment has ceased buying beans.” “But the delegation has just left for Mongolia to buy up the soy-bean crop of 1919 and 1920 from Asia. The bean production in Patagonia and the Argentine has just been contracted for until 1926!” “That is all true. But, nevertheless, the orders are now distinctly, cease buying beans. I will read them to you.” He did so, At the end of the reading there was a still- ness, a waiting. “When-—when will that order be issued?” asked Mr. Jones eagerly. “It will be several days yet.” “And am I + July 5,1924 ILLUSTRATED BY GEORGE Zz. WOLFE ’ “You are the only one that knows,’ anticipating his question. “You know what that means!” said John Bunyan Jones hoarsely. “IT do—and you do!”’ said the still smal! voice at the end of the wire. Mr. Jones suddenly sat down, disconnected, alone in the gathering twilight in the high office. For the speaker, the Q. V. 3 of the secret inelligence office, had hung up his receiver and gone away. The confidentiai secretary of Senator Boone sat in the blue autumn dusk, slumped down in his desk chair, in deep thought, clutching absently his long sharp nose. “Cease buying beans!" he muttered. The tremendous significance of that confidential infor- mation for the moment overwhe!med him. There was no possible escape from it. If the United States War Depart- ment had taken that step—had actually ceased buying beans—the war most certainly was over! Suddenly starting up, John Bunyan Jones snapped on the overhead electric light, snatched again the sheet of copy he had been producing and on its back, as a memo- randum, made rapidly a series of calculations— in dollars, fractions and percentages. Then firmly grasping the telephone he called the private number he desired. The business hours were over—in both the bean and the stock exchanges; but he never, as a matter of fact, nade his aunt’s orders in those hours, but always later, around this time, over the personal telephone of his broker. The voice that he expected answered. “Mrs. John Jared Jones speaking!”’ said John Bunyan Jones softly. “Yes,”” came back the voice of equal softness. “Sell short beans—ten thousand tons!” The hoarse and excited exclamation at the other end interrupted him. “‘ At the opening,” he continued, when it was again still. “ And all the granger rails—-the bean carriers especially!” he said, and named the stocks and the amounts. said the voice,

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| SS “Ts it true? Is your tip reliable? came back the hoarse whisper. “Absolutely. You may depend upon it. The War De- partment has ceased buying beans.” The harsh exclamation which came back was in part a groan, in part an exclamation of excited hope—the rare wild cry of a man who has had two hundred thousand dol- lars handed to him. “But not a word. Not a word. It may not be out—for days yet,’’ continued Mr. Jones. ‘And then, of course, it will be confidential. Until then “Until then!” said the other speaker—and was still. The telephone once more disconnected, the publicity secretary sat in thought—uneasy with the great responsi- bility and excitement. And yet he knew he had done all that he should do. “T won't tell the old man about it tonight—on the tele- phone!” he said to himself. ‘I'll wait and tell him in the morning.” For, of course, the less telephoning, always, the better— especially in a case like this, when a nation’s future was involved. Are you certain?” a T WAS the lunch hour again in the national capital. In the accustomed restaurant, the Rendezvous, the press agents—both national and special—!ingered and chatted gayly over their luncheon; but none more happily and eagerly than those at the table of Benmore Hooper—that most imaginative and sensitive of government press ezgents—whose work had been so notable in the publicity success of those departments with which he had been connected. The poets and magazine men and short-haired lady writers upon his staff, who sat around him at his table, were never gayer than today. The propaganda of the bean, put over so largely by them, had gone straight to the hearts of the entire American people. And naturally all were exhilarated by the cam- paign’s success. : “Congratulations in the highest, chief!’’ said Don Don- caster, the magazine man. “Even so,” said another, who had been a theological student. “‘Isn’t it goo-ood—goo-ood—the way it has gone every- where?’’ said the oldest lady publicist cooingly. “Excruciating! Excruciatingly exhilarating,’’ said the poet, John Leland Lilly, who was also something of a wag. “‘ Like wildfire in an oil well,”’ exclaimed Don Doncaster, the hardy magazine correspondent. “Excruciating—absolutely!"’ said the waggish poet. The youngest and shortest-haired and most attractive lady publicist, who sat next to her chief, was roguishly feeding him ice cream from her own spoon, on a dare, giggling shyly as she did so. But the talented publicity agent responded only absently to her girlish friendliness, thinking his own thoughts—of the last two days’ un- accountable softness in the bean market; reverting every now and then to the paragraphs of the press agents of the bean and stock market houses upon the financial pages of his paper: Our advices are that beans are going lower. Sell beans on all advances; meke no commitments on the long side of the bean carriers. The bear drive against beans has not yet touched bottom.—JOHN Henry CLEANOUT & Co, We look for a stronger market in beans. The bear pools in both beans and the bean carriers have, in our opinion, done their worst. Buy beans confidently from now on; and the bean car- riers on all recessions. Within thirty days we prophesy the strongest bean market of the war.—SPINGLER & SPANKS. It is our belief that the reaction in the bean market of the past few days is utterly unwarranted. It takes no account of the ravages of the bean weevil in Oklahoma, or the unseasonable dryness in the winter-bean belt, which we called attention to on the sixteenth. Beans will certainly go higher. In the bean car- riers more discretion should be used. Operating expenses are growing by leaps and bounds under government ownership. For the long pull we are against the bean carriers. Our advice is ry! beans. Sell the bean carriers on all bulges.—SWATHEIMER & PUGMORE. Reading this, the talented government publicity leader had no more sense of certainty than before. What, if any- thing, did they mean, these publicity agents of the bean and stock houses? He left them, as always, with a mind unsatisfied. He was gloomy, full of forebodings these last few days, not only personally for his own work but for the future of his departmental organizations. He glanced uneasily about the Rendezvous at the na- tional press agents, only mechanically eating from the spoon of his companion when his turn came. Around him, all cheery and eating, sat the press agents of the Govern- ment—the general publicity chief, with his larger staff, at their table; the special departmental staffs, the haughty publicity aids of the great publicity cabinet members, the THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 13 lordly military publicity colonels and commodores of the war and navy departments; the private free-lances, the professional advisers and tipsters of business and stock houses and the great national corporations. All the great specialists, developed in the national capital by the huge publicity activity during the war. As he looked about the noisy smoky room he saw at last the man that he was seeking, the chief bean and stock- market tipster of Washington, J. Rush Lewis—a fleshy blond, with an ever-ready smile and smooth back-brushed hair, thinning at the top. He seemed to be flushed, ex- cited—apparently with something on his mind, as we!! as on his hip. As Benmore Hooper looked across, he winked and beckoned secretively at him. ‘I'll meet you later at the office,”’ said Mr. Hooper to his staff, for it was now 2:30. And disregarding the last spoonful of the mutual ice cream he arose and left his own group, to pass to the side of the signaler. “What's on in the bean market-—-with the bean car- riers?” asked Benmore Hooper in a low harsh whisper. The other, looking about, answered him cautiously, out of the corner of his mouth. “ Will you keep it—absolutely? Cross your heart?” “TI will,” said Benmore Hooper seriously. “The aunt of the secretary of Ben Bumpus Boone is selling short.”’ “What!” cried Benmore Hooper, starting from his chair. “Ten thousand tons,” said the other, murmuring from the corner of his mouth; and sat, his face completely purged again of all emotion. “But you know what that means.’ “I do. Absolutely.” “It means only one thing!" “One thing only,”’ the still, flushed face confirmed him, with the emotionless, professionally enigmatic face of the tipster. ‘Especially when you know his inside informa- tion. The War Department has ceased buying beans.’ It seemed impossible, looking about the room! Alli thes: merry folk, all these war publicity agents of the Govern- ment, happy, satisfied, contented in their great work for their country. And in a month or three months, or six months at the most, all would be gone from here— needed no longer, now that the war was done! (Continued on Page 54) 4 a? “Foch Says — War Without Beans is Inconceivable! America Answers — Beans for Our Boyst"’

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HE beech tree’s shakin’ ag’in.”” Through those ([ msterion underground channels of the Cum- ~& hberlands, on both the Kentucky and Virginia sides of the line, that rumor spread quietly; and the echoes of it were heard even down in the foothills, where SATURDAY EVENING POST By H. M. Sutherland ILLUSTRATED BY J. CLINTON SHEPHERD July 5,1924 “Don’t shoot!” came a laughing voice from the covert. ‘I’m no revenuer.” “Hit’s that lawyer from town,” laughing in a relieved tone. He replaced his gun against the tree and returned to his said Keenas, nestled several sleepy villages and an occasional noisy min- ing camp. Translated, “the shaking beech tree’’ an- nounced thatthe Y aunces, Old Jake and his nephew Keenas, had returned to the hills and that moonshine with a cl’ar, ridin’ bead and mellow flavor could be bought under certain conditions beneath a beech tree at the left of Indian Gap. Slightly more than a year previously the Yaunces had fled across the state line, and on the day foliowing their flight asquad of revenuers had descended upon the old still site to find nothing but dead ashes and a smoke-blackened reck furnace. But with the Yaunces’ return to their old haunts the beech tree on top of the mountain had once more become the scene of un- wonted activity. The appearance of the two Yaunces would not have caused more than ordinary comment among the hillmen had they not brought with them an innovation--the thumper still, they called it a method by which the old double-distilling process was converted inte a continuous run by means of a wooden thumper keg suspended be- tween the boiler and the con- dense?7. Straightway the Yaunee still site on the head of Buck Antler Creek became the Mecca for scores of bearded pilgrims. Among the most persistent of these was Uncle Bead Sparr, patriarchal clansman and dis- tant relative and lifelong friend of Old Jake Yaunce. Honest, hospitable and quaintly humorous, he was known and respected as a leader among his people. Moreover, he had made moonshine in past years, and his decision as to the merits of good likker an’ bad had long work without giving the thicket any further attention. Uncle Bead had half risen from his log and was prepared to make a break for the bushes-—perchance it was a raid—but on hearing the voice he sank back, his eyes twinklingwith silent laughter. An instant later a man stepped through the fringe of shrubbery and came toward the still. He was young, ap- parently not more than thirty, lean and gawky, but possessed of a certain air of shrewd intelligence and effi- ciency, and an infectious crooked grin that seemed to be fashioned for the express purpose of making friends. “Howdy, Halliday!”’ The old hillman advanced several steps toward the visitor, reaching out his hand in greet- ing. ‘ How'd ye ever find us hyar?”’ “Some of the boys told me I could find Uncle Jake here,” replied the other, glancing about the still site. ‘‘ Where is he?” “On lookout. I'll call him.” Young Keenas picked up his rifle and ejected the car- tridge from the breech. Then he raised the barrel to his mouth and, pursing his lips like a bugler, he blew two long mellow blasts, similar to the call of a fox hunter’s horn and possessing extraordinary car- rying power. The echoes re- verberated along the crags of the surrounding mountain peaks. “T’ve heard of that gun- barrel signal system,’’ de- clared the visitor, ‘‘ but that’s the first time I ever saw it in action. Can they really un- derstand each other?” The question was directed at the old man. “Wall, the boys gener’ly git a fair idee of what’s goin’ on,” answered the old man, beer. the final test. Once while a witness in a trial at the county seat he had been dubbed by a facetious attorney “the patron saint of moon- shiners,”’ and jn town they still calied him Saint Bead, In an extremely skeptical frame of mind, he sat on the end of a log beside the botler and watched young Keenas pour singlin’s through a funnel into the thumper keg. This done, the youthful moonshiner held a small vial under the mouth of the worm until he had caught approximately an inch of the clear white liquid. Then he shook it vigorously for an instant and held it between him and the sky line for a critical glance. Apparently satisfied, he set it down on a box and began singing in a queer haunting tone an old English ballad of the sixteenth century, handed down through many generations. Something in the weird mellif- luousness of his voice echoed the loneliness of the very mountains about him: Lord Thomas, he courted Lady Eleanor fair, Intendin’ to make her his bride; In one little thing they couldn't agree, Which cost them both their lives, “Tf I’m no man fo’ you,” says he, “Then you're no gal fo’ me; In a very, very few mo’ days My weddin’ you will see,” He glanced up to meet a stern look of disapproval on Uncle Bead's face, and he ended his song with a short laugh. With Siow, Measured Actions He Tasted the Contents of Each of the Five Giasses “What's the matter, Uncle Bead?” he demanded. “You must have got up on the wrong side of the bed this mo’nin’, You're plumb grumpy.” “That singin’ is onnecessary an’ downright dangerous,” asserted the old man testily. “‘Ye could hear it a mile if ye'd listen sharp.” “No fear! Thar’s a man or two on the lookout.” The old hillman grunted approval of that arrangement and dropped into a thoughtful study of the fotched-on way of makin’ likker. “That thing’s poundin’ ag’in.”” He pointed an accusing gnarled finger at the thumper keg, which had begun to throb steadily. “Why don’t ye throw her away an’ make likker like it ort to be made?” For reply Keenas pulled several blazing fagots from the furnace and broke into song again: Lady Eleanor was buried in the ol’ churchyard, Lord Thomas was buried down by her ; Outta her breast a red rose sprung, An’ outta his a drier. At a warning whistle from Uncle Bead the youth abruptly ceased his lugubrious song and, cat-footed, sprang to the roots of a near-by tree. He caught up a repeating rifle and peered intently down the hill toward a blanket of hazel bushes which spread across the tiny ravine. wrinkling his face quizzically. “Don’t know as ye could give one of yo’ political speec'.es that way, but ye can hear some plumb interestin’ things sometimes.”’ He shot a searching glance into the foliage on the hillside above them, where his ears, attuned to forest sounds which would escape the average man, had caught the faint crack of a dried twig. ‘“Thar’s Old Jake. He must’ve seen ye as ye come up the creek an’ follered ye.” A grizzled mountaineer, tall, gaunt and powerful, an almost exact replica of Uncle Bead, came noiselessly nearer and greeted the young lawyer with a friendliness that bespoke its long standing. In the crook of his left arm he carried a long-barreled rifle, and its polished barrel and glistening stock showed that its owner thought well of it. “T seen ye comin’,” he declared, shaking the young man’s hand warmly, “an’ I wondered what ye was doin’ hyar. Ye hadn't ort to de it. If we got raided, whar’d we git a lawyer?" He laughed in evident appreciation of his humor and then his face straightened soberly. “What brought ye hyar?” “T’m afraid it isn’t very good news, Uncle Jake. In fact it may be rather bad, but I was riding through and I thought I'd let you know.” “Spit it out, son!’ Uncle Jake scratched his head in perplexity. “You've been indicted by the grand jury for shaking the beech tree.”

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i | | | « Lae: en an a en ee ee rey en rene eae ate er oe en rn ee rr ee “Huh!” Uncle Jake’s eyes narrowed and his gray- streaked beard seemed fairly to bristle in anger. “Who done it?”’ “I’m not absolutely certain,” replied Halliday; ‘‘but I saw a man in town a couple of days ago—a man who lives somewhere near here and sometimes goes to your house. I didn’t see the indictment, but I overheard the clerk and a deputy sheriff talking last night and as “Jase Wood’ard!”’ exploded Uncle Jake with an oath. “T’ll bet my hat on it! I ain’t never trusted that mangy son of a gun.” “‘T thought I'd sort of prepare you,” continued Halliday. “The deputy expected to come over in this section today or tomorrow.” “Let him come,” growled the hillman. “I ain’t runnin’. They can’t prove nothin’. An’ I'm feein’ ye right now.” “Of course,” nodded Halliday. “You know ai “‘What evidence have they got?’”’ Uncle Bead had re- mained silent as long as possible. ‘‘ How'd they make that indictment? Jase ain’t never had 'rough money to buy any.” “Judging from what the clerk said, this Woodward scratched some crosses on the bottom of all the jugs at your house two or three weeks ago. Then a revenuer gave him eight dollars to buy a gallon. He put the money on the rock under that beech tree and got back one of his marked jugs.”” “The sneakin’ houn’ dog!” Uncle Jake’s hand closed about the grip of his rifle until the knuckles showed white through the roughened skin. “Any of them jugs left at home now, Jake?” quietly asked Uncle Bead. “Nigh about all of ’em, I reckon.’’ Uncle Jake eyed his old friend questioningly. “Did they come from Gabe Turner's store?”’ “Shore! Shore!” The light of understanding began to dawn over Old Jake’s face. A myriad of fine wrinkles appeared about the corners of his eyes and he brought his hand down across Uncle Bead’s back with a resounding thwack. “Bead, ye ort to ‘a’ been a lawyer,”’ he declared admiringly. “He would have made a good one,”’ interjected Halliday hurriedly. “But don’t tell me any more now. I think I know what you're driving at, but my professional con- science won't let me take a part in it. However, I’m not going to worry about the outcome of that trial. You two have crawled out of too many tight places before this for me to have any fears about you.”’ Old Jake strode across the intervening space and the light of laughter still lingered in his eyes, but the grip of his hand and the tone of his voice told Halliday that the grizzled old hillman was speaking from his heart “Son, it’s mighty good of ye to come an’ warn me—yo’ takin’ chances like that an’ goin’ to all this trouble. I ain't goin’ to fo’git.” “And I’m not forgetting the chances you and Uncle Bead took when you loaned me that money without any security. You saved me from a rotten hole.” “Shore, boy, we wan't takin’ no chances. Yo’ face is all the security ye need in these parts.”” He turned abruptly to young Keenas, who was busy rinsing out the thumper. “*How’s she workin’ this mornin’?”’ Without waiting fora reply, he caught up a small flask and held it under the worm. When he had caught the required amount, he shook the bottle with practiced hand and studied the contents closely. “*Bout turned singlin’s.”” He shook his head and poured the contents of the flask into the wooden pail under the condenser. “Better back ‘em in the thumper.” Halliday came forward and stood beside him, eying the outfit critically. “T’ve seen a number of stills, Uncle Jake,” he said uncer- tainly, “but never one like that. What’s the idea of this keg, which I believe you just called a thumper?” THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 15 ’ “That's a de-vice—a labor-savin’ de-vice,”’ replied the old moonshiner sententiously. ‘“‘Makes the ol’ double- distillin’ way onnecessary. All ye’ve got to do is to watch her, an’ when she weakens down to singlin’s pour ‘em back in the thumper an’ she turns out continuous likker. An’ she’s as fine stuff as ye ever tasted too.” He picked up a tin cup and half filled it from a near-by jug. Halliday took a couple of sips and apparently, found it to his liking. “Tt tastes all right tome. I'd call it good.” “It’s good if ye’re comparin’ it to this red-ivy-an’-sugar likker,”” said Uncle Bead querulously. “It’s too fiery ain’t got that mellow, lastin’ flavor when ye make her as she ort to be made.” “Don’t mind what he says.” Old Jake chuckled dryly “‘He’s jest jealous ‘cause that thar still can make moon shine faster than any two stills he ever owned. An’ she's better likker, too, if he’d admit it." “It’s good potash fo’ to make hominy,” returned Uncle Bead warmly. “ But it peels yo’ tongue. No good to tem- per it with singlin’s; it jest natur’ly don't taste right no matter what ye do to it.” “But it tastes pretty good to me.” Halliday was apparently enjoying the argument, which was growing heated. More than once he had heard these old cronies clash. When they met a debate was inevitable “That's ‘cause ye ain't never tasted no real stuff."’ Uncle Bead spit viciously into the fire. “They quit makin’ it ten year ago an’ went to 'stillin’ cloudy pizen. It ort to bea penitentiary offense to make likker like that.” Old Jake winked broadly at Haliiday and refilled the cup “Old Bead, thar, claims to have the best taster fo’ corn likker in these mountains—-says he can come in three months of tellin’ the age by takin’ jest a sip.” He turned toward Uncle Bead and handed the cup to him. “Take a swig, Bead, so thar won't be no hard feelin’s, then I'll tell ye what I'll do.” (Continued on Page 63) “‘Let Him Come,”’ Growted the Hiliman. “‘I Ain't Runnin’. They Can't Prove Nothin’. An’ I'm Feein' Ye Right Now."' “‘Of Course,"’ Nodded Halliday. “You Know

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16 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST IDE, BRAINS, SLI AT Puteo L ie 7} \ a Ore gen, “3 A te ¥ av “Del Look Like a Touch?" Yelps Hurtey fallen for Glib Hurley's spring line of words and ges- tures, a0 [ ain't apologizing none for what happens to me in Chis yarn, eapecial after it quits the wide-open pages and gets to playing around with tires, talcum and other cash customers in back of the book.. They never Was a slicker tomtit than him. Nearly any eel-in-oil talker with spats, finger nails that ain't in-mourn- ing, and a fountain pen that'll fount when, as and if needed, can peddle even rain clouds in Seattle by whooping up the ailver lining and sbush-hushing the tip to the come-ing that it was gonna be put on a gold basis at the next directors’ meeting; but nothing like that for Glib. His specialty was making you want in on a thing on the account of it net being no good, and him telling you right out it wasn't. Know what I mean? Like this: Hurley’d sad-spiel to you about a scheme that everybody'd gone broke on, but he'd do it in such a way that, at the finish, he’d have you with your thumbs in the sleeve holes of your weskit, bragging that you could put it over if you only had a chance, Only! On the square, I believe that bobo could take a lad suffering from sore feet and the where-to-go and get him to human-fly up the smooth side of a fourteen- story building on a wet night just by telling him what the last feller that done it looked like in the bucket they toted him away in. [ used to know Glib pretty good in them soft-artery days when I fooled around with sports. He was a sorta pro- moter then, rigging up wrestling matches, dog races, box fights--anything that’d make a honest dollar turn over, though [ don't remember him ever being rude enough to ask dough personal questions. After I comes East I lost tracks of Hurley, and when I does finally run into him again he's so deep disguised in a bay window, triple chin and hairless hat rest that I has trouble giving him a tumble. “What you doing, Dink?” he inquires, after we goes through with the usual ‘Well, well, if it ain’t —-—” prelims. “I’m retired,” I tells him, “On what?” asks Glib. “On the fruits of my toils,”’ I answers; “and they ain't enough of 'em in the orchard, bo, for me to get sassy with no door wolfs, neither,” I finishes, significant. “Do I leok like a touch?” yelps Hurley. “No,” says I, “but you is got that kinda sad slant in your eyes T seen last when you talked Old Jerry McCand- less into taking a piece of that y “Don't worry,” cuts in Glib. “I ain’t gonna ask you to take a pleee of nothing. I wouldn’t even soak my worstest enemy with part of what I got now.” : “What you got?” I asks. “A seheme for matching Australian and American raindrops in a wingdowpane race?” All that stuff,”’ comes back Hurley, “‘is in the dim and distant past. You musta retired some place where they ain’t even no newspapers. Ain’t you read nothing about me?” “T can’t keep up with alla these investigations,” I tells him, I GUESS even better Gunga Dins than I am would ‘a’ By Sam Hellman ILLUSTRATED BY TONY SARG “T ain’t in no investigations,”’ growls Glib; “but at that they oughta get a committee of aliens to look into my head. Didn’t you know I was a baseball magnet?” “Do tell!” I exclaims. “You got a regular team with bats and everything?” “Well,” says Hurley, “they got bats, but if business doesn’t perk up some this season we'll have to play without ’em. I got at least six birds on the pay sheet that could go to the plate without missing ’em. Swinging the willow’s just dumb-bell exercise for those boys.” “Funny,” I remarks, “I ain’t heard about you, Baseball, like you knows, is like manana in the desert to me. I can’t hardly wait till the season opens and 3 “Ever hear of the Brigands, Hurley, “in the Valley League?” “I sure has,” I answers, “You running that layout?” “*T’m it,” admits Glib, “with the accent on the it.” “That's right,” says I. “A guy named Hurley does own that team. How was I supposed to know that Pat Hurley and Glib Hurley was one and the same?” “They may be one,” returns Baldy, mournful, “but they ain’t nothing like the same.” “Where's the difference?” I inquires. ‘‘ You was on the same team when I knew you out West, only they spelt it with a small b. Where’d you get the capital for the capital?” “From the toil of my fruits,’ you think?” “Never mind,” says I, soothing. really got no evidence. How long you had ’em?” “Not yet,” answers Hurley, “but they’ve had me for three years. I bought the team from the McGuiness estate when Red Mac’s buzz-cart just missed missing a tree by a coupla inches and “T remember when he was bumped off,” I cuts in. “It see:ns to me | read in the papers his Valley franchise was knocked down for a song.” “Song, eh?” scowls Glib. “It maybe was a song to them sport writers, but it was a whole roll of notes to me—the kind you play on a payer-piano. I had a fist of fifty grand when I started talking turk to the McGuiness mouthpiece, but after I got done making the first payment I threw away the elastic band. I ain’t had no use for one since.” “You musta lost your cunning, feller,” says I. “In the old days you'd ‘a’ gone into that lawyer's office with nothing and come out with the franchise, a deed to the lot Red Mac’s buried in, and the jury badger’s desk blotter.” “Maybe,” returns Hurley, “but I’m gonna work a dirty trick on him and get even.” “How?” I asks. “T still owe ten thou on the Brigs,” explains Glib, “and he expects me to come in with it this week. I’m gonna give him the team instead--the whole smear, including three charley-horses, a half a dozen glass arms, a set of water buckets all dented by batters stepping into ‘em, and a mascot that’s brung us a lotta luck. Nobody ain’t been able to hudge us outta eighth place since we had him. He's got the measles right now, but I wouldn’t even hold them out on the Me- Guiness whereas.” “You mean to tell me,” says I, “that you’d junk a deal you’d sunk fifty thousand brow-sweats into on the account of a piffling ten thousand?” “ Piffling!” shouts Hur- ley. ‘“‘Where was you brung up—in a mint? Is that the way they teached you to talk to silk-hat money? As a matter of facts, boy, I’m in the nut for nearly seventy interrupts ’ snaps Glib. “ Where'd “Anyways, I ain’t Tell me about them Brigands. July 5,1924 DE § thousand with the Brigands, but I’m ready to kiss it bad-by, just charging them three years off to profitless loss. I ain’t gonna send no more good dough out to get drowned in red ink.” Glib really looks so down on his mouth that I feels sorry for him and tries to put a fresh coat of paint on his outlook. “T wouldn’t quit just yet if I was you,” I tells him. “The way things stack now it oughta be a big year in baseball and all other kinda business. Ain’t you read in the papes what Charley Schwab hadda say the other day about how swell things looked to him. Cheerio, old-timer.” “It can’t be did,”’ says Hurley. ‘You can’t cheer and owe at the same time. I’m _”” “Listen here,’”’ I cuts in. “‘You own the whole team by yourselfs?’’ “That’s the charge in the true bills I been getting,” answers Glib. “Why?” “‘Can’t you peddle a part interest in the layout to some fish?” I inquires. ‘‘Even if you has to slip him a fifty- fifty nick of the net for ten grand, you wouldn’t be so bad off, seeing that you is figuring on dumping the works. You might just get the breaks this season and finish up with enough piasters to buy a police dog for every policeman in America.” “Nope,”’ replied Hurley. “After you and me split in the old days I looked around, and what do you think I found?” “A hand on your shoulder,” I guesses. “A conscience, feller,’’ returns Glib. ‘‘They ain’t a Chink’s chance of them Brigands ever paying out, and it’d be just like lead-piping a lad’s dough away from him to sell him a cut of the cake. If anybody was to offer me ten thou- sand smackers right now, cash cush, T wouldn’t take it.”’ “I’d never forgive myselfs, neither, if I tempted you,” says I; “but what’sthe matter with that team of yourn? I thought the Valley League was a winner. Ain't none of them other magnets making no mazuma?” “That’s the funny ha-ha part of it,’ answers Hurley. “All the rest of ‘em is cleaning sweet. Even the Kan- garoos, that almost run us outta the cellar, wrote down thirty thousand with black ink at the end of last season.” “If them’s the cases,”’ I tells him, ‘“‘you must have a camembert manager or the guy that’s handling the gate for you ain't allowing you the usual owner's percentage of the take-in. Which is it?” “Neither of both,”’ comes back Glib, “seeing as I'm the manager myselfs and also looks after the do-re-mi end of the crime. No, the trouble with the Brigands started before I wished ’em on myself. Red Mac wasn’t nothing but an ivory trader, polishing up tusks for the big-time market. Just as soon as one of his bushers’d get good enough to foul off a couple he’d peddle him. He even swapped the bat boy to Glish of the Bobcats for a hunting dog. The fans got so they'd pitch in and buy a traveling bag right away for any Brigand that’d hit a home run or figure in a snappy double play. They knew he was on his way. You can imagine what was left when I got into a row with my good sense and bought the layout, and also where the Brigands stood with the patrons of the game. One day when we was playing the Kangaroos they was eighty- three birds in the stands, eight less than the number of Annie Oakleys I'd given away.” “It’s a saddish story, maty,”’ says I, “ but ain’t you been able to do nothing in three years toward raising the wreck?” “Not hardly none,” repties Hurley. ‘The other fellers had more dough’n me to bag the classy bush babies with. Nobody else could ’a’ done any better’n me neither.” The Boy Picks ‘Em Up and Piops 'Em Down Toward Second Without Hesitating at the Turn No More'n the Century Does for a Bee on the Track

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST They Watks to the “Bah and a coupla sneers,”’ says I. ‘The trouble is you don’t know no more about running a ball team than I does about the nesting habits of the Argentine gimple-wiffel.”’ “T suppose,”’ yelps Glib, ‘‘ you could take them flat-heels of mine and run ‘em into a shoe factory.” “Maybe not quite,”’ I shoots back, “but any time I sits in a eight-handed poker game and they is seven winners I can fix it to be one of em.” “‘How’d you like to try?”’ asks Hurley, with a jeer, that famous jeer of hisn that’s launched a thousand checks. I should ’a’ got wise right then, but I’m a baseball nut and I loses all sense of propositions when I’m talking it. “T would,” says I, prompt. ‘Will you give me a half interest and let me run the team for ten thousand berries?” ““Nope,” answers Glib, with a kind smile. “Even if you was a stranger I wouldn’t let you hook yourselfs into a mess where you is only got three chances, one of ’em of losing money Bs “And the other two?”’ I interrupts. “Of losing more,” he answers. ‘Let's talk about some- thing else. How’s the wife? Still got the same one?”’ “Stick to the subjects, bo,’”’ I urges. ‘Gimme a piece of the Brigands and I'll show you us “No,” cuts in Hurley, stern. ‘Want that frau of yourn to take in washing?”’ “Listen here,’ I goes on. ‘‘ Them ten thousand iron men ain’t gonna ruin me. I’m kinda tired loafing around, and I’ve always had a yen for handling a ball team.” “No,” repeats Glib. ““Come on,” I begs. “Be a good feller and lemme get in. I'll consider it a great favor.” “Well,” says he, “if you puts it that way I guess I'll “You're on?”’ I asks, excited. “You're in,” answers Hurley. u N A FEW days we is got the deal fixed up and I goes down with Hurley to look over the Brigands. I ain’t ready yet to spring the news on the pay roll that the new marster has arrove, so we sits in the grand stand. I’ve seen bigger crowds in a phone booth. The season’s only a week old, but from the way our cuckoos play you’d imagine they'd been working in extra- inning double headers on the equator for eleven years straight without a day off. I never seen such a gang of lead-hoofs and sag-arms. They walks to the plate with all the enthusiasms of a kid edging toward a spoonful of castor oil, swings at the ball like guys with a complication of hookworm, spring fever and I-don’t-give-a-damn, and runs bases, when forced on ‘em, as if they was parading in back of a hearse. ““Peppy bunch,” I remarks. “You should ‘a’ seen ’em at the tail end of last season,’’ grins Glib. *“What’d they do,”’ I inquires, “carry hammocks around the bases with ‘em? Hey,” I yelps sudden, “look at that flat-head stealing second i. with a man on!” 4 “That’s Glimick,” explains Hurley, bh ; “the field captain. He sorta runs the team for me.” “How much did you say you lost last year?”’ I asks. “Fifteen thousand,” returns Glib, “in the hole.” “In the hole, nothing!” I barks. “You could lose fifty thousand with that mob of raggers, and still be ahead of the game.” “How do you mean, ahead?” in- quires Hurley. “The fans here ain’t lynched you yet, has they?” I snaps back. “If I couldn’t get together a better fa “You got your chance,” skids in Glib. “‘Them’s your boys out there. Let’s see what you can do with ’em. Try and make ’em play snappy.” “T ain’t gonna,”’ says I. “I’m gonna ask waivers on the whole layout tonight, including the groundkeeper. I might keep that lad on third. He’s the only one in the whole smear that’s willing to stoop for a ball, even if he don't stop none. Who is he?” “That's Crane,”’ answers Hurley, kinda nervous. “He goes to the Bobcats at the end of the week.” “Who,” I wants to know, “is you getting for him? Some bird in a wheel chair?” “Nobody,” mumbles Glib. “You see, I “Cash, eh?" I remarks. “Yeh,” says Hurley, “kinda. You see it was like this. Me and Jimmy Glish of the Cats hooks up in a session of stud the other night. I’m sitting with a ace in the hole, two of ‘em showing and a seven spot. Glish is got a pair of sixes out in the open, one under cover and a trey. The last card gives me a soused house-—ace full. Jimmy con- nects with another six. I figures him for a small full at best, and bets out five hundred. Glish tilts mea grand. I. calls him with all the jack I got and raises him with Crane. Jimmy calls with George Scott, a outfielder, and Larry Swift, a catcher. So ‘ed “Play him one more game,"’ I yelps, ‘“‘and bet him the rest of the Brigands against a plugged dime. Be sure and stack the deck so they won't be no chance of you not losing. When you gone on that trip?” “What trip?” asks Glib. “Ain’t you heard about that trip to urope you was telling me about this afternoon?” I answers. “Me!” gasps Hurley. ‘ Me telling i “Yeh,” says I, looking him keen in the lamps. ‘ Don’t you remember that phenom they got playing in the Slibo- witch team of the Checker-Slovak League you wanted to look over?”’ “Oh, very well,” grins Glib. “I'll get rid of myself for you. Wanna play a lone hand, eh?” “For a while anyways,” I tells him. ‘They is a few ideas I'd like to put over with the Brigands, and it’d make me kinda nervous thinking {r you might get into another } stud fest with Glish and lose me on a pair of deuces,”’ A Pop Bottle Misses Me a Foot, But Not Having No Use for Full Ones I Certainly Pays No Attentions to Empties Plate With All the Enthusiasms of a Kid Edging Toward a Spoonful of Caster Oil > Ky asks Hurley, “about can- w > “You ain't serious, is you,’ ning the whole layout?” “TIT can do it, can’t 1?”’ I comes back. “You're running the team,’ admits Glib, “‘but where you gonna get the other players?” “Where do you get that ‘other’?” I growls. “I could pick a better team than them Brigands outta the hospital ward of a old ladies’ home.” “You got acres to learn,"’ returns Hurley. “ You'll find out pronto quick that good flingers and stickers and stoppers is scarcer than four-legged guinea hens with gold-filled teeth.” “They maybe is where you guys been looking,” says I. “The trouble with you old-timers is that you been working the same farms so steady that the crops now ain't worth weeding for. What the game needs is new blood and new ideas.” “Where they coming from?" asks Glib “Remember Two-Story Halligan?" I inquires. “You mean that pu. that used to scout for the old Red Sox?” sniffs Huey. “Yep,” I tells him. “He's gonna play new bloodhound for me. As for the new-laid ideas, the fountain that's gonna spout ’em is almost sitting in your lap. What you laughing about?" “All my life,’’ chortles Glib, “I been hearing about grand-stand managers that could always run the team better than the lad on the field, and I has always wondered what'd happen if they was to really get a chance.” “Wonder no more, littl one,’ says I, “about what might happen; wonder at the wonders that does.” “Not owning no more’n half of the team,"’ remarks Hurley, “it ain't none of my business, but might I ask what some of them swell ideas of yourn is?” “Can you keep a secret?”’ I asks. “Maybe not in the luxury to which it has been accus- tomed,”’ returns Glib, modest, ‘but I guess I can keep it off the streets.” “Well,” says I, “for one thing, I'm gonna use every pitcher I got every day.’ “That's nothing,’ comes back Hurley, calm. “I’ve used ‘em all and called a right fielder into the box in less than two innings.” “You don't make me, feller,” I telis him. “No matter how good a boy’s going, I'm gonna pull him out and shoo him off to the showers after he’s pitched to nine men, Do you know that most ball games is lost by letting hurlers stay in longer’n they should? Also, | watched the box scores especial for a whole season, and seventy-eight per cent of the heavers that was knocked outta the box got theirs in the sixth, seventh and eighth innings. What does that prove?” “Pull your own conclusions outta the fire,”’ answers Glib “Tt proves,” I goes on, “that the average pitcher's only got about six innings of zip, and to make sure I'll only let ‘em stay in three. I’m gonna get me half a dozen hurlers, split even between southpaws and north-winders ’ “What you gonna do,” cuts in Hurley “if the first baby you shoot in is knocked outta the box before he gets his By the time he pitches to nine men the score boy’d run outta chalk.” “That's why I'm getting six pitchers,” | explains. “If every bird was sure of lasting out a third of the game I'd only need three, wouldn’t 1? The minute a bimbo shows any signs of slipping, out he goes. I figures on using all the wingers I got every game. What's wrong with the idea? It's a good thing for a pitcher to work every day, arid, be- sides, it ain’t gonna be so soft for the batters to swing at six different kinda deliveries the same afternoon, three of ‘em left-handers and the other three honest men.” “It sounds kinda cuckooish to me,” says Glib, “but maybe that stunt of yourn and other things you jull'll bring the fans out for a laugh anyways.” (Continued on Page 74 glove on?

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST By EDWIN LEFEVRE CARTOONS Br mM. L. NE morning nearly twenty years ago said Mr. Wing —just as [ was about to leave the office on one of my reg- ular bend-selling exeur- sions, Colonel Bronson sent word that he wished to see me. I couldn't imagine what he wished to see me about, though I rather sus- pected the firm had ac- quired another issue of bonds that he wished me to work on, in addition.to the Commonwealth Pipe tives. I went into his private office, where he sat at his desk. Isaid “Good morn- ing, colonel.” He nodded pleasantly, and kept on reading a letter. He finished it before he turned to me and said “Good morning.” Then in a casual sort of way he added, “Jack, we have decided that you may go to New York.” “That's fine, sir.’ [ was as pleased as Punch. “When would you like to go?” he asked. “Tomorrow morning,” I said. I had been waiting for this opportunity and I was anxious to begin, And now that I had the chance, my one thought wag that the sooner I left Boston the less danger there was of a fatal change of mind on the part of the colonel or of Mr. Barnes. “T'll send Williamson word,” said Colonel Bronson. “Tell him I'll be there day after tomorrow at 8:30 A.M.,” I said. “Thank you, colonel. Anything else, sir?” “No, Jack,” he said. I thought he was on the verge of saying something more, but he didn’t and I didn't. So I left his office and went out and sold a few bonds. Then I came back and said good-by to the boys in the back office. I couldn’t say good-by to the colonel or Mr. Barnes, because both of them had gone for the day The next day [ took a train for New York. I ar- rived after dark, and went straight to a hotel so I could have a good reat and be up early the next day. I haven't the slightest recollection of feeling like Dick Whittington or Benjamin Franklin or any of those heroes who philoso- phize on the lot of a young stranger in a strange city. I felt that I had successfully negotiated the important firat step. It had taken me from Boston, where I was doing work that didn’t thrill me, to an office in New York, where I should enjoy working year after year. SPE 1 pas My First Day in Wall Street eo the window of my hotel room I could look out 4 a af 4 and take in the vast incandescence that serves the me- tropolis as sky at night, and I could hear the unbroken hoarse murmur-—-ea blending of ten thousand noises—that is the audible life of the noisiest city in the world, This was great New York, the marvelous; little old New York, the faseinating—the battlefield that I had picked out to be successful in, that day when a glimpse of young J. P. Morgan led me to think of the location of the nerve center of high finance. In common with millions I had unresistingly accepted New York as the magnet that drew to itself human particles from all over the country. The money maker and the money spender, the buyer and the seller, alike found no other place like it, and therefore it was natural that ithe go-getter, the dreamer, the merchant, the artist, the broker, the atchitect, the lawyer, the crook—all classes and all trades— found here the best market for what they evar wae st had to sell, which was themselves. And when they arrived they found that the great- est of American cities also was the largest Italian and the largest Irish and the largest Jewish city in the world. Here the non- producer was not wanted and the non- spender was nonexistent. It had the worst manners in the world. It was the least American of American cities, and the most comfortable, the busiest and the most gen- erous, the most impressive and the least concerned with good government. But these things I accepted because I had always accepted them. They meant to me no more than statistics of area or street- railway mileage. What interested me was the fact that New York was where Wall Street was, and Wall Street was where the Stock Exchange was, and the Stock Ex- change was where the business of the as yet uncaptured customers of John Wing would be transacted. I was at last where men who worked hard got what they worked for. More than this I did not ask for; less I would not take. To work, always cheerfully and always a little harder than the next fellow, I thought, was all that was needed. I after- ward learned that New York pays the cheer- vee ful hard worker not only gladly but liberally. I woke up early the next morning—my first in New York. After breakfast I read all the newspapers. I went over all the local news. It concerned me since it concerned the city where from now on my home would be. I must know what was going on. I should need that knowledge in my business. When I went downtown J took an Elevated train. This was most decidedly not Boston, where I knew people and was known. It was a new work- shop, where both tools and faces were unfamiliar. The very feel of the air was different. The characteristic city odors were new to me. A strange place and another life; but also work years and years of it! The New York office of the firm was in an old- fashioned building on Wall Street, a few doors from Broadway. There was nothing sumptuous about the entrance, and the almost mid-Victorian directory on the wall informed me that Bron- son & Barnes’ offices were on the second floor. I took the elevator, got off at the second floor and started briskly for the office. It wasn’t there! I went back and asked the elevator man where the Bronson & Barnes office was. “Room 18,” he answered, “Turn to the right. End of the hall.” I followed his directions. Sure enough, at the end of the dark hall I saw an insignifi- cant door on which I read: BRONSON & BARNES It looked familiar, but it rather flabbergasted me. It was like finding the lord of the manor in overalls turning the grindstone for the hired man. But in the wake of this impres- sion came a thrill thatis difficult _ to describe: I realized that somebody was needed to change the unprosperous aspect of these shabby surroundings, to make the branch worthy of the main office. Somebody simply had to do it, and the sooner it was done the better for every- body. There was no mystery about the identity of that somebody. I had known him all my life. That was not conceit. Bron- son & Barnes had sent me to _—-n ll e ULATIVE fits BIRD A a BLUMENTHAL July 5,1924 New York to get business for this same in- significant office at the end of the dark hall. That was my job. Being young, it did not occur to me that I might not make good. Wasn't I willing to work? I opened the door and walked in. The New York office of my firm that year consisted of just one room. It was bisected by a sort of grille, and from it at right angles ran partitions of the same kind of ironwork, forming a series of inclosures or cages. One did for the cashier and stock clerk. Another served the lone bookkeeper. The third penned in an Admirable Crichton who was in charge of a telephone switchboard, a Morse telegraph outfit, a stock ticker and a small flat desk. There were two clerks at work—strangers, of course and Mr. Williamson. I knew the home office had notified him that I was coming and he doubtless expected me, but my new chief merely glanced up at me, nodded toward a chair in a corner, said “Sit down!” and went on opening and reading his morning mail. This occupied him fully a quarter of an hour, for his New England conscience compelled him not only to read but to understand each and every line. During that time an office boy and another clerk came in. Getting Settled INALLY Mr. Williamson got up, came over to me, shook hands, said he was glad to see me and began to tell me what my duties would be—rather hur- riedly, because he was due on the floor of the Stock Exchange in a few minutes. Then, with an effect of using a foot rule, he kindly but accurately showed me the exact spot in that one-room office where my desk would be. It was in the very center of an arched Creatures of 2 rene ee a er a at pee mene rename ————

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| j if } i recess in the east wall, scarcely deep enough to be called an alcove. I couldn’t see how a man’s-size desk could pos- sibly fit in there. There were no windows on the sides or in front. But that was where Mr. Williamson declared my: desk would be, and I accepted his decision without a pang because I didn’t expect to do much desk work. Besides, there was no other place in the office where a desk could be put. Mr. Williamson was not very cordial. It wasn’t so much as though he were sorry I had come as though he were pressed for time. A man who has only twenty seconds in which to do twenty things is not volubly grateful for an unexpected twenty-first task. Afterward, when I came to know Mr. Williamson and love him, I learned that this came from his extreme con- scientiousness, which made him undertake to do in person a great deal more than he need have tried to do. And I did not know then that only a fortnight before in Boston Colonel Bronson asked him whether he could use me in New York and Mr. Williamson promptly said yes; that he needed somebody like me. And he was nice enough to tell Colonel Bronson that he had had his eye on me from the day he first met me. After Mr. Williamson told me the site of the desk he introduced me to the other clerks and told them that I had been sent from Boston to get local business. I was not to do any clerical work. Then he left me and went over to the Stock Exchange to execute the orders that had come in from Boston. There were none from local cus- tomers. He always left the office at ten minutes to ten. That gave him exactly nine minutes on the floor before the market opened. The Office Family FTER Mr. Williamson left I talked to the clerks. The telephone man also was telegraph operator and order clerk. His name was George Wilson. He was quite re- markable in many ways. A few years after my arrival in New York he left us to go into business for himself with Bill Goodwin, another clerk. The firm of Wilson & Goodwin are members of the New York Stock Exchange and do a nice business today. George Wilson always got to the office at eight in the morning and ran his wire until six P.M. Not once did I hear him complain about the work, or whine or curse about the annoyance of having to answer no end of fool questions from excited customers in Boston. He used to make all the reports and prepare all the trades, in addition to explaining why the execution of this or that order appeared to leave something to be desired—for he was a superlative artist in expla- nations and utterly impervious to kicks and complaints. I'll tell you something that is utterly incred- ible but nevertheless is gospel truth. I haveseen that chap answer a telephone call, with a receiver held to his left ear while with his right ear he Imargination THE SATURDAY EVENING POST listened to the Morse instrument click- ing an order to buy orsellstock. He took the telephone and the telegraph mes- sages synchronously. He never made mistakes in the figures which came to him that way, from two sources at once. That, I consider, is more of a feat than dictating to five secretaries, as Cwsar did. When our business grew we put George in charge of our wire room, and when he left to go into business for him- selt he had under him twenty-five oper- ators with wires running to all sections of the United States. He was a glutton for work. He could do any amount of it without perceptible friction. He not only did all that came his way but often went out to find a little more to do. He did more than any ten men I could find today would do. A re markably fine chap, who knew his job and saved his money. Good- win, his partner, was Officially the margin clerk long before he had many margins to look after. He was very competent and was with us till he formed a partner- ship with George. There was also a very nice young chap in the office doing clerical work, to whom I took a great fancy. He had one hobby and one topic of conversation and that was his conviction that there was a big future in the bond business. He wanted to specialize on that. Nothing else interested him. He spent all his spare time studying bonds and bond selling. A few months after my arrival he left us because we didn’t do enough business in bonds to suit him. I was very sorry at the time that he left us, but today I feel even sorrier. It was a pleasure to me to be with him and to listen to him, for his ambition was to do in the bond busi- ness what I dreamed of doing in stocks. Today that enthusiastic fellow clerk is the head of one of the greatest bond houses in the country. Brains, love of the business and very hard work cleared the track to success for him; and I mean real success—that is, useful achievement and not merely winning a fortune. There was nothing accidental about the triumphs of these chaps. After I was introduced to the office force there wasn’t anything for me to do there. The system was the same we used in Bos- ton and probably the same used in most brokerage offices everywhere. There wasn't anything for me to learn from sitting in that office waiting for the furniture man to bring my desk, so I went out to take in the Stock y Exchange and look about a bit. OL LBM ENT Bt 19 The office was in Wall Street a few doors from Broadway. Almost across the street was the side entrance to the Stock Exchange, so unimposing that I walked past it to Broad Street and there took a good look at the facade. As I stood there, doubtless thinking precious thoughts that I have since forgotten, Bill Winans came along, saw me, stopped, and took a better look at me. That made me look at him. “Hello, Bill!’ I said, “Hello, Jack!"" We shook hands. He had been at Harvard in my day, s class ahead of me. He was the greatest tennis player of his day, and I liked him im- mensely. “What are you doing here?” he asked me. ‘I thought you were in Boston.” “T was,” I said. And_ then I told him all about it. After I finished he told me about himself. In addi- tion to being a great tennis player and a regular fel- low, he had been wise enough to pick for an elder brother a very clever chap so that by the time Bill left college his brother Frank had established a good business. Bill sim- ply went down to Wall Street, worked under his brother a year cr two, bought a seat on the ex- change and was taken in as partner in the firm of Winans Brothers. He liked the business, and x the qualities that made Y us admire him at college made him popular on the “Pretty Pussy"* floor of the New York Stock Exchange. “Do you know, Bill, I’ve never seen the inside of the Stock Exchange,” I said. “Well, you'd better add one more pleasing experience to your large collection,’ he said, and he took me with him to the Visitors’ Gallery. Traffic in Fractional Ownerships T WAS awonderful sight. The market wasn’t particularly active—just enough to make the scene animated. It was an impressive room architecturally, | thought, but chiefly I saw in it an indispensable part of my business, The men who were down there below talking or rushing from the telephones to the posts or gesticulating and shouting or tearing bits of paper into smaller bits were all part and parcel of the game at which I proposed to spend my working life. They were buying and selling stocks and bonds for men who were in other offices, in other cities, in other states, as well as in Wall Street. The wires went everywhere and the orders came from everybody. Gam- blers and investors, plungers and pikers, professionals and lambs, all kinds of men—and women, too—bought and sold securities through those men below, This big room was the meeting place of buyers and sellers, the table at which the documents were signed that made the signers exchange some pieces of paper for other pieces of paper. And some of the pieces entitled the owner thereof to share in the profits of railroads and copper mines and street railways and steel plants and sugar refineries, while the other pieces of paper could be exchanged at the bank for pieces of gold. Those men were dealing in fractional ownerships of all kinds of properties. And prices moved up or down in obedience to impulses that were not always visible to the naked eye or, if seen, were not always correctly interpreted. The pulse of the business world throbbed down there, below me— beats that in a thousand offices were plainly seen: The ticker was the sphygmograph. “What do you think of it?” asked Bill Winans. “‘Great!"’ I said, because I wished him to feel that I appreciated his kindness. “Say, Jack, why don’t you get your firm to buy you a seat? Joe Williamson isn’t as young as he was, and any- how you need two men on the floor.” “Not for mine!” I said. “What?” He did not believe his ears, “Do you know what I thought of while I was trying to spot Mr. Williamson down there?” I asked him. “I'll tell you, Bill. Every commission- house man down there on that floor is merely a tool or (Continued on Page 78) a

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST smal! abode on the edge of the woods. He went so slowly that one watching him, and aware of his quest, might have decided that he was deliberately guing slowly and by the longest way. With Plutus at his heels, Piatt abc did not hasten unduly to return to his ILLUSTRATED ‘By Bertram Atkey Br FP. R. GRUGER July 5,1924 “Kern Castle, is it? was heading, Mr. ——” si, Fair,” said Prosper. ‘‘We must try to find him. The gray man I met asked for Kern Castle.” “It’s him—I knew it would be. How did he seem?” asked That’s where my partner he went by the roadway, ignor- ing his private short cut. His progress was that of 4 man who, conscious that he has to wait an hour for a train, strolls aimlessly up a small-town street and back. This route back to the castle led him past a small inn situ- ated, with a few cottages, a little way farther out of the village than the home of the Merle- hursts. It was a minute or so past ten o'clock when he reached this inn and normally the place would be closed and in darkness. But tonight the landlord had not yet extinguished his lights. He was standing in the doorway, facing a man who was talking in a harsh, querulous voice. “But he passed through this dog-hole village, I tell you. You must have seen him—a fine, aristocratic-looking man— old He wouldn't pass through without dropping in here—-dry work foot-slogging it on these roads.” “1 tell you, mister, there’s no such party been in my house, In fact we ain't seen a stranger here for a month," said the landlord. The tall man stared at him, absently snapping his fingers. “It's not like him. I don’t understand it.” Prosper, moving quietly and very slowly, studied him. He had spoken of old soldiers and it was evident, even in that gloom, that this man also was an old soldier. He was as straight and stiff-shouldered as a man on a smart parade. Siung over his shoulder, he carried a big worn haversack--and a guitar. He wheeled abruptly as Prosper drew near, disclosing, dimly seen in the light of the ill-lit passage, a square, rugged face, with a heavy black mustache. His pale eyes fixed themselves on Prosper for a second, then returned to the innkeeper. “If you haven't seen him, you haven't,” he rasped. ‘But how anybody with eyes could miss such a striking man I can’t see. A tall, gray-looking, aristocratic soidier, Matthew Cass anxiously. “Not—very fit,” explained Prosper. ‘‘To be frank, he ap- peared to me like a man on the verge of a grave illness.” Cass agreed reluctantly. “Yes, he was. His chickens were coming home to roost, he used to say. He’s a man who has always enjoyed himself, the major is. He believed in a gay life—and a long one if you could get it. I used to say that, but I'll not swear it’s right. It leads you nowhere— except into barns for your nights’ rest.”’ Prosper nodded. “Perhaps we ca:: improve on the barn. You might turn in with me—if you don’t mind a small tent. I can find you something to eat too. I’m camping near here—an artist. What do you say?” “Yes to that. Thanks. A square meal is what I’m looking for. If I can get something for my digestion to do, I’ll probably feel a bit more hopeful about my partner, the major.” “Good,” said Prosper. “I’ve a natural gift for finding some- thing for idle digestions to do. This is one of the en- trances to Kern Castle—we turn in here.” They moved into the dead gloom of the overgrown carriage drive. Cass sniffed a little un- easily, seeming to sense the ruin which he could not see. “Tt’s as black as the Earl of Hades’ riding boots,” he said, with elaborations. ‘“‘What hopes of finding the major around here tonight?” “Very few,” agreed Prosper. “This way, and go as quietly as you can.” He made straight to his camp, but stopped at the tent entrance and flashed his torch inside, care- fully studying the interior for some minutes before he entered. He was smiling when presently he turned to his guest, though that hardy individual did not notice it. Half an hour later, the ex- man—a come-down gentleman isn’t so common in a one-horse place that he’s not noticed.” He tugged at his mustache, glaring, as obviously an old cavalry noncommiesioned officer, also come-down, as Pros- per had ever seen. “You are in a difficulty?” asked Prosper mildly. The hard, flinty eyes of the ex-N. C. O. fastened on the hatless figure im gray flannel. “ Difficulty I'm hunting for my mate—my part- ner, There was a bit of a barney back at Carisbury about my giving them a little music in the streets and the police got gay with me, I had to stop over the night there. But the major pushed on. ‘They'll let you out in the morn- ing,’ he says, ‘and you're fitter than I am. I'll push on to Kern and you can catch up. You go quietly with these police now and follow on when they fire you out in the morning. I'll carry on. You'll hear of me at Kern. I'll look out for you.’ And this is the way he looks out. Where is he? Nobody in the village has seen him. Has he passed through—or what?” “Was he a gray man-—very tired—who closed his eyes when he spoke? A man who might once have been a gen- tleman?" inquired Prosper. “Yon've said it. An officer and a gentleman and a sportsman. He was once a major of the Seventh Dragoon i served under him—troop sergeant major till yes. Guards. The Grip at His Neck Was Becoming Unbearable: Prosper's Thumbs Were Driving Deep Into the Glands and Muscles they broke me. We're on the road together, I—I’m anx- ious about him, for he was not fit. Have you seen him?” “What was his name? I heard of someone resembling him-—in the village yesterday.” The ex-troop sergeant major looked keenly at Prosper. “His name was Smith,”’ he answered. “Smith, yes,’’ he repeated. ‘He couldn’t have come to any harm, for he knew this place Kern—well he knew it. But I’m uneasy, I tell you I’m windy, for he was a sick man.” “Well, I’m sorry for you, but I ain’t seen him,” said the innkeeper, civil, but yawning. “And I’ve got to close my house, so good night, both.” The oblong of light was suddenly blocked out by the closed. door. Prosper smiled at the man with the guitar. “T think it must have been your friend Major Smith that I saw,” he said. “ Are you going this way?” “ Any way will do me so long as it leads to a barn,” was the gloomy reply. “You are sleeping in a barn, Sergeant Major **___. Cass, sir—plain Matthew Cass. There’s worse places than barns, and I've slept in ’em.” He fell into step automatically. “Well, we’re heading for an empty castle—and that should be better than a barn.” ” sergeant major had provided his digestion with exercise and was busy with tobacco. Skillfully and imperceptibly led by Prosper, he was talking freely of his partner and himself. His discourse was long and, to most, would have seemed rambling, but Prosper missed no word of it. He let his guest go at his own gait, for until the moon was hig: Prosper was in no hurry. It was nearing midnight before he left Cass, sleeping heavily, with Plutus curied up just inside the tent. Pros- per made his way without haste to the sunken garden, with his gas mask at the alert position. Arrived there, he si- lently moved to the pyramid and settled down comfortably in the dark shadow of the north base. His attitude, when presently he was settled to his satisfaction, was curious, and quite the last in which one, knowing his quest, might have expected to see him. He sat close against the pyra- mid, leaning back, his head turned sideways, his cheek resting against his hand, which in turn rested against the slope of the pyramid. It was exactly the attitude of a man about to sleep. But Mr. Fair had not gone there to sleep; he had never been more keenly interested and wide awake in his life. He was engaged in testing a certain theory; and since thought could not check or interfere with the test, he seized this chance of running over the mass of information he had ac- cumulated during that long and furiously busy day.

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| | [ From the time that he had first looked down at the crumbling training stable at Druid’s Hollow, to the mo- ment when the drifting ex-cavalryman, Cass, had finished talking and fallen asleep where he lay, Prosper had been learning things; and that with no more apparent effort than was required to keep people talking who were per- fectly willing to talk. The conversation of almost every one of the people with whom he had chatted that day, taken by itself, led to nothing, for it was incomplete; but when each of these conversations was fitted into place with the others in what Mr. Fair chose to term the jigsaw, the mystery began to clear itself, to become amazingly more sharply defined—like an actual landscape swinging into clean-cut, detailed, clearly colored precision through the lenses of a gradually adjusted field glass. Sitting in the shadow of the pyramid, he was tempted to marvel that a trained detective, such as Garrishe unques- tionably must be, could have missed so much of what he should have known. But Garrishe was handicapped in many ways. He was known to be a professional detective and people did not care to talk too readily to him; he had no social entrée to the places and people that seemed to matter; and he was faced with a novel mystery towards a solution of which the records and system of Scotland Yard could not help him. But there were others interested Raymond Barisford, for example; a quick-witted and clever man, with many opportunities, and moreover with the added incentive of his love for Marjorie May and friendship for Mrs. Merlehurst; or that logical little school- master who had been so keenly interested in the Kern mys- tery; or Enderby, the experienced old lawyer—he was especially interested in Kern—and others. Yet none of them seemed to be an inch along the road upon which the whimsical Mr. Fair was well aware he had made such re- markable progress. “How quaint to think that I, a gray and baggy-kneed wanderer, should arrive, as I have, in two days and a night, at the threshold of a mystery which has hung unsolved about this garden for ten years!’’ he said within himself, smiling into the darkness. ‘‘Do I throw undeserved bou- quets at myself festoon myself with unearned laurels, I THE SATURDAY EVENING POST wonder, when I tell myself that I know, or can practically guess rightly, all there is to know concerning the Kern mystery? Certainly luck has been hand in hand with me luck and ——” He broke off his reflections, listening intently. But pres- ently he relaxed again. Whatever may have been the sound he heard, it was evidently not the sound he was hoping to hear, for he continued to muse, his cheek resting on his palm against the pyramid. He began to ponder again the deeply cut inscriptions in the light of that day’s knowledge: ““*They that make a graven image are all of them vanity; and their delectable things shall not profit,’”’ he repeated, inaudibly, nodding slowly. “Well, that was true enough; penetratingly, painfully true if Kern meant by a ‘graven image’ or delectable things his money.” Then he stiffened a little, spurred by a new idea. “Let us try a little experiment,” he suggested to him- self. “‘We will—pour passer le temps, as one might say if one hungered to air a cliché-—- paraphrase the inscriptions, bearing in mind the things we have learned during this busy, busy day. Beginning with Lord Kern's ery or con- fession, ‘I was a derision.’ That we will render, as ‘People laughed at me.’ But Mrs. Merlehurst did not laugh at him. Very good, Prosper. Next, please. We will translate ‘A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches, and loving favour rather than silver and gold,’ as meaning, ‘It is better to be loved and respected than to be merely a millionaire! But Mrs. Merlehurst did not love him.” Prosper nodded in the darkness like a playful mandarin. “Let us continue to continue, substituting for ‘They that make a graven image are all of them vanity; and their delectable things shall not profit,’ the very free rendering of—um—‘It is of no use to make a god of money; one only loses by it.’ Exactly! It is true. Even I, Baggy- Knees, ought to know that!” Prosper was right there—his own yearly income was in the neighborhood of a hundred and fifty thousand pounds. “And finally, we will make of ‘And thou, even thyself, shalt discontinue from thine heritage that I gave thee,’ this substitute: ‘Consequently, I shall stop hoarding up a for- tune that is of no use to me, and abandon the whole thing.’”’ He laughed very softly in the shadows. “Now let us see what our translations have brought us to,”” he whispered, and repeated them: “*People laughed at me.’ ‘It is better to be loved and respected than to be merely a millionaire.’ ‘It is of no use to make a god of money; one only loses by it. Conse- quently, I shall stop hoarding up a fortune that is of no use to me, and abandon the whole thing.’ Yes, that’s a permissible rendering. Let us edit it a little with an imag- inary blue pencil. And remembering that Kern was a miser, it becomes, ‘What's the use of hoarding money if people laugh at you as they laugh at me, and if it can't buy you what you want. I shall abandon my money.’” Prosper sat up suddenly. “Yes, that’s it! Well, what did he do with it when he abandoned it? That is a fair question, I believe. But be- fore we answer it, let us go farther—guessing a little—and render that conclusion of Lord Kern as being this: “*Not even my great wealth could buy for me the re- spect of the people upon whom I lavished it, or the love of Rose Merlehurst. Therefore I abandon my hoard, my house and my whole heritage.’ Poor devil! And the next one hears of him is that he is being nursed by a Chinese cook in the Far West—‘his lungs boiling back of his chest, you may say.’ But he is sufficiently a philoso- pher—-which is to say, a man given to the study and practice of wisdom—to impress deeply that not easily im- pressionable product of humanity, an aged Chinese cook!” Prosper shook his head a little gravely. “I find it in my heart to be sorry for Lord Kern,” he said slowly. “For it must have been a very bitter disillu- sioning to discover that the mountain of gold, hoarded so long and patiently, could not allure even a glance from the eyes of an exquisite woman who sighed only for the love of the ruined gambler she had married and who— it seems had tired of her.” ‘ He was uttering his thoughts aloud now. His voice may have carried almost to the deep dead darkness under the (Continued on Page 92) “Who is He?" “Ah, There You Have Me, Inspector,"* Smiled Prosper. “‘7¢ Was Impossible to See Hig Face Last Night"’

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22 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST FOUNDED A°‘D! 1728 PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY INDEPENDENCE SQUARE : PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA, U.S.A. GEORGE HORACE LORIMER, EDITOR Five Cents the Copy From All Newsdealers, By Subscription: To the United States and Possessions, Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil, Colombia, Costa Rice, Cuba, Dominicae Republic, Revador, Guatemala, Isle of Pines, Mexico, Nicaragua, Panama, Paraguay, Peru, Republic of Honduras, Sclvadeor, Spain and Uruguay, $2.00 the Year, Remit by U. 8, Money Order, Expreas Money Order, Check or by Draft, payable in U. 8. Funds. To Canuda—By Subscription, $2.00 the Year. Single Copies, Five Cents— Canadian of U. 5. Punde fo Newfoundland (with Labrador) and other Foreign Countries, exclusive of thase mentioned above, by subscription, post paid, $6.00 the Year. Re- mittences to be by Postel of Express Money Order or by Draft on « bank in the U. S., payable in U.S. Punds PHILADELPHIA, JULY 5, 1924 Canadian Wheat Via Panama NLY a couple of years ago the first experiments were QO made in the shipment of wheat to Europe via Van- couver and the Panama Canal. During the past year the terminal favilities in Vancouver have been greatly im- proved. The wheat crop of the province of Alberta was The lake traffic out of Fort William and Port Arthur was disorganized for a time after the harvest of last year by imposition of new shipping regulations. This all favored the westbound shipment of wheat. In heavy in 1928. the eight months of the present season some forty-four million bushels of wheat were exported from Vancouver. A large part of it went to Europe via the Panama Canal. This means increased earnings for the Panama Canal. It also means decreased earnings for Eastern railroads. A large part of the wheat going out from the Prairie Prov- inces goes via the lakes to Buffalo, where it is transshipped to North Atlantic perts. A substantial part of the traffic over rails eastbound from Buffalo is Canadian grain, and the expedition of this grain is a substantial part of the port business of the North Atlantic ports. For years the Ca- nadians have been trying to haul out more of their export wheat via Montreal. Apparently the western route rep- resents another successful device to keep the trade in their own hands. Wheat growing is expanding little in Mani- toba, and diversified agriculture is on the increase. Wheat growing is expanding in Alberta and this grain may. be economically hauled out via the Pacific ports. This means increased independence for Canadian traffic. Science at a Discount T WOULD be interesting to determine by extended in- quiry which of the learned professions is most poorly paid. Five years ago, if clergymen had been left out of the reckoning on account of their perennially low financial es- tate, we should have said the college professor was fully entitled to his melancholy precedence at the head of the list of the underpaid. No longer does his narne lead all the rest. Notable additions to college endowments followed by substantial increases of faculty salaries have materially He is now several removes from the top of the starvation list. bettered the professor's lot. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Engineers, technologists and men of science, taken as a singie group, must now be at the top or very near the top of the list of the conspicuously underpaid. We exempt from this classification those engaged in selling and those who occupy high executive positions. We include in it those whose work is strictly professional. Such training represents large investment of money, time, brain power and moral stamina. Higher technical courses cost much to give and much to receive. They re- quire, among other things, laboratories equipped with heavy machinery, instruments of precision and costly ac- cessories of a hundred sorts. Instructors must be men of unusual equipment who know how to teach as weil as how to practice. Mathematics is the mainstay of many of these courses, for today the small talk of science is conducted in the vernacular of calculus. The training is severe because it consists largely in the inculcation of principles, and prin- ciples are always more difficult to grasp than facts or mere information. The resulting equipment is of the most sub- stantial sort, for if it has any merit at all it has the faculty of enabling men not only to handle routine work with effi- ciency but to attack new and strange problems in the or- derly and wel!-reasoned fashion that leads to final success. He who can blaze new trails and establish new outposts in the domain of science or industrial technology is too val- uable a citizen to grind down. Men of this stamp are notoriously underpaid. Bureau scientists in Washington, conspicuous examples of the faithful public servant, work for salaries that a self- respecting plasterer would call cigarette money. Research men in the laboratories of great corporations fare better, but by no means well. Engineering experts in a dozen fields, well equipped specialists, are often so ill rewarded that they find it hard to live in modest comfort. These conditions are beginning to produce the inevitable result. Educators who are trying to assist young men in their selection of a career are telling the truth about the en- gineering professions and are comparing them unfavorably with other fields of activity. equally frank when advising their young friends. thinking, well-trained young men are too precious an asset to put into blind-alley jobs. Scouts from the great industria! corporations each spring look over the graduating classes of our technical schools with » view to engaging promising students. Of late they have been complaining of the insufficiency of the material at their disposal. In some instances they have been frankly told that they want too much for what they are willing to pay and that they cannot hope to find their needs fully supplied until they are prepared to pay a fair price for the costly and hard-won mental equipment whose benefits they desire. From colonial times our people have had a genius for mechanics, invention and applied science. It would be a national calamity if we should be so shortsighted as to starve out this priceless talent. If there is any one thing about our social evolution that is certain, it is our growing dependence upon science to solve the problems of peace and war and everyday life. To weaken by neglect or indifference those powers upon which our future existence may depend would be sheer folly. Engineers themselves are Clear- The Use of International Lox is WO or three years ago, when we were actively en- 2 Gnade in making foreign loans, the suggestion was advanced that such loans shculd be made with the proviso that the borrowing countries spend the credit in the United States. There was a considerable body of public opinion holding the view that we should make some such stipula- tion in support of our export industries, since it was believed that other countries, notably Great Britain and Germany, had done the same thing. This led a distin- guished American banker publicly to controvert ‘the fallacy that it is good business to compel our foreign bor- rowers to earmark and themselves spend their credit in this country.”” This was in conformity with the traditional concept of a foreign credit—that a credit to one foreign country was in effect a credit to all foreign countries, and that at some future time some one or other foreign country July 5,1924 would use it to buy goods from the lender. Accepting this proposition, that a loan would always, sooner or later, in one direction or another, find expression in a corresponding increase of exports, one would still have to assume a con- tinuity of international trade, in terms of comparable prices and exchange rates, if one were to regard the de- ferred use of the credit in the market of the lender as equivalent to the immediate use. The British are an astute people, Let us observe their present stand on this question. Some time ago Great Britain made a loan to India. At the time an amendment was moved to the East India Loan Bill to the effect that 75 per cent of the sum should be spent in the markets of Great Britain. Parliament rejected the amendment, in accordance with the traditional theory. London is now profoundly shocked to learn that the Indian State Railway administration is spending a large part of the loan in Germany, at a time when British industries are partly idle and labor is unemployed. The Government of Argentina has been negotiating a loan with a syndicate of London bankers. It was recently announced in Argentina that the offer of a loan of thirty million pounds sterling for construction of public works had been made under the stipulation that the materials should be purchased in Great Britain. Thus we observe the experienced international bankers of London subscribing to the “fallacy” that it is good business to compel foreign borrowers to spend their credit in the country of the lender. Apparently it is felt that cir- cumstances alter cases. The industries of Great Britain want orders now, not next year or in several years. They do not want to wait while Argentina spends the sterling in the United States, then we spend the sterling in Asia and the Asians finally spend the sterling in Great Britain. They want immediate, not deferred, relief from inoccupation and unemployment. British loans to foreign countries tend to depreciate ster- Secondly, it seems to be felt that ling exchange unless the credits are spent in Great Britain. Finally, it is believed the loans could be used to build up in other countries new industrial plants that would make injurious competition for Britain. If the British are adopting the plan of joining trade stip- ulations with loans, perhaps we should follow suit. It may, theoretically, be possible to prove that this might be advantageous for Great Britain but not advantageous for us. But we shall doubtless make the assumption that what is good for Great Britain is good for us. If the loan is to stipulate the trade in London, the loan ought to stipulate the trade in New York. Perhaps London is making a mis- take; if so, we can afford to have New York make the same mistake that London makes. After Lenine, the Left T\URING the last year of his life the policies of Lenine became modified and greatly moderated. Following his death there was much discussion as to the effect of his demise upon succeeding policy. The prolonged sojourn of Trotzky in Southern Russia served to intensify the uncer- tainty. It was recognized that the more radical elements in the party of communists were opposed to the liberaliza- tion of the economic policy and desirous of returning to extreme action against private capital. Recent developments would seem to indicate that the left wing is again in control. The British and Dutch nego- tiations seem to have fallen into an impasse. The Bolshevik negotiations with China and Rumania were characterized by extreme demands. Scandinavian traders have found the Russian official trading bodies recalcitrant. The perse- cutions of the bourgeoisie and intelligentzia have been re- sumed with severity. Private business that had been resumed under the toleration of the New Economic Policy of Lenine—the so-called NEP—is being subjected to drastic harassments. So far as relations with the world are concerned, this must be regarded as a step backward. Apparently recognition of the Government of Russia by European governments has not had the anticipated effect of development of amity. Apparently the economic needs of Russia are esteemed by communists of less importance than the political needs of communism. It is a sad situa- tion for the Russian people.

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THE KING OF FRAUDS How the Crédit Mobilier Bought its Way Through Congress. COLOSSAL BRIBERY Congressmen Who Have Robbed the People and Now Support the National Robber. Princely Gifts to the Chairmen of Committees in Congress. From 2000 to 3000 Shares Each to Henry Wilson, Schuyler Colfax, George S. Boutwell, ‘John A. Bingham, James A. Garfield, the Pattersons, Eliot, Brooks, Dawes and James G. Blaine. HE New York Sun of September 4, 1872, leads off T= the foregoing headlines. The introductory paragraph of the dispatch beneath these explosive statements says: ‘The most damaging ex- hibition of official and private villainy ever laid bare to the world. The Vice President of the United States, the Speaker of the House of Representatives, the chosen candi- date of a great party for the second highest office in the gift of the people, the chairmen of almost every important committee in the House of Representatives—all of them are proved by irrefutable evidence to have been bribed.” And it adds, ‘‘ The public has long known in a vague sort of way that the Union Pacific Railroad was a gigantic steal.” During the Civil War Congress had voted a loan of $27,000,000 in government bonds and a vast grant of pub- lic lands to aid the building of a railroad from the Missouri River to a point west of the Rocky Mountains where it would meet a similar line to be built eastward from the Pacific Coast. Following the fashion of that day—which is still the fashion, for that matter—a construction company was organized to do the building, and named Crédit Mobilier after a famous French fiscal concern. Whether THE SATURDAY EVENING POST F THE PAST By Will Payne From that point onward the projected line ran through wilderness, mountains and desert with only some scat- tered handfuls of white inhabitants. In spite of the liberal aid offered by the Government, private capital declined to coéperate; nobody came forward to carry on the task until Oakes Ames and his brother Oliver undertook the big and difficult job. Ames Brothers were famous in the business world of that time as manufacturers of shovels and like implements. As a congressional committee re- ported, “‘They were men of large capita! and high repu- tation.” Oakes Ames was a member of Congress from Massachusetts. They raised the money and carried the road through to completion at Ogden. The nub of the matter is that the construction company spent $50,000,000 building the line, and réceived $93,- 000,000 in various securities, including $27,000,000 of government bonds, a like amount of first-mortgage rail- road bonds, some income and land grant bonds and com- mon stock. The government bonds sold at a slight discount, the first-mortgage railroad bonds brought about 87 cents on the dollar, while the market value of the junior issues and the common stock ranged all the way down to 19 cents on the dollar. 23 The capital stock of the construction company was, finally, $3,750,000. It had enough money left to pay a cash dividend of 60 per cent in June, 1868. And the remainder of the railroad securities in its treasury —after meeting the cost of building the road and various other expenses not clearly explained—were distributed to its stockholders as dividends at several dates during the year 1868, After all the evidence was in, it was calculated that a Crédit Mobilier stockholder who disposed of his railroad securi- ties as he received them would have got—including the cash dividend mentioned above—-$342 for each $100 share. On that basis 3000 shares of Crédit Mobilier stock would be worth more than $1,000,060. Meanwhile the construction company had suffered an internal quarrel. Henry S. McComb, a stockholder, claimed that more stock was due him than he had received. The parties were unable to agree, and McComb brought suit. The case dragged along, as lawsuits usually do. Finally McComb, testifying in his own behalf before a referee at Philadelphia, declared that a quantity of Crédit Mobilier stock had been turned over to Oakes Ames to be distributed by him among influential members of Con- gress in order to insure a friendly attitude toward the Union Pacific. Not as an outright gift, however; Ames was to sell this stock to his congressional friends at par, in some cases permitting them to pay for it out of dividends, Obviously if a man was permit- ted to buy Crédit Mobilier stock at par on credit, paying for it out of the dividends, and in the course of a year he received dividends to the value of $342 a share, it would or not that name was chosen in a pious hope come to much the same thing that, as nobody could pronounce it, the company would escape discussion, does not appear. Some two hundred miles was built westward from Omaha, and there the enterprise stuck. That two hundred and odd miles was the easiest. INVESTIGATING (Continued on Page 102) mA \/ \ X tog \ OF OME RY sepa + i °

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THE SATURDAY T TURNS The Song of the Bob 1TH eyebrows carefully plucked, J With cheeks suspiciously red, A woman sat, in the gladdest of rags, Letting them bob her head. Clip, shingle and shave, began to throb; And in a voice of dolorous rage She sang the Song of the Bob: Till her nerves Crop, crinkle and « rimp, Pulling it here and there; Trons, tongs and machines To curl that rebellious hair. ind it’s oh, to be stone bald, With never a hair to bob, Or sealped alive by @ savage brave, If this is a Christian. job! Oh, for my loat long locks That suited my face so well; The braids and puffs and Payche knots, With silver combs or shell, For only one short hour To look like a classic Greek, inatead of wearing a bean that apes The Cireassian Cireus Freak! Train, measure and trim, Trim, measure and train; «wages? A cowlicked back, And sides like a iion's mane! Taking a lot of time, 1nd what arei Coating an awful heap! Oh Lord! that boba should be so dear, EVENING POST AIND July 5,1924 ENCORES to New York from Grand Rapids to study interior decorating. It is funny how all women think that they have a natural genius for interior decorating, just as all men think that they would have been wonderful lawyers if they had studied law. But Maizie was young, vivacious and good-looking, so in spite of her men- tal limitations, which were considerable, we soon became quite intimate; fast friends I think I might almost call it. One day, by some unlucky chance, Maizie discovered that I was a writer. I do not know how; perhaps she saw my name signed to some piece in a magazine. “TI didn’t know that you wrote,” she said. I sadly admitted that I did. I hada foreboding that our beautiful friendship was doomed. “How perfectly thrilling,” she said. “You must meet such interesting peo- ple.” “I do,” I replied. “‘ How perfectly thrilling,” said Maizie. The next time I visited Maizie she was strangely excited. “T have a wonderful idea for a story for you,” she said. “ Listen 6 “Let’s go to the movies,” I ‘‘They’re playing The Heart + “This will make a wonderful plot,” said Maizie. “T don’t write stories,’’ I told her. ‘I’m sure that if you sent your plot to H. G. said. Busted ind transformations cheap! DRAWN BY G. @. INWOOD ‘We Didn’t Kick When They Copied Our Haircuts, But You'd Think They'd Crop, crinkle and ware, Permanent and Marcel; And every week to be clipped and trimmed Till heart and purse rebel! Share, Swear, shingle, shampoo; anivel ond sob ind then, though her voice was low and sweet, The worda that-she used, I daren’t repeat, As she sang the Song of the Bob! Carolyn Wells. Concerning the Recent Crime Wave DISLIKE extremely to write about my murders, My wife says that it sounds so much like boasting, and that no one is particularly interested in my private affairs. No doubt, she is right. And yet if these words of mine should serve as a warning to some young man or woman standing upon the brink of destruction, these reminiscences of mine will not be altogether unjustified, Up to the time I was eighteen years old I had practically never committed a murder. I do not count, of course, our housemaid, Olga, whom I pushed out of the window one day in a spirit of childish playfulness while she was wash- ing the windows, It was just a boyish prank, and I can remember that I was severely Have Brains Enough to Think Up a Shape of Their Own"’ severe or puritanical household. But parents in those days still adhered to the belief that a certain amount of discipline was necessary for the young. Possibly they were right; when I view the antics of some of the present younger generation, I often wonder whether the rigid domestic discipline of my childhood was not better, after all. In my eighteenth year, my freshman year at college, I committed what was really my first murder; the first that was inspired by a desire to do good and to serve man- kind, rather than by an excess of youthful spirits. The man in the next room to mine was taking cornet lessons; he used to practice two hours every night; his piece was the Blue Danube Waltz. I crept into his room one night while he was asleep and turned on the gas jet full force. I returned to my room in that glow of righteousness that only the true reformer can feel. If that fellow had lived he might have become a cornet player. It was a merciful release. Barring a few waiters and taxi drivers nothing occurred worth mentioning until the Maizie Burke episode. Maizie was a sweet, winsome, big-hearted sort of girl who had come Wells or Galsworthy they'd be glad d “Oh, you could write this one,”’ she insisted. “‘It actually happened to a girl I know back home.” “We're just in time for the second show,” I pleaded tremulously. I had a feeling of impending tragedy. “Listen to this,”’ said Maizie. ‘Of course you'll have to put in all the trimmings and details because I don’t know anything about writing. This story actually happened to a girl back home named Nora Schultz It seems that she was engaged to a fellow named Berger— Henry Berger, I think it was. Her folks didn’t know anything about the engage- ment, so one night Rs I picked up a silk stocking from the pile that Maizie was darning, and strangled her. I would have preferred a more gentle method, had there been time; lethal gas, or some- thing of the sort. But I could see no sense in waiting. Maizie was a nice girl, but she brought it on herself. Ordinavily I prefer not to use a pistol. I am rather timid, and firearms always make me nervous. But in the case of the Wallaces there were too many of them to tackle individually. The Wallace murders will rank among my proudest achievements. in the first place, they lured me there under false pre- tenses. Ostensibly it was a dinner party, but after I arrived I discovered that I had really been invited to witness Junior go through hiseveningstunts. scolded and sent to bed without my supper that night. Neitherdol count the time that I strangled my Aunt Grace, who was Visiting us. I had been to the Wild West Show, and I was prac- ticing with a lariat | had made from some old wash line. “You were very naughty in- deed,” my mother said to me after the funeral, ‘“‘and I’m going to write toSanta Claus not to bring you that air rifle you asked for.” I do not wish to give the impres- sion that ours was a particularly ORAWN BY ELLISON HOOVER The Path of Glory The Wallaces had a habit, I discov- ered, of saying to their guests, “You're in luck. You’re just in time to see Junior before he gets his bottle.” They dragged me, despite my protesting, into the nursery. “ How big is the baby?” said Mrs. Wallace. **So big!’’ crowed Wallace fatuously, grin- ning like the silly ass that he was. I drew my pis- tol and shot the lot of them, Mr. and Mrs. Wallace, Mrs. Wallace’s (Continued on Page 46)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST » he Pats = Oa 5 oF we z i. ie ‘ : cm 7

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26 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST July 5,1924 BILL THE CONQUEROR CHAPTER XIV OWEVER true it may be that action is the H spice of life, there is no denying that an oc- casional dose of the soothing sirup of tran- quillity makes a pleasant change. And so, after the scenes——always restless and bordering at times By P. G. Wodehouse ILLUSTRATED BY MAY WILSON PRESTON ***Seems like there ain’t no sense in it!’”’ he echoed despairingly. “‘Can’t you see that’s not grammar?” “TI don’t know about its being grammar,” retorted Horace with spirit. “It gets across, don’t it?”’ ‘Sir,’ prompted Mr. Bastable automat- on actual violence which, in order to keep the records straight, the historian of the fortunes of Bill West has just been compeiled to describe, it is agree- able to turn aside and relax for a while in an atmosphere of clois- tered and scholastic caim. About a month after the departure of Flick Sheridan from Southampton we find ourselves once more in the home of Mr. Cooley Paradene at Westbury, Long island, in a small upper room locking out over the suniit warden. itis the room dedicated to the studies of Mr. Paradene’s adopted son, Horace. And at the moment when we enter it the hard-boiled lad is receiving a lesson in the French language from Mr. Sherman Rastable. his tutor. Yes, still his tutor. it is true that a few weeks ago Mr. Bastable definitely announced that not even so sub- stantial 4 sum as a million dollars would be sufficient to induce him to continue his duties; but the state- ments a man makes in the first flush of real- ization that the inside brim of his kat has been doctored with glue ure not always carried out when scissors and warin water have done their work arid reason resumed its sway. Searcely half an hour after the hat had been ically. “Si ‘‘And don’t say ‘Don’tit.’ Say‘doesn’t it’ or ‘does it not.’”’ He eyed his pupil wanly. The weather was warm and the strain was beginning to tell on his sensitive nerves. ‘“ You’reincor- rigible. I don’t know what’s to be done with you. You take abso- lutely no interest in your work, I should have thought that you would have some sense of your position, your chances and opportu- I know,” said Horace wearily. “One ought to grasp one’s opportunities and try to improve oneseif—at least oncet!”’ “Don’t say ‘oncet.’”’ “Oh, all right.” “Yes, sir!’’ amended Mr. Bastable, eying him balefully. “Yes, sir.”’ The tutor flung him- self back in his chair, which creaked protest- ingly. “Do you realize that yours is a position which thousands of boys would give their eyes to be in?” ““Can’t you see that’s not grammar?”’ said Horace. Muchas he disliked these séances, it happened now and then that bits of them stuck in his mind. ‘‘Oughtn’t to end asentence with ‘in.’ You put me right, so I don’t mind puttin’ clipped and scoured off his forehead, Mr, Bastable, who had be- gun by sneering at a cool million, hed reduced his terms so considerably tiat he aetually consented to remain in office for a mere additional fifty a month. We find him, conse- quently, still doing business at the old stand, But the Sherman Bastable who was now endeavoring to teach Horace French was a verydifferent man from the genial and juicily enthusiastic young fellow of a few weeks back. He was now a soured and suspicious despot, who, fortified by instructions from his employer to stand no nonsense from his little charge, had taken on a ¢old {m- placability which was having the gravest effects on the latter’s comfort Of this change in his disposition he gave proof at this very moment. Seeing that Horace, like the room in which he sat, was looking out over the sunlit garden, he banged the table with a forceful fist. “Attend, can't you?" he cried. “You aren't listening to a word I'm saying!" “All right, all right,’ said Horace plaintively. These passages were beginning to irk him more and more. A free child of the underworld, he had taken unkindly to diseipline; and it seemed to him sometimes as though Mr. Bastable had deveioped all the less amiatie characteristics of the late Simen Legree. He removed his gaze from the shady lawn and gaped cavernously. “Don’t yawn!” thundered Mr. Bastable. “Oh, all right.” “And don’t say ‘Ail right!'’’ boomed the tutor, who had a tetentive memory and could never look at his little charge even now without a twinge across the forehead. “Une Plume, a Pen— Do You Get That?” “When I speak to you, say ‘Yes, sir,’ smartly and re- spectfully.” “Yes, sir,”’ said Horace. A purist might have criticized the smartness and respect- fulness of his delivery, but the actual words were up to sampte and the tutor appeared satisfied. At any rate, he returned to the task in hand. “ Indefinite articles,’’ said Mr. Bastable, resuming. “‘‘ A’ or ‘an’ is translated into French by ‘un’ before a masculine noun, as, for example, ‘un homme, a man; un oiseau, a bird ee “There’s a boid on that tree,” interjected Horace, switching abruptly from foreign languages to nature study. Mr. Bastable favored him with a basilisk glare. “Attend to your work!’’ he growled. ‘And don’t say ‘boid.’ It’s a bird.” “Well, it’s making a noise like a boid,’’ argued Horace. “And ‘une’ before a feminine noun, such as dame,” proceeded the tutor. “‘‘Une dame, a lady; une allumette, a match; une histoire, a story; une plume, a pen.’ Do you get that?” “I suppose so.” “What do you mean, you suppose so?” “Well,” said Horace candidly, “it sounds to me a good deal like applesauce, Seems like there ain’t no sense in it.” The tutor clutched his thinning hair and groaned hol- lowly. That extra fifty dollars a month had raised his salary to a very respectable figure, but it frequently oc- curred to him that ke was receiving but trivial payment for what he had to endure. : you right. Had you that time. Hot dog!”’ he said with a compla- cency which made the tutor feel—not for the first time— that his favorite character in history was Herod the Great. “You wised me up to that yourself.’”’ Every tutor is a statesman at heart. He has to be. Mr. Bastable, prudently realizing the danger of his position, instituted a counter attack by assailing his pupil’s pro- nunciation. “T wish you would learn to speak properly,”’ he said with hauteur. “Your accent is abominable, Here!” He pulled out a massive book. “It’s no good trying to teach you French till you can talk English. Read a page or two of this aloud, And try to do it like a human being and not”—he'searched his mind for an adequate simile-—“ and not like a caddie at a third-rate golf course.” “What's wrong with caddies?”’ demanded Horace, who was intimate with several and in leisure moments had occasionally done a bit in that line himself. “Goon. Don’t waste time,” said Mr. Bastable, refusing to be diverted. ‘Begin at the top of page 98.” Horace took the book—it was entitled Beacon Lights of History, Vol. Il, The Middle Ages—with a disrelish which he made no attempt te conceal. “*Tt was at this perriod ———’” he began sourly. * Period.” “*Tt was at this period, when the convents of Yur- rup PaO “Europe.” “T said Yurrup,”’ protested Horace, aggrieved. ‘‘‘It was at this period, when the convents of Yurrup rejoiced in (Continued on Page 28

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(Continued from Page 26) ample possessions, and their churches rivaled cath-e- drals ge ** Cath-e-drals.”’ as in size and magnificence, that Saint Ber- nard ’’ He broke off, mildly interested for the first time. “Say, I knew a gink that had a S’n’ Bernard. Big, hairy dawg with red eyes.” “Get on,” said Mr. Bastable coldly. 0% Saint Bernard, the greatest and best rep-res-en- tat-ive of med-i-e-val mon-as-ti-cism -’ Gawd!” said Horace under his breath, tenderly massaging his aching jaw. ‘*' was born, 1090, at Fontaines, in Boigundy.’”’ “Burgundy.” “*Boigundy. He belonged toa noble family, His mother had six sons and a daughter, whom she early con-se-crated to the Lord. Bernard was the third son, a beautiful, deli- cate, refined young man, tall, with flaxen hair, fair com- plexion, and blue eyes from which shone a superhuman sim-plic-ity and purity.’”’ He stopped, revolted. He did not know much about saints, but he knew what he liked, and something told him that he was not going to like Saint Bernard. “Sounds like a cake eater,”’ he sniffed. Mr. Bastable was just drawing himself together for a Legreelike reproof, when there was a gentle tap at the door. “Pardon me for interrupting, sir,” said Roberts, the butler, hovering delicately on the threshold. “You haven't made me mad, Bobby,” Horace assured him gratefully. “What is it, Roberts?” ‘Professor Appleby has called to see Master Horace, sir. Mr. Paradene would be glad if you would allow him to step down to the library for a moment.” His announcement evoked universal enthusiasm. Hor- ace beamed upon him as people must have beamed on the man who brought the good news from Aix to Ghent, Nor THE SATURDAY EVENING POST the best condition. He tapped his domed brow with a silk handkerchief and combed out his white beard with a delicate forefinger. He was looking more like a benevolent minor prophet than ever. His mild eyes wandered to the bookshelves, and there came into them a sudden predatory gleam, which vanished almost instantly, to be replaced by their habitual expression of calm good will. “A warm day,’’ he observed. “Very. Do you find it close in here?”’ “Not at all,’”’ said Professor Appleby, “not at all. I en- joy the peculiar and distinctive scent of old books. I never find it stuffy in a library.” This was so exactly what Mr. Paradene felt himself that his affection for his visitor deepened. “And how is Horace?” inquired the professor. “Physically,” said Mr. Paradene, “he could not be better. But “, Professor Appleby raised a deprecating hand. “T know what you are going to say, my dear Paradene. I know just what you are going to say. It was on the tip of your tongue to tell me that the little lad is not taking kindly to his studies.” “Not very kindly,” admitted Mr. Paradene. “Mr. Bastable, his tutor, reports that it is difficult to get him to take a real interest.” “‘T expected as much. No enthusiasm?” “None.” “Tt will come,’’ said the professor. “It will come. We must have patience, Paradene, patience. We must emulate the assiduity of the polyp that builds the coral reef. I had anticipated this. It was on my advice that you aclopted a totally untutored lad, a child of the people, and I still maintain that I was right in giving you that advice. How much better, even though progress may at first be slow, to have a boy like this to work upon; a boy whose mind is not a palimpsest that has been scrawled over by other hands. You have nothing to worry about. It would have been July 5, 1924 perfectly easy, no doubt, for you to have adopted a son from some family of the gentlefolk; but in my opinion— and I know I am right—the results would have been far less satisfactory. Horace is virgin soil. He has not been plowed by others. Sooner or later you will find that you will reap your reward. Sooner or later—I say it confi- dently —you will find that by the mere process of living in your home the little lad is beginning to imitate your men- tal processes, to acquire your own tastes.”’ “It’s odd that you should say that,’”’ said Mr. Paradene thoughtfully. “Not odd,” corrected the professor with a gentle smile. “T based my observation on a knowledge of psychology which has rarely led me astray. But why did it strike you as peculiar? Am I to infer that he has already begun to show signs of this?” “As a matter of fact, he has. It is a remarkable fact, Appleby, but the only thing outside his meals in which Horace shows the slightest interest is this library of mine.” The professor coughed a gentle cough and gazed at the ceiling with a far-awzy look in his eyes. “Indeed!” he said softly. “He is always pottering in here and wanting to know which of my books are the rarest and most valuable.”’ “The dawning intelligence, the dawning intelligence. The little mind begins to expand, to develop. Like a plant groping out for the sunshine.” “Tt makes me feel that there may be hope for him.” “T,” said the professor, “have great hopes of Horace. I had right from the beginning.” “Perhaps after he has had a year or two of school in England ——-” “What?” cried Professor Appleby. A moment before, it would have seemed impossible that anything could disturb the calm serenity of this venerable man. But now he was sitting forward on the edge of his chair, staring at his host in the most manifest concern. His lower jaw had fallen and his white beard wabbled agitat- was Mr. Bastable displeased. He was conscientious and had been prepared to con- tinue his task for another hour, but the thought of be- ing relieved of Horace’s so- ciety gave him the sensations of a reprieved convict. “Certainly, certainly,” he said. “I’m not goin’ to put up any stiff argument, neither,” declared Horace. He trotted joyfully out of the prison chamber. Mr. Bastable, with the air of one from whose shoulders there has been removed an intoler- able weight, lit a cigarette and put his feet on the table. au HE arrival, some ten min- utes before, of the vener- able Professor Appleby had surprised Mr. Paradene at his customary occupation of fiddling about with the books in his library. He had just scuttled up the ladder to one of the top shelves and dumped on his already congested table a pile of moldering volumes when Roberts brought the news of the visitor’s advent. For a moment Mr, Para- dene felt a little like a dog that has been hauled off a bone, but his native courtesy asserted itself, and it was with a cordial smile that he greeted the professor when he made his entry. “Nice of you to look in,” he said, “T vhanced to be in the neighberhood,”’ said Professor Appleby, “and I thought I might venture to call and inquire after the little lad. He is busy at his studies, no doubt?” “T imagine so. Won't you take a seat?” “Thank you, my dear Pera- dene, thank you.” Professor Appleby relaxed edly. “You are not sending him to school in England!” he gasped. “Taking him,” corrected Mr. Paradene. ‘I am sailing in a few days to pay a long- delayed visit to an old friend of mine—Sinclair Hammond. I intend to take Horace with me and enter him at one of the large English schools possibly Winchester. Ham- mond was at Winchester.” “But is this wise? Is this prudent?” “Well, I’m going to do it,”’ said Mr. Paradene with a touch of that belligerent man- ner which had so often caused comment in the family. Professor Appleby pulled at his beard. His discomposure was plain. Mr. Paradene, looking at him, was conscious of a passing wonder as to why he should take the news so hardly. “But the education a boy gets at these English schools! Surely it has become a com- monplace that it is too super- ficial, too machinelike. Read all these novels of the younger English writers a “T never read novels,” said Mr. Paradene with a slight shudder. ‘And then again—this visit to England Are you not afraid to leave your books here—your priceless. books— entirely unguarded?” Mr. Paradene uttered an amused laugh which sounded to his visitor like a knell. “You talk as if I had never left the house before. I’m always traveling. I was trav- eling when I met you. And besides, if you think I leave my books unguarded, try to get through the steel shutters over those windows. Yes, and try to pick your way through that door. I had this room specially constructed. in a chair with the contented sigh of a man who is not in “And Now," She Said, “7 am Running Back Again” It’s like a safe.”’ (Continued on Page 30) = SS = > eS Se

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a 30 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (Continued from Page 28) “T see,”’ said Professor Appleby unhappily. “Tn any case, my library is insured, and I’m taking all the most valuable of my books with me to England.” “Eh?” cried the professor, starting as if the fingers combing his beard had suddenly encountered a snake. “Taking them with you?” “Yes; Hammond is a collector too. He will be just as excited over these books as if they belonged to himself.” “Will he?” said the professor, brightening like a sum- mer sky when ‘the sun comes out from behind a cloud. “Will he, indeed?” “Yes; he’s that sort of man; one of those rare collectors who have no small jealousies.”’ * He sounds delightful.” “Yes, you would like Hammond.” “T am sure I should. . Of course, when you are in England you wili keep these books at some bank or safe deposit?” “No, I see ne reason for that. Books are not like jewelry— their value is not obvious to the lay eye. If any burglar invades Hammond’s house at Wimbledon he would hardly have the intelligence to take away what to him would be merely a bundle of diiapidated books.” “True, true.” “T shall keep them in my bedroom in an ordinary suitease,”’ “An excellent notion, . Ah,” said the professor, breaking off, “here is our young friend. Well, Horace.” “Hullo,” said that youth. Professor Appleby glanced at his watch. “Good gracious! I had no idea how time had flown. I ought to go immediately, I shall just be able to catch a good train. Perhaps the little lad might be spared from his studies to accompany me to the station? Thank you. Get your hat then, Horace. We must be hurrying.” In spite of the statement that he had need for haste, it was at a leisurely pace that Professor Appleby started down the drive. He walked as if troubled with corns, and as he went spoke earnestly to his young companion. “Kid,” said Professor Appleby, “it’s a lucky thing I happened to look in this afternoon. Do you know what's happened? That old June bug back there doesn’t seem able to stick in ome spot for a coupla days on end. He’s taking you over to England right away.” Horace stopped in his tracks, displaying as great a con- cern at the news as the profeasor himself had shown a short while back in the library. “Takin’ me to England? What for?” “To put you to school over there.” “Who, me?” “Yes, you.” “Well, wouldn't that jar you!” cried Horace in deep disgust. “I might have known there was a catch to this thing of gettin’ me adopted. It’s bad enough here, with everybody pickin’ on me and me havin’ to spend all day learnin’ French and everythin’; but, gee, i’d always got my get-away to look forward to. But goin’ toschool!"’ He frowned resolutely, ‘Say, listen! I ain’t goin’ to no school. See? I ain't goin’ to no school, not in England nor any- wheres, I ei “You talk too much,” said Professor Appleby curtly. “If you'll give me a chance to get a word in I’ll tell you something. You won't have to go to any school. The old man’s going over to England to visit another book- collecting nut, and he’s taking a stack of his best books with him. You'll be able to make a quick clean-up and fade-out. He’s going to keep the stuff in his bedroom in a suitcase.” “Yes, he is!’ said Horace derisively. ‘That's likely, ain't it, when he locks the things up here as if they was gold dust.” “He is, I tell you. He teld me so himself. He thinks there's no chance of anybody trying for them when he’s there. And why should they? No ordinary yegg who hap- pens to blow into a house is going to load himself up with a bunch of books.” “Something in that,” agreed Horace. “T'll have Joe go over the same time you do, and you and he can get together and fix things.” “Allright,” said Horace, “Say, that’s a pretty girl.” The object of his commendation, a slim girl with fair hair and a boyish figure, was walking rather wearily up the road that led from the station. He eyed her critically as she passed, and so confirmed in his good opinion was he by this closer inspection that ha stood gazing over his shoulder at her receding form, and was awarded by his austere companion a disciplinary thump on the head. “You've no time for rubbering at girls,”’ said Professor Appleby like a minor prophet rebuking the sins of the people, “You just listen to me when I’m talking to you. | want to get this thing straight in your ivory skull.” “Oh, all right,” said Horace. mt HE girl who had so pleased Horace's critical eye walked on till she came to the gate of Mr. Paradene’s grounds, then turned in and preceeded down the drive toward the house. This was familiar territory to her. She was sur- prised to find how clearly she remembered all the various landmarks. There was the funny old shingled roof, there the window of her bedroom, and there through the trees gleamed the lake. Her eyes dimmed and she caught her breath with a little gasp as she saw the lake. The two dressing sheds were there, also the diving board—all just the same as they had been centuries ago when she was sixteen, skinny and freckled. She walked on and rang the bell. And presently Mr. Paradene, once more up his ladder, was aware of Roberts the butler on the floor below him. “Eh?” said Mr. Paradene absently. “A lady wishes to see you, sir.” Mr. Paradene almost slid down the ladder. It was a rare, almost an unprecedented occurrence for ladies to wish to see him. “Who is she?”’ “A Miss Sheridan, sir.” There had been no affecting reunion between Flick and Roberts. To each the other had appeared as a stranger. Flick remembered that on her visit to this place five years ago there had been a butler, but the personality of Roberts had not stamped itself on her mind. As for Roberts, if he recalled the small girl who had stayed at the house in the third year of his butlership he did not associate her with this attractive young person. “Did she say what she wanted?” “No, sir.” “Where is she?” “T have shown her into the morning room, sir.”’ “‘T suppose you had better ask her to come up here.” “Very good, sir.” The uneasy suspicion which had disturbed Mr. Para- dene’s mind that his visitor had come to collect funds for some enterprise of the community church vanished as she entered the room. The community church, when it made its periodical assaults.on his purse, did so through the medium of females of 2 maturer vintage. He looked at her inquiringly, so obviously puzzled that Flick, though she was far from being in a cheery frame of mind, smiled faintly. “You don’t remember me, Mr. Paradene?”’ “Why—er—to be frank ——” “Well, it’s quite a long time since we met. I stayed here five years ago with my uncle, Sinclair Hammond.” “Good heavens!’"’ Mr. Paradene, who had contented himself so far with a wary bow at long range, sprang for- ward and shook her hand warmly. “I'd never have known you. Bless my soul, you were quite a child then. I remem- ber you perfectly now. Bless my soul, yes. So you're back in America, eh? Do you live here now. Marry an Amer- ican, eh?”’ “No. I’m not married.” “Just visiting? Well, well! I'm ‘elighted to see you again, my dear. You caught me <\\st in time. Oddly enough, I’m on the very eve of sailing for England to stay with your uncle.” “I know. That’s why I’ve come here. Uncle Sinclair wants you to take me back to England with you. You’ve had his cable?” “Cable?” said Mr. Paradene. “I remember no cable.” He rang the bell. ‘Roberts, has a cable come for me recently?” “Yes, sir. One arrived yesterday. If you remember, sir, I brought it to you in this room. You were busy at the bookshelves at the moment, and instructed me to place it on the table.” The table was covered with a deep top-dressing of books and papers. Mr. Paradene rummaged along these and presently came to the surface bearing triumphantly a buff envelope. Roberts, vindicated, left the room. “T really must apologize,”’ said Mr. Paradene. ‘I have a bad habit of snowing my correspondence under. All the same, Roberts should have reminded me. Cables are important things.”” He opened the envelope and read its conteats. ‘Yes, this is the one. Your uncle says you will be calling on me and will I bring you over to England. Of course. Only too delighted. Where are you staying? With friends in New York?” “No, I'm all alone.” “Alone!”’ Mr. Paradene replaced his rimless glasses, which had fallen off, and stared at her. “‘ You don’t mean to say your uncle let you come over here all alone?” “T ran away,” said Flick simply. “Ran away!” “From home. And now,” she said with a crooked smile and a little lift of her shoulders, “I’m running back again.” Even with the aid of his glasses Mr. Paradene seemed to find it hard to inspect her as closely as he wished. He came a step nearer, peering at her, bewildered. “You ran away from home? But why?” “They wanted me to marry somebody I found I didn’t want to marry. Uncle Sinclair,”’ she went on quickly, “hadn’t anything to do with it, poor dear. It was the others—Aunt Frances and Uncle George.”’ Mr. Paradene would have liked footnotes explaining these two new char- acters, but he hesitated to interrupt the flow of a narrative which was gripping him strongly. ‘“‘Things,”’ continued

July 5,1924

Flick, “got rather unpleasant, so I ran away and came over here. I thought I could get work of some kind.” “T never heard of such a thing!” “That's practically what everybody said whom I asked for work. I never dreamed anybody could be so little wanted as I was. I had a certain amount of money when I got to America, and I supposed it would last ever so long, but it seemed to melt away. And one night I had my bag stolen, with almost every penny I possessed in it. That finished me. I stuck it out for another couple of days, and then I spent my last two dollars on a cable home.” Mr. Paradene, though capable on occasion of behaving like a volcano, was a soft-hearted and romantic man. Flick’s story touched him. “And then?” “T got a cable back telling me to go to you and you would look after me and bring me back to England.” “My dear child, of course I will, of course. Your room shall be got ready at once. The same one you had five years ago.” “T’m afraid I’m an awful nuisance.” “Nothing of the kind,” said Mr. Paradene heatedly. “How dare you say you're a nuisance? You're nothing of the sort. Would you like some tea?” “T should, rather, if it’s not giving too much trouble.” The ringing of the bell did Mr. Paradene the service of helping him cover his embarrassment. There was to him something poignantly pathetic in this meekness on the part of a girl who only a short time back had on her own showing been so abundantly equipped with spirit as to run away from home and cross the Atlantic to try her luck in a for- eign land. Until the tea arrived he moved about the room with his back turned, fussing over his books. “But if you go home,” he said, when Flick had drunk a cup of tea and seemed the better for it, ‘‘you will have to marry this man you dislike.” He realized that it might be tactless, this harping on a delicate subject, but curiosity overcame delicacy. He was feeling like a child being told a story. “On, I don’t dislike him,” said Flick tonelessly. “I’m very fond of someone else, who isn’t fond of me, so I’ve de- cided I might just as well marry Roderick as do anything. Trying to live in New York on nothing has changed my views of life a good deal. It has made a comfortable home and lots of money seem more attractive. One has got to be practical, hasn’t one?’”’ She got up and began to walk about the room. ‘What a lot of books you have!”’ she said. “Ever so many more than Uncle Sinclair.” “He has some I should be very glad to own,’”’ said Mr. Paradene handsomely. He would have liked to hear more of this man whom Flick was fond of but who was not fond of her, but he gath- ered that she looked upon her narrative as completed and would resent further questioning. He followed her across the room and touched her shoulder with an awkward little pat of condolence. She looked round at him and he saw that her eyes were misty. There was a momentary pause, tense with emburrassment, and he covered it by picking up the photograph at which she had been looking. It was a full-length snapshot of a burly young man in football cos- tume, staring out of the picture with the doughy stolidity habitual to burly young men in football costume. “That is my nephew William,” said Mr. Paradene. Flick nodded. “T know.” “Of course, yes,” said Mr. Paradene. “He was staying here when you and your uncle visited me, wasn’t he?”’ “He looks very strong,” said Flick. She felt that she must say something. “He is strong,”’ said Mr. Paradene. ‘“And,’’ he added gruffly, “‘he is an idle, worthless young waster.” Flick uttered a sharp exclamation. “He isn’t! Oh, I beg your pardon,” she hurried on. “What I meant was that I don’t think you know how hard he is working now to try to find out what is wrong with your London business.” “Hello!” Mr. Paradene put up his glasses. ‘How do you know anything about that?” “I—I met him.” “Over in London?” * You” “That’s odd. Where did you run across him?” “‘Er—in our garden.” “There!’’ said Mr. Paradene. ‘‘What did I say? He spends his time fooling around at garden parties.”’ “Tt wasn’t exactly a garden party,” said Flick. “He really is trying his hardest to find out why those profits have fallen off so much.” “Oh, yes!” “Oh, but he is!” insisted Flick. She refused to allow herself to be intimidated by the old man’s gruffness. The fact that he still kept Bill’s photograph in his library, that holy of holies, must surely be significant. ‘I'll tell you something he’s found out already. He discovered that Mr. Slingsby is selling nearly all your wood pulp to a firm named Higgins & Bennett at a very smal! profit, when he has had much better offers elsewhere.” “What?” (Continued on Page 33)

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9 ET = —— | | | THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Nut Chocolate Cake Recipe from Mrs. G, R, Beattie, Bay City, Mich. Cream 4 cup buiter and 1 cup brown sugar, break in 1 egg, and beat hard Add % cup Libby's Milk diluted with bo cup water, then 1% cups flour with 1 level teaspoon soda, | heaping teaspoon baking powder, and 2 heaping table- spoons cocoa sified in. Before stirring in the flour, add 1 cup nuts or nuts and raisins mixed, so they don’t sink. Just before you stir in the flour light the oven Put the cake in rather a cool oven, so it has a chance to rise. Bake either as a loaf or as layer cake 1/4, teaspoons of 7\ butter fat in every 16-02. can [Ve apora rtal Milk The MILK that good cooks use or Cakes Cakes that win prizes at fairs, that take honors at bazaars and church suppers, that establish for their makers repu- tations as good cooks—thousands of these owe their greater richness and finer flavor to Libby’s Milk. For Libby’s Milk is becoming more and more the milk that good cooks use for cakes and for a// cooking and baking. It gives better results for the simple reason that it is a richer, finer milk. 7% teaspoons of butter fat in every 16-0z. can Unlike ordinary milk, Libby’s Milk comes only from selected herds in the finest dairy sections of the country, those places where ideal pasture lands abound, where expert ae men specialize in producing exceptionally rich milk. A rich milk to start with, we make it doudle rich by evaporating more than half the water from it. Nothing is added to it, none of its food values are taken away. But, sealed in air-tight cans and sterilized you get it pure wherever you live—milk so rich that every 16- ounce can of it contains 7% teaspoons of pure butter fat! Try Libby’s Milk tonight in a soup, dessert, vegetable dish, in any recipe that calls for milk. Try it in your coffee. In its convenience, economy and the finer results it gives, you will see why so many good cooks are enthusiastic users of Libby’s. If your grocer doesn’t have Libby’s Milk send us his name and we'll make arrangements for you to get it. Write too for folders containing excellent recipes; sent free. Libby, M¢Neill « Libby, 507 Welfare Building, Chicago Grocers: Write us for advertising material featuring Libby’s Milk and the Libby Toy Grocery Store Get this wonderful toy store with Libby Milk labels The realest toy store you ever saw—I7 in. wide, 13 in, tall with shelves, a counter and 12 miniature Libby cans in actual colors. Strongly constructed, this wonderful toy will provide many days of educational fun for the children. We will send it to any address in the U. 8. for 12 complete labels from 16-02. cans of Libby's Milk and 25 cents in stamps or 24 complete labels from 6-0z. cans and 25 cents in stamps. Clip the coupon now; save your Libby Milk labels. (This offer is void in cities and states, if any, having local regulations forbidding ex- change of premiums for labels.) | | Libt ME¢Neill & Libby 2 507 Welfare Bidg., Chicago lam enclosing Q 12 complete labels from 16-ounce cans of Libby's Milk and 25c in stamps or i 24 complete labels from 6-ounce cans of Libby's | Milk and 25c in stamps | Please send the Libby Toy Grocery Store to | } Name —— CO | iinetiaiens iaaieaitaitinladdl

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST July 5,1924 Lock for the Gold Seal There is only one guaran- teed, nationally advertised Gold-Seal Congoleum. This Gold Seal pledges you “Sat- isfaction or Your Money Back”. It is pasted on the face of all guaranteed Gold- Seal Congoleum. > = Above is shown Gold-Seal Congoleum Art-Rug No. 5/6, In the 6 x 9 foot size it costs only $9.00. ““Come right in, my dear! Sand and water can’t harm this rug.”’ Bright blue skies—sparkling breakers and glistening sands! What alluring possibilities for rest and recreation vacation days offer to the housekeeper whose summer cottage is furnished throughout with Go/d-Sea/ Congoleum Rugs. Glaring sun cannot fade or driving shower harm the firm, durable surtace of Congoleum Art-Rugs. Entirely seamless, they lie flat on the floor without fastening of any kind. And a few seconds with a damp mop removes every trace of dirt and grease. They are made in such a variety of artistic designs and beautiful colorings that it’s no trouble at all to select one of these popular, Gold Seal durable rugs to suit any room in the house. There are handsome Oriental designs for living and dining rooms; gay floral patterns for the porch; dainty pastel effects for the bedrooms and conventional wood block and tile patterns for kitchen, laundry and bath. Popular Sizes—Low Prices 6 x 9 fr. $ 9.00 Pattern No. 386 (shown at 1% x3 ft. $ 60 7%x 9 ft. 11.25 the right) is made in all 3 «3 ft 1.40 9 x 9 ft. 13.50 — sizes. The other patterns ~ ; 3 : 9 x 10% ft. 15.75 illustrated are made in the x 4% ft. 1.95 9 x12 ft. 18.00 _ five large sizes only. ao. 26128) Owing to freight rates, prices in the South and west of the Mississippi are higher than those quoted ConcoLeum Company INCORPORATED Philadelphia New York Boston Chicago Kansas City San Francisco Minneapolis Atlanta Dailas Pittsburgh New Orleans London Paris Rio de Janeiro CONGOLEUM COMPANY OF CANADA, ! td. Montreal Interesting Free Booklet “Beautify Your Home with Go/d-Seal Congoleurn Art-Rugs,” a very interesting folder by Anne Lewis Pierce, shows all the beautiful patterns in their actual rich colors and gives many valuable suggestions on home decorations. Our nearest office will gladly send you a free copy. Write today! Pattern No, 386 (GNGOLEUM _Art-RuGS

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| | | ; it j | } } ———EE re rem re : } | ’ ‘ 5 ; (Continued from Page 30) “It’s quite true. I think—we both think—that Mr. Slingsby isn’t very honest.” “Nonsense! As straight and able a man as I ever met. And I’m a judge of char- acter.” “You can’t be a very good judge of character if you think Bill is an idle waster,” said Flick warmly. “Hello! You seem very friendly toward him.” as! | am.” “Why, you hardly know him!” “T’ve known him for years.” “Yes, I suppose you have, if you like to put it that way. This is interesting, what you tell me about those sales. I can’t understand it. Did William tell you how he found out?” “No. But he’s awfully clever.” “H’m! I never noticed it.” “Well, he is. And I’m sure that if you would take him i..to your business and give him a fair start he would do wonders.’ Mr. Paradene chuckled. “If I ever think of founding a William- boosting club I shall know where to go for a president.” “T think he’s rather hurt that you haven’t sent him a word since he got to England, asking him how he’s getting on.” “T’ll bet he hasn’t given me a thought since he landed,” said Mr. Paradene cal- lously. “Still, if you think he’s so sensi- tive, I’ll send him a wireless from the boat and arrange a meeting.” “T wish you would.” “But I don’t even know where he is.” “Nine, Marmont Mansions, Prince of Wales Road, Battersea Park, London,” said Flick glibly. “Good gracious! that?” “He told me.” Mr. Paradene looked at her curiously. “T don’t know how long you were talking in this garden of yours,” he said, “‘ but there doesn’t seem to have been much that he didn’t tell you. I suppose he roasted me, eh?” “He said you were a perfect darling,” said Flick, ‘who tried to make people be- lieve you were a terror and didn’t deceive anybody.” She stooped and bestowed a swift kiss on the bald spot in the center of Mr. Para- dene’s mop of stiff white hair. “I’m going out into the garden,” she said. “I want to see if you’ve been and changed everything since I was last here. If I find you have I’ll come back and smack you.” Mr. Paradene followed her with a round- eyed gaze as she left the room. His thoughts strayed back to the story she had told him and he gave a discontented sniff. “A man who isn’t fond of that girl,”’ he mused, “must be a fool!” He picked up the photograph of Bill and looked at it, a rather wistful smile curving his lips. An idle young hound, William, but not unattractive. By no means un- attractive. He put the photograph down and tod- dled off to his ladder. CHAPTER XV IS long form draped in a flowered dressing gown, Judson Coker sat break- fasting in the aining room of Number 9, Marmont Mansions, Battersea. A gentle breeze, floating in through the open win- dow, brought pleasant spring scents from the park across the road to blend with the robuster aroma of coffee and fried bacon. Propped up against the coffeepot was a copy of the New York World, which had arrived that morning by the American mail. The hour was 10:30. A strange sense of well-being filled Jud- son. He took another mouthful of bacon and marveled, as he had been in the habit of marveling lately, how extraordinarily fit he felt these days. It seemed to him that this mystery of his glowing health was one that would interest doctors— achieved, as it had been, in spite of the fact that for nearly two months now he had been deprived of that regular stimulus of alcohol so highly recommended—indeed, insisted upon—by the medical profession. He was in tremen- dous shape. Why, back in New York he would have shied like a startled horse if anyone had suggested that he should wrap himself round falf a dozen slices of bacon at daybreak like this; whereas now he was in two minds whether or not to send out to the kitchen for a further supply. He came to the conclusion that it must be something to do with the London air. It How do you know THE SATURDAY probably possessed curious tonic proper- ties. And having decided definitely that another order of bacon was penaaror. he went down the passage to the kitchen to put it in commission. When he came back he found Bill West staring moodily at the laden table. “Hello, Bill, o’ man,” said Judson buoy- antly. ‘Come to join me in a bite? Sit down and draw up a chair—I mean, draw up a chair and sit down. A relief expedition is on its way with more food.” “T had my breakfast hours ago,” said Bill with gloomy unresponsiveness. “‘ Haven't you finishe yet? I want to use the table to write a letter.” The champagnelike air of London, which had brought new youth to Judson, seemed to have missed Bill when distributing joy and elasticity about the metropolis. For the last few weeks Bill had been restless and subject to sudden fits of irritability . me which had disturbed Judson not a ittle. Filled as he was nowadays with an almost maudlin benevolence toward all created things, Judson wanted to have smiling faces around him. “You've all day before you,” he pointed out. “Park yourself on a chair and watch me eat. Shan’t be long.” “There's a letter for you in the sitting room,’ * said Bill. “From Alice.” “Yes?” said Judson with a brother’s in- difference. He scanned his paper. “Listen to this: ‘Broadcasts his love; sweetheart muffs it. Wellington, Mass. Miss Luella Phipps of this city took her ear from he radiophone at just the wrong time last night, for she failed to hear her sweet- heart’s voice in Forest Hills, New York, announcing their engagement. James J. Roper, of Forest Hills, New York, is the lucky man and is a radio expert. It oc- curred to him to let his fiancée hear his voice tell the world the glad tidings of their approaching nuptials — “Why do they print drivel like that?” said Bill sourly. “Don’t you think it’s rather touching?” inquired the Pollyanna behind the coffeepot. In his sunny mood he was prepared to find heart interest everywhere. “No!” “Oh!” Judson returned to his literary research. ‘‘*‘Would match Miss Bauer against men swimmers,’”’ he proceeded, we now meandered onto the sporting pag Who would?” “Tt just says ‘would.’ Her pals, I sup- pose. During the recent six-day swimming carnival Miss Bauer hung up four new world’s standards and two new American marks.” “What of it?” Judson turned the pages. “‘Here’s a good one,” he said, chuckling. “Girl tries to get into a taxi. Taxi man says ‘I’m engaged.’ ‘That's fine,’ says the girl. ‘I hope you'll be very, very happy.’” He gazed wistfully at his companion, but Bill’s face remained coldly unrespon- sive. And Judson, having now tried him with heart interest, sporting gossip and humor, gave the thing up and looked at him with concern. ““What's the matter, Bill, o’ man?” “ Nothing’s the matter.’ “Oh, but there is. You’ve become a regu- lar gloom. All the time these days you’re acting like a wet Sunday in Pittsburgh. I believe you re sickening for something.” “I’m not.’ “How do you know you're not?” said Judson earnestly. ‘You’ve got all the symptoms. You're jumpy and restless and you haven't smiled since six weeks ago last Wednesday. I'll tell you what it is, Bill, o’ man. I’m becoming more and more con- vinced that we ought to keep a little brandy or some other healing spirit always in the house in case of sickness ”’ “You are, are you?” “‘T’ve heard of fellows who were saved from the tomb by a tot of brandy admin- istered at just the right moment. Dozens of them. Absolutely snitched from the undertaker’s grasp. We could keep it in here,”” urged Judson; iin that closet. It wouldn’t take u He scanned Bill's f ’s forbidding features for a moment with a hope that swiftly ebbed. “Oh, very well,” he said stiffly; “I was only suggesting it for your own good.” The second installment of bacon had arrived and he attacked it with an offended aloofness. Presently, having finished his meal, he took himself off to the sitting EVENING POST room, and Bill, clearing a space on the table, sat down to write. a ILL’S days for writing to Alice Coker were Tuesday and Friday. Today was Friday, and it was consequently to compose a letter of love that he was now addressing himself. One would have supposed that with such a treat before him his eye would have gleamed with a tender light. But no, it was dull and fishy; and after he had written half a dozen words he stopped and began to chew his pen drearily. Literary composition can often be a slow and painful process, but if there is one occa- sion when a writer should surely find the golden sentences bubbling up without an effort it is when he is inditing a letter to the girl he loves. The fact that for some time it had been getting harder and harder to think of things to fill up the pages on these occasions was beginning to weigh upon Bill’s spirits. Impious as it was to entertain even for an instant the supposition that writing letters to Alice pote ave become a bore, honesty compelled him to admit that his primary motive in routing Judson out of the room at this early hour had been the desire to tackle the task and get it fin- ished and off his mind. He ran his fingers through his hair. It was no good. Words would not come. What made it all the more strange was the fact that in the earlier days of Tis 80- journ in London he had handled these bi- weekly prose poems with an absolutely inspired ease. His pen had started rac- ing the mement he sat down. Phrases of the most admirable and pulpy sentiment had leaped into his mind so quickly thai he could not keep pace with them, and stuff that you could have bound up in mauve covers and sold a dozen editions of had cost him practically no effort at all. And here he was now without an idea in his head. He got up and went into the sitting room. If anything could give him inspira- tion it would be Those twelve photographs of Alice that smiled down with such queenly sweetness from the mantelpiece, the what- not and the console table. He was inspecting the one third from the left on the mantel- ee. dully conscious that it was giving nim no kick whatever, when a grave voice addressed him from the depths of the arm- chair. “Bill, o’ man.” Bill turned sharply. “What's the matter now?” he snapped. It was wrong, of course, of him to speak so curtly to his faithful friend, but one can- not deny that he had a certain amount of justification. Judson was eying him with a peculiar and inscrutable expression on his face, goggling at him in an indescribable sort of sad, leering way that crashed into his nerve centers like a bullet. To a man in his condition of irritable despondency the spectacle of Judson’s face even in its nor- mal state was hard enough to bear. With this peculiar expression added, it had be- come intolerable. “What are you looking at me like that for?” he demanded. Judson made no direct reply to the ques- tion. Instead, he heaved himse'f up from his chair, and stalking to Bill, patted him gently on the shoulder. Then he grasped his hand and shook it for a few moments; and finally, having patted him on the shoulder once more, resumed his seat. “T’ve got news for you, Bill, o’ man,” he said in a hushed voice. “What news?” “Bill, o’ man,” said Judson solemnly, “you were wrong just now. Believe me, you were wrong. In the attitude = took up about my suggestion that we should keep a little brandy in the place, I mean.” “What is this news of yours?” “ Anybody,” said Judson, “is liable to get ill at any moment. And every house, therefore, should have its supply, however small, of brandy or some other healing spirit always ready, so that you can get at it at a moment’s notice. I’ve been reading up about brandy, Bill, o’ man. It is em- oheed a great deal medicinally as a food capable of supplying energy in a particu- larly labile form to the body. It is alsoa very valuable stimulant, carminative and hypnotic. Well, I mean, that shows you!" “Will you stop driveling about brandy and tell me “There have been thousands of cases where the sudden breaking of bad news has caused apparently healthy people to keel over and faint, and if there hadn't hap- pened to be somebody in the offing with a 33 nip of the As” stuff their name would have been mud ou'll give me the money, Bill, o’ man, wh 1 be only too glad to pop round the corner to a pub and get a pint or two.” “What is this news?” “TI heard my father say once that when he got badly hammered in the panic of 1907 No,” said Judson carefully, “I'm lying to you. It wasn't my father; it was a pal of his. This bimbo was ruined in the panic, and he went straight home and opened up a bottle and took a couple of good strong snifters quick, and before he knew where he was he was feeling like a two-year-old again. And what's more, those drinks gave him an inspiration which enabled him to pull half his fortune out of the wreck—more than half. It's not far to the pub. I can get there and back in ten minutes.” “Look here,” said Bill tensely, “if you don’t tell me what this news of yours is I'i! step on you!" Totten shook his head sadly. He seemed to be deploring the headlong impetuosity of youth. “ All right,”’ he said, “if you must have it. Alice has gone and got engaged to a bird in the steel business with pots of money. She asked me to break it to you gently.” m1 ILL stared dumbly. The fateful words sank slowly into his consciousness. “ Engaged!’ Judson nodded a deathbed nod. “That's right.” “To a fellow: in the steel business?’’ “Absolutely in the steel business, o’ man.” There was a long silence, and suddenly Bill became aware with a sort of shock that his only clearly defined and recognizable emotion in this stu — moment was a feeling of intense relief at the thought that now he would not fons to finish that letter. All the morning it had been pressing on him like some heavy weight; and try as he would, he could not check a horrible sense of exhilaration. He realized dully that it was all wrong to be feeling like this. It was shameful that a man in his position, confronted with the wreck of all his hopes and dreams, could find nothing better to do than to stand con- gratulating himself on having got out of writing a difficult letter. Besides, the letter ought not to have been difficult. All the evidence, in short, appeared to point to one conclusion —that he was utterly lacking in the most rudimentary spirituality, Presently, as he stood there trying not to feel gay and light-hearted, he perceived that the heir of the Cokers was behaving in an odd manner. Judson had risen once more from his chair, and now, sidling up, he was thrusting into Bill's hand a sheet of paper. As the latter’s fingers closed over this he sighed, patted him on the shoulder again and began to steal softly toward the door, Pausing on the threshold, he nodded twice with extraordinary solemnity. Then he slid out. It was only after he had been gone some moments that it dawned upon Bill that this was Judson’s idea of handling a delicate situation with gentlemanly tact. There are times, Judson seemed to con sider, when the strong man prefers to be left to wrestle with his grief alone. Left thus alone, Bill endeavored ‘to carry out his part of the program. He glanced at the document in his hand. Recognizing Alice’s handwriting, he deduced that this must be the letter which had brought the news. Presumably Judson had intended him to read it. But what was the use? Once a man has grasped the essential fact that the girl to whom he was under the im- pression that he was betrothed has gone and got engaged to birds in the steel busi- ness with pots of money, treatises on the subject are superfluous. He put the letter down on the table unread. There now came to him a pleasing theory that seemed to offer an explanation of his strange lack of decent sorrow. Men who are shot frequently feel no immediate discom- fort beyond a dull shock. This, he came to the conclusion, must be what had happened in his case. His faculties must have been stunned, Later on, no doubt, the agony would commence. Feeling considerably relieved by this re- flection, he decided to go out and grapple with his tragedy in the open air. Dimly remembered novels whose herves had re- ceived the same sort of blow suggested that this was the correct course for one in his position to pursue. In those novels, he

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34 recalled, shepherds, tending their flocks on the wind-swept hills, used to be startled by the swift passing of tall, soidierly men wit pale, drawn faces, striding through the storm with mouths set like bars of steel, and eyes, glittering like flames, staring sightlesaly out from under the peaks of their caps. He put on his shoes and was about to go in search of his hat, when suddenly there presented itself the problem of the photographs. Those twelve photographs! What to do with them? In the matter of the faithless one’s pho- tographs, two plans of action are open to the jilted swain. He can either lay them up in lavender and live out his lonely life brooding over ther as his hair gradually whitena, or he can do the strong, manl thing and destroy them out of hand. It came as a further shock to Bill, when, after five minutes’ tense thought, he decided on the latter course, te realize how little an- guish the prospect caused him. He made his decision without a tremor and did the photographs up in a brown-paper parcel with as little remorse as a grocer wrapping a pound of tea. Undoubtedly his faculties must have been stunned, it was Bill’s intention to get rid of these mementos of a dead past somewhere in the great outdoors. For more than a week now the weather had been too warm for fires, which prevented one handy way of dis- posing of things; and it was obviously impossible for a sensitive man to tear them up and put them in the waste-paper basket where Judson would see them. Bill wanted no jarring commente on his action. He was grateful now for the other’s indifferent attitude toward all photographs of his sis- ter. Judson was not an observant youn man, and the odds were that the nove bareness of the walis and mantelpiece would entirely escape him. It is one of the defects of London, from the point of view of a man whose heart has just been broken, that it is practically de- void of wild spots in which to stride with « sightless stare, The nearest thing it seemed to provide to the wind-swept hills was Battersea Park; and thither Bill betook him- self with his parcel, stepping lightly down the passage to the front door in order not to be intercepted by Bob the Sealyham, who if aware that one of the gang contemplated going for a walk would, he knew, show a disposition to count himself in. And much as Bill respected and liked Bob, he had no wish for his company now. The Bobs of Battersea are not permitted inside the park’s exclusive boundaries unless at- tached to a leash; and it seemed to Bill scarcely decent that on this supreme occa- sion he should be hampered by a wriggling dog. Any moment now the agony might be beginning, making solitude essential. He tiptoed out and hurried down the stairs. It was a lovely morning. Comment has already been made in these records on the caliousness of Nature in times of man’s distreas, and it is enough to say that on this oecasion Nature more than lived up to her reputation. It was the sort of day when even Queen Mary would have left her um- breila at home; and Bill, wandering through the green avenues and listening to the merry cries of children sporting in the sunshine, continued to have that peculiar illusion of light-heartedness. If he had not known that such a thing was impossible he would have said that his spirits were rising higher and higher every moment. The way he jerked his wrist when, having reached a spot secluded from human eye, he threw the brown-paper parcel contain- ing the photographs from him was positively rollicking. He heard it flop behind him without a pang and was caracoling gayly on down the path, when a shrili voice spoke in his ear “Hit Mister!’ So unexpected was this voice that it had for one brief instant an uncanny effect of being the voice of the brown-paper parcel. A moment before Bill had been convinced that there was not a soul within a hundred yards. But it is a peculiarity of the London parks that no spot in them is ever really secluded from the human eye; and now there had sprung Pe peer 4 through the asphalt—a small and grubby girl in a print frock. She was trotting toward him, her face beaming with helpfulness and good will. With her left hand she along a smal! male relation, who in his turn dra a still smaller male relation; with her right she waved the brot,n-paper parcel. “You dropped this, mister.” THE SATURDAY Bill was a kind-hearted young man and he shrank from wounding the child. He took the parcel with as much gratitude as he was able to summon up on the spur of the moment, and with a smile a little too mechanical to be really brilliant handed over sixpence as a reward. The family melted away. Bill walked on. The episode had had the effect of es his nerve; and though he several deserted nooks which might ave been constructed by the London County Council with the sole purpose of acting as dumping grounds for the photo- graphs or girls about to marry into the steel usiness, he made no use of them. And presently, roaming aimlessly, he found him- self on the edge of a large sheet of water. Here, like Alastor on the lone Chorasmian shore, he paused. The margin of the pool was fringed with children and dogs, the latter held in leash by nurses or tied to benches. The nurses exchanged dignified confidences one with another, the children sailed toy boats, the dogs barked continuously. In the trees on a small island in the middle of the water a colony of rooks cawed in raucous compe- tition with the dogs. It was a jolly spot; but to Bill its chief charm lay in the fact that every individual present, whether nurse or child or dog or rook, appeared to be tensely occupied with his own affairs and consequently in no position to observe and comment upon the strange behavior of os | well young man who should stroll up and start throwing brown-paper parcels into the depths. It seemed too good a chance to miss. With an abstracted eye on the rooks, he sent the parcel spinning through the air, and was just turning away, humming a careless air, when the splash was followed by another of such magnitude that he thought for a moment that the rather stout child who had been trimming the sails of his yacht close by must have fallen in. And it is shameful to have to record that the first emotion that came to Bill—a man with one life saved from drowning already to his credit—was a feeling of regret at the pros- pect of having to go in after the little chump. But he had wronged the stout child. There he was, still safely on the water's edge. The creature that had caused the splash was an enormous dog with long black hair and an expression of genial imbecility which was now swimming vigorously out to where the brown-paper parcel floated. And even as Bill looked he snapped it up between two rows of sharklike teeth and started for the shore. A moment later he had laid it at Bill’s feet, shaken himself like a shower bath and was gazing up into his playmate’s face, his idiot grin urging him as plainly as if he had made a set speech to keep the fun going by throwing the thing in again. Bill picked up the parcel and hurried away. He was now in a mood of acute ex- asperation. It was not the fact that he was quite noticeably wet that infuriated him; nor was his indignation due to disapproval of the phenomenon of an unleashed dog where, according to the park’s clearly rinted by-laws, no unleashed dog should ave been. What was one at his vi- tals was a dull hatred of this brown-paper arcel and all it stood for. It amazed im now that he could ever have yy miner himself in love with Alice Coker. Apart from anything else, apart altogether from her evil habit of going about marrying birds in the steel business, there must be a curse of some sort on a girl whose photographs were so impossible to get rid of. It was with all the depression of a Eugene Aram that he strode from the pond and buried him- self in a quiet, leafy byway. If ——— could have soothed Bill’s mood of raging fury, this murmurous lane with its frin of tall trees in which he now found himself snould have done so. Even more than any of the other nooks through which he had passed that —- it seemed a from the world of men. Birds sang in the branches to his left, and in the flower beds to his right bees were buzzing happily. It is proof of the shattered state of Bill’s morale that the solitude of this sylvan retreat did not encourage him at once to drop his parcel. He was in the grip of a sort of superstitious coma. He had a presentiment that, solitary though the lace seemed, he would not be alone for ong, and a moment later his presentiment was fulfilled. Round the bend in the walk, concealed until they were almost on him by a large bush, came pacing slowly a young couple, a man and a girl. EVENING POST The girl was trim and pretty, but it was the man who arrested Bill’s attention. He was a tall young man with brown eyes and chestnut hair, of an as rendered vaguely artistic by a long and flowing tie of mauve silk. And the thing about him that en- chained Bill’s notice was his oddly familiar look. Somewhere, he felt, he had met the fellow before. The man looked up, and as he did so there came into his face an expression which Bill could not interpret. It was recogni- tion—that was clear enough—but it was also something more than recognition. If the idea had not been so absurd he would almost have said it was fear. The brown eyes widened, and a breeze rippling through the chestnut hair—he was carrying his hat in his hand—gave it a momentary sugges- tion of standing on end. “Hullo!” said Bill. He could not place the fellow, but it was plain from the other’s expression that they must have met. “Hullo!” said the gore man huskily. “Nice day,” said Bill. The observation seemed to have a reas- suring effect on the other. It was as if he had expected hostility from Bill and was pleasantly relieved by the cordiality of his tone. He bri setae § visibly. “Beautiful,” he said. “Beautiful, beau- tiful, beautiful!’ Each having shot his conversational bolt, there followed one of those awkward si- lences. And then Bill, acting automatically under the influence of a powerful urge pro- ceeding he knew not whence, extended his hand. “Here!” he said briefly. And thrusting the brown-paper parcel into the other’s grasp, he walked rapidly away. He was conscious, as he went, of a whirl of mixed emotions; but the one that stood out above all the others was a stu- ndous feeling of relief. A memory of his oyhood cz.me to him, of the time when he had first read Stevenson’s Bottle Imp. It must have been quite a dozen years ago, but he could still recall the exquisite exul- tation he had felt on reaching the passage where the hero gets rid of the fatal bottle to the drunken sailor. It was exactly so that he was feeling now. His recent ac- quaintance might — probably would —think him mad, but the hodiins were all against him running after him to tell him so and to force the _— back upon him. If he did it would necessary to take firm steps. Bill stopped. His train of thought had just been jarred violently off the rails by the sucden discovery of the reason why the man’s face had been familiar. He knew him now, and he remembered where it was that they had last seen each other—in the ~~ of Holly House, Wimbledon, when e, Bill, had chased him hither, thither and roundabout through the darkness with the intent to do violence upon his person. It was the man Roderick Pyke! Bill smiled grimly. Roderick Pyke! No, there was no likelihood of Roderick Pyke running after him with parcels. And then his thoughts began to flow in such a rapid stream that he could not kee up with them. The discovery that this man was Roderick Pyke immediately caused him to wonder what on earth he was one strolling about Battersea Park with a girl. Why, by all the laws of romance and even decency he should have been brood- ing forlornly on his vanished fiancée! It of- fended Bill to think that a man who had so recently lost Flick should be behaving so callousty. And then his thoughts shot off at another tangent, and this time they were such weighty thoughts that he was obliged to sit down on a handy bench to grapple with them. Flick! Of course, he had never actually forgotten Flick for an instant; but it was certainly true that this meeting with Roder- ick had brought her into his mind with a curious vividness that had all the effect of making her seem like something suddenly remembered. Flick! He would see her now as clearly as if she were standing before him—Flick, happy and smiling; Flick, tired and tearful; Flick, frightened and looking to him for support —a whole gallery of Flicks, each more attractive than the last. And quite suddenly, as if he had known it all along, Bill realized that he loved Flick. Of course! He was a fool not to have guessed it earlier. Judson had accused him of being like a wet Sunday in Pittsburgh. Quite justly. He had been like a wet Sun- day in Pittsburgh. And why? Because the July 5,1924 withdrawal of Flick from his life had made that life seem so empty and unprofitable. This was what had been troubling his spirit all these weeks. Bill got up. He was glowing now with that fervor which comes upon men in their hour of clear vision. He felt in his pocket for his pipe—the situation was distinctly one that demanded a series of thoughtfully smoked pipes—and found that he had left it in the flat. It being obviously impossible to think coherently without it, he returned home. Judson, that model of tact and delicacy, was still out, and Bill was glad of it. He wanted solitude. He found his pipe where he had left it in the dining room, beside that searcely begun letter to Alice Coker, and proceeded to the sitting room. A marconigram was lying on the table. Bill opened it, hoping faintly that it might be from Flick, and experienced disappoint- ment on discovering that it was from his Uncle Cooley. Uncle Cooley, said the mar- conigram, was due to dock at Southampton on the following morning. He hoped that Bill would meet him at the Antiquarians Club in Pall Mall at three in the afternoon. It was news to Bill that Mr. Paradene was on the ocean at all, and his immediate — was a regret that he had not more stimulating news to give him of his activi- ties in connection with Mr. Wilfrid Slingsby. Yes, on the whole, it wes a nuisance that Uncle Cooley had chosen just this time to come over. However, being here, he could not be ignored. Bill came to the conclusion that it would be more respectful and would make a better impression if, instead of waiting till three o’clock, he went to Waterloo Station on the morrow and met the boat train. Having made this decision, he sat down and plunged into pleasant, roseate dreams about Flick. CHAPTER XVI T WAS with a light and jaunty step that Bill strode over Chelsea Bridge next morning on his way to Waterloo. There had been a time in the silent watches of the night when, lying in bed reviewing the posi- tion of affairs, he had had certain uncom- fortable doubts as to the stability of his character. Was not a man, he asked him- self, who could so swiftly rebound from one love to another incapable of love in its deepest sense? Was not such a man incur- ably shaliow and trivial and worthy of nothing but contempt? From 12:30 till a quarter to two he had been inclined to answer these questions in the affirmative; but at 1:45 precisely there had slid into his fevered mind the consoling recollection of Romeo. Now, there was a chap. Generations of lovers had taken him as the archetype of their kind; and yet on Shakspere’s own showing the fellow had been a perfect by- word ene his friends up till, say, 9:30 P.M. one night for his hopeless adoration of Rosaline, and it couldn’t have been much more than 9:45 the same night before he was worshiping Juliet. And certainly no- body had ever accused Romeo of shallow- ness and triviality. No, everything was absolutely all right. All that had any + pean was that the scales had fallen from his eyes, if you liked to put it that way; and that was the sort of thing that might happen to anyone. With each step that took him nearer to his destination Bill became more whole-heartedly con- vinced that Flick was the only girl in the world for him. What he had felt for Alice Coker had been the mere immature infatua- tion of a lad with no knowledge of life. He looked back to himself as he had been two months ago and seemed to be con- templating another being. In addition to having settled this soul problem, he had also got the practical side of the thing straight, As soon as there was a boat ‘he must go over to America, find Flick and pour, out his heart. Every mo- ment that he spent three thousand miles away from her was a moment irreparably wasted. And somehow the thought of pouring out his heart to Flick affected him with none of that nervous paralysis which had come upon him on the occasion when he had mistakenly —revealed his emotions to Alice Coker. Flick was different. Flick was—well, she was Flick. She wasa pal. By the time Bill reached Westminster Bridge he was smiling at passers-by and telling policemen it was a nice morning, and in York Road he went so far as to give a hawker half a crown for a penny box of matches, thereby converting (Continued on Page 36) ~ poe ee te oe

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lubrication is important to plant executives SATURDAY EVENING POST Someone must study it. Why? Why is technical study of lubrication so necessary? Because lubrication is an exact science and because studying such mechanical factors as—construc- tion of machinery, work required of it, speeds, temperatures, pressures, clearances, etc.—all of which determine lubricating requirements. efficient and economical operation can only be secured in your plant when the oils meet with scientific exactness the lubricating requirements of your machinery. Is it necessary for you to study lubrication personally? No. You ate interested only in the results of lubri- cation. You can safely leave the study of it to experts who have specialized in lubrication for many years, and whose knowledge and experience will produce the result you wish—efficient and economical operation. How can these experts help you to secure the desired results? By putting at your disposal the knowledge gained through over 50 years’ study and analysis of machinery, its operation and lubrication in every country of the world. Vacuum Oil Company engineers in our world-wide service are constantly Can you as a plant executive make prof- itable use of this exact knowledge ? Yes. The Vacuum Oil Company will gladly show you how correct lubrication will bring about less wear of your machinery—fewer repairs —less danger of shutdowns—and lower lubricating costs per unit of production. A letter addressed to our nearest branch office will put you in touch with an experienced repre- sentative who will be prepared to discuss with you the financial benefits of correct lubrication, and to take up with your plant engineer the technical phases of the subject. Domestic Branches: New York (Main Office) Minneapolis Rochester Boston St. Lous Oklahoma City Chicago Des Moines Peoria Philadelphia Dallas Albany Detroit Kansas City, Mo. Portland, Me Pittsburgh Milwaukee _ field, Mass. Indianapolis Buffalo Siveen Vacuum Oil Company N E W THE LUBRICATION AUDIT Here is a condensed outline meaning Sow the Com- pany’s knowledge and experience are brought to bear on individual plant problems: INSPECTION: A thoroughly experienced Vacuum Oil Company representative codperates with your fae engineer or su tendent in mak- ing a careful survey and record of your mechanical equipment and operating conditions. RECOMMENDATIONS: We later specify, in a written report, the correct oil and correct appli- cation of the oil for the efficient and ! operation of each engine and machine. This report is based on: 1 The inspection of the machines in your plant. 2 Your operating conditions. 3 Our 58 years of lubricating experience with all we of mechanical equipment under all kinds operating conditions throughout the world. 4 Our outstanding experience in eeeeitoting oils for wn, Bes aged need CHECKING: If, following our recommendations in this Audit, you install our oils, periodical calls will be made to see that the desired results are continued. FOR THE ABOVE FREE SERVICE address branch office. our nearest YORK GNREONG —I Lubricating Oils or Plant Lubrication

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THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 34) one who had always been a stubborn skep- tic to a belief in miracles. He entered the bustling precincts of Waterloo at a sort of joyous trot, which increased to a gallop when a porter informed him that the boat train was even now discharging its pas- sengers at Platform 13. Bill had no difficulty in finding Platform 13. The march of progress has robbed Waterloo Station of its mysteries. Once it used to be a quaint, dim Wonderland in which bewildered Alices and their male counterparts wandered apse ar seeking information of officials as naivel y at sea as themselves. But now it is orderly and effi- cient, Bill, not having known it in the days of its pictu ueness, had no sense of ro- mantic loss. ielding up a penny for a platform ticket, he charged past the barrier into the swirl of the crowd. The platform was full of travelers and their friends and relatives. His native shrewdness telling him that Uncle Cooley would probably be at the far end of the train looking after his baggage, Bill wasted no time. It was his intention to show zeal, to save his uncle trouble and annoyance b attending to the baggage himself, and inci- dentally to reveal himself in the light of the capable young man of affairs. He brushed aside a boy who was trying to sell him oranges and chocolates and sped upon his way, and was rewarded by the spectacle of Mr. Paradene hovering on the outskirts of the crowd like an undersized sportsman trying to get a glimpse of a dog fight. “Hullo, Unele Cooley! How are you? Have a good voyage? Shall I get you a porter?” said Bill effic iently. “Why, William!” said Mr. Paradene, turning, and speaking with an agreeable cordiality. “I never expected to see you. Nice of you to come and meet me.” “Thought I might save you trouble with | your trunks.” “Very good ef you. But I’ll look after them myself. I’ve got some valuable books I want to keep an eye on. I'll meet you down the platform. You'll find Horace | there.” The prospect of a chat with Horace did not cause Bill any noticeable elation; but | Mr. Paradene, who had now intercepted a | passing porter and was pointing out trunks | to him in the manner of a connoisseur ex- hibiting the gerus of his collection to a sym- pathetic fellow enthusiast, seemed anxious to be alone. “Go along and talk to him, “That big one, that little one, and there are five more,” he added to the porter. “You'll find another friend of yours with him. At least she said she knew you.” “She?” **Girl named Sheridan — Felicia Sheridan, Niece of Sinclair Hammond, the man I've come to stay with.” Waterloo Station is always in a seething and effervescent condition when a _ boat, train comes in; but to Bill, as he heard these words, it seemed to boil and bubble like a caldron. Travelers, travelers’ friends, travelers’ relations, porters, paper boys, station masters and the persevering lad who was still trying to sell him oranges and ” he said. | chocolates danced before his eyes in a weird | saraband. IGNITION SYSTEM for FORDS | Thies is a comment being made everywhere by Ford owners who are using Delco Ford Ignition Resides making the Ford engine start more or cold, Delco ignition following advantages: 1. It furnishes a hot, accurately timed spark and makes the engine operate smoothly both speeds in trafhe and at high speed on the road ¢ asiiy provi in rain, tes the anow at low 2. It makes possible greater speed. 3. It provides an automatic spark advance 4. It eliminates the timer and permits carrying ill ignition wiring overhead 5. It is quickly and easily installed. Actual savings in upkeep soon pay for Delco ignition. Distributor $13—with Delco coil $5.50 extra. Both prices include tax See your nearest dealer, or write direct to United Motors Service, Detroit, national service representatives for The Dayton Engineering Laboratories Co. Dayton, Ohio, U.S.A. | in t | stood Flick. The solid platform seemed to | heave beneath his feet. The whistle of an | engine sounded like a seream of joy. “Flick!"’ he gasped. ‘Is Flick here?”’ But Mr. Paradene was too busy to reply. Accompanied by the porter, he was now in the center of the maelstrom, burrowing after trunks like a terrier in a rabbit warren. Bill, though he would have liked to ask a number of questions, respected his uncle's preoccupation and, drawing a deep breath, plunged down the platform with as much direet forcefulness as if he had been in sight of the enemy’s goal line with a football under his arm. Indignant humanity scat- tered like smoke wreaths before him. And presently, after causing more hard feelings among his fellow creatures than a judge at a baby contest, he came to a space that was comparatively open. And there, her hand e uncouth paw of the boy Horace, au N A WORLD full of people who, hap- pening upon Horace, immediately wished | him elsewhere, nobody had ever wished him so far elsewhere as did Bill at that mo- | ment. Not even Mr. Sherman Bastable in | his least affectionate mood could have found the boy’s society more distasteful. His mere presence was bad enough, but | far worse was that look of sardonic scorn on his freckled face—a lock that seemed to EVENING POST ridicule all romance and wither it with a chilling blast. For an instant Bill had a sense of defeat. There was something hide- ously immobile about the boy’s attitude that seemed to suggest that nothing could shift him. ‘Come one, come all, this plat- form shall fly from its firm base as soon as i,” his demeanor said, and Bill was at a loss to know what to do about it, till sud- denly an inspiration came to him. Few boys are averse to a quiet snack at any hour, and Horace was probably no excep- tion to the rule. “Hullo, Horace,” he said. “‘ You're look- ing tired and thin. Take this. You'll find the refreshment room down there through those gates.” The words acted like some magic spell. Horace’s stomach had that quality which optimists try to persuade us belongs to the ladder of fortune—there was always plenty of room at the top. Without a word—or, indeed, any acknowledgment, unless a sharp grees was intended for as h of thanks seized the mone whieh Bill was thrust- ing 5 m him and hurried off. Bill turned ck, who during this brief business ioeaptien had been drinking him in with round and astonished eyes. “Flick!” said Bill. “Bill!” said Flick. “You darling!” said Bill. I love you, I —— “Oranges and chawklits,’’ said a dispas- sionate voice at his elbow. ‘Oranges, sengwidges and chawklits.”’ With prismatic dreams of murder filling his mind, Bill turned. Apart from the fact that any interruption at such a moment would have affected him like a blow behind the ear from a sandbag, he had supposed that in his previous conversations with this lad he had disposed once and for all of this matter of oranges and chocolates. It was a perfectly straight issue, to settle which both sides had only to show a little reasonable- ness and Taw Bed The boy thought Bill wanted oranges and chocolates. Bill did not want oranges and chocolates, and he had said so perfectly plainly. Yet it seemed now that they had been shouting at each other across seas of misunderstanding. “T don’t want any oranges,” he said tensely. “Chawklits?” suggested “Chawklits for the lidy?”’ “The lady doesn’t want chocolates.” “‘Sengwidges?”’ “Nor sengwidges.” ‘Buns, sweets of all descriptions, chawk- lit, nut chawklit, sengwidges, oranges, ep- ples, Banbury cikes and bananas!”’ chanted the lad lyrically. He had a clear, tuneful young voice and he ehirruped like a thrush in Maytime. The thing only needed music by Jerome Kern to be a song hit. Bill grasped Flick’s arm and hurried her along the platform. It is supposed to be a universal illusion on the part of the young, when in love, that they are entirely alone in the world; but Bill, great though his passion was, could not achieve this state of mind. Waterloo Station seemed to him absolutely congested. How there were enough people in London, large city though it was, to fill it up to such an extent amazed him. The entire population of the British isles, together with visitors from every part ot America, seemed to have banded to- gether to prevent him getting a quiet word with Flick. ‘Ever since you went away,” he resumed, coming to a halt behind a luggage-laden truck, “ The truce k became suddenly endowed with movement. It thrust itself between them like a Juggernaut. And when it had assed and he was about to speak again a nger tapped him energetically upon the shoulder. “Pardon me, sir,”’ asked a voice in rich Minnesotan, “but could you di-rect me to the telegraph office?” Adversity makes strategists of us all. Bill grasped the other’s arm and whirled him round. “I don’t know myself,” he said, “but that boy over there could tell you. The one with the orange-and-chocolate tray.” “Thank you, sir. Thank you.” “Don’t mention it. Flick darling,” said Bill, “ever since you went away I’ve been perfectly miserable. I couldn’t make out at first what was the matter with me. Then I suddenly realized. I’ve got to talk quick, sogetthis: Iloveyou. I—— Ibeg your pardon?” He broke off icily, turning as he received a sharp prod in the ribs from what felt like the ferrule of an umbrella. “T love you, the boy. July 5,1924 The stout woman with the brown veil flyin from her hat repeated her question. ‘Where can you get a porter?” Biil spoke in an overwrought voice. What there was about him that made all these people flock to him as to some human information bureau he was at a loss to understand. Goodness knew, he had been trying to make his face look forbidding enough, and yet they kept surging up to him in their thou- sands as if he were their guardian angel. He began to feel like one of those ‘Ask Mr. Halleran!’’ men whose cheery advertise- ments dot the roadsides throughout Long Island. “ Anywhere round here. They are pop- ping about all over the place. There’s one over there, standing by that boy with the chocolate-and-orange tray.” “T don’t see him.” “He was there a moment ago. The stout woman wandered away dis- contentedly, her veil flying behind her. Bill turned to Flick again. “By your leave, sir.” A porter this time with a truck. The irony of the situation afflicted Bill. Here was a porter interrupting him, doubtless in search of stout women with baggage, and a moment before the stout woman had inter- rupted him in search of a porter. It would have been a kindly act on his part to bring these kindred spirits together, but he was otherwise occupied. “TI know what you're sumed. ‘ You're saying ‘What about Alice Coker?’ Never mind about Alice Coker. That was a mere infatuation. Simply an infatuation. I love you and ey you, and I believe—I aaa believe—I’ve loved you from the very first so we met.” Amazing how easy it was to talk to her like this. The mere sight of her encouraged him to eloquence. She radiated confidence and comfort. It was as simple as telling an old friend that you were glad to see him. No trace now he felt of that fluttering self-consciousness which had set him stam- mering under the queenly gaze of Alice Coker. Silly nonsense that had been, im- agining for a single moment that he could be in love with a girl who made him self- conscious. The whole essence of love and Bill now considered himself an expert on this subject—was that it made you feel at home with a girl, happy with her, at your ease with her, just as if she were a part of you. “Flick ” saying,” he re- “let’s go out darling,” he said, and get married—quick!” Her eyes were smiling up into his, the brightest, bluest eyes that had ever danced in human face; and Waterloo Station seemed to blaze with a brilliant and un- earthly light. It soothed every nerve in his body, that smile of hers. It set him aglow with a happiness beyond all dreaming. It was like a lighted window welcoming a weary traveler home across the snow. And, taking advantage of the fact that this de- lightful station was full of people who were kissing one another, he bent over with no more words and kissed Flick; and the kiss seemed like nothing so much as the formal affixing of a signature to a document whose pleasant terms had long since been agreed yn and settled. It was so entirely sim- ale so perfectly natural and in order. And somehow it seemed to put matters on such a sound and satisfactory footing that for the first time since she had come to him out of this whirl of restless humanity he found himself able to talk coherently and con- versationally. “What are you doing over here?” he asked. ‘“‘I was just coming over to America to find you.” “T ran short of money and I had to cable home, and they cabled back that I was to go to your uncle. He has brought me over.” “But didn’t Alice Coker look after you?” “T never went near her.” “Why not? Why, of course you wouldn't!” said Bill with a flash of belated intelligence. ‘‘What a consummate fool I was ever to think you would! The more I look back at myself, the more it seems to me that of all the hopeless fools in the world I was the worst.” “You weren't!” “TI was. Taking all that time to realize that I loved you! Do you really love me, Flickie?”’ “Of course I do. I always have.” “I’m hanged if I can see why,” said Bill candidly. ‘I know you do. I ean feel it in my bones. But why?” “Because you're the most wonderful man on earth.” (Continued on Page 39)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “Thousands are slowly poisoning them selves to death by eating beyond their digestive capacity.” —Right Food the Right Remedy y “Only that portion of the food that is di- } gested and absorbed can serve the purpose j of growth and the maintenance of the vital functions.” ; —The Principles of i1uman Nutrition d In Grape-Nuts the precious carbohydrates have been dextrinized in the form your body most readily and smoothly digests and transforms into strength and vitality. sf “T consider Grape-Nuts an unexcelled food for the development and maintenance of sound, healthy teeth and gums,” states a prominent New York dentist. ——— “For the growing child the thorough chew- ing required by Grape-Nuts not only aids materially in building firm, regular teeth and a healthy gum structure but also strengthens and assists in the proper growth of the entire jaw. “For the adult this chewing means less tooth-decay and as a consequence, better digestion.” Copyright, 1924, by the Postum Cereal Co., Inc. The crisp golden grains delight you if you’re hungry — tempt you if you're not One is the road of malnutrition—the road of ill-health and unhappiness. The other is the road of nourishment —the road of strength and health. Three times a day—you make the choice: Food that overburdens, that even poisons your body; that wears out your digestive machinery—or Food that your system can utilize; food that will build you a splendid body and give you all the power you need to run it. At least one-third of your nourishment should come from carbohydrates. Yet many of us do not get proper nourishment from the carbo- hydrates in the form in which we usually eat them. Three-fourths of the content of Grape- Nuts are the precious carbohydrates—in the Served with cream or rich milk, Grape-Nuts gives you in most delicious form the essentials of a well-balanced ration [nto the future of each human life stretch two broad Highways form that your body quickly and smoothly digests and turns into vigorous strength and vitality. Daily renews your vitality In Grape-Nuts the carbohydrates have been dextrinized—scientifically broken down into the form that will yield the great- est amount of nourishment to your body. Grape-Nuts tones up your system —men- tally and physically you will feel more alert and alive. And Grape-Nuts has this added value to your health: it comes in crisp, golden kernels you must chew. This chewing keeps the whole mouth healthy. It starts the proper flow of the salivary and gastric juices—the first step to sound digestion. Eat Grape-Nuts every day and see what a difference it makes in the way you feel. All grocers have Grape-Nuts. Hotels and restaurants serve it in individual packages of a single portion.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST July 5,1924 | | \f when you start, stop, or reverse, you are that much closer to a costly overhauling of your entire car. Fetes time your Ford chatters All too often, you blame charter on the transmission bands, and pay to have new ones installed. Yet in nine cases out of ten, worn bands are not the cause of chatter. It is usually caused by the use of an oil which fails to lubricate the transmission bands properly. The problem of selecting your Ford oil The selection of an oil to lubricate your Ford is a highly important matter. There is a scientific reason why this is so. The lubrication system of your Ford is so designed that the same oil which lubricates the Ferd transmission must also lubricate the engine. There are oils which temporarily stop chatter in the transmission—but fail to lubricate the engine properly. They cause a variety of engine troubles. Likewise there are oils which lubricate the Ford engine properly but which fail to silence the chattering transmission bands. Again— only half the job done. That is why you should use an oil which lubricates both the engine and the transmission properly. Made for Fords exclusively That Veedol Forzol, the new economy oil for Fords, does both these jobs perfectly has been proved by chemists in laboratories, en- gineers in road tests and—most important of all—by the practical experience of hundreds of thousands of Ford owners who now use it. How to banish chatter from your Ford —and still lubricate the engine perfectly This new economy oil, made for Fords exclusively, does both these jobs and makes possible 8 definite economies in operation Veedol Forzol is made to lubricate Fords ex- clusively and is amg designed to meet the unique requirements of the Ford lubricating system. Veedol Forzol stops chatter immediate- ly. It lubricates the engine perfectly. And it thus makes possible 8 definite economies in operation. The 8 Economies of Veedol Forzol 1—10 to 25% saving in gasoline—Hundreds of tests have demonstrated that Veedol Forzol conservatively saves 10% on gasoline consumption. 25% to 33% sav- ings have been developed repeatedly. 2—Eliminates costly chatter —Veedol Forzol lengthens the life of Ford brake and transmission bands by properly lubricating them. Chatter, a result of faulty lubricants, is entirely eliminated. 3—10 to 25% saving in oil — The sav- ings in oil consumption run from 10% to 25%. The exact savings depend upon the mechanical condition of the engine and the lubricant formerly used. 4—10 to 25% less carbon—Veedol Forzol forms on an average from 10% to 25% less carbon in the Ford engine cylinders. The exact savings depend on the mechanical condition of the engine and the lubricant formerly used. Less carbon means more power with fewer repairs. 5 — Resists heat and friction—Veedol Forzol possesses the famous characteristic of all Veedol oils to resist heat and friction. 6—Increased ability to coast —With average lubrication, a Ford will only coast down steep hills. With Veedol Forzol, coast- ing is possible down the slightest grades. 7 — Resists fuel dilutic .—Even with poor fuel, Veedol Forzol maintains its power-seal and lubricating value longer than other oils. Result—-more miles per gallon of gas and per quart of Veedol Forzol. 8 — Fewer repairs—Because Veedol Forzol masters the lubricating problem of the Ford power plant, it gives a new freedom from engine vibration and repair bills. Why not banish chatter from your Ford, once and for all, and along with that relief enjoy the seven other econ- omies that Veedol Forzol gives you? Any Veedol dealer will be glad to drain your crankcase and refill it with Veedol Forzol. * + * Tide Water Oil Sales Corporation: 11 Broadway, New York; Chicago, 3433 So. Racine Ave.; Sam Francisco, 440 Brannan St. Veedol Forzol is the identical oil formerly known as Veedol Fordol, a name which could not be registered or protected. The name Veedol Forzol is a trade name regis- tered by us in the United States and foreign countries as a protection to the motoring public, the trade and ourselves. Tide Water Oil Company Ford Owners in the Middle Atlantic and New England States can secure additional power and protection through the use of Tydal Economy Gasoline oil for Fords REG. U.S. PAT. OFF. oe SSS a SS —— are FS sg oe = ace ee ee

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a (Continued from Page 36) “By Jove, I believe I am! Anyway, I feel I am when you look at me like that.” Flick squeezed his arm. “Bill darling, what are we going to do?”’ Bill looked at her in astonishment. “Why, get married! As soon as ever we can! That reminds me. I shall have to be looking for work. Can’t live on nothing. But that will be all right. I have a hunch that Uncle Cooley will come out strong. All I need is a start.” “It’s going to be very difficult.” “Not a bit. Watch me!” “T mean, about me. I’m supposed to have come back to marry Roderick.” “What? You don’t mean to say,” de- manded Bill with honest amazement, “‘that that silly business is still on? Do you mean to tell me that in this twentieth century people still think they can force a girl to marry someone she doesn’t want to?” ““When you get a man like Uncle George and a woman like Aunt Francie making up their minds it doesn’t matter what century it is,” said Flick simply. “You wouldn’t do it?”’ said Bill with a sudden swift spasm of fear. — “Of course I wouldn't,” said Flick stoutly. “But, oh, Bill darling, we’ve got to hurry up and do something! After what has happened, I know as well as I know anything that I shall be a sort of prisoner at Holly House. I’m in disgrace. I’m like a convict that has tried to escape. I daren’t risk running away again until everything is quite settled. You must let me know the moment you’re ready for me.” “T’ll write to you.” “No, don’t. They might see your letters, and then it would be more difficult than ever.” She broke off. Bill, whose eyes had never left her face, saw her start. “What is it?” he asked. “Bill,” said Flick quickly in a low tone, “don’t do a thing. Just stand where you are and try to look as if you were perfectly ordinary. Aunt Francie is coming. I might have guessed that she would be here to meet me.” The woman advancing up the platform was so exactly what Bill would have imag- ined any sister of Flick’s Uncle George that he had a feeling almost as if they were old acquaintances. Nevertheless, he was far from being at his ease. Aunt Francie was finding some difficulty in navigating round a truck, and Flick seized the opportunity for further counsel. “Stay where you are. She’ll think you're somebody I met on board.” “How am I going to let you know?” said Bill hurriedly as the —, appeared round the truck. “I’ve got it! What paper do you take in the morning?” ; The Daily Record. It’s Uncle George’s paper. . ‘Watch the Agony Column,” whispered ill ill. Flick nodded briefly and turned to greet her formidable aunt. “Aunt Francie!” she exclaimed. There was a noticeable chill in the bear- ing of Mrs. Sinclair Hammond as she pecked at the cheek of her erring niece. Mrs. Ham- mond had much to say to her of a nature that could not well said in front of strangers. The lecture of a lifetime hung on her firm lips, only vs for Bill’s de- parture to be released. Flick turned to Bill. “Good-by, Mr. Rawlinson,” she said brightly, extending her hand. “Thank you so much for looking after me.” Bill took his cue. With a courteous bow in the direction of the more than ever for- midable Aunt Francie, he moved off down the platform. He had, as he went, some- thing of the emotions of a knight of old compelled by other engagements to ride off and leave a maiden at the mercy of a dragon. CHAPTER XVII HE waiter, having brought coffee and cigars, retired; and Bill, aa across the table, spoke in a low and confidential voice. “Juddy,” he said, “I’ve got something I want to tell you, old man.’ Several times during the meal which had just come to a conclusion he had been mean- ing to speak, but on each occasion the orchestra of the Regent Grill Room, which has a nasty habit of bursting at unexpected moments into La Bohéme and even louder classics, had been seized with a spasm which had rendered low-voiced confidences impossible. This had caused Bill a good deal of annoyance, for the necessity of con- fiding his affairs to a sympathetic ear had THE SATURDAY become imperative. A week had elapsed since his momentous meeting with Flick at Waterloo Station, and all through that week he had been going about laden down with a secret which it had grown more and more irksome to keep to himself. The time had arrived when he simply had to talk about it to someone, and in all this great city there was no one except Judson whom he could elect to the position of confidant. Judson puffed comfortably at his cigar. “pill it,” he said amiably. He looked at his companion with friendly eyes. Apart from the fact that, having a egy we secret of his own tucked away in is bosom, he was Sesting well disposed toward all humanity, he felt pamemeny genial toward Bill. During this past wee all his old affection and esteem had re- turned. Bill, for so long a blighted flower, had suddenly revived as if someone had poured water on him. He had gone whistling about the flat, and tonight had reached such heights of jovial camaraderie as actually to suggest a dinner at the Regent followed by a visit to the Alhambra revue. Judson thoroughly ap- proved of the change. 3 Bill looked about him cautiously. The waiter had disappeared. The nearest diners were out of earshot. The orchestra, its fever passed, was convalescing limply and seemed incapable of further noise for quite atime. He felt justified in continuing. “I wonder,” he said, “if you’ve noticed that I have seemed somehow different these last few days.” “T should say so!”’ assented Judson cor- dially. ‘Much more the little ray of sun- shine.” “Well, I'll tell you why. Juddy, old man, I’ve discovered what love really means.” “What, again?” said Judson. Bill frowned. Confidants ought to be more tactful. “If you’re thinking of Alice,” he said, “that was just an infatuation.” “This time it’s the real thing.” iti | had “What do you mean, ‘Ah!’” demanded Bill. He was sensitive. “Nothing, o’ man, nothing. Just ‘Ah!’ Surely,” said Judson, who came of a free race, “a fellow can say, ‘Ah!’”’ “You said it as if you thought I wasn’t serious.” “Not a bit of it, not a bit of it. I was only thinking ——”’ “Thinking what?” “Well, isn’t it a bit rapid? I mean to say, a week ago you were raving about Alice, and it seems to have taken you just seven days to forget her and tack onto someone else. Not that I’m blaming you, mind,” said Judson handsomely. “I ad- mire a quick worker.” Bill knocked his cigar ash against his coffee cup. He was wishing that he had not been so peculiarly situated as to be com- lled to waste his finest thoughts on a ellow like Judson. No soul. There you had Judson Coker in two words. All right within his limitations, and a pleasant ~~ to exchange trivialities with—but no soul. “I don’t know what you mean by a quick worker,” he said. “Perhaps it doesn’t seem quick to you,” said Judson pacifically. “T’ve known Flick for years.” “Ah, Flick!” said Judson with enthusi- asm. “Now, there’s a girl in a million. If you'd been in love with Flick ——” “T am in love —— Flick.” “ Now let’s get this thing straight,” said Judson. He drank ¢offee to clear his mind. The entertainment jhad been on a strictly teetotal basis, but) nevertheless he was feeling slightly foggy. “A week ago vou were crazy about may sister Alice. Then you switched to this|other girl you're telling me about. And now you say you’re in love with Flick. I don’t get it, Bill, o’ man; I don’t get it. Sounds to me as if you were headed straight for bigamy. Not,” he added broad-mindedly, “that I’ve anything personally against higamy. Must be nice to have two homes to go to.” Bill groaned in spirit. Better to have poured out his heart; into a listening-in de- vice than to be squandering words on this poor worm. “Tf you had twict as much sense you'd be half-witted,” he said sourly. ‘Can't you understand that I’ve been talking about Flick all the time?” “You mean Flick's the girl you’re in love with?” groped Judson. “The second girl, I mean, not the third girl?” EVENING POST “There isn’t any third girl,” said Bill between his teeth. “But you said there was.” “i didn’t. I should have thought that anyone with one ounce more brains than a billiard ball could have understood. I've suddenly realized that Flick is the only girl I have ever loved.” “Ah, now I see! Flick is the only girl you have ever loved? Well, it’s a pity you didn’t find it out before you let her go off to America.” “Tf she hadn’t gone to America, I might never have known what I felt.” “Well, what are you going to do? Send her a cable?” Yes. I found her at Waterloo last Saturday when I went to meet my uncle.” Bill’s voice shook, “I told her I loved her, Juddy, and she said she loved me.” “ At-a-boy!” “What she can see in me,” said Bill, ‘I can’t imagine.” “No,” assented Judson heartily. ‘ No.” “But there’s a difficulty. You see, she has come back to marry that man Pyke.” Judson started. “Not the fellow who said that it was Toddy van Riter who founded the Silks? Good Lerd, Bill, you must stop that! That would never do. I’ve nothing against Toddy—Toddy, I may as well tell you, has come out of the business extremely well. I had a letter from him this morning—but this bird Pyke is one of the worst. On no account must = permit a corker like Flick to marry him.’ “T won't,” said Bill firmly. “But you see the position. She got broke in New York, and was scared, and cabled her peo- ple that she wanted to come home. They fixed it up for her to come home, but natu- rally it was on the understanding that she went ahead and married the fellow Pyke.” “The world’s worst,” said Judson. ‘The world’s very punkest. It must not be.” “It isn’t going to be,” said Bill impa- oy. “But you see the difficulty. Ob- viously again until she is quite certain that I can look after her. And just at present it’s she can’t run away from home | difficult to see how I am going to be able to | look after her unless I get in really strong | with my uncle.” “You want to expose that crook Slingsby, | and then he would eat out of your hand.” “But how do you know he is a crook?” | “He is, Bill, o° man—he is,” said Judson | earnestly. went to get a drink out of him one night, and he palmed off a cu saying that it contain “* And now Flick writes and tells me that they are trying to rush this wedding through,” said Bill. “I’ve been putting “I didn’t tell you before, but I | of cocoa on me, | nourishing fats.”’ | messages in the Agony Column of the | Record every day, so we’ve kept in touch, and this morning I get a letter from her saying that they want to have the wedding come off next week. I seem to see myself letting them do it!” growled Bill. “If they | try to start anything like that I'll take | Flick away and marry her and get a job of some kind—any sort of job; just something that will carry us along till 1 make good.” “ H’m—yes,” “The only trouble is, Bill, o’ man, when it comes to getting jobs I should imagine that you’re a sort of Halfway Henry.” “A Halfway Henry?” “A fellow with not enough brains to own streets and too much to sweep them,” ex- plained Judson. “T’ll sweep ‘em, if it comes to that! You don’t know what love is, or you would realize that a man will do anything for the gir! he wants to marry.” The butterfly existence of a bachelor suited Judson so perfectly that this sort of thing was rather above his head. “Can't say I've ever wanted to marry myself,” he mused. “Still, I -suppore there’s something to be said for it. Must make a fellow feel pretty good, I imagine, to get up and say, ‘No more, boys! Not any more for me! Got to be going now. Little woman waiting for me at home!'”’ “Exactly,” agreed Bill, pleasantly sur- prised at this evidence of sentiment in one whom he had supposed incapable of the finer emotions. “But then,” proceeded Judson thought- fully, ‘“‘there’s the other side of the pic- ture—when you sneak home at three in the morning and tiptoe up the steps and shove the key quietly into the keyhole, which you unddly oiled the day before, and turn the lock without a sound—only to discover said Judson doubtfully. | Williams Aqua Velva Makes your skin Smile/ QUA VELVA is from a new formula based on a scien- tist’s study of the skin after shaving. 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40 Watch This Column | manner about the table. | volted for speech. THE SATURDAY that she has put the chain on the door. You've got to look at it from every angle, Bill, o’ man.” Bill beckoned to the waiter, who had re- appeared and was hovering in a meaning e was too re- Once more he was regretting that necessity had compelled him ever to make a confidant of such a man. He paid the bill in silence and rose from the table. “One thing I’ve thought of,” said Jud- son, trotting in his wake down the aisle. “You'll have to get a license. Suppose you | have to make a quick job of it, you'll need n HOOT GIBSON “Her blue eyes sought the West afar, For lovere love the Western star’’— SIR WALTER SCOTT Here comes our boy “HOOT” again in a delightfully clean and exhilarating picture which bears the flavor of the circus and the Wild West, plus a love-story on horse- back with most unusual complica- tions. The title is ‘‘The Sawdust Trail’ — adapted from a Saturday Evening Post story by William Dud- ley Pelley, published under the name of ‘‘Ceurtin’ Calamity.’’ A real circus forms the picturesque background and HOOT is supported by JOSIE SEDGWICK, DAVID TORRENCE, CHAS. K. FRENCH end other ex- cellent players. The womanly charm and beauty of VIRGINIA VALLI will prove mighty alluring to you in ‘‘ The Signal Tower,” a cleen romance of rail- road people in which the main idea is Love vs. Duty. ROCKCLIFFE FEL- LOWES and WALLACE BEERY do such splendid work that they may be easily regarded as co-stars. The out- standing features are the thrilling railroad wreck, the very acme of realism, and the great fight in the tower. This picture was directed by Clarence Brown, who made ‘' The Acquittal.’’ Don’t get the idea from what I have been writing about clean pic- tures, that I am a “reformer.” Heaven forbid! What I am really trying to do is to please the most people and to make pictures that the whole family can see without a aingle blush. So, I have in- structed our directors to make clean pictures, because I am, sure that’s what the people really want. Champion JACK DEMP.- SEY has become so deeply inter- ested in the ‘Fight end Win’’ pictures he it making for Universal that he has kept the directors and his supporting players constantly on the jump. I believe these pictures will register a real triumph. (arl faemmle President | must be fo | again visit the cathedral, and those long | hours of waiting sufficed only to give him a | most intimate acquaintance with those UNIVERSAL PICTURES 1600 Broadway, New York City | a license. Can’t get action without a license.” “T’ve got a license,” said Bill coldly, and spoke nc more till they were in their seats at the Alhambra. And then it was only to say, “Shut up!” to his companion, whose researches in the program had caused him to start babbling excitedly. “But it must be the same,” Judson was arguing with animation, thrusting his pro- gram into Bill’s face and indicating the name of one of the personnel of the ensem- ble with an eager finger. “Prudence Stryker—such an unusual name. Must be the same girl I used to know in the Follies back in New York. I'll tell you in a second directly the chorus come on. . . . Yes There she is! Second girl from that end. THE Presently Alden also tock his departure, | and now, for the hour was late, returned to his hotel and to his bed—but not to sleep. | The day had brought to him too much for | that, too much of romance, of glamour; too much that Boston could not offer, nor the Back Bay equai. If, he thought, he should be obliged to return to America tomorrow | his journey across the sea had been well | repaid The days which held Friday evening at a distance lessened one by one, though they seemed to linger and to take their departure most reluctantly. Alden did not encounter again the ubiquitous Mrs. Jack, so he could not ask her if his princess was to appear— which added a flavoring of anxiety to his impatience. He did show admirable re- straint by not patrolling the street to which he had followed her on the day of their first encounter; but if he showed an ex- traordinary interest in Ghiberti’s doors on the baptistery hard by the Duomo, that rgiven him. But she did not magnificent bronze portals whose forty- eight years of fashioning served as a school for most of the men whose names became immortal in Florence’s golden day of art. It was with difficulty that he prevented himself from being guilty of the gaucherie of presenting himself at the palace of Mrs. Jack’s sister in mid-afternoon, but what- ever one may charge against Beacon Street and Commonwealth Avenue, they are willing to suffer for their ideals and have trained their wills to serve their code. He almost succeeded in being late. The principessa was not yet arrived, but Mrs. Jack, quick to catch the disappoint- ment on his face, reassured him. “Alice snared her,” she said, ‘‘so show your happiest face. It was an achievement of diplomacy, though. The Principessa Faustina has not appeared in society for six months.” “T am more than grateful,” Alden said. “Wait till you've got her—and had her five years—then report. Maybe you'll cut me dead, Young man, I’ve had experionce.” “Don't put ideas in the young man’s head,” said Mrs. Jack’s sister. “‘As a matter of fact,”’ she said in her sparrowlike manner, “‘most marriages are endurable, and some of them are fifty per cent pleasant.” “I’m trying to keep up with you,” Alden laughed, “but you've gained a full lap. You forget I haven’t even met the young lady.” “But you're in love with her,”’ said Mrs. Jack's sister, ‘Don’t dare tell me you're not,” “Tf that were all there is to it?” “‘What more?” asked Mrs, Jack. “Well, for instance, there’s her being in love with me—and her being a princess, and all that.” EVENING POST Well, I’m darned! Fancy her being over here!”’ He relapsed into a momentary silence, only to emerge once more with a long and rambling s' , toldina hissing undertone, about the night when he and Jimmy Boole and fey fg naw and Miss Stryker and a pal of Miss Stryker’s whose name was on the tip of his tongue and a pal of Miss Stryker’s pal whose name had sounded like Biscuit, only it could hardly be that—any- way, something that had sounded very like Biseuit—had gone to celebrate Jimmy’s birthday down at that place in Greenwich Village and Freddy had got so plastered and tried to play the trap drums, though in his calmer moments, mark you, Freddy would have been the first to admit that he knew about as much about playing trap drums as ——— “Shut up!” said Bill. “Oh, all right,” said Judson, aggrieved. “ Anyway, it’s the same girl.” There is a brisk delirium about a mod- ern revue which, though entertaining to the carefree mind, has the unfortunate effect cf irritating, the man on whose soul any- thing in the nature of a deep problem weighing. It was not long before Bill, ren- dered distrait by thoughts of that letter from Flick, began to regret that he had been foolish enough to suggest this expedi- tion. The blare of the music and the rest- lessness of the chorus afflicted his nerves. By July 5,1924 the time the curtain fell at the end of the first portion of the entertainment he was convinced that he could endure no more. What he wanted was a long walk. “I’m going home,” he announced. “Going home!” gasped Judson. “But look here ——” “You needn’t come if you want to sit out the rest of it. I want to get away and think.” “Oh, think? All right then. See you later.” Bill left the Alhambra and, crossing Leicester Square, wandéred aimlessly in the direction of Piccadilly. After the heat and turmoil of the theater, the cool night air was like a caress. The sky was a deep and mysterious blue, picked out with little stars that winked down at him as he walked as if they knew how he felt and would have liked to do something to help. It was a night for lovers to stand beneath their ladies’ windows and —— Bill stopped so abruptly that he was nearly run down by a taxicab. He won- dered he had not thought of that before. Obviously there was but one place for him on such a night. He hailed the taxi, which, after some slight eloquence on the part of its driver, was about to move on. “Wimbledon Common,” he said. (TO BE CONCLUDED) GATE IN THE WALL (Continued from Page 7) “ Fiddlesticks!”’ said Mrs. Jack. “And here she is,”’ said the hostess; “and if she isn’t the loveliest thing in Florence I'll never give another dinner.” She was. Alden admitted it. As she poised an instant in the archway he de- clared in his heart that no artist, no sculptor in the golden days of this queen of cities ene left a record of beauty comparable to ers. “My dear,” exclaimed the hostess, “ you have made an old woman very happy!” “Your invitation was so sweet,” said the princi , ‘that I wanted to come.”’ She smiled, but there was a tinge of wistfulness in her smile. “For long I have not wanted to see people.” “This,” said the hostess, “is a young man I used to entertain by making noises like the animals in a zoo. He seems to have reached an age beyond that. If you find him tongue-tied or distant or difficult, re- member he comes from Boston, where it takes years of acquaintance to bring a thaw.” She accomplished the presentation and the princess extended a dainty hand. “Tt is the custom to shake hands in America, not so?” she asked in delightful English. “A custom I never appreciated before,’’ said Alden. “But he is not tongue-tied at all,” the princess said with a charming lift of her eyebrows. ‘‘He knows to make the com- pliment as any Italian.” “We've driven the Indians back quite a ways from Boston,”’ said Mrs. Jack, “and very few of us tuck our napkins in our collars.” “Oh, but I did not intend that,” said the girl, in pretty consternation. ‘‘All the world can know that America ——”’ “Tf you say it,”’ said Mrs. Jack, “I shall scream. Let’s not be politely international.” She shook her finger at Alden. “It has become the custom for Europeans to as- sume a kindly attitude toward America, but if ever I catch you letting one of them get away with it!” “T think I am afraid of Mrs, Gilbery,’ said the princess. “You're not,” said the, lady abruptly. “Nobody is. I wish to heaven they were.” Now Alden Ware was blessed with man- ner; it sat upon him by habit and carried on quite apart from will or consciousness. It was only that which prevented him from bringing the Back Bay into disrepute that evening, for, from beginning to end of it, he moved in a daze. He would have stared— he would have stared mutely and ap- pallingly— but it was impossible for a Ware to stare. He might even have tucked his napkin in his collar, as Mrs. Jack said Boston folk did not do, for the princess at his side was so much lovelier than the princess at a distance; the actuality of her than the dream; the os yoy the sweet- ness, the charm so much more mereene than the picture he had built for himself o what she would be, that his destruction was swift and complete. To Florence he had journeyed for romance, and romance sat by his side and chatted with him. But for all that, he acquitted himself well, and such were his ancestry and his training that the keenest eye could not have detected the depth of his infatuation. It was a creditable performance when one stops to consider, After all, there is much to be said for New England. So that first evening passed until the Principessa Faustina exhibited some little unease of manner and, turning to her hostess, said, ‘‘ Bianca was to have returned for me. She is late. Can something have happened? It is not her custom to be neglectful.” ‘Perhaps your car is waiting.” “We have no car,” said the principessa —- “Then I shall send you home in mine.” She gave directions to a servant. ‘And you, Mr. Ware—will you be so good as to see the principessa arrives at home without harm?” The girl opened her eyes wide at this— but she was among Americans, and her courtesy forbade any criticism of their customs, no matter how barbarous. And so it was that Alden came to sit beside her in his hostess’ limousine. It was more than he had dared to hope for. For moments his companion was a little more than reserved, for the situation was novel. Had she appreciated fully its novelty her reserve might have been more manifest; but she did not know that Bianca, her serving woman, had a few days before sent scurrying after this 2ry young man an urchin to trace him to his hotel. Nor did she know that a nephew of this same Bianca was a page in that hostelry, nor that by servants’ tattle Bianca knew a great deal more about the young man who had followed her mistress home than Alden dreamed could be discovered about him in Florence. Bianca had her schemes. And so it was that she, with hired carriage, had failed to appear for her mistress—a stout ‘interferer with the machinery of romance; an ample and whiskered old woman who hoped for the best, but did what she could to see that the best should arrive. The ride of twenty minutes was exquisite pleasure to Alden; it was not unpleasant to Faustina. She was conscious of a dignity and charm in this young man, a sort of solidity compelling respect, an at- titude toward herself which she was unable to define, but which was agreeably flatter- ing. Above all, ~~ whispered its mes- sage to youth. Reserve melted and they were gay. As the car halted before her door Alden crew a deep breath that was relative to a sigh. ‘I do not know the custom here. I am a stranger,” he said, ‘‘and if I commit a (Continued on Page 42) oh Rg ee

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THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 40) fault I beg you to lay it to ignorance rather than to intention to offend.” “T do not understand,” she said. “In my country if one wishes greatly to become one of the acquaintances or friends of a lady he is so fortunate as to meet, it is his privilege to ask her permission to wait upon her in her home.” “And you wish to become my friend?” “Greatly,” he said. She considered, shook her head. “Not now,” she said, and, perceiving the hurt look in his eyes, hastened to soften the rebuff. “It is not that—you are offensive to me.” Her use of the word betrayed a slight unease in his language. “It is that— that I see no one. For reasons. It would not be polite even for an American to ask the reasons.” “Then I may not come?” “It is impossible; no one may come. No, I shall tell you the reasons, for you come from ca, and I would not have one who is a stra and a t of my country mistake. It is not that I would not receive you, Signor Ware. It is not that I am what your Mrs. Jack Gilbery called tonight a snob. No. It is that— there is a grief, and matters I do not un- derstand.”’ Her voice trembled but did not break. “It is that I am unhappy for be- cause I love my father very much, but I have lost his love.” “That,” said Alden with conviction, “is impossib “ed : ‘By day,” she said—and having broken her reserve and spoken of her woe she found relief in telling it all toa ge pave ear—‘‘by day he avoids me. He will not look in my face. He hides from me. It is true. It breaks my heart. At night he goes away. I have asked him why and where, but he makes answers which do not answer. I feel that it is not good. No. That my father should leave his house upon some business each night, and come no more until far in the morning—it makes me to fear.” “Your father is a distinguished scholar. Perhaps it is that he is engaged in some research among the manuscripts in the library.” “If it were that,” she said, “he would tell me.” She caught her breath. “Since the war,” she said, “we are very poor. I do not grieve. No. I grieve that I have lost my father’s love. But it has changed him so. Ah, if you could but see how he was and how he is since the misfortune. In those days he had the power to make all ds he was near. It was wonder- ful. Now he sees no friend. He grows aged. He livesin secret. It is my fear that he tries at night to make money by playing games. “Gambling?” “That is your word. Yes. Or that he is engaged in some planning--which he would not ch me know of. You will pardon that I speak so much of what is private to one aa I must give my reasons. Is it not?” Alden bent toward her and she met his eyes. ‘‘l am patient,” he said. “Patient?” “T remain in Florence,” he said. “I shall stay and stay and stay—until you find you may admit me to your friendship.” “Signor!” “T will not worry you—not in the littlest—but always I shall be here, wait- ing.” Then he smiled. “But you must not think harshly of me if I hope that sometimes we may meet as we have met tonight—or even if I try to bring it about. You will not always refuse invitations?” “Oh, signor, it is not thus it isdone. I— ou have bewildered me. I do not know. es, it may be that sometimes I will accept an invitation—sometimes.” So it became the business of Alden Ware’s life to see to it that the Princess Faustina and himself were invited to dinner by hostesses whom it would be difficult for her to refuse; and he succeeded, not, per- haps, beyond his deserts, but far beyond his expectations. In the course of a month he dined beside the principessa no less than four times, nor did he neglect his oppor- tunities, Even Mrs. Jack, who was im- patient with modern young men, admitted that Alden courted with efficiency and with fervor. But that he made progress was a thing no man or woman eyes sharp enough to see. The princess locked her thoughts tightly, so tightly that Alden, buoyed by the bright hopes of his youth, was iven no food for hope to feed upon. But e came to know the girl, for—confidence EVENING POST established in this foreign young man— she did not hesitate to be her natural self in his presence, nor, after that first night’s disclosures, to talk with him more freely than she would talk with any other human being. He came to know her, and his. knowledge but deepened his admiration and his love. She was proud, not with the New Eng- land pride with which he wrs acquainted, but with that older, perhaps not finer but more comprehensible pride cast upon her like a radiance by centuries of noble an- cestors. It, like the New England pride, is not conscious of itself in its finest flowering, but is more easily injured, is conscious of wider gulfs, and is to be more cruelly, more acutely injured by what it deems, mis- takenly or rightly, to touch its code of honor. It may be artificial; it may set fictitious values upon fictitious wares, but when it is true to itself it is a splendid thing, let soviet and socialist and parlor reformer say what they will. Somehow the bape goo Faustina re- minded Alden often and often of that other princess who felt the rose leaf through any number of mattresses. She was to him a princess from a fairy tale, and he, when he came to scrutinize himself, reached the conclusion that he was ill-fashioned indeed for a Prince Charming. Yet he did not despair. Patience he possessed, and grim determination—and something wh‘ch grew from glamorous attraction, from youthful infatuation, to the stature and force of a fine, devoted, deathless love. Mrs. Jack— plain-spoken, delightful, helter-skelter old meddler that she was— became his ally and champion. She drew freely on her store of acquaintance with life and an uncanny insight into the reasons and ramifications of the nature of women, and did him much good. She was more acute than wise, more observing than philo- sophical, and not at all tolerant of any- thing; and it was her claim that she had no high regard for any human beings, but more especially not for women, being one of them and possessed of no vanities. She engineered for him what he could not have engineered for himself, and ventured what he would never have dared. But the height of her venturing was to invite a party of notables to a dinner in the risiorante La Buca, which Alden had discovered and had taken her to see. It was the sort of thing she liked to do, uncvaventional, upsetting to her foreign friends, but nevertheless enjoyed by them under pressure of her personality. In the language of the day, Mrs. Jack possessed the attribute of being able to get away with it; and knowing this well, she got away with more than the wildest fancy of her Continental friends could imagine. They feared her, but they loved her. She had a vogue without wishing for a vogue; she was a power while being careless of power, and over and above it all, as the young undersec- retary of the American Embassy put it dis- respectfully, she was a good egg. “T've arrived at a time of life when, heaven knows, the most catty couldn’t muss up my reputation. And so, at last, I can have a good time.” This was her dictum, and she lived up to it. The dinner at La Buca was to be of a Friday night, and Mrs. Jack commissioned Alden to make the arrangements. It was to be an affair if the guest list could con- stitute an affair, for there were to be present the American Ambassador and his wife, popular figures in Italy; a great French novelist; the actual charming gentleman who was son to Husein, Arab king of the Hejaz; a duke and duchess—and others of such varied and glittering society as may be found in Florence during the season. The Principessa Faustina had been bullied into acceptance, and Alden was walking on air. Alden arranged for a table at the left of the inner room, and left the matter of food to the Brothers Molossi, who were amply to be trusted in that respect. This done, he continued to occupy his time until the ge! See walking up and down the streets, not with an eye to architecture, but in the tenuous hope of catching a — of Faustina. He was a young man who did things with thoroughness and a single mind. The party was conveyed from Mrs. Jack's to La Buca, a brief ride during which Alden experien the joy of riding beside the principessa. If his pleasure was dimmed by the additional presence of an ambassador and an am ress he did not let it be known. He conducted them down the narrow stone steps, warning them at the July 5, 1924 right place to duck their heads under the threatening timber, and the oldest Brother Molossi showed them to their table with many gestures and grimaces of welcome. The musicians were already there, for it was mid-evening, and from the first mo- ment the party promised to be a tremen- dous success. From king’s son to Boston commoner, all were in carnival humor, adventurous, ay as only brilliant people can be gay, and the trousers of Caruso more than warranted all Alden’s enthusiastic press notices of them. No sooner had they settled themselves than the little fat tenor arose, fingering the enormous folds of his chin deprecatingly and thinking, doubtless, of the horn sheep upcn which he had was his So pee voice. His round onion eyes made is apologies with that touch of diffident humor which seemed to live in them, and then concertina and guitar commenced the accompaniment to Santa Lucia, that song loved of the populace of Florence. His face grew redder and redder, his button nose pointed higher and higher, his gelatin cheeks quivered, and he was at his best. Even those clear, wonderfully powertul high notes were with him tonight. Per- haps Chianti had wafted away the fog in his throat of which he so often complained, and, ‘as he finished, the room burst into an uproar of <a. The barytone with the sad parenthetical eyes smiled wanly and his parenthetical mustache and paren- thetical eyebrows took on an additional roop. The bibulous master of the concertina maintained that stolidity from which he never departed save in times of such stress as when Caruso dropped a five-lira note on the floor and could not find it under the feet of the patrons. Then he, too, demon- strated the soul of an artist. “TI am glad I have come,” said the Lang om or Faustina to Alden. “It makes me to feel gay and to laugh. He is so droll, not so? And the eyebrows of the man with the guitar—so wonderful eyebrows. It was you who made that Mrs. Gilbery invited us here.” “Tf you enjoy it,” Alden said, “the place has justified itself.” “Such a big words!” she exclaimed. “Come, we shall be comfortable and speak in Italian. Then I shall remember big words to bewilder you.” She was happy as a child, charming, taking on new beauties with her un- accustomed vivacity. Alden never before had seen her so. She bubble4 with talk and laughter. This, he thought, was her true self, a wonderful self, a self so lovable as to bring to her feet the whole masculine world. The desire to tell her so, the demand of words of love to have themselves spoken, became almost a physical pain, “Ts there more?” she demanded. “Oh, I want much more! I want to laugh. I want to enjoy.” “There is much more,” he said. ‘‘ Wait until the man with the concertina plays his castanets against Garuso’s nose.”’ “Make him to do it—at once!” she cried, and Alden called out, as was the cus- tom of the place, making known the princi- pessa’s request. “ And then?” she asked. “Then comes the best of all,” he said, “but it is a surprise. I have told not even Mrs. Jack.” “But you shall tell me.” “Not even you. You must wait.” “Cruel,” she said, and smiled into his eyes. The castanet player was demonstrating his many skill—and a method of his own. He held the castanets in his left hand and rattled them with the nimble fingers of his right, not at all in the Spanish manner. It was amazing—and he ac- complished the most absurd feats. He played tunes on Caruso’s nose while that gentleman endeavored to remain dignified and self- . He wrung humor from the little wooden clappers themselves until Alden thrilled to the happy laughter of the girl at his side. “Oh,” she said, “you do give me the good evening. I make you many thanks.” It was during this time that from the back of the room came subdued greetings: “The Cavalier.” “A good evening, Cava- lier.” “A glass of Chianti, Cavalier.” “You must not look,” said Alden. “He is here—but you must not look until I say the word.” “Who is it that is here?” “The Cavalier. But you shall see.” (Continued on Page 44)

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It was a kindly old face in spite of fierce white mustaches and imperial, and Alden wondered what tragedy must lie behind, what story of disappointment, of undeserved failure. What turning of the world could have brought this artist of the first class to si for coins thrown upon a plate in La Buca The old man faced them, and lifted an empty fiasco from the table. It was to be the drunken man. “Now you may look,” said Alden. “But | watch his face! Watch the changes of his face.” Faustina turned her head while Aiden | settled back to enjoy her beg Ape pe looked, Alden heard first a little sound in her throat as if she choked. He saw her eyes grow nn and black, her cheeks lose their color. Her hands closed upon the cloth of the table and she half arose to her feet—and then she glanced for an instant at Alden with a look in her eyes which he would never forget. In them he read horror—horror of something she saw, and hatred of himself for compelling her to see it, And then she looked again at the Cava- lier. Her features softened; grief, woe unspeakable, showed themselves to his un- comprehending eyes. And then something very fine and admirable—something he was able to recognize as courage such as he had never seen. The Cavalier was rambling on, the room rocking with laughter at his mimicry. Slowly the principessa got to her feet, nor dared Alden put forth a restraining hand. She got to her feet and stood straight and slender, white and motionless, staring at the Cavalier. In a moment his eyes encountered hers. His voice seemed to clog, to stumble. The absurd expression of maudlin wisdom van- ished from his face to leave cheeks white as the hair upon his venerable head, and with an involuntary gesture he lifted his arms to the height of his waist and dropped them again. Silence fell. The diners sensed that a thing was happening before their eyes. Faustina pushed back her chair and took a step toward the Cavalier, astep and another step. “Father! Father! Is it this ———” Her voice failed. The old gentleman swayed, gripped the table for support, and averted his face. He spoke no word, Faustina continued to advance under all those prying, curious eyes, which must have seared her pride as with white-hot irons. “Come, father—we must go,” she said in a cold dead voice. The Cavalier did not move, did not speak. He dared not raise his eyes to his daughter's face, but Alden saw two dread tears of agony course down his cheeks. Faustina was at his side now, and Alden’s heart stood still. What was to come? How was this girl’s soul to manifest itself in this hour of calamity? She lifted her hand and gently touched the cheek of the old rince, her father, and it was to be seen ow he quivered. Then, before them all, conscious or un- conscious of scores of staring eyes, she threw her arms about his neck and pressed her soft cheek to his. “Father, Father. Dearest father!” she said softly—and there was no accusation in her voice, no humiliation, no anger—only love and a great, deep, wonderful pity. Alden was standing. As Faustina began to craw her father away, to lead him toward the door, he pressed toward her. When he stood at her side she became aware of him, and fixing him with hard repellant eyes she said clearly, so that all might hear, “How dare you intrude, sir! Have you not done enough ae gl e boy stood, pes. humiliated, aghast at tnis ending to the joyous evening of his planning. e stood staring after father and daughter until they climbed the narrow stairs and passed through the ancient stone doorway. And then he followed in the footsteps, not following them, but seeking the air, demanding space and Hat- less he plunged into the alleyway, and hatless he paced the cobbled streets of Florence until dawn broke in the east. EVENING POST Without sleep, without breakfast, he sought Mrs. Jack at an hour earlier than decency sanctioned, but met her issuing from her door. “Young man,” she said with compressed lips, “I was going to your hotel. Where have you been? What have you been doi What are you going to do?” “|-what can I do, Mrs. Jack?” “H’m. Don’t dare stand there and tell me that your Back Bay pride is in the saddle. Don’t dare to do it. What if her father did sing in a restaurant? What of it? Is it anything for you and your family and your neighbors to stick up your noses at? ee it does get out at home that the old dear sang for five-lira notes chucked onto a plate—what of it? He’s a prince just the same, and she’s a princess, and they were noble when Bunker Hill was an ant heap.” Her heat mounted. “I’m ashamed of you. You—you’re insular. You make me blush for my birth. Be still! I say he’s an old precious. Think of what it meant for him. Think of that! If he had a million ancestors not one of them ever did a thing that approached it. Not one. I--I would get down on my knees to him. And all for her. That’s love! The bearer of one of the noblest names in Florence to turn mountebank to keep his daughter wearing the clothes of decency. Do you think he didn’t die a fresh death every night? You and your little horizon! I—you—don’t ever dare ts speak to me again “But, Mrs. Jack,” expostulated the be- wildered ares boy, ‘‘I—you’re wrong. It’s not that. It’s that I did it. I am to blame for her being there—and facing that. What can I do? Whatever can I do?” “Do, you young idiot! Go marry her. If she won’t see you, break in! Climb the wall. She hates you. Of courseshe hates you. But what of it? I went there last night and had the door slammed in my face. i'm going to let them slam it again this morning if they get any solace out of it. here’s my car. If you want to be able to look at yourself in the glass without blush- ing, get into it and scoot!” “But’’—he looked at her beseechingly — “what can I say?” She sniffed. “Say? Say ‘I love you.’ If she won’t come into the room say it loud enough for her to hear in the next room. If you can't get into the house, shout it from the street. She’s wounded. She's bleeding. She’s bruised in something more fragile than her flesh, and that’s her pride. Poultice it with love. Are you going to stand there all day like a gawk?” Before he could plan, before he could formulate the difficult words he was to utter, Alden found himself beside the door in the wall surrounding the old palace arden. He pushed the bell. The delay fore response was of the briefest and he found himself peered at through a cautious crack by no less a person than Bianca. Her face was not clement. He handed her a card which she received stolidly. ‘Will you ask your mistress if she will receive me?’’ he asked clumsily enough. She withdrew, wordless, shutting the gate and leaving him to nose against its inhospitality. Bt yo f she returned. “The princess,”’ said she harshly, “di- rects me to say to the signor that she does not wish to see him at this time nor at any time in the future.” Having delivered this message she did not close the gate, but remained peering into his face with shrewd, eager old eyes. What she saw must have given her satis- faction. “Will the signor forgive an old woman?” “What is it, Bianca?” “Ts the signor bold and determined?” “T do not understand.” “Would the signor see my mistress at any cost to his dignity? Would he, perhaps, put his body in peril?” “Bianca,” said Alden in his misery, “I think I would risk my life to see your mistress’ face at a distant window.” “That,” said the old woman with a nod, “is love.” “It is love,” said Alden. “T, whom you see here, have known it. It is good—though the young do not clearly understand the nature of it. Signor, I am July 5, 1924 but an old woman and a servant, but I worship my little mistress as if she were of the bl ts. She would send me away from her forever if she knew I thus ied words with you—and then I should die. But one takes risks for love such as mine—and such as yours. I would see her happy, signor, if it be but for a day or a year. And there is no other road to happiness but this one you are walking. It isthe truth. I, who have lived long, know.” “But she will not see me, Bianca. What can I do?” “TI dare not admit you. I dare not. Nevertheless, if the signor is not afraid, and if he loves my little mistress as a man should love, he will find that, twenty paces to his left, this wall may be climbed. There are places for the hands and feet. The library is at the left of the entrance, signor. My master is there. It would be well to avoid it. On the right is a small room, and there my mistress weeps. I have said my say.” With that she closed the door softly. Alden hesitated an instant. His in- herited instincts were all against the climb- ing of walls and the forcing of his presence upon young women who repulsed him; but he took resolution, scrutinized the wall for the promised handholds, and in an instant was astride the coping. For an instant he felt indescribably foolish before he dropped into the garden and so burned his bridges behind him. But there he discovered that it was a far different matter to enter bur- glariously a dwelling house than it is to scale a garden wall. He faced the grim stone facade of the building apprehensively. It was not that he was afraid of the police, nor that he was alarmed for his personal safety; but he was in a state of terror lest he be made to be absurd. This was but a momentary phase. He asked himself what was any humiliation he might suffer compared to the humiliatior: the principessa suffered the night before, and then, a trifle tardily, he remembered his love for the laay herself and picked his way toward the stone archway, under which the door s ajar. For all his resolution he could not help wishing he came sword in hand with rascals to fight and blood to be shed rather than in a neat four-in-hand tie with nothing more dreadful in view than a scornful command to leave the premises. In the good ancient days they stabbed a man but did not laugh at him. They took their romance seriously. Nevertheless, he did not draw back, even when he reached the door, which evidently Bianca had left ajar for him. He opened the door and entered boldly—at least he would not sneak and cringe like a porch climber—and stood in the square, bare, cold-tiled hall. And there he made a de- cision in which his stiff-necked Puritan ancestors had no small part. Instead of approaching the door behind which Bianca had informed him he would find the principessa he turned toward the door of the room in which sat the prince. The old gentleman sat in a stiff-backed chair staring before him with eyes that did not see. Iden advanced into the room and waited, but the prince did not per- ceive him, so that it was necessary for the young man to continue until he could have reached out to touch the other before his presence was recognized. Then the prince raised himself half erect by his arms and dropped again into his chair. “Sir,” said Alden, praying for words, ‘I can offer no excuse for this intrusion, but I can give a reason,” . The prince’s eyes scrutinized his face, not in alarm, but rather with offended dignity; then Alden saw recognition kindle and resentment flame. “T know you,” said the prince; “you were often there.” “Often.” “And have you followed me here to demand a song of me; or shall I, perhaps, impersonate for you the wine drinker?” “IT came because there is something I must say to you. I presented myself at our door, but was refused admission. here was nothing to do then but to climb your wall and force myself upon you.” “A strange method—but whe am I to object to methods? Nor am I of an age to eject you. Make your offer, but be no more offensive than the nature of your business demands.” For an instant Alden did not compre- hend; then he understood. The prince knew him, recognized him as a habitué of La Buca, and took it to be fact that his (Continued on Page 46)

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A set of Lincoln Shock Absorbers will make a world of difference in the riding qualities of your car. You don't have to pick your way or crawi at a snail's pace over a stretch of rough, rutted road or broken-down paving. These quick-acting Lincolns control the springs by snubbing the sudden rebounds that cause shocks and bounces. They come in sizes for all cars. Experts can tell you they are the simplest, strongest, fastest working and most satisfactory shock absorbers on the market. For All Cars—$15 to $36 Per Set of Four LINCOLN PRODUCTS COMPANY 2649-59 No. Kildare Ave., Chicago Export Dept., 431 8S. Dearborn St., Chicago Canadian Factory: Lincoln Products Company, Ltd., Montreal LINCOLN SHOCK ABSORBERS EVENING POST (Continued from Page 44) intrusion must have some connection with that place, or another place desiring to make use of the genius the old man realized the ion of. Alden flushed. That he should be mis- taken for the agent of a cabaret was not flattering, and for an instant his eyes hardened with resentment. But it was of brief duration. The old prince sitting there under weight of his affliction, suffering under what he must have regarded as blackest crime against his name and paonge, nevertheless was wholly admirable. suffered, but no mark of suffering was permitted to exhibit itself to this stranger, nothing but a calm splendid dignity. It was splendid—the manner in which he awaited the fresh, the supreme affront which he foresaw—the bartering for his services as a mountebank. Alden did a thing which his training and his city had ill equipped him to perform; he stepped for an instant out of his character as an American, became Old World, possessed of a manner not ashamed of some degree of exaggeration. He stepped back a pace and bowed from the waist, and into that bow he managed to put respect, admiration, esteem, those things for which the old man’s soul must most greatly have hun- gered. “Prince de’ Billiati,’’ he said, “‘I came to say two things. The second of these is that never in my short life have I been com- pelled by any man’s conduct to such respect and admiration as by your own.” The speech did not sound stilted in that room and in those circumstances. “I was,present last night. I went out from that place knowing that I had stood in the presence of the greatest courage of which man is capable. That is the second thing I came to say.” “It is not what I expected to hear,” said the prince. “And the first thing you came to say?” Alden gathered words. He was not aware that other eyes beheld him than the — or that other ears listened. Had iis ears been attentive he might or might not have heard a soft rustle at the door. There may have been no rustle. “The first thing I came to say,’ he began, “is, that though | know I am un- worthy the daughter of such a father, or of the father of such a daughter, I love the Principessa Faustina with all my heart and soul. It was to say that to her that I came, that I have forced my way here. It seemed to me that I could not be at peace until she knew it as I know it.” “You are magnanimous, sir,”’ said the prince coldly. To that Alden had no reply to make. The words hurt him as he had never been hurt, wronged him, put upon his young honesty and fine youthful intentions an unendurable taint. All this showed upon his face with such fidelity that the prince lifted his hand and said in a voice somewhat altered, ‘‘I wish, sir, to withdraw those words.” Alden bowed, and presently continued. “T love your daughter,” he said. “All I | ask is your permission to tell her as I have told you. “Have you reason to suppose she will | wish to hear you?”’ DEALERS /n the past season the demand for Lincolns has more than trebled. Write and let us show you | how to open a Lincoln Department | and get the bulk of your loval chock absorber business. Ask also jor name of jobber in your territory who distributes Lincolns. “None.” July 5,1924 There fell a brief musing pause, which the prince ended by saying, “ You are the American.” Alden’s heart bounded at this. So she had mentioned him to her father! “I am an American. My name is Alden Ware.” The prince nodded. ‘My daughter de- clined to receive you. What do you hope to gain by my permission?” “Nothing but the privilege of telling her face to face what is the truth: That I love her with all my strength, and honor her —_ all my soul—to beg her to become my wife.” “You are young, and have, perhaps, been bitten by the butterfly of romance. You will have no regrets? I know some- thing of the pride of the people from which you spring.” “Romance! I had forgotten romance,” said Alden. “But there is romance, and I confess that I am romantic—without shame. I have dreamed of being your daughter’s knight, of wearing her glove! I want to be her knight, sir, and you may laugh at me if you will. My heart is hers, I am hers, all I possess is hers—and, if she would, knowing my love, toss me her glove from a window as I pass, and nothing more—I should be content. But those things do not happen. Even that is more than I may hope.” “You would marry the daughter of a man who played the clown in a cheap wineshop?’ ‘I would marry the daughter of the man who proved himself the finest gentleman living by doing that thing,” said Alden. The prince bowed. “After all,” he said, “youth and the romantic point of view alone may stand upon the heights. But we old men have our pride. It may be some- thing less worthy than pride. I am un- aware of my daughter’s opinion of you, but I cannot grant you the permission you ask. We have come so low that we may accept nothing.”” He arose. ‘“‘Good morning, Mr. Ware.” He extended his hand. “That is all, — “My daughter has declined to receive you. There remains nothing to discuss. It seems she has taken her decision.” Alden turned, having no recourse but to bow his acquiescence and withdraw. The prince remained standing, following him with kindly, sorrowful eyes. The boy passed from the house, down the graveled walk and through the gate in the wall. Then with reluctant steps he turned to the left, past the uprearing of the rugged stone wall of the old palace, his head bowed, his heart sore and despairing as only the heart of youth may become. He had journeyed to Florence for romance; he had found it, and it had dealt ill with him. Above his head was a tiny window nag the masonry—a window crossed »y iron bars which must have had some ancient story to tell. A hand, a small white hand, appeared, birdlike. Some- thing gra ish and soft dr Mig? at Alden’s feet, and he stopped, stared, lifted it in his fingers. It was a glove, still warm and fragrant. He held it, unbelieving, in his palm; he stared upward unavailingly. For a moment he stood immovable, then his chin lifted from his chest, his eye glowed, his heart sang, and he turned to retrace his steps toward the gate in the wall. SHORT TURNS AND ENCORES (Continued from Page 24) mother, Mr. Wallace’s mother, the nurse and the baby. It was the only thing to do. If that baby had lived it would not have been more than two years before he would have been reciting the story of Chicken Licken and Henny Penny. On the whole, it was & good day’s work. I met Irma Hyde at the dinner that the | Blakes gave to celebrate the fact that they were still living together after two years of married life, “I'm putting you next to Irma Hyde,” Mary Blake whispered to me, “‘ because I’m sure you'll like her. She’s very literary; quite a highbrow, in fact.” “They tell me you write,” said Irma when we were seated at the table. “Yes,”’ I murmured gloomily. “How thrilling,” she said. ‘You must meet such interesting oe on he ently. “Charley Dickens and Bill Thackeray are my dearest friends. And hardly a day passes that I don’t see the late Lord Tennyson ——”’ “How suleregy adorable,” said Irma. “Do you know, I get the most wonderful ideas for stories, only I don’t get time to write them. If you and I could get together some evening I could tell you the ideas and you could write them.” “That would be grand,” I said without enthusiasm. “Wouldn’t it!” said Irma. ‘ Here’s one that would make an awfully cute story. This actually happened to a girl I went to school with; she used to be my married sister’s chum,” “Won’t you have an olive or something?” I said. “It seems that this girl—I’ll just give you the outline, and of course you can write it up in your own way; this girl ——”’ Surreptitiously I slip one of the bichloride-of-mercury tablets that I always with me into Irma’s gin. ‘She died shortly after, they tell me, in horrible agony. It served her right. —Newman Levy.

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Increase Your Week-End Touring Radius / Interesting Scenery RE youa boulevard tourist? Do you stick to the same old familiar routes within smooth, easy distance from home? If you do, you're losing the big “kick” in motoring. For the real joys lie in the open spaces—reached in the same driving time if you have a power- ful, easy-riding car. Look at the map above. What delights await you weekly if you had a car that would make such trips as surely and as comfortably as the powerful Jewett. Perhaps you hesitate, with good reason, to attempt such longer trips with a lighter, less able car than Jewett, although it cost about what Jewett costs. But Jewett, remember, is built for hard service, high mile- age, recreation without vexation. Why Be a Concrete Crawler? If you're going to have any fun on your week-end trips you've got to have a car that can get away from the army of concrete crawlers—take side roads comfortably. Touring $1065 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Jewett increases your touring radius be- cause it has big six power and performance. Think of the thrill of handling full 50 horse- power in a Paige-built motor! Sustained speed is yours, easily, quietly, safely, indefinitely! “Big-League’’ Power—That’s Why You will notice Jewett’s amazing power countless times daily in its quick getaway. You run around the “crawlers.” Accelerate from 5 to 25 miles an hour in 7 seconds in high. You will notice Jewett’s power in marvelous pull- ing over poor roads—in scampering up hard hills in high where most cars shift or stall. Whatever your route you breeze steadily along in Jewett, conscious always of “big- league” power. Whatever your speed or route, comfort is yours in Jewett—comfort you never dreamed possible. Jewett weighs 2805 pounds— 200 to 400 pounds more than “light” sixes. There's a 6-inch-deep frame; Paige-Timken axles, front rts / i ln Where's the fun in just driving around town? In All The World No Car Like This and rear; all-steel universal joints. Jewett is husky. Its substantial weight makes it hug the road, even at the higher speeds Jewett own- ers enjoy. You go farther and finish fresher because of Jewett’s club-chair comfort. All Jewett bodies are loungy. Seats are com- fortable; tilted just right. Lots of legroom for the tallest. No cramped positions. Master of Miles—$1065 Increase your touring radius. Get the real fun out of motoring—cover new ground— reach strange places. You can do it with a Jewett! Sample the open roads and the by- ways. Leave the city tourists behind. Thrill to the delights of rolling country. ‘Visit that camp or lodge. Have a real demonstration in a Jewett. You'll find that, for $1065, you can be in company with splendid cars costing much more than Jewett, which are known for their easy mastery of miles. There's a Jewett dealer waiting to show you. (624) Coupe $1250 Brougham $1325 Sedan $1495 Prices at Detroit. Tax Extra De Luxe Touring $1220 De Luxe Sedan $1695 WETT SIX, ——PAIGE BUILT- a 4 (es: Was ms — ~- = VU

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THE SATURDAY There's the Place Wherever you see the United Motors oval sign you can be sure that there’s the place for real service. Thousands of authorized representatives of United Motors supply repair parts and specialized service on the eight nationally-known equipments shown on the official sign. It isn’t mere chance that you find United Motors author- ized service wherever you go. It is the result of a national service system which has been carefully worked out to serve you. Surely it’s good business judgment to see to it that genuine repair parts and specialized service are fully utilized in any work done on your Car. Write now for our latest Directory of Authorized Service Stations. ES ita “4 Pal = * SEL eres ‘a i my, ze - a -Unrrep Morors SERVICE INCORPORATE! EVENING POST July 5,1924 PEP LETTER NO. 3 (Continued from Page 9) he would go on to Martinsville and be there to start selling first thing in the morning. But his call average was shot to pieces now. Well, no need to stand here for half an hour. Might walk around the burg. But not with this heavy baggage. Why not leave it inside the door of Katzenberger’s store? He picked up the bags and stepped to the door. Katzenberger himself was standing in the doorway frowning down Main Street, wishing there was some way of waking up the town. ‘“‘ Mebbe a zale on something,” he was thinking to himself. Donaldson entered. ‘‘ Missed my car,” he explained. “So?” said Mr. Katzenberger absently. “Should think they’d run cars to Mar- tinsville oftener.”” “Too many they run now,” declared Katzenberger. ‘‘ People come ofer here to shop and rush around chust pecking at merchandise. No dime to look at anything. The next car. back they must catch. How can I zell them a bill of goods?”” It was a long speech for Katzenberger, but he felt deeply on this subject. ‘Two cars a day, I vould like to zee,”’ declared the merchant. “Chust two.” “Something in that,” agreed Donaldson. For fifteen or twenty minutes he stood there talking with the merchant. And then suddenly into his mind flashed the reply Katzenberger had made him when he had asked “How many rolls of this pat- tern could you sell if the price was right?” Katzenberger had replied momety, ae garload—eef the price vas right—but id ain’t.” Now just how much was there behind that remark? Katzenberger was not 2 man to deal in wild flights of imagination, nor yet in figures of speech. He was a man who thought down ps to the floor all the time, Caster-minded, as it were. He had actually thought carload or he would not have said carload.* And he could have the jobber’s discount on a carload order seventy-five rolls. “Mr. Katzenberger,” he shot the ques- tion, “how would you go about it to sell a carload of linoleam—if the price was right?” Mr. Katzenberger was no longer buying. He had given this young fellow an order. Now he was merely chatting, his hands behind his back, fingers interlaced, business guard down. “Vell,” he said thoughtfully, ‘‘mebbe I'd ut on a big zale,””’ Something in his mind gan to buzz. Sale? “Have a big Lino- leum Veek. Everywhere advertise it. Prind up some big circulars with special prices, by boys send them out everywhere—all over the coundry.” He was gesticulating with his hands now. ‘‘The front windows put full of linoleum all veek, and newspaper ads all over the coundry, ‘ Big Bargains in Lino- leum at Katzenberger’s this veek— Laying free. Come in and zee the new padderns, from the factory direct.’” He stopped as he caught the eager look in his listener’s eye. ‘‘That’s making belief like anybody could zell a garload,” he stated with a shrug, and tried to turn his attention indifferently to the vista of Main Street as it stretched out before them under the slanting rays of the afternoon sun. But it was too late. He had let down his guard to a very serious young salesman two thousand three hundred and eighty-five miles from a girl whose picture at that mo- ment came up between him and the 4:23 trolley for Martinsville, which stopped mo- mentarily in front of the door and was now rolling out again. IVE months after Katzenberger’s New York Furniture Store— Furniture, Car- pets. Crockery, Pianos on Easy Terms—had received and disposed of its carload of Beardsley linoleum in one grand big Lin- oleum Week, Arthur Donaldson was on his way home to the Annual Christmas Trav- elers’ Round-Up of the Beardsley Linoleum Company. And as his train rolled East, on some half dozen railroads solid cars of Beardsley linoleum were rolling West, each car consigned to an individual dealer in Donaldson’s territory. To go back a bit in our story, five months before Donaldson had returned to the town of his first carload order on telegraphic ad- vice from Katzenberger that the car had arrived; and for a solid week, lost to the home office, he had worked with that mer- chant to put on a linoleum sale that “‘cov- ered Webster County’s floors in a week,” as a free puff in the editorial columns of the Webster Daily Banner had expressed it. Then he had said a grateful good-by to Katzenberger and taken up the trail with a tried and proved plan for selling an entire carload of linoleum between sunup Monday morning and midnight Saturday night. In his sample case were page and half- page and —— Te newspaper ads, need- ing only minor changes to adapt them to any furniture store in any town. Also hand- bills and store placards and photographs of the three linoleum windows, not to mention a notebook full of ideas in connection with the sale. In his pocket was a letter from Wainright explaining how, by Watching his Watch and Standardizing His Sales Talk, he might speed up and increase his calls to an average of 4.12 and his sales to 3.337. But under his hat was a strong suspicion that no mat- ter how other things might be sold, the way to sell linoleum, in that country at least, was to forget all about railroad time-tables and interurban schedules, and just camp in a city or town until he had induced one furniture dealer in that town to buy a car- load of Beardsley linoleums, and then, leaving with that merchant the ideas and copy that would sell it when it arrived, go down to the railroad depot or the trolley station and wait for the next train or trolley to take him to the next town. Now, as he rolled East, he smiled to him- self as he went through the home-office- correspondence binder in his grip. Stopping at one letter he read with mock severity, “**T am pained to note, Mr. Donaldson, that your daily Call Average has fallen to 1.346 and My, my!” he chided himself mockingly. And then he turned to the suc- ceeding letters, with their at first veiled and then openly demanding requests for infor- mation as to how he was selling linoleum by the carload! He grinned broadly. To none of these re- quests had he given a satisfactory answer. To be sure, on Friday night of the week of Katzenberger’s sale he had written a long, enthusiastic letter to Wainright; telling all about the plan; and this letter he had meant to mail just as soon as the sale was successfully over on the morrow. But on Saturday noon the clerk at the Franklin House, where he had stayed that week, had handed out with his room key another baronial envelope. And this letter contained what had been to his mother a perfectly innocent piece of news, but one that had made Donaldson see red. “The only excitement this week has been the Tennis Club dance. Your father—yea, he is feeling much stronger now—and I went down for a short time to look on, and it was a pretty, pretty sight, I can tell you, with the beautiful decorations and the girls in their lovely evening frocks and the men in their Tuxedos. Let me see if I can remem- ber who was there. Well, there was Edna Gale with Roy Chatterton, and Mildred Leavitt with Harry Crabb, and that pretty little Virginia Crews with tall Will Andrews, and Eleanor Wheeler with your boss, Mr. Wainright, and ——” “Wainright!”’ he had gasped. Wainright! With Eleanor Wheeler? Why, he must be almost old enough to be her—well, her big brother, at least! But then, older men had always fallen for Eleanor—it must be her self-assurance. But —— Standing there in the lobby of the Frank- lin House he had reached into his pockets and drawn out his enthusiastic letter to Wainright, all ready to seal and mail as soon as he should have the final sales figures that evening; and stepping over to the wastebasket by the telephone booth he had torn it into shreds. Grim, challenging lit- tle shreds. Ped RESIDENT BEARDSLEY, of the Beardsley Linoleum Company, arrived from Florida on Monday and had himself driven right tothe office. President Beards- ley was one of those rarely gifted men who seem to be perfectly capable of running a business successfully by showing up at the office on alternate rainy Fridays in May and December. For one thing, he had the faculty of biting boldly into the hardest kind of business nut without breaking the kernel—or his teeth! And he always threw the shells away (Continued on Page 50)

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50 (Continued from Page 48) promptly, no matter what or who they were. By Tuesday noon President Beardsiey had bit into the sales-department nut. “He might make a good statistician, but he’s a heli of a sales manager,” had been his com- ment on that kernel after going over the portfolio of Individualized Pep Letters Nos. 1 to 8 inclusive which Wainright had sub- mitted to him as one of the most important exhibits in connection with his trial months of stewardship as sales manager. “Why doesn't he send the salesmen slide rules with time-tables printed on ’em, and be done with it?” he grunted. By Tuesday afternoon he had been re- minded tactfuliy that the men would arrive Thursday for the Annual Travelers’ Round-Up and—-of course he would not forget about the President’s Prize which would be presented at the big dinner Friday night. “Oh, yes, the President's Prize.” Well, he must look after that tomorrow when he went to the city. It was some- thing he never delegated, the selection of this prize. He enjoyed buying it. His method was to look around until he had found something that he would have only dared dream of himself in his younger days, and then buy it, regardless of price. A graphologist, studying President Beards- ley’s handwriting, would have known from the wide-open bottoms to his f’s and his g’s that niggardiiness was not one of his char- acteristics. When he gave, he gave some- thing handsome. The following day, in the city, after a luxurious luncheon at a luxurious café, with a luxurious cigar in his mouth, he strolled forth up the avenue, window-shopping for the President's Prize. First a perfectly wonderful piece of lug- gage in the window of an exclusive sporting- goods shop took his fancy. But he preaetly rejected that-—wasn’t startling enough. Then he almost bought a super something- or-other radio set concealed in a wonderful hand-carved cabinet, but voted that down as being of no use at all to a salesman on the road, And then he saw the watch! It was a watch such as he had dreamed of for years, but never supposed existed. A squarish watch with the handsomest dial he had ever seen, and the handsomest case he had ever seen, and the handsomest chain attached. Stepping into the store he announced, “T'll have that squarish watch in the window.” The clerk, a pimply faced young upstart, amiled condescendingly. “That watch and chain sell for fourteen hundred dollars, sir,”’ he informed him in what he tried to make an awesome tone. “Did I ask how much it cost?” snapped Beardsley. “I said I'd take it.” Which quite promptly changed the young man’s manner. Beardsley pulled out his check book and wrote a check for fourteen hundred dollars. “‘ Now hold this wateh until Mr. Wainright, the sales manager of my company, tele- paces you the inscription to engrave in tie nack case. And send the watch out io Hampden to my office—Beardsley Lino- leum Company—by special messenger Fri- day afternooon. Get it there by five o’clock without fail.” And he stalked out, satisfied. Meanwhile at the plant all was excite- ment, The men—twenty of them—had all arrived, and the place was overrun with them. Excited. Consumed with curiosit to know who had won the President’s Prize—for the Beardsley Linoleum Com- pany, unlike most companies, kept the men’s standing secret right up to the night of the banquet, figuring rightly or wrongiy that they would try harder if the thing were kept mysterious. n fact it was not until Friday mornin that the figures were ali tabulated an Wainright called up the jeweler and gave him the inscription and the name to engrave in the watch case. At five o'clock Friday afternoon, with the big dinner at which the President’s Pr.ze was to be presented just two hours off, Wainright sought out Arthur Donaldson. “We're going to have a number of in- formal talks this evening,” he said, “and I'm going to call on you to tell us how you've managed to land all these carload orders. So be prepared to give a little talk.” At that same second a special messenger froni the city was delivering into the hands of President Beardsley a small package con- —— a fourteen-hundred-dollar watch and chain. THE SATURDAY In the privacy of his office Beardsley un- wrapped the box, took out the handsome velvet case and, opening it, fed his eyes on the watch of his dreams. “By George, but that’s a beautiful time- piece!” he informed himself. ‘It looks al- most as beautiful as my first shiny dollar watch looked to me when I was a kid—and I didn’t think there were any thrills like that left!” He lifted the watch out of the velvet case and turned it over respectfully in his hand. Then with his big thumb nail he pried open the back cover, squinted his eyes and read the fine script engraving: ARTHUR DONALDSON In RECOGNITION oF His HAVING SOLD THE LARGEST VOLUME OF BEARDSLEY’S LINOLEUM EVER SOLD BY ONE SALESMAN IN A PERIOD or ONE YEAR. WITH THE COMPLIMENTS OF R. W. BEARDSLEY, PREs. “Donaldson— Arthur Donaldson? Must be that young fellow from the sales depart- ment that we sent out West a year ago. Wainright said nothing about him last summer when we were going over the sales quotas of the various men for the first six months. Must look into this, Anyway, he’s a lucky young man to get a watch like this. If it doesn’t make his eyes pop clear out of his head I’m a rotten purchasing agent for a prize for a young man!” iv fb Round-Up Dinner was served in a large private room in Hampden’s exclu- sive Town Club. The menu was one that made even Simpkins, the club’s steward, glow with pride to think that he was stew- ard of a club boasting a member who could order—and pay for—a dinner like that! The dinner itself was finished, and now the cigars were being passed— Beardsley’s own, made and boxed for him in Havana. At the center of the big horseshoe table Sales Manager Wainright was nervously taking a drink of water, trying to clear the huskiness in his throat, Fan tony to making the opening talk. He arose. i- dent Beardsley moved his chair back a foot, crossed one leg over the other and prepared jor an evening of boredom. He hated the mechanics of business anyway, but par- ticularly he hated this sort of thing—this banqueting and--well, this whole three-day oe nee party. ; Wainright was speaking. ‘ Men,” he was saying, “speaking for Mr. Beardsley and myself, and my associates here at the home office, I want to say that it gives us all the greatest pleasure to welcome you here to- night and ———” “He can leave me out of that,” com- mented President peareaey mentally, hitching his cigar half across his face with his teeth, a trick that he often fell into when worried or preoccupied, ‘‘That’s Donaldson over there—that gets ag dark-haired young man with the serious mouth.” Mechanically he put his hand in his coat pocket. Yes; the package was there all right. He glanced at Donaldson again and pictured the watch chain across his vest. As for Donaldson, he was hardly thinking at all. Leastwise not of what was foing on around him. He was mentally rehearsin the happenings of the afternoon. He h seen Eleanor! And there were certain signs! Very favorable! For one thing, she had said in her offhand way, “If your jazz banquet is over in time tonight, Arthur, why not stop in on P he way home and give me a little Burton Holmes on your Western travels? I'll be up if the porch light’s on.” “All through the year,”’ Wainright was saying—and how endlessly he was ing— “‘we here at the office have tried to back u you men out on the firing line. In fact, think I may say that never before has the home office taken such pains to help each man individually bring out the t in him—his latent possibilities—as we have endeavored to do this Phe by making a study of each man’s individual potentiali- ties and ———” “That mess of Personalized Pep Letters, or whatever you call ’em, I sup you're referring to now,” commen President Beardsley to himself, hitching his cigar to the other corner of his mouth. “I don’t be- lieve you’re much of a sales manager. No imagination. Your idea of pr is to add ten cents’ worth of sales to last year’s dollar’s worth. Mine is to add twenty-five cents’ worth at least.” “As you all know, men,” Wainright con- tinued, “tonight the big secret is to be let EVENING POST out. The winner of the President’s Prize is to be announced. As Sir Philip Gibbs so effectively put it, ‘Now it can be told!’ But before I do tell—before the year’s silence is broken and the name of the fortu- nate man is uttered, I want to take a few minutes to bring out forcefully the point that I have been hammering at in my let- ters for the past few months.” Once again President Beardsley’s cigar started its half rolling, half hitching course from corner to corner of his mouth. ‘“‘He’s a hell of a sales manager to work for a man like me,”’ he suddenly decided. Whereupon he subsided and smoldered for five minutes while Wainright talked on. “And now, gentlemen, it gives me very great leasure to announce the winner of the resident’s Prize; but before the prize is pau I am going to ask him to tell us ow he did it—not only exceeded his quota by the largest percentage, but sold more Beardsley’s linoleum in the past year than any other ey | salesman has ever sold in a year’s time. How he manages to sell carloads of linoleum where most of us would sell ten or fifteen rolls! I am going to ask him to talk before he receives the prize, for knowing what the prize is as I do, I am sure he wil! be unable to collect his thoughts for a speech after our president has done his _ Gentlemen, I call upon Mr. Arthur onaldson, winner of the President’s Prize, to tell us how he has done it!” Donaldson, flabbergasted, came back to earth with a bump! He found himself stand- ing up suddenly, with all eyes on him and his ears full of applause. He cleared his throat. He blinked his eyes. Then, coming to, he squared his shoulders and set his jaw. re type,” commented President Beardsley, narrowing his eyes to an ap- praising squint and secretly informing him- self that this was the kind of young man to whom a fourteen-hundred-dollar watch and chain ought to go. “Well, fellows,” he was saying, “‘I can't make a speech, but I’ll be glad to tell you how I stumbled onto this carload idea.” “Like the modest way he gets under way,” decided President Beardsley. ‘“‘And”’ -—glancing up and down the table—“‘he has the crowd with him already.” “You see, it all came about through an accident. One afternoon iast summer I was hurrying to make a call in a little town out West and I dropped my watch on the side- walk and broke —— _” At the word “‘watch”’ President Beardsley came as near jumping as President Beards- ley had ever come in his life. He sat up. Watch? Dropped it and broke it? Fine! A watcn as the President’s Prize was an inspiration. “Well, it was a lucky accident for me,” continued Donaldson. And then he went on to tell simply, un- affectedly the whole story. How he missed the car to Martinsville. How he went back and fell to talking with Katzenberger. How he stayed right there until he finally induced him to sign on the dotted line for a whole carload of Beardsley linoleum. “When I left Katzenberger I glanced at my watch and found that it had stopped— at six o’clock—and it’s been six o’clock ever since. I find that it often takes six-o’clock selling to close a carload order, but ——” Every man in the room was sitting for- ward in his chair listening. That talk was like news of a hidden treasure to them. It would mean heavy increases in commissions for every man of them, once they hit the road again. The idea was so yet +4 had none of them stumbled on it before? Why hadn’t the factory thought of it? This young fellow decidedly had the goods. But poor President Beardsley! His face was a study! And his mind! Runni around in frenzied thought circles—‘‘ Wel I’llbedamned !— Welll’llbedamned !””— The watch! The perfectly good fourteen- hundred-dollar watch in his pocket! He couldn’t present that! Not to a man who sold by the carload instead of by the hour! He wouldn’t even use it if he had it! Why, he owed his success to a busted watch! Complete consternation! ‘Welll’llbe damned ! Well—Well— Well? What? Quick! What? Donaldson will be through talking ina minute. The President’s Prize—what? Frantically his cigar hitched from corner to corner, across and back, across and back again. Then suddenly it stopped stock-still and he clamped his teeth down onit. “What if he is young?” he demanded of himself. “Waan’t I when I started this ——” Three minutes later Donaldson wound up his talk. July 5,1924 “Well, you see, the idea is simple enough—and it’s really Katzenberger’s, of course, not mine—but I have found that it takes a heap of selling to get it across to dealers. But somehow—well, you fellows know how it is, if you have a big idea to start with and a house like this behind you, you can put over ’most anything!” And Donaldson sat down amid the ring- ing applause of his fellows—applause so genuinely hearty that there could be no mistaking the good will behind it. At the head of the table President Beardsley sat, cool, collected, waiting calmly for his part in the program. When the applause had subsided he arose slowly, removed the cigar from his mouth and spoke. “Gentlemen,” he said, “you are all going to be surprised at this year’s prize. No ordinary prize would fittingly reward this young man who has discovered how to make us all more effective in our work and more prosperous. No article of merchan- dise could adequately express my personal gratification—and I believe yours as well, if I read your faces aright—for his contribu- tion to our common welfare.” A pause, deliberate, prolonged. Hushed expectancy. “It may come as a shock to those of you who were not in the secret—and I might add that very few were—to learn that our sales manager, Mr. Wainright, has resigned pores! so to take an important position in our New York office in charge of a new de- partment of marketing research which will be particularly necessary if we are to carry out this carload-selling idea wh Now it was Wainright’s face that was a study! The president was right—very few were in on the secret! And it was a shock! “And so, gentlemen, the office of sales manager being vacant, it struck me that the job of sales manager, and the salary that goes with it, might be a fitting prize to present this evening to our friend and co- worker, Arthur Donaldson! “That, I believe, concludes our evening’s program,”’ announced the president when the applause had died down. And while the men were still gathered around shaking hands with their astonished new boss, President Beardsley might have been seen at the edge of the crowd slipping a certain squarish watch into his own waist- coat pocket, a smile of quiet satisfaction playing around the corners of his mouth. Ten minutes later a terribly excited young man was leaning forward peerimg anxiously out of a dashing taxi as it rounded the cor- ner of Twelfth Street into Greenwood Avenue. Yes! The porch light was still on! A grinding of brakes. A dollar bill. A husky ‘‘ Keep the change.” The dash up the steps. The almost too sudden opening of the front door. ‘‘S-h-h-h! Don’t wake mother and dad. I had an awful time getting them off to bed at 10:30... What's the big excitement?” “Eleanor! I’ve been made saies man- ager! Cross my heart! President's Prize! All those carload orders, you know! No more traveling! Be right here at home!” If you’ve ever been through it yourself ou’ll understand how it happened. Some- ow, there they were, standing in the hall talking in excited whispers and feeling rather strange toward each other, after a whole year of separation, with almost th. width of a continent between them. And then—it couldn’t have been as much as three minutes later—there they were in each other’s arms! With the year and the continent behind them and a glorious future in front of them! A future that had to be plunged into right away! Who should they invite to the wed- ding? And when should it be? Who would they have stand up with them? What sort of a wedding dress? Where should they live? How should they furnish the dining | room—oh, millions of terribly important uestions to be settled—at once! There in the luxuriously furnished living room, with its soft shaded lights and its snuggly couch. A steady murmur of low voices, Arthur's deep and almost husky, Eleanor’s soft and musical, talking, talking, talking. Then lengthening periods of wonderful silence. Finally Eleanor stifled a languorous yawn. “Arthur, dear, what time is it any- way?” iether pulled out his watch—the watch he had been selling by for six months. “Six o’clock,” he said with a grin. And, scandalously enough, the first premonitory signs of a December dawn at that moment revealed the face of the grandfather's clock in the hall. And it was!

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST July 5, 1924 SHO VV LL... PR OD Urol =e RE TM St ce Ee Da ARS TN RR Et GLE eI A Se PR a ONY ES ECR BEE ISNT PERRIS HALLEY Bed By

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54 How to judge tobacco The true test lies inside the pipe—not in the pedigree, says Mr. Krob In the following letter out that once we Mr. Krob points are past the infantile stage of “taking the watch apart to see what makes it run,’ we learn that true happiness is a matter of appreciation rather than of analysis. about it? Lorain, Ohio Larus & Brother Company, Richmond, Va. Gentlemen Most people whe are buying Better Light look up at the fiztures we install and say, That's wonderful,” when they should not even be interested in the fixtures. They should look down at their desk-top or counter or work-bench, where they actu- ally use the light. They always want to consider it “F.O.B." the lighting fixture, instead of “Delivered” to the working where i is to be utilized. Personatly, that’s the way I look at tobacco. Many manufacturers go into de- tail telling us where their product is raised, how it is blended, how long it is aged and how well it is packed, and place this infor- mation before the public in their adver- tisemente plane, Why should we care whether tobacco ie raised in the Sahara or on an iceberg, whether it is a blend of 57 Varieties" or run-of-the-mine, or whether it comes packed in cork or cast-iron containers? | buy my tobaceo because of the way it tastes in the pipe. That's why I use Edgeworth. Sincerely yours, K. M. Krob As the producers of Edgeworth we are of course vitally inter- ested in its pedigree. We are absorbed in the blend of Edge- worth and in its cur- | ing--in every detail of its development. But all work and experi- ment and study has but one ob- jectthat Edge- worth may prove its worth ‘' De- livered— Pipe.” And _ that's we expect you to be interested in. all A great many men like Edgeworth and have written to tell us so, but it doesn't necessarily follow that a// men will like it. Perhaps you will find something in Edge- worth to dislike glad to know about it we'd be Let us send you free samples of Edge- worth so that you may, put it to the one ind only test that counts, If you like it, so much the better for us both. don't-well, that's that! Write your name Brother Company, | Richmond, Va. Edgeworth is sold in various sizes to suit the needs and means of all purchasers, Both Edgeworth Plug Slice and Ready- Rubbed are packed in small, pocket-size packages, in handsome humidors holding a pound, and also in several handy in-vetween sizes South 2Ist Street, We'll be grateful for the name and ad- dress of your tobacco dealer, if you care to add them. Retail Tobacco Merchants: Wf 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 of Edgeworth Plug Slice or Ready-Rubbed for the same price you would pay the jobber. too, oye i0 size THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Excusing himself, going out to be in his office before three o'dock the closing hour of the bean and stock markets, Benmore Hooper walked, head down, oblivious of the sharp dangers of the automobiles and bicycles of the streets of Washington at war. It was not that he himself had believed in backing beans to the utmost — not alone in word but in deed. In the bean market, as well asin the press! It was not that he him- self was practically ruined by the fall in beans. But all these others— his own staff, the other department staffs, the intelligence officers, home and foreign, ‘the accelerators of public opinion, the general publicity staff! All that magnificent organization of propaganda jfor the country, going on, cheerful, contented, completely functioning

| national convention *o | Defenders. | Mister Chairman,” our | If you | | and address to Larus & | today, and within six months’ time, gone — | ali dissipated; its members precipitated into | private life! How do you feel | et Head down, brooding, he passed un- | certainly back to his personal suite of offices. ar NTO the dark, empty, echoing corridor of the deserted Senate Office Building came | from an unlighted office the sound of a | strong, sonorous barytone voice. | Ben | candidate for the presidency, It was umpus Boone, the possible future racticing in speech before the the Furious Farm Dated from that important event, it would be sent in advance to every the twilight his comin | newspaper of consequence in the United | States. “Fellow citizens in a great republic the measured voice be- gan: “The bean, sir, is a little thing. It sounds absurd for me to say to this en- lightened gathering that the fate of nations, of freedom, of civilization itself hangs today upon so small athing. And yet, who in this vast assemblage, within the hearing of my voice tonight, would have the boldness to assert that this apparently preposterous statement is not a commonplace of the world’s news today? “Let us take, sir, very briefly, a rapid | survey of the place of the bean in the mili- | tary art as recorded by the historian, It | was Alexander, sir ——-” The rolling pe- riods went on. The dark-faced stranger, tently at the closed door, waited alone in the long, vacant hallway for their con- clusion. | Yes, my friends, yes,” they rolled on. “A bean seems a little thing—a very little thing! But, sir, is it not precisely the little thing today—in science, in medicine, in industry—upon which the mind of man is focused; which, in the providence of God, sums up today in the stupendous totality of human effort, human duty, human achievement? And if we, in this great crisis | of the world, but do our own little thing— our bit, so called—no more will be required | of us. ‘Let no one complain, then, that he can- not have a perfect part in this great turning point in the history of the race. The strug- gling farmer, who strives his best to make two beans grow for the world’s market where there was but one before; the hum- blest housewife, who against all pleading rigidly conserves her beans upon the na- | tion’s beanless days—who will say that these have not made their sacrifices, done their bit, given their national service? “But as for the man—if there be such | the glutton, the self-indulgent weakling, the man who, in secret or in public, with unbridled appetite evades or will not en- force upon iinself this first, most sacred fast of patriotism—this national conserva- tion of the food of war, the motive power of armies—let him beware! The spirit of high self-sacrifice in this nation did not die at Valley Forge. It is electric in the air today, And the coward, the craven, the weakling, who will not make this prime sacrifice, upon which the conscience of the American peo- ple is so aroused today— better far for hi that he lay in the trenches of the Hun when the armies of the enlightened West, well- fed, full-nourished, invigorated by the free and we sacrifice of a free people, rise and overwhelm them with freedom’s towering tide—strong with the food of pioneers, the strength of civilization’s hardy freemen.” Concluding from the ensuing silence that the speech was done--for the time, at | least-—the dark serious stranger in the hall- | way at last turned the knob, and walked listening in-

(Continued from Page 13) into the half dusk of the senator’s outer office. ‘‘Who’s there? Who are you?” boomed the hearty voice of the recent speaker from the obscurity of the inner room. “My name is Browne,” said his visitor, with a touch of restraint. Ben Bumpus Boone, having snapped on the electric light, observed him closely. tall dark man, with heavy tortoise-shell spectacles, and an oblong golden key—the well-known Phi Beta Kappa key of schol- astic excellence—shining against his dark vest. “Come in, Mr. Browne,” said Ben Bum- pus Boone. “Mr. BroWne, what can‘%I do for ou?” } our secretary, Mr. Jones, is not hére?”’ witod the dark stranger, with a toudh of hesitation in his voice. “No, sir,” said the senator. has gone for the day. I can do?’ The stranger looked up and then down before answering. “Well, perhaps,”’ he said. “‘The time is short, and the matter is very ufgent.” ‘Go ahead, sir. Tell me, by all means,’ said Ben Bumpus Boon@jn his free gen- erous manner, “‘ Perhaps I may be able to help you—who knows? Sit down, Mr. Browne, Tell me what it is you wish.” His visitor, being seated, looked up gravely. ‘It concerns his aunt— Mrs. John Jared Jones,”’ he stated, “Oh, yes?” said Mr. Boone, with the rising accent of one waiting for further information, and watching now quite in- tently. “You know her of course asked the stranger, tioning. “Well, slightly,” said the senator, after a considerable hesitation in his turn. ‘Very slightly. But yes—yes—I can say, oa that I know—or know of her. The stranger did not respond at po be but sat as if waiting for the senator to go on. “You know, perhaps, of her financially? he asked again finally. “T have understood, sir, that she was a woman of large financial means, sir, if that is what you mean,” said Ben Bumpus Boone, watching him now very closely in- deed, as he saw the other was also ine with him. “Then you have heard perhaps the vari- ous stories about her operations?” asked the other—the visitor with the spectacles and soft polished manner, still evidently feeling his way. “About what operations?” asked Mr. Boone sharply. “You have not heard the stories about her?”’ asked his visitor, still cautiously. “No, sir, I have not, sir. What stories, sir?’’ asked Mr. Boone, his voice still more metallic. “That the aunt of your secretary has been selling beans!” “What!” exclaimed the popular states- man, still more harshly. “Short—-upon the bean exchange! Ten thousand tons! And several hundred shures of all the bean carriers!’’ the stranger proceeded, concluding finally his statement. There was now a well-marked silence. “Just what does that mean?” asked Senator Boone, finally breaking it. “Do you not know?” the stranger asked, his grave searching eyes upon him. “No, sir.” “Selling short ths at is, to take advan- tage of falling prices?”’ he asked, and looked up for an understanding—an understand- ing that he did not get. ‘You know that “No, sir, he Is there anything or of her?” continuing his ques- 9" No, sir. I have no knowledge, thank God, sir,” said Senator Boone, his voice now growing both stronger and more rapid; “none whatever, of the operations of Wall Street or of the bean market—or of finance of any kind, I am glad to say. What is it that you mean, sir? What are you driving at?” asked the senator, his voice now growing ever louder and more rapid. The visitor, after another hesitation, at length reached into the inside pocket of his finely cut but quiet suit, and drew out a typewritten paper. “Have you seen this, Mr. Boone?” he asked with great politeness, in the manner of one approaching a subject from another angle. Ben Bumpus Boone, reading it, gave a great start. “‘War Department! Cease July 5,1924 THE FALLING BEAN buying beans. Order 17,263!" he stam- mered. ‘Do you mean that this is true— authentic!” “It is,” said the polite but still-faced <astii with his grave eyes always on his ace “Tf that is so, then the war is over! The war is done!’ “You did not know it then, before—you have not seen this document before?” asked the grave-eyed stranger, this un- identified Mr. Browne. “No, sir. I certainly did not, sir. Why, sir?”’ demanded Ben Bumpus Boone, now very loudly indeed. ‘Why, sir?” “Then you would not know what I have come to see you about,” his soft-voiced but alarming visitor told him. But Ben Bumpus Boone would not be put by. “ What is it, sir? Of what are you speaking? It is my right to know! I in- sist!”’ he cried out loudly. The still-eyed and mysterious stranger answered him now very calmly. “It is this story that is starting on its way through Washington about the aunt of your secretary.’ “Yes? And what,” asked Senator Boone, confronting him—‘‘ what is that story?” “The story I have already spoken of that your secretary’s aunt is in the bean and stock market today, selling beans and the bean carriers short on a tremendous scale. In anticipation of the end of war!”’ The popular senator and future possibility for the presidency sprang upon his feet. “It’s a lie—a lie—a damnable and out- rageous lie! An invention of my enemies!” he cried; and striding rapidly across his inner office he closed its door into the outer room. “But if it is so,” he cried in a low- ered but not less serious voice—‘“‘if this man—or his aunt—-or any of his relatives in any way or on any pretext, by any sub- terfuge—is selling beans upon the secret information gathered in my office—then he will leave—without waiting for his hat!” He stopped suddenly as an idea struck him. “I will send for him. I will bring him here at once. You shali make your charges in his presence!” exclaimed Ben Bumpus Boone. “That would perhaps be best,” the rave and reticent stranger. res,” said Ben Bumpus Boone cere- moniously, and stopped again as he took up his desk telephone. Central finally answered him. Going from one number to another, he sought his confidential publicity secretary, Mr. Jones, until he located him at length at the home and by the private telephone of his broker. “Come,” he said harshly. “And come a-running. I want to talk to you!” Until Mr. Jones arrived the two who awaited him sat, saying very little, watching different objects in the sparsely ornamented room, glancing only hastily at intervals at each other. At last the hastening secretary opened the outer door, stood before them in the entrance to the inner room. Rising and confronting him, pus Boone spoke. “Mr. Jones,” he said, with extreme cere- moniousness, “‘this gentleman, here behind me, has made, sir, a very serious charge. He states, if I understood him, that, taking advantage of information secured by you while in the employ of this office, your aunt has been speculating heavily, in great sums, upon the stock and bean exchanges.” “Again!” said the voice of the stranger from behind him. And at that, Ben Bumpus Boone was silent, astonished, relieved by the sudden change of expression upon the face of the man before him, “Why, damn me!” said John Bunyan Jones, the confidential publicity secretary of Ben Bumpus Boone, with a strong em- phasis on the last word, and started forward with his hand outstretched in greeting. “Don’t you see, — Don’t you under- stand?” he cried g This is Q. V. 3 of the intelligence «lhe TS The face of his chief, while it changed ex- pression, did not yet relax. “Then why in thunder didn’t you say so?” he asked the now smiling stranger. “T- was waiting for you to begin,” the latter told him. And Senator Boone, standing still, started smiling slowly, tentatively himself. (Centinued on Page 56) agreed Ben Bum-

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ) o 50c gy PAT. JUNE 13,22. JAN.29, 24 REG. U.S. PAT. OFF. Ys ALL TIED FOR YOUgji% HERE’S A DOLLAR’S WORTH of style, quality and value in every Spur Tie. Yet you pay only 50c —two for $1.00. Its worth in convenience can’t be meas- ured. You see it comes all tied for you—by hand. Get acquainted today! Your purse and wardrobe will both approve. Wear the Spur Tie for any occasion—any time o’ day—with any sort of collac—no matter what your age. Patterns? Colorful or conservative —to suit every taste. Styles? Either square or pointed ends. Size? Two attractive sizes, and a patented, flexible, shape-holding fea- ture that means any shape you want—the whole day long. lf your dealer will not supply you send $1.00 for two, soc for one specifying size, style and color preferred ACCEPT NO SUBSTITUTES~—LOOK FOR THE NAME ON TIE HEWES & POTTER, BOSTON, MASS. \ On the Coast, PAUL B. HAY, 120 Battery St., San Francisco Ask your dealer for BULL-DOG SUSPENDERS GARTERS— BELTS and VESTOFF SUSPENDERS. Lea- ders for a third of a century. Quality merchandise. ae in Guaranteed 363 Days Wear Look for the Trade Mark L-pd Ss Write for Styie Book A Guaranteed 565 Days Wear | (Continued from Page 54) “You must remember that from the first I was instructed that you must know noth- ing. That you were to have no peodge of your se: ’s aunt’s operations in the | markets,” his visitor was saying. And Senator Boone now started laughing heartily. “‘ And that in no case should I come here or communicate with you,” said the stranger, Mr. Browne, the mysterious Q. V. 3 of the intelligence service. ‘That it was just as well that we did not meet each other. And indeed I would not be here now if it were not necessary. If it were not for your danger.” “My danger!” said the popular senator from the agricultural state, his broad smile fading as these words recalled him to the present situation. “This story that’s starting out—about our aunt!” continued the grave stranger n the dark-rimmed glasses, turning now to Mr. Jones, the secretary. “You know how it goes,”’ he said, “from the tipsters and New York financial corre- spondents to the various general and de- oartmental heads of publicity—at the unch hour, at the Rendezvous. From the heads of the ey bureaus to the ste- nographers and the lady publicity assist- ants. And then, of course, it’s all out—all over Washington.” “Yes,” said the two before him. “As it is now-—starting all over Washing- ton that the aunt of the secretary of Ben Bumpus Boone is plunging again in the bean stock market.’ “No!” exclaimed the two other excited voices. “And you know what that will mean— the first announcement to the world—pre- maturely—through a so-called leak in this office—-of the greatest secret of the ages that this war is over-—that the War Depart- ment has ceased buying beans!” “Which is tantamount tothe same thing!” said Ben Bumpus Boone, with stiff lips. “Yes,” said the grave visitor. ‘It will be a most notable scandal; one that will go down the ages.” “What shall we do? What can we do?” asked the white-faced secretary. “You must resign! Get out of here! Go!”’ exclaimed his chief, waving both arms in his emotion. ‘Before my enemies get busy! We must forestall them! You must es” 2 “But that alone would merely confirm exaggerate the rumor,” the quiet-voiced and grave-faced Mr. Browne, the Q. V. 3 of the telephone and the intelligence serv- ice, pointed out. “Lead possibly to an investigation.” “That’s it!” said the pale-faced Mr. Jones, “But he must go ~get out of Washing- ton! At once! That’s sure!” said Senator | Boone. “Yes,” agreed his visitor calmly. “Well then! Well! What Nf you do? What shall we do?” exclaimed the highly popular senator, walking in great perturba- | tion up and down his inner office—in marked contrast to the quiet Mr. Browne. The latter waited before making his low- voiced reply. “There is but one thing which can be done now,” it came at last. “What? What?” “Mr. Jones’ aunt must die!” The gleam of understanding, which quickly sprang into the rolling eye of Ben umpus Boone at this abhorrent and un- natural suggestion at first, as quickly died nates “Why? What good would that do?” he asked, in evident gprs one gana “In Honolulu,” explained young Mr. Browne, of the intelligence service. The eye of the listening statesman was aglow again, waiting as he went on. “Where Mr. Jones must go at once—on urgent call—to take charge of her estate, as sole heir and executor.’ Ben Bumpus Boone, the possible future amy candidate for President, leaped to is feet. ‘You've done it! You've turned the trick! You've saved my life!’’ he cried, and wrung the quiet well-dressed visitor’s long hand. urning now to his waiting secretary, he attacked the problem before him with his characteristic vim. “You must go. Go. At once. To Honolulu. On the next train! When does it go—the next train go?” he cried, as his chain of thoughts came to him. And turning to his desk he threw one paper after another into the air, with the vigor of one accustomed in youth to the operations July 53,1924 of the hayfield, in the dim hope of finding a Pacific Coast time-tabie. “Get your hat. Go home. Get the next train. e will take care of the death no- tice—and the notice of your resignation,” he was crying. “T will take care of that personally, in all the press,” said the quiet voice of Mr. Browne, of the intelligence service. Handing his hesitating assistant his hat, Senator Boone, with his well-known irre- sistible vigor of manner, clapped him upon the shaciier. “Good-by. God bless you, my boy!”’ he said. And we will let you know by cipher how your aunt’s account in the stock and bean market is going.”’ Iv HE news of the death of the aunt of john Bunyan Jones in the press of America was very simple, a mere stickful or two under the Washington date line: PRIVATE SECRETARY'S AUNT IS DEAD WASHINGTON, Oct. ——— The sudden death, announced here today, of Mrs. Catherine Pringle Jones at her city house in Honolulu, removes one of the most remarkable figures of the Pacific Islands. Succeeding at the death of her hus- band, John Jared Jones, to his vast plantations, Catherine Jones has been called by the natives the Pineapple Speen. Although by nature re- tiring and very little seen, Catherine Jones was a woman of great force of character, and her immense fortune has been invested by her in dealings in all the exchanges of the world especially in agricultural staples--of which, although so far removed, she hes bought and sold tremendous quantities by cable during the past half dozen years in the markets of this country. Her nephew, John Bunyan Jones, for the pest few years the confidential secretary of Senator Ben Bumpus Boone, is named as the sole heir and executor of her estate, estimated at several million dollars. He has already left for Honolulu to take charge of his new interests. Rarely—perhaps never—has Washing- ton been so stirred by publicity as by this brief announcement of the death of that most picturesque operator in the bean and stock markets, the aunt of the secretary of Ben Bumpus Boone. It fell like a thunder- clap upon the reai judges of real news—the news behind the news in the newspapers. There could be no further concealment from these of the situation as it was. The whis- per went from mouth to mouth: “What—dead? The aunt of thesecretary of Ben Bumpus Boone already dead! In Honolulu! And John Bunyan Jones al- ready on his way there—to manage his im- mense estate! The war is over!” The inference was too plain—to those in Washington who knew anything at all. If there was any doubt before that the War Department had ceased buying beans, that the end of war was now at hand, it was now destroyed. The price of the bean plunged downward in the bean market; the bean-carrier rail- road stocks following from the opening. The private wires from Washington to Wall Street were never idle; the tipsters and Washington’s financial correspondents did not take their clothes off for twenty-four hours—scarcely took their telephone re- ceivers from their ears. And at the lunch hour at the Rendezvous Restaurant there was talk of nothing else among the sad- faced, discouraged set of publicity men and women who gathered there. There was not a man~—scarcely a lady--publicist who did not realize that the end of their wonder- working efforts in the war was come; that their long happy conferences at luncheon- time were over; that soon they would be scattered again across the country, seeking another job in a land whose labor market was already flooded with publicity agents, even before the addition of this great body trained up by the grim necessities of war. Benmore Hooper, the great government publicity agent, seeing the changed com- pany, silent at their lunch hour, realizing their hard situation, could not repress a groan. It seemed unthinkable that all this won- derful machinery of publicity, of accelerat- ing and directing public opinion—this new art built up at such tremendous cost by the combination of the American press agents’ methods with the best and most successful methods of the military secret-service prop- aganda of Europe—should be lost entirely to the Republic at the closing of hostilities. But how could it be otherwise? Who was there to continue it? And as his mind went over this, he thought also of himself, of the many others who, backing up their word, (Continued on Page 5&)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Only Hudson and Essex Have The Coach It Alone Gives Closed Car Comforts at Open Car Cost PARA, So Why Buy An Open Car?

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58 (Continued from Page 56) their publicity by their deed, had bought beans and the bean carriers in the open market, assisting in that rise of prices, that prosperity, which is so essential to a coun- try engaged in a great war. A sense of resentment, of injustice, came over his fine sensitive face. What right had John Bunyan Jones—what right had Ben Bumpus Boone—always so ostentatiously their friends—to withhold their private in- formation from the Government’s publicity agents from the accredited agents of a country at war; and give it to this distant woman~-this aunt of John Bunyan Jones, in the Sandwich Islands? This wealthy womar., whom no one ever knew; whom no one would ever see. Who now lay dead—-so suddenly dead, in Honolulu! It was not mere negligence. It was bald and delib- erate treachery. Benmore Hooper turned toward his table with a bitter exclamation. *‘Ben Bumpus Boone,” he pledged him- self, “will never be President of this coun- try! Not if i ean help it!” And looking about the changed and melancholy scene he knew that all these somber lunchers, all these ex-newspapermen and magazine men and poets and lady publicists who had been gathered into the publicity service of their country through the war, would feel the -same; and, once recalled to their respective homes at the close of war, would act ex- actly as he would in this matter. Turning, he walked over to his own table the large well-filled round table of their conferences, about which so many long happy profitable lunch hours had been passed. No one now laughed or called to him. Even the youngest and most attrac- tive lady publicist at the right hand of his seat looked up as he sat down, giving him a wan, mirthless and bitter smile. “It is a travesty, is it not?” she said. ‘Almost grotesque.” “What?” he asked her sharply. “Don't you know?” “Know what?” “This is beanless day,” she told him. He only groaned. ‘‘ Wait until Ben Bum- pus Boone comes up for nomination for the proweency !"’ he said once more to himself, ‘itterly, between his teeth. v T WAS twilight again in the Senate Office Building. Again the voice of Ben Bum- pus Boone boomed dully and half intelli- gibly from his closed office into the deserted corridor, in rehearsal for the oncoming con- vention of the Furious Farm Defenders. “The bean, sir ’ it began, and stopped, broken. Inside, Ben Bumpus Boone, clutching his thick hair, walked back and forth in intense agitation across his inner office. “T can't do it. I can’t go through with this!” he cried aloud. “It is a farce. Worse than a farce!” Falling heavily into his swivel chair, he groaned, and buried his face in his hands. He groaned — and suddenly looked up. Fer there was someone'in his outer office—a knock at his inner door. “Come in!” cried Ben Bumpus Boone, springing to his feet, turning on the light. Before him stood the still only partially known Mr. Browne of the intelligence serv- ice, the mysterious furnisher of the dope upon which the profitable but disastrous operations of Mr. Jones’ aunt had been founded in the bean market. “What is it? You look ill!” asked his visitor solicitously. Ben Bumpus Boone raised his eyelids, browned and bruised with his sleepless nights, “That accursed aunt of my secretary! That aunt of Jones! Oh, why did I—un- skilled in finance as I was—let him have her speculate in beans?” The other gazed in sympathetic silence through his heavy giasses as the senator went on “Tt was my fault, in a way,” he said. “J know it. I am too friendly—-too complai- sant—-too easily led. I am willing to do al- most anything for my friends—for my humbler subordinates—for the common people; and so I have often laid myself open to misinterpretation by my enemies.” “There will be no public investigation,” his visitor suggested, “with Jones’ aunt dead, with Jones in Honolulu, out among his aunt’s plantations, scattered through the isiands of the Pacific.” “No. But werse. Far worse than that!" cried Ben Bumpus Boone, now clutching at his strong thick hair. THE SATURDAY “Worse?” the other echoed after him. “Yes. Could anything—anything be worse than this?” said the great publicity senator—the idol of the South and West, springing to his feet. “What do you mean?” The other answered with a groan. ‘The free-publicity boys are all out after me! The whole free-publicity gang in Washing- ton—governmental, private, military, news- paper! All out after me—sworn to have my scalp, to hang my hide up on the door! The whole outfit in Washington—both the full press agents, and the half press agents and third press agents and quarter press agents among the journalists in Washington,” said the tortured man, starting to walk back and forth across his inner office—‘“‘are all out gunning me, have sworn to get me. Every man Jack of them!” He strode faster and faster, back and forth. “And that’s only half—half the story,” he cried, going on elucidating his position. “For now, with the end of the war, all these men—all these ex-magazine writers, and lady writers and ex-newspapermen— will go back to their homes, scattered through every hamlet, every city, every county in the country —sore, irritated, out of a job, hating me as no man was ever hated before; and scattering, like the last bomb in a Fourth of July fireworks, through every congressional district of this broad land, this false, damnable, unprint- able, but for that very reason irrefutable fabrication of the speculations of my secre- tary’s aunt in the bean market. I’m lost— lost! Whatever chance I ever had for the presidency is gone—with that bunch out sworn to get me—scattered out from Maine to California,”’ said the popular idol of the great South and West, sitting down heavily again, burying his burly head in his hands. “Not if you will be guided by my ad- vice,”’ said the low and scholarly voice of his companion out of the ensuing silence. The desperate man raised up his blood- shot eyes to his. “What advice?” “To také advantage of this psychologi- cal moment—this very scattering of the press agents and the demi-press agents out of Washington after war.” “ Doing what?” the senator asked of him, staring up through his thick eyebrows. “By making your pre-presidential free- publicity chain,” said the grave and schol- erly voice of his visitor. “My what?” inquired Ben Boone hoarsely. “Your chain of free-publicity agents across the country—controlled in your in- terest!” His listener gazed at him, with a first re- turning gleam of hope in his reddened eyes. “But how?” he asked. “By tying all these press agents and these near press agents to you-—making them your friends, your ministers, your helpers, your agents—instead of your ene- mies—just before they are thrown back throughout the United States.” A growing hope shone in his hearer’s eyes, together with a startled look of wonder, “Thus forging your pre-presidential chain of free publicity from coast to coast! Solidi- fying your hold upon the mass mind of this country, by acting at the psychological mo- ment,” the other was explaining on, with studious face and curious highbrow theo- retical use of words. “But how—how?” gasped the great free- publicity senator, overcome by the scope, the tremendousness of this scheme. “By giving them jobs—or placing them in oT lis hearer sat speechless, suspicious, doubtful, while the speaker went on, in his unusual academic speech, elucidating his plan. “You will see readily, senator,’’ he said, ‘‘what the situation will be—-if you care to make this arrangemert, this combination of publicity interests with me. You oper- ating from Washington, I from New York the two great distributing centers of free publicity in the United States! And with this iron chain of our own agents across the country.” Bumpus ore ian ei EVENING POST Ben Bumpus Boone, more doubtful, more suspicious every moment now, thought best to say nothing, merely to watch and listen to this man—and let him ta!k on. “You, senator,” he was saying, “‘work- ing from the one great center here—as the greatest expert, the master mind in the shipment of free political publicity from Washington to the great agricultural pub- licity markets of the South and West. I, operating from the other center—the general center of free-publicity shipping in New York! With our own agents or operatives in the movies, the radio, the press through- out the land—all in jobs in which they were placed or employed by us. And so our men!” Now Senator Boone broke in at length— to check this extravagance; awaken him from this grandiose and impossible dream of power. “Jobs, I suppose,”’ he said sarcastically — “for all!” “Oh, no. Merely for those we need,” the calm, still apparently reasonable voice of his visitor was proceeding—“only the ones who would be of real consequence in publicity for us. Not the poets, the rank amateurs, the lady publicists-—all the ruck that make the most noise but nobody would believe on a bet.” “T understand. I understand all .. “But said Ben Bumpus Boone bluntly. just the same, there are the others.” “Who's going to give them—or get them all these jobs?” “T will,”’ said the grave Mr. Browne. The time had come, Ben Bumpus Boone could see, to end this thing—to stop this madman’s bluff—to puncture this wild balloon of this strange, impractical, if not ye | crazy highbrow. For he saw now what all this probably was. This man— this grave-faced man, with the stilted speech and the tortoise-shell glasses, who had set loose this free floating dream, who had made this tremendous and unworkable proposal—was without much doubt a vic- tim of delusions. Looking at him now he thought he noted, indeed, a strange thick gleam: continually growing in his eyes and a greater sharpness in his voice. “And who are you?” inquired Ben Bumpus Boone, in full rich tones. ‘How can you do this?” The grave-faced stranger paused before answering, looking up seriously at his ques- tioner, his hand upon the shining key, the golden key of scholarship, upon his vest. “T am Marcus Aurelius Browne,” he said then in his suave and cultivated voice. For a moment the great popular radical or free-publicity senator sat silent, his round, thick-jowled and resolute face stiff with sudden horror. But only for a moment. “The Marcus Aurelius Browne?” he cried. “Of Wall Street! Of New York!” “At your service,” said the spectacled and heavy-haired man in the chair before him, bowing slightly. “After a year and a half of service in the war.” And now Ben Bumpus Boone, the idol of the South and West, of the agricultural and laboring man, his momentary weakness gone, stood forth and faced him. “T defy you!” he said loudly. “I defy you—and Wall Street—the stock market the cotton, wheat and bean markets—all those sinister influences and greater gam- bling hells which you represent! And as for this trap which you have set for my feet—this devilish fabrication of my ene- mies, concerning the speculation of my private secretary’s aunt, I will say be But, looking now, he saw the scholarly looking Mr. Browne smiling an amused but not unfriendly smile. “Do not,” he said, now interrupting, “say anything. It is not necessary. wish to be your friend. Your ally—not your enemy. And I need you as certainly as you need me. I have been,” he con- tinued, in the other’s silence, “‘the mental and intellectual agent of Wall Street, yes— the much needed point of contact with the public mind which it must have. I have been all that, yes. You are entirely right.” His hearer listened, spellbound by the suavity of his voice, the academic and even highbrow words and manner of his speech. July 5, 1924 “And it is precisely because of that— because I am an ambitious—a very am- bitious—man and know the exact limita- tions of financial and corporation publicity in its contacts with the public mind, that I come to you—to offer you this alliance—to satisfy at one time both your ambition and my own!” “What is your offer?’”’ asked Ben Bum- pus Boone, striking heavily on the leather seat of his swivel chair, as he sat blindly backward. “First, to fulfill your great ambition—to make you President; and after that—fulfill my own!” “What ambition is that,’’ asked Ben Bumpus Boone, lifting up his bloodshot eyes from underneath his heavy brow, “of yours?” “To be the secret inside public-relations counsel of the President; to write his speeches, direct his interviews, establish all his contacts with the mass mind—both in America and abroad!” The voice of the senator at last answered him, hoarse and harsh. “In other words, to be the President!” “Is there anything so impossible then in this particular portion of my plan?” the visitor asked him, with a slight but very well-informed smile. “No,” Ben Bumpus Boone was com- pelled to admit. “‘No,” he said, droppin a heavy hand upon his desk as he slumpe down heavily in his chair. ‘“‘And I the figurehead!” he muttered half aloud. And yet, what could he do? This man had him. “Tl doit. I'll doit!” said Ben Bumpus Boone now heartily, leaping up, as he re- called the whole details of the operations which involved this man and the unfortu- nate speculation of the aunt of his confi- dential secretary, John Bunyan Jones. “T’ll do it, gladly!” cried Ben Bumpus Boone’s strong hearty barytone. “That is fine,’”’ said the stranger with the glasses and mild manner, but the sharply shining eyes. “That is fine. But,’ he went on, speaking after a slight mutual silence, “‘we must not forget. We must net deceive ourselves. We are not the only ones who will have this idea.” “What idea?” “That having won the war, the free pub- licity of America wil! play a part—a con- tinually growing part —that it will probably go far indeed toward picking out our future Presidents!” Ben Bumpus Boone started, struck at once by the irresistible reasonableness of this statement. “And that being the case, others besides us will soon be developing this same plan; will soon be starting their own pre- presidential free-publicity combinations, forging their chain of press agents, placed —— in the strategic centers of pub- icity throughout the country.” “Soon!” said Senator Boone loudly. “*Soon!”’ he spoke out louder still, recalling sharply the alertness and mental ingenuity of the other free-publicity candidates for the possible future nomination for the pres- idency. ‘Come on. Let’s get busy!” “Tomorrow morning,” said the visitor, rising, “I shall be in with our plan, the outline of which I have already almost completed.” The senator sat alone when this man was gone, thinking his strangely mingled thoughts—happy thoughts of the extraor- dinary strength of his new connection; uneasy thoughts about his bargain with this man who, now holding him helpless in his hands, planned to be the secret future ruler of the United States—by holding in his power its combined publicity. A great fear and dread possessed Ben Bumpus Boone; a great and sudden apprehension of this strange silent personality, with its tremendous dream of power—the almost mad ambition which, he saw, now burned behind that studious, spectacled face, that Phi Beta Kappa key. He was interrupted finally by the jarring call of his telephone. dt was a telegram in cipher from John Bunyan Jones en route to Honolulu. He took it and translated it: No wire from you. Am anxious. Do not close aunt’s accounts before positively necessary. Ben Bumpus Boone started, conscience- stricken. In his excitement he had for- gotten entirely to keep Jones posted upon the now stupendous profits of his aunt’s estate in the still madly falling bean market. Editor’s Note—This is the fourth of a series of stories by Mr. Turner. The fifth and last will ap- pear in an early issue.

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Brush downward over the upper teeth and gums. For the lower teeth and gums, brush upward. Always brush away from the gums. The large end tuft of the Pro - phy - lac - tic reaches and cleans the backs of the back teeth at the same time the serrated bristles clean the crevices between the teeth The Pro-phy -lac - tic is curved to fit. It reaches all ceeth and the crevices between tl OUR teeth can make you suffer. You know that when they ache. When you have a toothache, the damage is done. Nothing remains but to have a dentist fill your tooth or pull it out. The real danger began long before you had that tooth- ache. It began when the tartar germ first attacked your tooth. Tartar is a hard, rough substance. It attacks the enamel of your teeth. It infects your gums. It forms on your teeth when you least expect it. The four most danger- ous times are in the morning when you get out of bed, after noon-time lunch, after supper or dinner in the evening, and before you go to bed. Those are the four best times to brush your teeth. Use a Pro-phy-lac-tic Tooth Brush. It is scientifically designed to clean out-of-the-way places and prevent tartar from forming there. The wide-set, saw- tooth-pointed bristles reach all teeth and the crevices between them. The large end tuft cleans the backs of all teeth, and all surfaces of the rearmost molars. MARKEO wry RREG 1 5 pay OFF MBOLS YOUR BRUSH Hus om its v ORES CLICKLY Aa ae, THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE FOUR BEST TIMES TO BRUSH YOUR TEETH Brush your teeth when you get out of bed in the moming, after lunch at noon, after dinner in the evening, and before you go to bed. If you are away from home at noon have a second brush at your place of business. ONL oF THESE (ENT Four dangerous hours in a tooth’s day Be sure to brush well. Night and morn- ing use a good dentifrice. Always use plenty of water. Above all, be sure your tooth brush cleans all teeth. The Pro- phy-lac-tic does so. To keep teeth beautiful See that the name Prplyiis is on the handle of your tooth brush. Brush your teeth as shown in the photographs at the lower left, and they will be clean and beautiful. Remember that A Clean Tooth Never Decays. Sold by all dealers in the United States, Canada, and all over the world in the sanitary yellow box. Three sizes — prices in the United States: adults’ regular size, 50c; adults’ small size, especially suitable for boys and girls, 35c; and babies’ size, 25c — are made in three different textures of bristles — hard, medium, and soft. Send for “Tooth Truths,” our interesting book- let on the care of teeth. Florence Manu- facturing Company, Dept. A-7, Florence, Massachusetts, U.S. A. ALWAYS SOLD IN THE YELLOW BOX ‘*‘A CLEAN TOOTH NEVER DECAYS’’

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re rr tree ns te & 7) 6 a *) z tomy z re > & Se & Q & ~ & LJ D THE

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Tis Knight Time in America A thousand wonderful girls in a thousand towns are waiting tonight for a Knight to arrive with the only boy in the world. It’s Knight time in America! Turn to the Knight and you turn to motoring happiness that lives up to your dreams. The beauty of the Knight—the quiet of the Knight—the endurance of the Knight—everything about the car warms up every ounce of pride within you! Here is a car that starts out by giving you the thrill of a lifetime —and then keeps right on thrilling you season in and season out. The matchless Willys-Knight sleeve-valve engine actually, literally | improves with use! At 15,000 miles the Willys-Knight engine is silkier and quieter than the day it leaves the factory. Its valves never need grinding. It never gets clogged with carbon. On, on, on, and on, on, on —time on end—this engine goes on whispering about its business— faithful to its job of making you happy. Fifty thousand miles in a Knight—without once having a mechanic fuss with the engine . .. that is a common experience among Willys-Knight owners. The fact is, that in all the ten years Willys-Knights have been going out into the world, no Willys- Knight engine has been known to wear out! Small wonder, indeed, that people the land over are turning to the Knight in swelling numbers. It is Knight time in America because the time has come when people want an automobile they can keep and enjoy with no strain on the patience or purse. The Willys-Knight is—IT! Willys-Knight Models: 2-pass.- Roadster,$1175; $-pass. Touring $1195; 7-pass n Touring $1325; 5-pass. Coupe-Sedan (Standard $1450, De Luxe $1550); 5-pass GS Sedan $1695 (De Luxe $1895); 7-pass. Sedan $1995; all prices f. 0. b, Toledo We reserve the right to change prices and specifications without notice WillysOverland, Inc., Toledo,O. WillysOverland Sales Co. Ltd., Toronto, Can WILLYS KNIGHT

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‘THE SATURDAY EVENING POST The lever that lifts business loads nce in your grammar school you read about the lever, the pulley, the wheel and axle, and the inclined plane. . They were called “the mechanical powers.” They moved things that main strength couldn't budge. The printed form is a mechanical power in your business. Like the lever and the pulley, it has no power in itself. But it will multiply any power that is applied to it. The difference between blank paper and a printed form is the difference between main strength and leverage. Imagine scoring a baseball game without a printed score card. Try to invoice a bill of goods without a regular billhead, It doesn’t look like something to be paid. What is a memo without a date line? How good is a time card without a space for hours and minutes? What is the value of an order blank without a dotted line? Printed forms are levers. They increase power. They increase speed. They insure accuracy. They fix responsibility. They get work done. There is more to printed forms than paper. There is color. The fact that Hammermill Bond is made in twelve colors as well as white is very important. Different colored forms signal their purpose to the eyes. Blue says, “I am a job ticket.” Pink says, “I am a Production Order.” Red says, “Rush me.” Yellow says, “I come from the Presi- dent’s Office.”” Gray says, “Send me to the Ac- counting Department.” In weight too you get special service from Hammermill Bond. You want different weights in originals and in duplicates, heavier stock for records than for short-lived forms. Hammermill Bond is supplied in three finishes that give a bond, a ripple, and a linen effect. Hammermill Ledger is especially adapted for use with standard office appliances, loose-leaf ring books, billing machines, accounting machines. Your printer knows Hammermill Bond and can quickly get it in any desired weight, color or finish, large or small quantity. He will gladly work on the understanding that to save time and profitless shopping you want all your office, store, or factory forms printed on these papers. HAMMERMILL PAPER COMPANY, ERIE, PENNSYLVANIA Look for this watermark — it is our word of honor to the public AMER warBONnD ee The Utility Business Paper July 5,1924 - m* ~ reer ensthin cantina hee tierce | hale aT TANNER tt ee! se siete nor eager Bee sere

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ees ree er tee OSL FE | OL ALLA! OLED LILLE IDOLS LIL TAGE ALE DD LELAND IOI ; RT ST oe

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

THE TASTE OF THE THUMPER Uncle Bead tossed his quid into the bushes and gazed thoughtfully at the semi- circle of air bubbles collected on the liquor. Slowly, almost ceremoniously, he brought the edge of the cup to his lips and sipped re- flectively. He winced slightly as if the taste was repellent, and then lowered the cup and stared off at the ragged sky line far above. For a full minute he remained per- fectly immobile, his eyes narrowed and his forehead a crisscross network of puckers. Abruptly his face cleared and he turned to young Keenas. “Boy, what sort of water’s in yo’ spring down thar?”’ He pointed toward the creek a few yards below them. “Freestone,” replied the youth suc- cinctly. “Why?” “‘T thought so.””’ Uncle Bead ran his fin- gers through his hair and then shook his head slowly. “But, boy, I'll take oath thar’s some sulphur water somewhar about that likker.” “Well, I'm damned!” Keenas’ jaw dropped and over his face there spread a look of utter disbelief and bewilderment. His staring gaze moved from the old man to the jug and then back again. Old Jake stood watching the two, spo suppressing his laughter with effort. “Have ye been usin’ any sulphur water, Keenas?” Old Jake’s head was thrust slightly forward and his entire body grew tense as he awaited his answer. “TI washed them jugs in that sulphur spring back of the barn.” Keenas spoke each word slowly, never taking his eyes from those of Uncle Bead. Old Jake’s roar of laughter echoed from the surrounding hills. He bent almost double and when he straightened he was gasping for breath. Tears were glistening in his eyes as he smothered another outburst. “Laugh, ye old jackass,” growled Uncle Bead. “‘That’s what ye allus do when ye’re bested in a argyment.” “I—I ain’t laughin’ at ye,’ sputtered Old Jake. ‘I’m laughin’ with ye. I take my hat off to ye, Bead—ye an’ yo’ taster. Lord, the sulphur what the jugs was washed with!” Again he imitated a jackknife, but this time with silent merriment. Mollified, Uncle Bead set the cup down and glanced at his watch. From the log behind him he picked up an old-fashioned muzzle-loading squirrel rifle and threw it across his shoulder. “Ten o'clock, Jake,” he announced. “‘Le’s go home an’ take a look at them jugs. Goin’ that way, Halliday?” “Part of the way. I’m turning off at the forks of the road.” Silently they slipped through the forest, the old hillmen carefully choosing their steps and picking their way along such portions of the surface as would leave no definite trail. Halliday emulated them, stepping in their tracks as often as possible, and wondering at their ability to break through the most dense of the thickets without mak- ing a sound to mark their passing. They reached the crossroads and halted. *Court’s two weeks off,” said Halliday. “The prohibition docket comes on the fol- lowing Monday. I’ll see you both then, I suppose. I’m depending on you to have everything ready by that time. If you want me for anything, drop in my office.” “Ye can depend on us,” grinned Uncle Bead, “but I don’t figger we'll need ye till the trial.” “ Allright.”” Halliday unhitched his horse from a bush beside the road and, with the customary “So long” of the mountains, rode rapidly away. Setting a pace that be- lied his age, Old Jake led the way toward the cabin, and Uncle Bead found it difficult to keep up with him. A quarter of an hour later they turned through the gate toward a roomy log house perched precariously on a bank a few yards from the road. They walked around to the rear, where a number of jugs were aligned in the sunshine on the porch. Old Jake caught up one of these and turned it bottom upward. In the compara- tively soft grayish substance two small crosses fashioned like the letter X had been scratched deeply with some sharp instru- ment. A half dozen others showed the same markings, and both of the old men examined each jug with minute care. “The sneak done a good job,” gruuted Uncle Bead. “How d’ ye reckon he got a chancet to fix ’em all thataway?” (Continued from Page 15) “‘Must’ve been nobody home. Me an’ Keenas ain’t hyar much, an’ he must ’a’ eee in when he saw us leave.” e sat down on the edge of the porch and rested his elbows on his knees. Uncle Bead leaned against a post. “Ye say ye got them jugs from Gabe Turner?” Uncle Bead cut a splinter from the post and began whittling thoughtfully. Old Jake nodded. “Didn’t buy all he had, did ye?” “No. Thar’s fifty or mo’ thar now—was theme time I was down thar. Why do ye ask?” “Ain't that little Poley Boney Wilson which sometimes stays in the sto’ fo’ Gabe—ain’t he yo’ grandson?” went on Uncle Bead, ignoring the other’s question. “Um!” Old Jake was watching his companion intently. “Ain't he been a-wantin’ to go West an’ be a cowboy er somethin’? Seems to me like he was tryin’ borrow the money some time back.” “Ye ol’ son of a gun!”” Old Jake shook with that peculiar silent laughter of his and slapped his knee ecstatically. “I can al- ready hear that jury say ‘Not pest ” The lengthening shadows of late after- noon found the two old clansmen sunning on the front porch. Old Jake, who had tilted his chair at a dangerous angle against the wall, came slowly to his feet and yawned. Uncle Bead removed his smoke- blackened pipe from his lips and glanced up inquiringly. ; “T’ve been thinkin’ fo’ the last hour, Bead,” drawled Old Jake, stroking his graying beard. “‘Ye know I’m gittin’ old an’ I ain’t as spry as I used to be. When I git outta this 1’m goin’ to buy out Gabe’s sto’. We've been dickerin’ an’ my mind’s made up. Thar must be somethin’ purty wrong about makin’ an’ sellin’ likker er they wouldn't be sech a ruckus raised about it. I never could see no wrong in it, Bead; but I reckon times have changed some since we was raised up. Back in them days xeople had diff’rent idees. "Member a Hartsock who used to have that bonded still?” “They've kinda growed off an’ left us, Jake.” Uncle Bead knocked the ashes from his pipe and then rested his chin in his cupped hand. ‘’Pears like the country’s gone plumb crazy with the heat er some- thin’. A man can’t jest figger whar he’s at. We go an’ vote fo’ some feller who says we're the salt of the earth, an’ then he goes an’ passes some fool law to reg’late us. While the people air yellin’ an’ hollerin’ fo’ him he goes an’ grabs hisself off a big graft boodle, an’ the one that gits the most gits in-ves-tigated. Our day's over, Jake, an’ I'm plumb glad to hear that ye’re goin’ into somethin’ which ain't agin the law—as et ” They lapsed into silence, and somewhere far back in the hills a whippoorwill began its mournful early evening call. An old hen came around the corner of the house cack- ling vociferously. Seeing the occupants of the porch, she stopped and eyed them curi- ously. Just then the click of a horse's hoof as it struck a stone far down the road brought the pair to an attitude of alertness. Four horsemen and a pedestrian came into view at the bend of the highway a hundred yards away. The hillmen studied the cavalcade for a long minute and then Uncle Bead whistled in surprise. Old Jake whirled suddenly toward the open door, but Uncle Bead caught him by the arm and held him firmly despite his struggles. The pedestrian was Keenas Yaunce and the horsemen were the sheriff and three deputies. “*Tain’t no use in raisin’ a ruckus, Jake,” pleaded Uncle Bead. “”Twon’t do no man- ner of good. They’ve got Keenas an’ that’s all thar is to it. "Tain’t no hangin’ crime as ’tis, but it mought be if ye git yo’ gun.” Old Jake subsided with ill grace and sank heavily back into his chair. The light in his cold blue eyes glittered dangerously as he watched the approaching horsemen. The cavaleade came to a halt at the gate and the sheriff dismounted, threw his bridle reins to a deputy and advanced swiftly toward the porch. The two old men arose and stood stiffly awaiting him. “Howdy, men.” The sheriff stopped with one foot resting on the bottom step. “Howdy, sheriff,” returned Uncle Bead, while Old Jake remained silent. The officer fumbled in his inside coat ocket and pulled out a sheaf of papers rom which he selected one. “T’ve got to serve this little paper on ye, Jake,” he said, opening the feltal dean. ment. “Do ye want me to read her to ye?” “He knows what's in it,” explained Uncle Bead shortly. The sheriff shot a searching look at him and laughed in frank surprise. “It shore beats the devil how ye fellers get the news so quick. It’s my business to know about these indictments, and I hadn't heard of this one till I met my deputies down on Crane’s Nest Creek this mo’nin’. Then I come up here and find out that you already know all about it.’’ “Uh-huh,” grunted Uncle Bead uncon- | cernedly. “I see ye’ve got Keenas.” “Caught him red-handed,” admitted the sheriff complacently. ‘‘Captured that crazy still too. One of the boys is guardin’ it now. We're goin’ to take her to town and put her on exhibition—charge ten cents admission.”’ He laughed at his joke, but got not a smile in return, His attitude was one of careless uncon- cern, but all the while he kept a watchful eye on Old Jake. “Well, Jake,” he said at last, “are ye | about ready to go to town and fix up yer bail? I reckon Uncle Bead’ll accommo- date ye.” “All right, sheriff.” to fear Old Jake’s silence. an’ hat, Jake.” The instant that Old Jake disappeared through the door, Uncle Bead stepped close to the sheriff. “Go back out to the road an’ wait,” he whispered hoarsely. “Jake’s riled about Keenas. Let me talk to him. Ye can hold me responsible—I won't let him run 'way.” “Shore, Bead. We ain't in no hurry.” The officer turned and walked back to- ward the gate. Uncle Bead found Old Jake leaning thoughtfully against the mantel and star- ing at a heavy-calibered revolver suspended from a deer’s horn above him. “Don’t act foolish, Jake. Le’s go to town with 'em. I'll fix yores an’ Keenas’ bails an’ we'll be back by midnight.” “Give me a little time, Bead.” Old Jake “Git yo’ coat was breathing hard. “That sheriff’s laugh | allus did rile me. I nigh about lost control | out thar.” “Take all the time ye want, Jake. They | us. I'll hitch yo’ mule | ain’t goin’ to hurr fo’ Keenas an’ we'll get mine as we go down the ridge.” Night closed about them when they were | still an hour’s ride from the little county | seat, and by the time they reached the out- skirts many of the houses were alread darkened, for many of the citizens still clung to the. mountain early-to-sleep habit. The clatter of their horses’ hoofs on the street aroused several dogs, but other- wise their entry apparently passed un- noticed. Near the courthouse they halted and waited while Uncle Bead dismounted and climbed the steps of the rickety old building in the depths of which Attorney — maintained a dingy two-roomed office. His heavy footfalls echoed hollowly in the musty corridors as he made his way through the pitchy darkness to where a light shone at the bottom of a door. While yet fifteen feet away the door opened and | the light flooded the hall. “Careful of those boxes!” cautioned a | voice from inside. “ You'll break your neck over em. Come on in.” The sudden brightness blinded Uncle Bead for an instant and he stood staring into the room. “Uncle Bead! What on earth?” Halli- day caught a chair and dumped several books on the floor. “ What’s happened?” “Nothin’ to git plumb excited about,” | replied the old man, sitting down and re- | moving his battered hat. “I jest come to git ye to fix up the bail bonds fo’ Jake an’ Keenas. The sheriff +! “Keenas? Did they get him?” inter- rupted Halliday. “Caught him an’ his thumper a little atter dinner today. We got away jest in time, I reckon. Then the sheriff come an’ got Old Jake.” “Where are they now?” “Outside, waitin’ fo’ me to git ye execute them bonds.”

Uncle Bead began

| Zac

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EVENING POST Halliday reached for his hat and the elec- tric light switch at the same time, but Uncle Bead stayed him. “Let ’em wait. I want to talk to ye fo’ a little while. Thar ain’t no hurry.” He crossed his knees and placed his hat back on his head, pulling the brim low to keep the light out of his eyes. “‘Keenas was caught flat-footed an’ I figger he’s got to take his medicine. ’Tain’t no use in his standin’ trial, is thar?” Halliday deliberated for an instant. “Well, it being his first offense before the court, I might be able to compromise; but I expect that the best we can do is to get him to confess and take the minimum pen- alty—thirty days and fifty dollars.” “T figgered as much. Keenas is young an’ he can stand it, but it’d nigh about kill Jake to send him up. We've jest got to | cl’ar him.” “Have you two discovered anything of importance?” asked Halliday. “Nothin’ yet, but I reckon with a little luck we can do it. This’ll be the last time ye’ll have to defend Jake. He told me to- day that if he got outta this case he was goin’ to buy Gabe Turner’s sto’ an’ quit scoutin’. An’ ye know Jake’s word’s as good as his oath. He’s gittin’ old an’ I reckon me an’ him ain’t rightly onderstood about the crime of makin’ good likker. We was talkin’ today an’ we decided that our | idees were kinda outta style an’ that we mought as well sorta drop out. But’’—his eyes twinkled—-‘‘I reckon we'll be able to show ‘em a trick er two befo’ this trial’s over. I'll let ye know what we find in time fo’ ye to git ready.” An hour later Halliday stood on the | street corner and watched the two old hill- men and the youthful moonshiner melt into the darkness in the direction of the moun- | tains. On Monday morning of the second week of court, the judge, a benignant, white- | haired jurist o the old school, opened the rohibition docket. From the size of the ist of indictments, the grand jury and county and Federal officers had been ex- ceedingly busy; and the court room was crowded with bearded and sinewy moun- taineers, the majority of whom were wit- nesses in various cases. The odor of stale tobacco and musty papers mingled with that of fresh floor oil, and the breeze stirred a faded geranium in a pot on the window sill back of the bar. The customary jury of five was chosen from the veniremen and they took their seats in the box directly in front of the raised dais on which his honor sat. A low buzz of conversation filled the room as case after case was called by the judge, to each of which the commonwealth’s attorney, Roarin’ Rufe Carty, bellowed a stentorian “Capias.” Roarin’ Rufe, outside the court room, was as mild-mannered a man as could be found through the hill country, but once before the bar of justice his entire demeanor changed. His voice became a veritable shout, and the loungers on the street below were able to hear each word of his vituperative and vitriolic charges. With the speed and explosiveness of a machine gun, he would fire questions at witnesses and sometimes frighten the more timid into | strange and unaccountable admissions. “Commonwealth vs. Keenas Yaunce,”’ intoned the judge. Halliday arose to his feet from among the barristers across the aisle from the com- | monwealth’s attorney. “My client wishes to confess to the | charge against him and asks the mercy of the court.’ Granting the minimum sentence, the old judge turned again to the docket and the mill of justice ground exceeding fine with | such monotony that more than one juror caught himself napping. But when the case against Jake Yaunce was called a stir of awakened interest ran through the room and the sheriff called for order. Quickly the news spread to the street, and through the doorway began to pour a steady stream of visitors. They had long since learned that Jake Yaunce and Saint Bead Sparr, the Damon and Pythias of the Cumberlands, would make possible an intensely entertain- ing hour or two. “Jacob Yaunce in the court room?” queried the sheriff, sweeping the crowd with searching glance. “ r ” Old Jake arose from his seat in the rear of the room and marched down the aisle, looking neither to left nor right. At his side stalked Uncle Bead, who did not even hear the subdued stir of amusement that July 5,1924 rippled through the audience. At the gate in the railing Halliday met them and whis- pered a word to Uncle Bead. The latter obediently dropped into a seat in the front row vacated by an obliging friend. Roarin’ Rufe, waen he had assured him- self of the presence of two important wit- nesses, arose and faced the jury. “Gentlemen, you've all heard of the shaking beech tree.’’ His tones were a deep rumble like that of storm-heralding thun- der. “For the benefit of any who per- chance might not possess that knowledge, I will state that a certain beech tree on top of the mountain has become a blind tiger. The purchaser of liquor may lay his money on a rock at the roots of that tree and return in fifteen minutes to find his money gone and in its place the amount of liquor he wanted. I am going to prove to you be- yond the shadow of a doubt that Old Jake Yaunce is the proprietor of that blind tiger. The evidence will speak for itself.” He sat down and scribbled hurriedly on a yellow writing pad for an instant, while a court official called the first witness, one Deputy Corlis, a prohibition-enforcement officer of small stature and quick, nervous actions. His story was brief and pointed. He declared that he had been sent out from the central office to run down the beech- tree case, and that he had spent a futile week in the vicinity of Indian Gap without finding a tangible clew. Morally certain that Old Jake Yaunce was the man he wanted, he asserted that he employed one Jase Woodward to assist him. The latter had marked a number of jugs on Old Jake’s —< Then, with money which Corlis had oaned him, Woodward had purchased moonshine under the beech tree, and the jug bore the mark Jase had scratched on it. Halliday fired a few perfunctory and aim- less questions in his cross-examination, a mere pretense to keep up the appearance of the fight, and dismissed the witness. “Call Jase Woodward!”” A complacent smile played around Roarin’ Rufe’s mouth. A tall weather-bleached_ hillman, thin al- most to the point of emaciation, slouched across to the stand and seated himself gin- gerly. Heshot a furtive glance at Old Jake, as if fearful of the consequences of his betrayal, and then began fumbling with a brassy watch chain at his butternut vest. “Are you Jason Woodward?” Roarin’ Rufe lowered his voice encouragingly. “Yes, sir.”’ “Tell the jury in your own words what you know about the case against Jacob Yaunce.” Almost verbatim, he repeated Corlis’ story, except that part which pertained to his marking the jugs on Old Jake’s porch. He described in detail how he had watched the house until he saw Old Jake and Keenas leave and how he had cut two crosses on each jug with the point of his pocket knife. When he had ended his recital, Roarin’ Rufe reached beneath the table and raised a brown earthenware jug holding approxi- mately a gallon. He glanced at the bottom of it and then handed it over to the witness. “Do you “Yes, sir. “Tell the jury where you saw that jug before this and how it came into your pos- session.” “‘Hit’s the one I got under the beech tree, an’ one of them I marked at Jake Yaunce’s.”’ “You're positive of that?’’ “Shore.” ** Cross-examine.”’ The glow of elation lit up Roarin’ Rufe’s face as he leaned back in his chair and inter- laced his fingers across his vest. “You are absolutely certain that you pane those marks on that jug?”’ shot Hal- iday in staccato voice, pointing toward the vessel which was making the rounds of the recognize that jug?”’ “Shore.” Halliday reached down at his feet and lifted a pair of leathern saddle pockets to the table. Opening one of the flaps, he re- moved two other jugs of similar appearance and walked over to the witness box, carry- ing them in his arms. He gave them to Jase, who examined them curiously. “Do you recognize those jugs?” “Yes, sir.” “Where have you seen them before?”’ “Tl marked ’em on Jake’s back porch.” “Examine those marks closely !’’ ordered Halliday. “I want you to be certain. Did you scratch those crosses with your knife?”’ “Object!” shouted Roarin’ Rufe. “He just answered that question.” (Continued on Page 66)

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(Continued from Page 64) “He hasn't identified those marks,” ex- plained Halliday caimly. ‘‘ He only said he marked the jugs.” “You may answer the question,” the judge ruled, nodding toward the witness. WV es, sir, I made them very marks,” re- plied Jase emphatically. “You'll swear that these jugs came from Old Jake’s back porch?” “Ves, sir—onless ye’ve been to the beech tree too.” The titter that greeted this statement swelled to a gale of laughter and the judge was forced to resort to pounding his gavel to restore order. Halliday’s crooked grin lingered and there was mockery in his tones as fe dismissed the witness. “Call Gabriel Turner—that is, if the prosecution has no more witnesses.” “Those two are all I will need, your honor,”’ announced Roarin’ Rufe, satisfac- tion written large across his face. The storekeeper advanced slowly, nod- ding here and there to an acquaintance and apparently enjoying the spotlight of in- terest. He sat down and faced the jury with the air of one who knows he has star- tling information to impart. “You are Gabrie! Turner, storekeeper at the foot of Indian Ridge, are you not?” asked Halliday. “T am.” “State to the jury whether or not you ever saw these two jugs on the table here.” He placed one of the vessels in the witness’ hands. “TI fotch em hyar in my saddle pockets this mo’nin’,”” he replied, after making a swift examination of them. “Where did you get them?” “Outta my sto’--they’re part of the stock I bought last spring.” “And those marks on the bottom—they are on each one of those jugs, are they not?” “Yes, suh. Leastways, they was on about two dozen of 'em. I didn’t look at the rest.” “You've been selling these jugs to quite a few people from time to time, haven't you?" “Five er six a week, I reckon, on the average. I guess nearly ever’ body's bought a jug at some time or t’other—that is, all of ‘em who live close enough to trade with me.” “That will do.” Halliday glanced across at the common- wealth’s attorney, who was palpably taken by surprise at the unexpected turn. His expression had changed from one of com- placency to concern and disappointment, and he beat a tattoo on the table with his pencil in evident anxiety to get at the wit- ness. There was not one in the court room who did not realize that Roarin’ Rufe had lost his ease unless he disproved the wit- ness’ statements. Old Jake turned slowly around, and under the partial cover of his hand winked broadiy at Uncle Bead. Roarin’ Rufe came to his feet suddenly and towered over the witness. “When did you discover those marks on the jugs? Who showed them to you?” he shouted, shaking an accusing finger under the very nose of the witness. “Why, Uncle Bead p’inted 'em out to me one day last week —I believe ‘twas Mon- day, ‘long about two o'clock.” “What was he doing looking at your jugs?” “He was buyin’ a couple, an’ one of ’em was cracked in the bottom. He ast me if them crosses was my cost mark.” “ Are they?” “No; I figgered they was put on by the “reer what made 'em.” “Then you don’t know who put those marks on them?” “Ain't | jest said I didn’t?”’ questioned Gabe with eee “Who else stays in your store?” “Poley Boney Wilson has been workin’ thar some—off an’ on.” “IT suppose you mean Napoleon Bona- parte Wilson. Whose son is he?” A smile of confidence was coming back to the commonwealth attorney's face. “Le’s see--I reckon he’s Allaphair Wil- son's youngest boy.” “Allaphair Wilson is the daughter of Jake Yaunce, the ace , is she not?” “Yes,” admitted Gabe, “So!” Roarin’ Rufe's tone was one of deep sarcasm, ‘‘ Where is this Poley Boney now? He can explain about the marks.” He turned toward the bench. “I am going to subpoena him, your honor, and I can get THE SATURDAY him here by tomorrow morning if you will grant me that postponement.” “Then ye'll have to hurry,” advised Gabe dryly. “Poley left the mountains Sunday afore last an’ went West somewhar to be a cowboy.” Another ripple of laughter ran through the room and the sheriff called sharply in admonition. Roarin’ Rufe, spreading his hands in a gesture of futility, sat down heavily and his expression of ludicrous dismay brought a smile from the jurors. Uncle Bead main- tained a passive countenance, albeit his eyes were glinting with twinkles and his beard was quivering ee During the interlude while the room was growing quiet, Jase Woodward leaned across the railing and began whispering hurriedly to Roarin’ Rufe. After the first few words the latter came to his feet, caught the hillman by the arm and led him out into the corridor. “Give me two minutes’ time, your honor,” he called, and before the judge had time to reply the door closed. When he ap- peared again it was apparent that he had another important card up his sleeve. No- ticing that Gabe Turner was still on the witness stand, he nodded toward him in dismissal and waved him aside. “Is Saint Bead Sparr in the court room?” A sudden and unnatural stillness greeted his question. Uncle Bead’s eyes narrowed to slits and his gaunt form stiffened at this unexpected move. For a space of thirty seconds he sought vainly to fathom the rosecuting attorney’s motive, but Roarin’ ufe’s face remained enigmatical. Baffled, he turned to Halliday for some sign that might throw a light on the mystery; but the latter was listening to something Old Jake was saying and shaking his head in emphatic negation. Sensing his own tensity as well as that of the crowd whose composite eyes were trained upon him, Uncle Bead relaxed and with studied nonchalance awaited the next play of the commonwealth. “Come forward and be sworn, Saint Bead,” ordered Roarin’ Rufe irritably. With that easy, swinging stride of the mountaineer, the old man walked swiftly to the witness box. “Ye're meanin’ me, I reckon.” Uncle Bead’s voice was truculent. “My name's Thomas Henry Sparr, but it’s Mister Sparr to ye, suh.” “Mister Clerk, will you be so kind as to swear in Mr. Sparr?"’ Roarin’ Rufe was elaborately sarcastic. Uncle Bead placed his hand on the stained Bible and smiled with content when ‘the faces of the jurors told him that his belligerent attitude had at least not dis- pleased them. Although outwardly self-possessed, his mind was seething with conjectures and possible explanations of his being called to the stand. He had always avoided the béech tree for fear of just such a con- tingency as this, and he knew that his evidence in that respect would not hurt Old Jake in the least. But intuition told him that Roarin’ Rufe was planning some ingenious move, and he had seen the prosecuting attorney’s ability in this line enough to respect it. “You're a citizen of this county, are you not, Mr. Thomas Henry Sparr?’ Uncle Bead turned in the swivel chair and faced Roarin’ Rufe. The audience leaned forward in their seats, apparently determined to catch each possible word of the examination. “T am, suh.” “‘ How long have you known the prisoner, Jacob Yaunce?” The lawyer’s voice was gradually rising. “Bout fifty years.” “Did you ever shake the beech tree?” Uncie Bead hesitated until he remem- bered that he could not be indicted for any admission while on the witness stand. “T have, suh,” “Who sold you the moonshine?” “I never seen nobody. Jest put down my cash an’ got my likker ten minutes later. Found it settin’ a-waitin’ fo’ me.” “You have what might be termed an educated taste for liquor, haven't you, Mr. Thomas Henry Sparr?”’ demanded Roarin’ Rufe, abruptly changing tactics. “Object!” interrupted Halliday, coming to his feet. “That question is irrelevant to this case.” “Your honor,” explained Roarin’ Rufe, rising, “I think I can show you in a few words that the question has a direct bear- ing on the case, This court, your honor, has EVENING POST just convicted Keenas Yaunce, the defend- ant’s nephew, on a charge of manufacturing liquor. The still which was captured at the time of Keenas Yaunce’s arrest is what is known as a thumper still and was the only one of its kind ever seen in the Cumberlands. The liquor which Woodward bought at the beech tree, I have reason to believe, was made by that thumper still. “Now, your honor, it is apparently a scientific fact that the thumper still turns out a whisky which contains a greater alco- holic content than the average still. It is also said to have a slightly different taste from that made in the sii-tedhiened way. If so, there is no man better qualified te de- tect that difference than Mr. Sparr. His discriminating taste is a byword in the Cumberlands. Why, your honor, it has been told on good authority that he once detected sulphur in a drink, and it was later discovered that the jug had been washed in a sulphur-water spring.” Halliday, daeapentiy divining Roarin’ Rufe’s purpose, again sprang to his feet; but the latter waved him back with an imperative gesture and advanced a few steps closer to the jury. “IT propose, gentlemen,” continued Roarin’ Rufe, “to make that test of the thumper liquor here in the court room. If Mr. Sparr says that it isn’t the thumper liquor that Jase Woodward bought under the beech tree, then I'll drop the charge. If he declares that it is, I’m perfectly willing to leave the rest in the hands of the jury. Woodward tells me that some of that liquor has been kept for evidence.” “We object, your honor,” broke in Halli- day, ‘on the grounds that such a proceed- ing is without precedent in any court. It would be unfair to the defendant as well as to the witness. The sense of taste cannot be developed to such a certainty.” The old judge pondered for a full minute, his chin resting on his cupped hand and his eyes closed. The wailing cry of a baby somewhere in the rear of the room appeared startlingly loud and then died away in muffled sounds as its mother stilled it. “It seems to me,” replied the judge slowly, ‘that as far as this court is con- cerned, it cannot discriminate between the five senses. man’s sight may deceive him at times, and at best he can only swear to the best of his knowledge. However, I'll admit that there is a ground for your ob- jection, and I am willing to leave it to the witness. If he will rely upon his sense of taste under oath, I cannot see why I should prevent it.” Uncle Bead saw Halliday’s anxious eyes upon him as the court awaited his reply. He gripped the arms of his chair, fighting for time. Dully he saw his knuckles grow white under the strain of that grasp and he folded his hands in his lap. Blindly he sought a loophole, but he found none and the silence grew interminable. “Will you taste that liquor and swear whether or not it is from the thumper still?” Roarin’ Rufe leaned toward the witness and each word came like the crack of a whip. But Uncle Bead seemingly ignored him. “Will you or will you not?” he fairly shouted. “Your honor,” drawled the witness, “I'm not hard of hearin’. Is it plumb necessary fo’ this—this jackass to bray in my ear like that?” A wild guffaw among the mountaineers seemed fairly to rock the building and it was five minutes before the sheriff was able to restore order. “The witness will answer the question,” ordered the judge with asperity, apparently nettled by the hilarity and disrespect toward a court official. “T reckon so, your honor, if I have to,” replied Uncle Bead slowly, and it was with an effort that he turned and looked at Old Jake. The defendant was smiling uncon- cernedly. A deputy came from the witness room, carrying a number of packages in his arms. He placed them on the table before the commonwealth’s attorney and unwrapped them, exposing two half-filled bottles, a fruit jar also about half filled, a stone jug and a hot-water bottle. Then he arranged five tumblers in a row beside the vessels and withdrew. Roarin’ Rufe, after a cursory glance, arose. “To make the test fair, your honor,” he explained, “I have arranged to have these five glasses filled with whiskies which have been collected and held for evidence in this court. In one of those glasses will be July 5,1924 that which Jase Woodward bought under the beech tree. In the others will be liquor made the regular way. The witness will drink from each of the glasses and then be asked to point out the thumper glass.” He paused and, with a smile of confidence, pointed at Halliday. ‘I will ask that the counsel for defense assist me in preparing the test.” “The sheriff and clerk will also accom- pany you into the jury room,” ordered the judge. ‘You will so mark those glasses that there can be no question of identity.” The room was immediately filled with the low buzz of conversation, a sound simi- lar to that of a swarm of bees in summer. The judge leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes in apparent fatigue, but the attitude of everyone else in the room was one of tense alertness. Uncle Bead dropped his chin on his chest and awaited the pass- ing of the hourlike minutes. No admonition to quiet the audience was necessary when the two barristers and the sheriff and clerk came down the aisle in sin- gle file. The sheriff carried the glasses, each partially filled with a clear white liquid, and laced them on the table beside Roarin’ ufe. The white pieces of paper on which numbers had been penciled were visible on the sides of the glasses. Uncle Bead arose and stood beside the table, studying the five glasses with critical eye. He rearranged them about him and lifted two of them to the light and peered long and intently at the bead bubbles which played against the glass surface. A dreamy look came into his eyes as he lifted the first glass to his lips, and as he sipped he gazed reflectively out toward the distant blue mountain tops. With slow, measured actions he tasted the contents of each of the five glasses and then stood immobile with his eyes closed for a full minute. Once again he sipped from each glass, seemingly unable to come to a decision. He fumbled one of the tumblers and almost dropped it as he set it to one side and pointed a trembling finger at it. _ “That one thar’s got thumper likker in i.” The sheriff caught it up and glanced at the number pasted on it. Roarin’ Rufe leaned eagerly forward and peered intently for a second, and then, with a short, disap- pointed laugh, turned away. “Your honor,” said the sheriff, “‘the witness has picked out Number Four Glass. The whisky from Woodward’s jug was poured in Number Two.” Halliday dropped back into his chair and his infectious grin grew into a chuckle as he gazed at Uncle Bead in undisguised admi- ration. Not waiting for his dismissal from the stand, the witness arose and walked back to his seat outside the railing, while Old Jake followed him with an expression of blank amazement. “We rest the case, your honor,” shrugged Roarin’ Rufe, smiling cynically. The jury retired, but there was none in the room who did not know what the ver- dict would be. They were out scarce ten minutes, and when the clerk read “Not guilty, Uncle Bead was the first to grasp Old Jake by the hand. A few minutes later they reached the street together and walked away arminarm. Halliday caught up with them before they reached the livery stable where they had left their mules. “Darned clever, Uncie Bead,” he con- gratulated guardedly. ‘“‘I want to shake your hand.” “Did ye see?’’ queried the old hillman, shaking with silent laughter. “‘T saw enough to give me a suspicion of what you were doing. But, you know, I was expecting another trick. I thought you were going to get drunk on that evidence and forget how to taste.” “TI thought of that,” Uncle Bead ad- mitted gravely, ‘but I knowed the court wouldn’t believe I could git drunk on that little amount of likker.” “Somehow I wisht ye hadn’t done it, Bead,” declared Old Jake sadly. “It wan't worth tellin’ no lie about.” “He ain’t caught on yet.” Uncle Bead shook his head gravely and gazed at his old friend in apparent concern. ‘“‘ He thinks I swore a lie to save his wo’thless carcass from jail. Listen, Jake! The thumper likker was in the glass I picked out. I could taste that stuff anywhar.” ““Sh-h!”” Uncle Bead glanced cautiously about him and then leaned closer. “Them papers with the numbers on ’em were jest wet an’ stuck on the glasses. I changed the labels on Number Two and Number Four.” Eyer Ee i a PR I, ER te TL

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ef re sh Yourself | iY } di ' } tj Ls ae ‘ | \ | é 4 | ¥ a y a a = pe Youd like a cool and cheerful place? He's waiting at one smiling. You'll want a sparkling ice-cold glass ? He holds one most , J inviting. You can only spare a minute or two! Hell not keep you longer. You need but walk a block or less; he’s on most every corner The Coca-Cola Company, Atlanta, Ga.

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SATURDAY EVENING POST July 5,1924 © 1924, G. W. Co. There's a big difference in the mental state of a man who dresses in cool clothes and one who does not Be Cool!

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"THIS CLIMATE of ours makes light- weight summer suits a necessity. That’s why Palm Beach Cloth, the patented cool fabric that cannot be successfully imitated, came into ex- istence. Lots of men are glad to see sum- mer come, so they can get out of their bulky, heavy clothes. They enjoy that feeling of easy freedom that they put on with their well- made, fine-fitting Palm Beach Suits. You don’t have to wear funny- looking clothes to be cool, any more than you have to wear hot, stuffy clothes to look well. All you have THE SATURDAY EVENING POST It’s time to put on cool clothes to do is to ask for the better tailored kind of Palm Beach Suits and you'll get real hot-weather comfort and good looks too. Your regular clothier should have Palm Beach Clothes of the price, colors, tailoring, patterns, and cut that are designed to meet the taste of men of your sort. Golf knickers, sport clothes, and boys’ suits of Palm Beach Cloth are cool, good-looking, and durable. THE PALM BEACH MILLS GOODALL WORSTED CO., Sanford, Maine A. ROHAUT, Selling Agent, 229 Fourth Ave., N. Y At all good clothing stores — in dark and light shades and many patterns. Priced according to finish and tailoring. Always Look fe : It ldentifjes the PALM BEAC SUITS Below are shown some of the colors and patterns you can choose from t his Label] Genuine ir any color you want. It is the

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST July 5, 1924 Afield or at home good coffee deserves Carnation Two wonderful ingredients for coffee —the magic of out-of-doors, and Carnation Milk. One of them, no matter where you may be, is always ready with its creamy richness to make the best cup of coffee taste better. It is ready, too. to benefit all your cooking, whenever the recipe calls for milk or cream. It 1s always the same, alwaysdependable— just pure milk, evaporated to double richaess, kept safe by sterilization. HE herds of “‘Contented Cows’’ which supply milk to the Carnation Condenseries owe their quality in ever-increasing measure to the work that is being done at the Carnation Milk 4 RS ee ee Farms at Seattle, Washington, and Oconomowoc, Wisconsin. At double-rich contents these farms have been developed such internationally famous cows ° / : of this can until the as Segis Pietertje Prospect, with her unequaled record of 17,800.6 quart bottle overflows quarts of milk in one year—over 48 quarts a day. Better cows wom pore eek mean better milk—for all the world. CARNATION MILK Propucts CoMPANyY $2 Carnation Bidg., Oconomowoc, Wis. + 832 Stuart Bidg., Seattle; Wash. + New York + Aylmer, Ont. | Carnatio ““From Contented Cows’’ © 1924, Carnation Miik Products Co

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— ——— $200,000 worth of units, say, in a well that cost $150,000 to drill, whereby the pro- moters made $50,000 a well whether the struck oil or not. If they hit it, so muc the better, for they knew ways to cancel the income from the oil before any of it got to the stockholders. This article does not concern the stock een pe by the professional promoters. hey are always with us, save in the rare instances when one or two are sent to the penitentiary. What is in mind here is to show the hazards and difficulties of the small producer, of the man or little syndi- cate of men that rushes into the oil game whenever a wildcatter hits a well in a new territory, or someone brings in a well in a territory where the big companies have not leased all the promising land and there are chances to get leases of small tracts here and there. Those are the boys who gamble with grief. Those are the lads who have their troubles and mostly come out of the game with nothing to the good but the experience. Speaking generally, the oil-production business is composed of three layers. The top layer is made up of the big companies, like the Standard, the Associated, the Shell, the Union, the Pacific, the Texas, the Mid- Continent, and so on. These are not only producers but manufacturers and distribu- tors. The second layer is made up of the independent companies, well organized and strongly financed, and in some cases equal in resources and production to some of their more imposing neighbors. The third and bottom layer is pase up of the small and smaller companies, the individual pro- ducers, the syndicates, and so on, that get in and get out in shoals. The first two layers are permanent, going, successful oil companies. There are successful and profi- table companies in the third layer also. But usually the third layer is adventures, stabs at the business by men who do not know it, and while they are taking and exciting gambles they are not often winners. Always there are plenty of them. Any- one who has had a sight and a sniff of the greenish-black liquid gold gurgling greasily out of a pipe into a sump hole or into a tank, who has smelled the money smell of it and got some of it on his hands, and has heard the boss driller say ‘‘She’s doing a thousand a day,” can understand that, especially when a percentage of those thou- sand barrels are his. It is the most fasci- nating game in the world. There’s wealth in it, if you hit it right and can hold it. More than that, it is a gamble, and a real one. It makes all other sorts of betting seem like penny ante. Bucking Against Nature What it is, really, is a hand of stud poker each time against Nature, who always is the dealer. Often, of course, by the time the third card is dealt you know you haven’t a chance; but let us say that things are propitious. You get a good hole card in the way of a successful spudding in and start of your well. Your second, third and fourth cards, coincident with the fair progress of the well, give yoy a potential hand—a flush perhaps, or two pairs, or maybe threes, and now and then the makings of one of those royal and magnificent flushes that every poker player hopes for and but few poker players hold. You are down to the sand and it all depends on the last card. Nature flips it over to you and there you are. You have filled—or you haven’t. You may be left with two measly little pairs in the shape of a small well, or it may come a spade when you wanted a heart to fill your flush. Your threes may stand up with a4 reasonably good well, or whoop-ee! you may make your royal. Then is when the joy bells jingle. Or you may not. Then is when the crape goes on the door knob. But if you win—if you do—it is forty— fifty—a hundred—a thousand to one. A $10,000 investment may bring you $100,000, or $200,000, or $300,000—or it may not. Your well may be a 15,000-barrel gusher of high gravity oil, or it may be a 300-barrel affair that makes more water than it does oil. You never can tell. Plenty of wells have produced 1,000,000 barrels of oil during their productive periods, and many have produced more than that—a lot more. Figure it out for yourself. Speaking of deep wells now, where you must go down 4500 or 5000 feet to get to the big sand, a well will cost somewhere between $100,000 (Continued from Page 4) and $200,000 to drill, depending on the luck you have had in getting the hole down. Say, $150,000. Then, even if the big com- panies are engaged in one of their righteous campaigns of saving the small producers from themselves, and have cut the price of oil three or four times just to show their good intentions, you should be getting a dollar a barrel for your oil if it is any good at all. Put on another $100,000 for ex- penses, and so on, and you'll have them. If your well is one of those 1,000,000-barrel lulus, that means $750,000 to split. Pretty soft, eh, what? Yea, brethren, softer than the downy side of thousand-dollar bills, provided the water doesn’t come in or the gas pressure de- crease, or your neighbors do not drain you or the well sand up or one or two or six of the glooms that perch in great flocks on every derrick drop down on you and wipe you out; softer thar having an old aunt die and leave you a cartload of Liberty Bonds, provided you do not do what ninety- nine out of every hundred amateur pro- ducers do, and, having a well, start right out to rival the Standard and grab leases and drill a dozen more, thereby using up the in- come of the money-getter you have, and mostly using up all other available resources of your enterprising little company. No Place for Pikers My oil observations have been confined ie & to the California fields, although I have some knowledge of Oklahoma; but I have no doubt that all oil producers are alike, and especially all amateurs of oil production. Hence it seems conservative to say that not one in a hundred of these amateurs, either as individuals or formed in companies or syndicates, having achieved one or two or three, maybe, good producing profitable wells, is content to take that profit. Not at all. Let a man or a syndi- cate or a small ey | get in the black ink on the ledger, or let the money be coming in even if the well has not paid out, and at that moment the evidences of the larger oil lunacy become apparent, They all get delusions of grandeur. Having achieved a well or two, they have visions and dream dreams. They see themselves putting the Standard out of business, making a crimp in the Union that will cause that company to pass dividends, handing it to the Pacific and the Associated and the Shell, forcing old John D. himself to sit up and take notice, and away they go. They get more leases, drill more wells, and pres- ently they are broke, and the big companies gather up the fragments, and John D. gives away a few more millions. It gets in the blood, in the brain—if any—in the spirit, and makes a wild and reckless gambler out of the staidest of men. Always the new hole is on top of the dome; always the big sand is just below; always the anticline comes their way; always the greasy golden trove is just within reach; always they can afford to pay a bigger bonus and a larger royalty for land because they will hit it this time; always the drill- ing will be easy, the water will be tractable, the oil will flow. This time Nature will fill the flush. It is no piker’s game. To be sure, there are oil fields where shallow wells will reach the sand; but shallow wells are mostly small producers. The big sands are usually down deep; 3000 feet, 4000 feet, 5000 feet. There are wells in California down below a mile. Even in the most favorable circum- stances, where the sand is between 2000 and 3000 feet down, say, the initial bet must be as much as $100,000, and that will not buy all the chips. Following that, a few times, a very few times, in every field the gamblers may win without putting up any more money, but that doesn’t often occur. Ordi- narily the initial $100,000 vanishes almost as quickly as the drill disappears in the hole, and there are loud cries for more funds. Your oil driller is a regal person. Money means nothing to him. Except in the work of the big companies, where drill- ing for oil is a standardized, efficient, cold- blooded, exact business, drilling as it usually is done by and for the amateurs of production is as extravagant as if Coal Oil Johnny was doing it. Fundamentally, those who drill for oil in one field operate in the same way as those who drill in another field. That is, the tools are the same, and the methods do not THE SATURDAY EVENING POST GAMBLING WITH GRIEF vary, save as varying geologicai structures are met. Derricks have the same construc- tion and supplies are more or less standard- ized. There are twosorts of rigs,thestandard | and the rotary. Usually wildcat or ex- plorative wells are drilled with the standard rig, which is an enormous steel drill that pounds a hole into the earth by the process of being raised and dropped continuously on the structure beneath. The rotary rig is a gigantic auger that bores its way down to the sand. Of course, the difficulties en- countered in one field may be different from those in another field, owing to vary- ing geological structure, and in some places the oil sand may be down only a few hun- dred feet while in others it is down a few thousand. Hence what is said here, though it applies specifically to the small operator in the California fields, probably applies in a gen- eral way to the small operator in other fields. My field of observation has been California, and that has been an illuminat- ing point, because during the past two years California has had three enormous oil developments, at Santa Fé Springs, Signal Hilkand Huntington Beach and Long Beach. In these fields the game was well framed for the small operator, because the territories were not held in large plots, but were split into small holdings, town lots, and so on. This enabled the small fellows to rush in and operate on small leases, and they rushed in. Now that these fields have passed their peaks and production is declining, the pro- fessionals are deploring this rush. They say that it caused overproduction and ruined not only the market but the fields as well. Probably. These wise persons who deplore the oil situation are mostly connected with the big companies. Their idea of the proper and economic procedure is this: Necessa- rily, small operators are at a disadvantage in trying to produce oil in competition with the big operators. Therefore it would have been mere economic forethought to have allowed the big companies to drill these fields in a leisurely and scientific manner, placing their wells at proper distances apart, one to each five acres, say, instead of two to an acre, as was often done, thus con- serving the oil and maintaining the price. Too Much Oil Correct. No doubt these fields would have lasted many years instead of the few years they will last if the big companies had had control of all the acreage. No doubt, also, that this would be a grand old world if greed for money were eliminated from the human residents therein. Unfortunately, the desire for money, the passion for quick money, is as strong now as it ever was; and as the land with oil beneath it in these three fields happened to be held in small »arcels, by numerous owners, instead of in arge parcels, these fields afforded a made- to-order opportunity for hundreds of greedy persons to rush in and be greedy, and they did. Nor need there be any particular sym- athy with the plaints of the big companies. They met the emergency nobly and eco- nomically. They rose to it in suitable style. After securing all the land they could they drilled offset wells to drain the small fel- lows, as is the usual kindly oil custom. “Those fellows out in California went | crazy,” said one of the biggest oil operators or They gave away their oil.” Practically that is what they did; but | how could they help that? They had to take what they could get for it because they had no facilities for storing it. And the only market was the big-company mar- ket. It was an economic disaster, of course, that worked to the advantage of the big companies, as such economic disasters al- most always do; but hevings, what a gam- bling spree it was! Not many of the small operators came out whole in a money way, but all of them had more thrills every hour } than the average American has in a life- | time. Now that the big spree is over in that particular locality it may be interesting to point out some of the disadvantages that accrue to the oil spreer in similar circum- stances, not with the idea that any oil spreer will be deterred from going on an- other spree when a new field develops, but merely as a matter of record and for the in the midcontinent field to me a time ago. | Get a “YANKEE” VISE With Swivel Base for your workbench Men do lots of tinkering nowadays Building radio sets, repairing automo- biles, and jobs about the house. Many save time and do better work by using a ‘“Yankee’’ Vise. This compact, convenient Vise with swivel base can be locked in any position by a cam-throw lever, You can assemble your radio cab- inet, your aerial mast; you can sharp- en garden tools; you can fix auto parts—in less time if you use this handy tool. Removable from its base. This appeals to mechanics. Vise with work in it can be taken from bench to machine. , ‘ , * . You can get a’ "Yankee’’ Vise with swivel base in the size most conven- ient for your work; No. 1991, — Jaws open, 144 inches. No. 1992, — Jaws open, 2 inches. | . , Vic hax No, 1993. — Jaws open, 2% V-grooved inches. steel block at holds r ‘wand'and Ne. 1994, — Jaws open, 4 irregular inches. shapes Dealers everywhere sell ** Yankee"’ Tools Yours — this FREE Tool Book 0 Write for ‘*Yankee’’ Tool fe Book showing all ‘*Yan- kee"’ metal and wood- boring and screw-driving tools. NORTH BROS. MFG.CO., Philadelphia, U. 8. A. | “YANKEE’ TOOLS Make BellOv Mechanica

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72 THE SATURDAY A bottle of milk is a bottle of health “Jove puton weight drinking milk Of all tonics for health, weight and happiness, you can’t beat milk. Milk builds permanent nerve and body tissues. Milk puts color in pale cheeks, and vigor in tired bodies. Milk is indispensable in your life. Get well—keep well. Drink more bottled milk— at mealtime and between meals, too. Bottled milk is clean and protected. Be sure the milk you buy is bottled in Thatcher Superior Quality Milk bottles— your guarantee of fu//-meas- ure, and good evidence that your milkman is progressive and uses the best. TuatrcHer Mro. Company Ermira, New York Operating nine large factories devoted exclusively to the manu- facture of Superior Quality Milk Bottles. Look for the Thatcher imprint on the bottle’s lower edge. It's your milkman’s guarantee of Honest Measure—always. THATCHER Superior Quality Milk Bottles | exploring for oil. EVENING POST urpose of showing just what sort of foot- aed and bootless enterprise the usual small- producer spree is. Down there in Southern California they have had their path. and a few of the gamblers have all the chips. For the rest of them it may be said that they shoved in their stacks with cour and conviction and played the game with- out a limit. They gambled with Nature, with the big companies, with an economic mel but mostly they gambled with In every relation of man to man, and in every demonstration of Nature, the little fellow is always at the mercy of the big fellow; and this is especially the case in business, in all enterprises organized and conducted for the purpose of acquirin money. This is obvious and economic, pa so on, whatever the ethical aspect of it may be, and no doubt deplorable; but that is the situation. It has always seemed to me that in the oil game the big fellows are bigger and the little fellows littler than in any other large industry; that the big fel- lows have more of an edge than elsewhere. The big fellows protest this violently, but the facts are against them. It is true that the game is wide open. Any man who has the money can buy the lumber for a derrick and buy a string of tools. aig” sort of supply is open to every buyer. There are no closed markets, no monopolistic patents on the fundamentals, no combinations on rigs, casings, boilers, tanks or any of the common essentials. If you have the cash or the credit, you can go to an oil-well sup- ply company and get every little thing you _ to sink a well, and every big thing also. Likewise the whole boundless universe is yours to explore and to drill. If you think there is a chance to find oil in the middle of Death Valley you can go there and drill your exploration wildcat well if you like, after making the easy preliminary arrangements. You can put a well down on the top of a mountain, at the bottom of a eafion, in the center of a plain, on the side of a hill. That part of it is up to you, and the capital you have. Not many physical situations stump an oil driller. F el put down an oil well in practically any place you want to put it down. He'll drill it off- shore at sea, or in the middle of a lake, or on the tip of a crag. They are giants at that | sort of thing, these tremendous, brawny, | greasy men who do the production labor in | getting oil. A Crazy Man’s Game But wildcatting is the ultimate in a gam- ble. It is never less than a hundred-to-one shot. Often it is a thousand-to-one shot. The big companies can afford it, because if they get oil they have the facilities for handling it and the money for developing the field. The big companies are always heir geologists are for- ever prospecting for seepages and signs, | examining formations, tracing anticlines, estimating faults, following leads, makin | reports. Sometimes they can tell where oi | is, and often they can tell where oil is not. More often they do neither. Let us suppose, on the small-fellow side of it, that some little syndicate, or some oil man with money enough to take a chance, goes out somewhere and drills a wildcat well, away from well-defined fields, and gets oil, makes a well. What is he going to do with his oil? He is going to do exactly what the big companies tell him to do and permit him to do. If he makes a good well, the news of it will bring lease hounds in b the hundred and the entire territory will be put under lease in jig time. If the well is a very good one, and the territory is romising, the big companies will pay nuses for leases, and large royalties, and thus make it as expensive as possible for the little fellows. Also, the only market for the oil is the market supplied by the big fellows. They have, or can build, storage facilities, and they have the capital to build pipe lines. The man with the wildcat well that came in has the glory of being the pioneer, but in the long run the big com- panies get most of the money. Wildcatting is a crazy enterprise for any but the big companies. The little fellow may be able to horn in on a field where there has been a discovery, but if he is wise he will not attempt to do the discovering. And when he tries to horn in on a proved fieid he will find that he has little chance to get a proved lease of any size—a lease in a field where it has been shown there is oil—because the fact that oil has been July 5, 1924 discovered in any field immediately jumps the value of leases to so high a figure that the small fellow cannot compete with the vast bank accounts of the big companies. The big companies are just as ardent in their search for new -oil territory as the most visionary of the small oil prospectors. They are looking for it all the time, and when a field is discovered they descend on it with wads of money and lease it in great chunks. As soon as the news was public of the coming in of the Jim Bell well at Santa Fé Springs, for example, early the next morn- ing the agents of the big companies were all over that section, each agent with a check book full of checks signed in blank and good at the bank for any sums he would write them for. These agents had a lot of that territory under lease before the small fellows found out how much credit they had or how much money they could get. Meantime do not suppose the company that owned the Jim Bell well had been idle. Those drillers had advance information, and they solidified their position before they let anybody know that they had oil in big quantities. Wasteful Development However, the land situation in these great California fields was peculiar. The land was not owned in large tracts. It was held in small parcels. A good deal of it was in town lots. Huntington Beach, for ex- ample, had been laid out as a seashore colony to compete with Long Beach, and hadn’t been especially successful. It was split into scores of small holdings—town lots. Santa Fé Springs was a town site also; and so on. Thus, despite the efforts of the big companies to corral all the land, the little fellows had a chance. There were leases on small tracts to be obtained, and they obtained a good many of them; and a frenzy of drilling started. Forests of der- ricks went up. Wells were spudded in by the hundred, and that section of these United States went stark, staring oil mad. An oil well is an oi! well. It makes no dif- ference whether that oil well is being drilled on a two-acre plot by an individual or a syndicate, or whether it is being drilled on a 10,000-acre piece by the Standard Oil Company. The fellow who is drilling one well or two wells must have exactly as much equipment for each of his wells as the Standard requires for each of its 200 or 300 wells. Every well stands alone in that re- gard. If a company or an individual wants to drill two wells simultaneously, or three, there must be a complete string of tools for each well. Naturally, in a proved field, with wells going down all around, the small fellow on the small lease is eager to get down to as much oil as possible, and he starts as many wells as he can—often more than he should. Wherefore, he must outfit each well completely, and this makes it a tremendously expensive operation as against the operations of the big companies that get equipment wholesale instead of retail. It is obvious that successfully to drill a hole down into the earth 3000 or 4000 or 5000 feet requires the most expert mechanical knowledge, a vast experience, a major skill and considerable luck. Oil drilling is one of the most highly specialized of trades. Boss drillers who know the game are extraordi- nary, almost superhuman, creatures who do not come in large numbers. The best of them, naturally, are employed by the big companies. Drilling a well, bringing it in and keeping it on production are tasks that are expert to the limit. No ordinary hole maker can encompass them successfully. They require a certain genius. The small company decides to do its own drilling, and it hires the best crew it can find. The well is spudded in and fortune is right around the corner. Then, at that ex- act moment, the amateur in oil production is matriculated in a university where the entire curriculum is trouble, where nothing but grief is taught, where weariness and woe and tribulation are the only courses. More things can happen during the drilling of an oil well to delay, stop, junk up, mess about, ruin and reruin the prospects of the persons financing the operation than even the most pessimistic of investors can con- jure. There are hundreds of chances for bad luck to every bit of good luck that is possible. Inexperience and lack of expert drilling account for much of it; but at that, the biggest of the companies and the most expert of the drillers have their dolors. The little fellows are gambling with grief from the first moment. (Continued on Page 74)

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I A a A THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “Here comes Mr. Lend- Me to borrow our Tire Gauge” Do you know Mr. Lend-Me, the motorist ? All he has is a car. When he needs a jack or a pump or a hydrometer, he uses yours. If he needs a valve cap, he does with- out it until he can pick one up some- where. He has a lot of trouble. Here he comes to borrow a tire gauge. A small thing to buy, but— a big thing to own The small price of the Schrader Tire Gauge is all out of proportion to the great service it renders in saving wear and tear on tires and car. Carry a Schrader Gauge with you whenever you motor. It helps you maintain the correct air pressure in your tires. It warns you when your tires have too little air and are in danger of wearing out rapidly. It tells you when your tires have too much air for comfortable riding and the good of your car. There are three types of Schrader Tire Gauges: 1. The Balloon Tire Gauge (with angle foot)—for balloon tires. Cali- brated in 1-lb. units. 2. The Straight Gauge—for regu- lar passenger car tires. Calibrated in 5-lb. units. 3. The Angle-Foot Gauge—for pas- senger car tires on wire or disc wheels and wheels with thick spokes or large brake drums, and also for truck tires. Calibrated in 5-Ib. units. Buy a Schrader Tire Gauge today and use it regularly. Keep your tires, including the spare, always inflated to the pressure recommended by the tire maker. In this way you can get maxi- mum tire service. Ask your dealer for free booklet, ‘‘ Air —the most elusive prisoner.’’ This booklet tells you how to get maximum service from your tires. If your dealer can- not supply you, send us his name and ad- dress and we will mail you a copy direct. A. SCHRADER’S SON, Inc.,. Brooklyn, N. Y. Chicago Toronto London Makers of Pneumatic Valves Since 1844 Tire Valves - Tire Gauges The pest! Why doesn’t he buy his own? SCHRADER STRAIGHT GAUGE For regular passenger car tires. Sold by motor accessory shops, garages and hardware stores everywhere. SCHRADER VALVE INSIDE Forms the main defense against air's escape from your tire valves. If a valve inside is injured, re place it with a new Schrader Valve Inside. Ask your dealer for the genuine Schrader Valve Insides packed in metal boxes, five in a box SCHRADER VALVE CAP Made with dome shaped rubber washer re- inforced by arched metal plate. Prevents dirt from entering mouth of valve. Acts as secondary air-tight seal. Attach or detach by hand. Ask your dealer for the genuine Schrader Valve Caps packed five in a metal box.

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Car tracks, cobble- stones, “wash board” streets—none hold a moment’s terror for Harvey “Ride Rite” Springs. Their many quick-act- ing, flexible leaves soothe and smooth each jolt and jar, while the specia! Harvey Rebound Plate checks and controls the recoil of the biggest bumps. Correct- ly designed —guaranteed. True y absorbers — no other de- vice needed for riding comfort. HARVEY SPRING & FORGING Co. Depr. C Racine, Wisconsin THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 72) Trouble? An oil well in the process of drilling is the original source and the un- failing and inexhaustible supply of trouble. It is all the trouble there is; especially, as is most often the case, when the small fel- lows are drilling and because the small fellows often cannot command the most expert Le y= toa In his inexperience the small fellow buys cheap materials, starts his hole too small at the top, sets his casings at the wrong depth for water shut- off, and does a dozen other things wrong. But those are the results of poor workman- ship, although a usual hazard for the little fellow. The real trouble comes with the mechanical hazards, and with water. The | mechanical hazards are countless. There is | a fresh one every hour, and they all cost money. I heard two men talking in a Los Angeles hotel. Both had jumped into the oil e from one foreign taking-off places. Neither had had any previous oil experi- ' ence, but both were getting a-plenty at the | time. “How are you doing?” asked one. “Pretty fair,” said the other. ‘Having much trouble?” “Some.” “Have you lost your tools yet?” His inquiry was plaintive, pathetic. Los- | ing tools in the hole is one of the saddest of | the tools dro all the sad verses in the oil song. Things are going well, it seems, and then, bing! off, crash down to the bot- tom of the hole, hund of pounds of | metal junked up there; or they are twisted off. And they fish for them—they fish for | them. They fish and fish and fish. Often it | takes weeks to get them out. Often it takes | tunates who have. lost their tools. ; | | | | months. Sometimes they never do get them. Meantime the wells on the neighbor- ing leases are going down, get to the oil and drain out the oil that belongs to the = e sidetrack the recalcitrant tools, whic means to drill round them, or they mill them out, which means to drill through them. Both of these operations are slow and expensive. Trouble? You don’t know the half of it. Casings get loose and are dropped one— two—three hundred feet, making a frightful mess in the hole. The derrick may burn down. Geological formation so hard as to be almost impenetrable may be encountered, causing enormous delay and expense. Some- times the derrick collapses because of faulty construction or because too much heavy pipe is stacked up in it. Sometimes, in lift- ing out a big string of casing, the crown block of the derrick will pull out. Some- | times there will be a gas blow-out that will | ruin the hole. | well, and new ones are There are 4578 ways of junking up an oil being discovered every day. And it seems to the little fellow, pe frre to get his well down to the oil sand, a these happen to him. Then there is water. Many a small pro- | ducer, or rather a small intending pro- | ducer, has permanently acquired nervous | shut off the water in his well. prostration while his drillers have tried to Water and | oil, never mixing satisfactorily, are at | their most expensive and troublesome antagonism in an oil well. Water is the foe and conqueror of oil fields, Let water get - | largely into a field and the field is finished. Hence the utmost care must be taken to > | shut off the water in each well, and there is seeds i vigilant supervision of this process by the state authorities. EVENING POST Every well encounters water, and it must be shut off so it will not run down into the oil and spread throughout the field. Cementing-off, they call it. Cement in large quantities is put into the hole when water is encountered, and is pumped down through the casing under heavy pressure so as to force it up outside the casing and past the water-bearing sands. After the cement hardens, the driller drflls through the plug of cement that remains at the bottom of the casing and goes ahead toward the oil sands, leaving this great mass of cement witha hole through the middle of it to hold back the water. Skillfully done, cementing-off is effective. Often, however, it is not skillfully done, and recementing is required several times before the water is stopped. If it isn’t suc- cessfully done, there’s an oil well that has gone to glory. These troubles and countless others are common to the big fellow and the little fellow. They occur in all oil wells. The advantage is with the big fellows, because they have drilled hundreds of wells and have the expert knowledge and the right materials for dealing with them. When something happens in a big-company well, all that is necessary for the big company to do is to refer to the records and see what was done on a similar occasion in some other well. The little fellows cannot dothat. Their troubles cost them twice as much as the troubles of the big fellows cost them, both in time and in money. Tricky and Temperamental In case the small fellow decides not to drill his own wells he must go to a drilling contractor, There are plenty of these. Ordinarily the drilling contractor is hired on a footage basis and is therefore inter- ested in making as much of a hole as pos- sible, and not always in bringing in a producing well. The contractor gets paid just the same whether he drills a dry hole or gets oil. Often a contract for drilling is made whereby the contractor gets his pay partly in cash and partly in first oil; that is, he gets the returns from the first oil that is produced before the company or the individual cashes in on any of it. It has so happened that the contractor has been in- terested mostly in getting his cash and enough first oil to pay him out. Oil con- tractors do not differ from other contractors. Thus the contractor doesn’t care whether he brings in a big well or a small well so long poy brings in a well that will provide enough first oil to pay him out. After that, the owners can have the leavings. However, let us consider that the little fellow has struck his oil, that his well is producing in paying quantities. Are his troubles over? They have just begun. Getting an oil well into production is one of the problems and keeping it on production is another. Oil wells starting out orgu- lously with a heavy and millionairish flow have a desolating habit of slowing down. They sand up, which means that sand stops the flow. They develop temperament. The gas pressure decreases. Other near-by wells drain them. Their initial or early production is never maintained. It gets smaller and smaller. If it is necessary to shut in a big oil well, to bean it down as the oil men say, in a closely drilled field, that well is not so big as it was when it is put on production again. Oil wells require more expert nursing than sick children. The July 5, 1924 common idea when an oil well busts in with 2000 or 3000 or 10,000 barrels production that that means indefinite flow in the same amount is highly erroneous. Oi! wells are as temperamental as operatic divas, and as } hen, for example, during the peak pro- duction at Santa Fé Springs a shut in of production took place, making it impera- tive for the independent producers to bean down their wells 30 or more per cent, that requirement gave many a small producer a heavy body biow. In that intensively drilled field it decreased the flow of all wells when they were given full flow again. The wells did not come back with their original uency. But all this aside, let us consider that a small fellow has succeeded in getting a well, or two or three, down to producing sand, and is procuring oil. Then what? What is he going to do with his oil? He must sell it, and the only place he can sell it is to the big companies that have the storage, the pipe lines, the refineries and the distribut- ing stations for gas and refined products. The small fellow is very often at the mercy of the big fellow. He cannot market his product unless he has been successful enough to make good money and wants to build a refinery. If he does that, he is engaging on a desperate and long-drawn enterprise, and not once in a hundred times can he stand the competition. Usually the little fellow must make a long-term contract with a big company in order to get a price. He ordinarily cannot sell from day to + A or week to week. The big companies tie the little fellows up; and the big companies fix the price, which price is always known as the field price and fluc- tuates from time to time. It’s a great game, and a hazardous; but it can be beaten, of course. Many small companies and individuals have won out, but only because they had sufficient capital and good, economical, close business man- agement. Nine-tenths of the amateurs in the oil business, nine-tenths of the little fellows who dreamed dreams of great wealth and had visions of millions gushing out of the ground, lost all they put into their ventures. In the big California fields it is estimated that eight dollars, in round num- bers, came out of the ground for every seven put in, and this with enormous production and not many dry holes in the territories drilled during the big book of the past two years. This winning dollar wasn’t split among any great number of investors. It went to comparatively few of the drillers. No account of the stock jobbings is taken in this article. Nobody knows how much money was extracted from the people for which no return whatever was made or will be made. Of course, many of the small companies sold stock—most of them, in- deed—but a lot of them started off with the best of intentions and with honest men, not stock jobbers and fakers and crooks, at the heads of them. These gallantly made their gambles with oil grief, and in most instances grief put them down and out. But are they downhearted? Not at al! Watch what happens when the news comes of new and big oil strikes. It gets in the blood, I tell you. Once an oil gambler, al- ways an oil gambler. Once an oil sucker, always an oil sucker. You lose. You lose again, But when you win, see what you’ve = And sometimes you win. Never forget that. SLIDE, BRAINS, SLIDE ! “They may come to laugh,” I returns; “but they’ll remain to Way: ‘ | “Where,” inquires Hurley, “do you ex- | pect to get them pitchers? Outta your silk hat? “Can you keep a secret?” I grins. “No,” he yelps. ‘I’m supporting one of ‘em for you now. What do you think I’m running—a home for backward secrets?” ar HE next day Glib beats it away on a fishing trip, first making me agree to dig personal for all the jack it’s gonna cost to try out my trick acts. Then me and Two-Story gets busy. Halligan, who come by that monniker on the account of there not being enough room on one floor for all the brains he’s got, is a old side-kicker of mine that I got interested in my ideas with (Continued from Page 17) - the Brigands, right after going into the deal with H : i I tells him, when he starts out scouting, “all I wants you to get is young- sters that is fast on the feet and swift in the head. They is the only two things that count. If you run into a lad that can bat -800 and field 1.00214 I don’t want him unless he can ten-flat the hundred. I don’t care what sand lot you drag 'em off of or what schoolroom window you pull ’em through, but they gotta be bright and they gotta be speedy. ague experience don’t eut no ice. If they can run and think, don’t ask ’em nothing else.” “Don’t you need no hitters?” asks Halli- gan. “No,” saysI. “Like I has told you, we is gonna play a aifferent kinda baseball than anybody has ever seen before, especial in these parts. Mosta the birds in this rut of a league is either spavs that has pitched their arms out, run their legs off and used their eyes up in the big time, or else they is never-wassers or never-ain’t-gonna-be’s. Gimme some rapid dogs and a pinch of brains that ain’t too proud to work, and I'll do the rest.” In about two weeks the Brigands is cleaned. Outta the whole layout I only saves four bench flies that looks like they might fit into my scheme. Some of the old gang I tins outright, others I freights off to the minors, and a few I’m able to stick the opposish with. In the meantime Halligan is out in the woods, shipping young fellers in to me almost every day. As soon as the new lads shows I slaps ’em into the line-up, but lets the Brigands play (Continued on Page 77)

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LT Over $101,A000,000— a three months’ haul During the first three months of 1924, fire walked off with $101,097,650* of the public’s money. That was fire’s bill for carelessness—a bill of which every property owner must pay his share. The Hartford Fire Insurance Company is doing all it can to cut down this staggering loss. It provides sound and complete insurance. It maintains a staff of trained Fire Prevention Engineers whose services are free to large prop- erty owners. It has in every community a competent and experienced representative who gladly advises property owners on all the forms of protection the Hartford offers and on methods of reducing fire risks. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST *Figures compiled by the New York Journal of Commerce. INSURE IN THE HARTFORD FIRE INSURANCE COMPANY Hartford, Conn. The Hartford Fire Insurance Company and the Hartford Accident and Indemnity Company write practically every form of insurance except life

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THE SATURDAY EVENING July 5,1924 rae 5 ye x I 4 aS 2a) ; S ee 6 fa “T’ll just mop it up!” The ‘mopability’ of Bird’s NEPONSET Rugs saves endless work and worry HAT a relief to the housewife to have a rug that wears so well and looks so well, but that never “gets into trouble”! Dirt may get on it; liquid or greasy substances may spill over it; but —“just mop it up” and the rug becomes as bright and as cheerful as ever. The extra durability of Bird’s Neponset Rugs proves it- self on the porch. In spite of tramping feet and moving furniture, in spite of exposure to rain and dust, these rugs can easily be kept looking new and clean. Their handsome patterns are adapted to every room in the house; there are tile, floral and Oriental designs, all in rich, fast colors. Bird’s NEPONSET Rugs are Inexpensive There is no home too modest to afford one; no home too fine to need one. Prices: $9 to $18 for standard sizes. Identify them by their Red Waxed Back (an exclusive Bird’s feature) which prevents their rotting at the bot- tom or sticking to the floor. BIRD & SON, 1Nc., EAST WALPOLE, MASS. Established 1795 Pioneers in felt-base floor Coverings NEW YORK: 295 Fifth Ave. CHICAGO: 14 East Jackson Blvd. Manufacturers of Bird’s Paroid Roofing * Bird’s Art-Craft Roofing - Bird’s Asphale Shingles Bird’s Neponset Black Building Paper - Bird’s Neponset Wallboard + Bird’s Neponset Fiber Shipping Cases, Shoe Cartons, Press Board and Special Papers. re TT pes A es jjar -=bareo~ me f 7 Pe msemer, This seal on the rug is a double guarantee: ours, and your dealer's. Bird's Neponset Rugs DEFY WATER AND WEAR

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ona p ne me er eee ' (Continued from Page 74) along as usual, my ideas being not to pull no stunts till I got the whole team laid out like I wants. During them two weeks we don’t come no nearer winning a game than a fried herring comes to being a pearl neck- lace, and I draws rmyselfs a lotta kidding from the local rags. Kidding me, however, is like throwing marshmallows at elephants. Finally I gets things the way I wants ’em. Two-Story has shot in a flock of fast young kids, corner-lotters, college boys and such, They ain’t one of ’em over twenty, a speedy, zippy, bubbling lot, and Halligan has seen to it that they ain’t no shy-domes among ’em. In the crowd is six pitchers, none good enough to bend curves around roundhouses or zing fast ones through the concrete backstop, but K. O. for my pur- poses. The Bobcats is the first of the visiting gals to run against the new system. On account of being spoofed as a grand-stand manager I decides to stay that way, and don’t go down into the coop with the men a-tall. I sits in the first row near the dug- out, while Two-Story, dressed up in a uni- form and everything, stands near me on the field. ““Who you wanna work today?”’ he asks. “T don’t know yet which one I'll start with,” I answers, “but don’t let none of ‘em do no warming up.” “Huh!” gasps Halligan. “You heard me,’’ I tells him. ‘Ever see a mile runner doing a coupla fast miles just before going into a race? If the boys is gotta limber up, let "em wave their arms around or something. They is just so many pitches in a shoulder, and I don’t want none of ’em wasted.” “But they always do it,”” protests Two- Story. “Yeh,” says I, “and they always used to bleed guys that was sick. We're dealing with a new deck, bo. Here,’ I goes on, jot- ting on a piece of paper, “‘is the line-up.” ““Spalding’s a pitcher,” remarks Halli- gan, kinda pitying, with a quick look at the list. “T know it,” I tells him. ‘What of it?”’ “You ain’t gonna have a pitcher leading off, is you?” inquired Two-Story. “It ain’t a felony in this state, is it?’’ I shoots back. ““No,’”’ mumbles the old scout, “but I never seen it done before.” “From now and on,” says I, “‘they ain’t gonna be hardly nothing in your life ex- cepting things you ain’t seen before. You ain’t got a weak heart, has you?” “*My heart’s all right,’”’ returns Two- Story. ‘ How’s your head?” “What's wrong,” I wants to know, “about having a heaver hit first?” “It'd be all right,” replies Halligan, ‘‘if he’d ever hit, but he never don’t. What’s the use of handicapping yourselfs with a out at the jump-off, when they is a chance of getting a man on right quick for the clean-up hitters to swat around the bags?” “They is this use,”’ says I: “When you plays him for number one he can’t bling into no double plays and he can’t fan out with three on. The worstest he can do is to be scotched by his lonesome. Anyways, what difference does it make if your heavy stickers is at the end of the list instead of the beginning?” ** Maybe none,” shrugs Two-Story. “‘Got any more tricks besides them you and me framed?” “A few,” I answers, and for the next ten minutes I tells him a lotta stunts I been thinking up. When I first hired Halligan I gave him a general idea of what I was gonna do to get the Brigands outta che sloughs of this pond, but this is the first time I dives into details with him. Like I told you, the old feller’s a kinda clever foxheimer hisself, and be- tween us we lays out the whole game before play’s called. On the account of its being Saturday afternoon and the only amusements in this burg, outsida baseball, being wife-beating and hip-reaching, they is a pretty fair crowd in the stands when Spalding steps out to the box to open up the newer and better baseball system invented by me and Halligan. The kid’s a college southpaw, with a hefty pair of shoulders that looks like they was some regular heave in ’em. They is. The boy’s control ain’t nothing to start any legal holiday over, and he walks the first Bobcat, but the next bird hits into a easy Tinker-to-Evers-to-Chance. The third baby dents the right fielder’s glove with the ball and it sticks there. Retiring a side without no runs, no hits and “

no errors, especially no errors, is something the Brigands ain’t done for weeks, and the local rain-checkers give us a hand. Spalding walks to the pan, and I can see from the way the patrons stir around that they is surprised at a pitcher opening up for us. Following instructions he tries to bunt, but he’s about as successful as a guy try- ing to learn bare-handed tiger-strangling through a correspondence course in piano tuning. The next lad up’s a freckle-faced Free Stater that Halligan must a plucked offa shamrock tree down by the freight sheds. He lays a lala of a bunt down the right- field foul line and streaks for the bag. It’s a cinch beating the throw to the sack. Does Mickey stop at first? He does not. They ain’t no locals on my system. The boy picks "em up and plops "em down toward second without hesitating at the turn no — the Century does for a bee on the track. The stuff works like the old brain told me it would. The first baseman of the Bobcats holds the pill in his hand for a while, looks around wild and throws like he looks. You can’t hardly blame him none. In the past it’s taken triples to get a Brigand to first on a long slide, and for one of our bobos to stretch a bunt into a two- base hit ain’t in the cards or spades, The speed stuff sorta throws the whole Bobcat team up in the air, and when Stevens drops another bunt in front of the plate the catcher heaves it a Woolworth over the first bagger’s head, Mickey scoring and Stevens getting to third. olloway, fourth up, also bunts. Stevens starts for home, changes his mind and goes back from the whence he came from, Holloway going to second on the throw to the third. The next guy bunts some more and is thrown out, but Stevens scores. A pop bunt in the pitcher’s hands retires our gang. “Well,” grins Halligan, drifting over to the railing, “your stuff went over big.” “I knew it would,” says I, calm. “A fast bunch like we got can bunt that crowd to death. They’re old-timers like I said, and don’t know nothing excepting the old- army game.” “Wanna keep 'em bunting, eh?” asks Two-Story. “Sure,” I tells him. ‘ We're gonna bunt our way to the bunting.” “‘Suppose,”’ suggests Halligan, “the other birds in the league gets to playing the bunt game.” “Not a chance,” I returns. “Them spavs can’t run fast enough to get away with it in the first place; and in the second place they is too bullheaded to pick up a stunt sprung by a grand-stand manager. They'd be laughed outta the league.” All three of the Bobcats fly cut in the next inning and we bunts our way to three moreruns. By that time Glish the manager is got his whole team working in the dia- mond, but even that don’t do no good against my winged hoofers. None of my lads stops at first, and it’s surprising the number of wild throws the league leaders make to second to head ’em off. No, it ain’t so surprising at that, when you con- siders the wonderful reversal of form we has sprung on them. In the next inning Spalding gets control of his control and fans two of the Bobcats. The other one fouls out. We don’t make no runs in our half, the bunts not falling so good, but Spalding gets a wonderful hand from the fans when he goes to the plate. He pops to the pitcher. “Pretty good youngster you got there,” remarks Glish, strolling over my way. “Think so?”’ I comes back, surprised. “Tm taking him out. He don’t look so - good to me.” “Tin the kidding,’’ comes back the boss Bobcat. ‘‘Ain’t you fellers gonna do nothing but bunt?” “Sure,” I tells him. “The next man up’s been ordered to triple, and the feller after him’s got instructions to make twe bases on a error by your right fielder. The third ——” But Glish has barked hisself off. A second later I sees him, pop-eyed, watching Spalding going to the coop, and Trevor, a right-hander, walked into the box for us. The crowd starts a mumbling and yelping, and even Spalding shoots me a mean look, but I just grins. Trevor don’t doso nice, The first Bobcat belts him for two bases and the next baby walks. I motions to Halligan. Out goes Trevor and in comes Heeney, a south-sider. The only three balls he ever gets over is the ones he throws in practice. After that the THE SATURDAY EVENING POST orem no bigger than @ corn on a gnat’s ittle toe as far as he’s concerned. He walks two men and then he walks. At that he was no worser than Stebbins, who follows, After hitting the first two guys he faces, he also gets the rest of the day off, and in goes McSwain. He port-sides his way through the pe in pretty fair style, but the score’s only five to four in our favor when the shooting dies down. We = at the bunting game in spite of the fans’ howls to hit it out, and grabs off two more runs in the next three innings. McSwain turns in some beautiful ball in the fifth, sixth and seventh, and the Bob- cats don’t get a man past first. The fans give him a stand-up reception

after he come in, but that don’t change my plans none. I tells Halligan to take him out and slap in Emerson. “Too much is enough,” says Two-Story. “Emerson’s the only pitcher we got left, and he ain’t worth a hoot in a hurrah, McSwain has the Cats eating outta his glove, and we got the game sewed tight if he finishes.” “Nope,” I returns, firm; “system is system, and we is goin’ through with it.” “But what you gonna do,” goes on Halli- gan, “if they starts pounding Emerson hard? We ain’t got no more flingers.”’ “Three innings per man’s the limit,” I insists. “How do you know that they won't get to McSwain?” “T don’t,” he admits, “but he happens to be a boy I picked up in this burg and + crowd's likely to start something pee “Forget it!’’ I cuts. “I been barked at before and I ain’t got a bite-mark on me.” “All right,” sighs We Adee ys “but I'm tipping you. This McSwain kid used to work down to the steel mill, and mosta the gang here today is from there.” “On your way,” says I, impatient, “and send McSwain to the showers. The side’s out,” Baby boy, there is sure some howl when Emerson walks out to the box. A bunch of rough lads in back of me jumps up, waving fists and acting like they was readying a mob skit. I don’t mind admitting that I don't feel so cheerio over the situation, and I don’t get no cheerioer when Emerson walks the first of Glish’s hired men. The next guy dribbles a soft one to the short- stop that had double play written all over it in capital letters, but it don’t even work for a single out. The kid fielder tries to throw the ball before he gets his hands on it and then there were two—on bases. A pop bottle misses me a foot, but not having no use for full ones I certainly pays | | no attentions to empties. The third lad up | fans. However, my snappy little catcher lets the final strike get away from him and the bags is just filthy with Bobcats. This time a bottle does get me in the shoulder. Boskert, the heaviest hitter of the vis- itors, walks to the plate. I reads in the paper the next day that the ball went through a swell painted window in the church across the street from the park, but | I never even seen it go over the fence, I |

hears the bat and pill kiss, and I pipes the | pellet winging toward the center-field | bleachers, but —— They is a exit near me, leading out from | under the grand stand, that I noticed ac- | cidental and particular when the first pop | bottle was heaved at me, and some way or other I finds myself diving into it almost the same minute that Boskert connected. It’s a funny coincidence that a hundred puddlers and such from the steel mills should ’a’ had the same impulse, but such | it was. Leisurely and with dignities I dashes outta the park, hops into my beat and beats it to the hotel. Getting the dents outta the back of the car wasn’t much of a job, but them garages is stickups, ain’t they? A week later I peddles my interest in the Brigands to a committee of business men who hinted kinda delicate that I wouldn't be happy in their cozy little town. The deal was completed by telegraph. Shows you what modern inventions can do. A long time passed before I seen Glib | Hurley again. I’m at the Polo Grounds | watching a ball game when he sits down | right next to me without seeing who it was. | “What do you think of that fathead | manager,” he yelps all of a sudden, “ put- ting in that gate swinger to pinch for | Jones?” } “Back-seat driver!” I sneers. “What | you trying to do—run a team from the grand stand?” Then I sees who it is. | -and no water! A DRY RADIATOR. A lonely road, Seven miles from habita- tion. And no water! What would you give under such cir- cumstances for just one gallon? One gallon? You cre needlessly wasting 355 gallons every day if that old bloated tank ball in your = ie tank is gushing and gurgling away.And G— a. it’s costing you $25 a year, if you pay by meter.

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THE SATURDAY GAGE Spe Mes fhe. My When you've piloted the “family flivver” over mile after mile of rough country roads —and your cracked throat feels as if you had eaten most of the dust yourself — and you've finally lugged the last basket to the happy picnic ground— Then it’s every man for himself! What could be more satisfying than a cold bottle of ORANGE SQUEEZE, at such a time as this? Bottled and Distributed in each city under exclusive license from the National Fruit Flavor Com- pany, New Orleans, Louisiana. GRANGE QUEEZ In Bottles Only-Everywhe The other SQUEEZE drinks are just as delicious as ORANGE SQUEEZE. Lemon, Lime,Gra ym Straw berry, Lemon-Lime —all distinctive flavors. ©N.F. F.Co. | slips of paper. EVENING POST THE MAKING OF A STOCKBROKER (Continued from Page 19) instrument. He may bea very fine tool, but he does not originate business. He doesn’t develop any. That isn’t his function. He just goes to the telephone and gets orders from the office or receives them on little He goes where he is told He has rts on appearances and does what he is ordered to do. no initiative. He re and not on facts. oe! sizes up the market and helps to give good service to the cus- tomer, after somebody else has got him. The customer is not of his getting. The floor man cannot build iat a big business.” “Oh, yes, he can,” ted Bill. “T don’t mean that the Pt are not some fellows who are wonderfully good brokers as well as extremely keen business strate- gists and excellent mixers, all of which may make them extremely valuable to their firms. But — floor men are primarily brokers; what is a good broker? A man who poet you g execution, who doesn’t pay too much when he buys or get too little when he sells. Brokers can butcher orders, and that will kill any brokerage business; but primarily and essentially the | floor man is a subordinate. He doesn’t have to be the master mind of the firm. He is more apt to be a corps commander than commander in chief.” “Oh, many of the men on the floor are heads of their firms. They are the brains of their business.” “Tl bet they are the older men, the old- timers,” I said. Bill thought ,@ moment and admitted, “Yes, they are.’ “They don’t have to be on the floor. Their experience would be better utilized if they stayed in the office. It is easier to ad twenty good brokers than one good usiness getter or business executive.” *“‘ And you want to be the good go-getter?”’ asked Bill, very politely. “Well,” I confessed, “I prefer to give orders for others to execute rather than to execute orders given by another.” “You don’t know what you are talking about,” said Bill fraternally, and we gparted for the street. “T know what I want to work at,’’ I re- torted. That is as far as the discussion went, because at the very entrance of the Ex- change we ran across Gilbert Graham, a classmate of mine. We shook hands all round. Gilbert and I had been pretty close . friends at college and I am sure he was as glad to see me as I was to see him. He invited Bill and me to have luncheon, but Bill couldn’t go. I accepted. Bill left us after promising to meet us at the Harvard Club that evening. A Fine New England Type Gilbert had a fine position with the Van- twiiler Trust Company, of which his uncle was president. I told him I needed to open a checking account with some bank and that I would honor his trust company with my business. So he took me with him and had it all fixed in a jiffy. I deposited a thousand dollars that I had saved up for this emergency. My salary at Bronson & Barnes’ had been one hundred dollars a month in Boston, but it was raised to one hundred and fifty dollars when I came to New York. We went to the Counsellors Club to luncheon. While we were waiting at the table Caleb Pruyn came by. He stopped to shake hands. He also was a classmate. He was vice president of the club, of which | his famous father had been the founder and | first president. He sat down at our table and we had a fine time together. Harvard | again, as you see. He told me I'd better join the club. I asked him how much it would cost me and he told me. It was a pretty steep admission fee, and the annual dues were rather hefty for a clerk on one hundred and fifty dollars a month to pay, but I decided it would be good business for me to belong to that club. It was only a luncheon club, but the membership represented achievement, pros- perity, a successful career. I wasn’t guilty of snobbishness. It is plain sense, when you can pick your company, to exercise discrimination. I asked the boys how long it would take before I could get in, for I had heard that the waiting list was so long that members entered their sons at birth to give them a chance to be elected by the time they were thirty. But Pruyn told me carelessly, ‘‘I’ll have you elected tomorrow.” And he did. I left the club with Gilbert feeling that New York was not such a bad place. I went back to the office and asked ques- tions and killed time until Mr. Williamson came in from the board room. That was about 3:30 P.M. We had a long and friendly chat. In all the years that I worked under Mr. Williamson we never had a moment’s unpleasantness. He was a very fine type of the conscientious New Englander and there- fore he himself was the chief victim of his own virtues. He did much drudgery that he should have passed on to younger and less expensive shoulders. He arrived at the office every morning before 8:30 and did a lot of work he should have left to the clerks. He went over to the Stock Exchange at 9:50 and stayed there until after three. He executed orders and ran quotations almost continuously during that time. The stock certificates either had to be sent to the Exchange for him to sign or when the market wasn’t very active he would run across the street to the office and sign them there, They had to be signed by a member of the firm and he was the only partner in New York. He was as careful and painstaking in executing a ten-share order as he was with one for a thousand shares, for he was old- fashioned enough never to talk of his duty and always to do it to the hilt. A customer was a customer. The size of the account made no more difference to Mr. Williamson than the color of the hair or the shape of the customer’s shoes. The obligation was for the broker to do his best in all cases. Friends and Prospects He usually had his luncheon at 3:05. At 3:30 he arrived at the office. There he went over every transaction that had been made during the day. He was officially supposed to take the 6:05 train for Mont- clair, in consequence of which he usually began at about five to make all preparations to miss it. He did this by finding fresh work to do before leaving for the day. In all the years we were together he never once made the 6:05, and yet he lived in great amity with his wife and, I am told, kept one cook ey nine years, when she up and married on him. For a decade he left his home early in the morning and returned after dark—and all so that Bron- son & Barnes might give good service to a lot of people in New England who did not appreciate the trouble Mr. Williamson took to insure it. A fine man, under whom it was a privilege to work. When I left the office at the end of my first day in New York I had made up my mind to one thing and that was that I couldn’t get any business by sticking to the office and talking to people who hap- pened to wander in. I had to go after people and make customers of them—if I could. That meant that I must find people to fo after. hat thought was in my mind when I met Bill Winans at the Harvard Club that evening for dinner. I met a lot of other chaps I knew, and as I was immediately eligible to membership I arranged to join. Before I left the club that night I spent over an hour with the club book, copying the name of every man I knew. had seven classes to pick from that I had known while at college, and a lot of older men I had met by reason of my connection with athletic activities. My being on several committees helped me a great deal by increasing the number of my acquaint- ances. I found that I was now to be paid for much that I had done for the greater glory of my alma mater. As I told you before, I found that my being a Harvard graduate helped me a = deal. When I left the club that night carried with me a list of 317 names and addresses. That made all the difference in the world. The atmosphere changed so that New York that evening was very different from the New York of that morn- ing. I was no longer a stranger, alone and (Continued on Page 80)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST The Imperial Chrysler Six Results Mean A New Measure For All Cars It is apparent to all who study the new Chrysler Six that it has turned a leaf in the automotive calendar. Automotive experts and experi- enced motorists recognize at once that here is a car unlike anything that has gone before. The new Chrysler Six adheres strictly to tried and true automotive principles. But an intensive appli- cation of those principles produces such far-reaching results that the whole course of automotive design is destined to be changed. The profound impression thus cre- ated has led many thousands of motor wise people to say that the Chrysler Six makes the possession of any other car seem a useless and costly habit. The measure of difference between the Chry- { sler Six and all other cars is fully revealed in the performance. To tell you the size of the motor would mean nothing. It is only 3-inch bore by 4%4-inch stroke. It is the amazing nature of Chrysler performance in its every phase that is rapidly revising all previous standards. For this power plant, with a piston displace- ment of 201 cubic inches, develops 68 brake test horsepower. | It has a high speed range from 2 to well over | 70 miles an hour, produced without ap- * preciable effort, without vibration “periods” at any point. It delivers safely over 20 miles of service to a gallon of gasoline. The Chrysler oil-filter not only assures extraordinary oil economy but All Chrysler Six dealers are in position to extend the convenience of time-payments. CHRYSLER MOTOR CORPORATION, DETROIT, MICHIGAN also, by cleansing and purifying all motor oil every 25 miles, adds greatly to operating smoothness and long life. It has a flashing pick-up that is electrifying. Through the perfect hydraulic equalization of its Chrysler-Lockheed four-wheel brakes, it has a deceleration comparable to its unprece- dented acceleration. A new type of combustion chamber that burns all the gas, a new way of distributing the gas equally to all cylinders, a uniformity of power impulses, an air-cleaner for the carburetor and a score of other reasons explain the mar- velous power, pull, speed and snap. For the first time, space and length have been truly engineered so that with a surprisingly modest over-all length (160 inches) there is an amazing amount of room and an ease in handling and parking that is a constant delight. Division of Maxwell Motor Corporation sler Pronounced as though spelled, Crysler There are a hundred and one otker features that explain what Walter P. Chrysler and his associates did when they turned the leaf of the automotive calendar—many years forward, as those who know the car believe. Consequently, the Chrysler Six has peusy been described as the foot-rule by which all other cars must be measured. Chrysler Six speed is the measure of efficient motor design, its smoothness is the measure of vibration, its light weight is the measure of riding ease, its compactness is the measure of roominess, its simplicity establishes the standard of comparative complication. All of which, of course, you will understand better when you have examined the Chrysler Six and had a thorough demonstration of both its extraordinary performance and its supreme quality of materials and workmanship. Ask about Chrysler's attractive plan. MAXWELL-CHRYSLER MOTOR CC., OF CANADA, LTD., WINDSOR, ONTARIO The sher 1

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FLY-TOX is a great com- panion for the camping trip. It will spare you a lot of discomfort Spray into the cracks and crevices around the kitchen sink. The first spray will bring owt the roaches, then give it to them again — and that’s all. ™ 1 Moths are killed with athor ough spraying of FLY-TOX. THE SATURDAY Flies, a4 Kills itoes, Moths, @M agreeable of Fly-Tox room. It lingers just long enough to do its work. Within est of fabrics, It is harmless to humans and ani: ient sizes, half pint quarts $1.25, or in gallons at $4. A trial sprayer is given With each small bottle. ¢. To get the best results the Im- proved FLy-{ox Hand Sprayer is recommendeds: $prays a large : ‘pumped easily It sprays in any position 0 he or vertically. The easiest way to rid your home of insects is to use FLY-TOX. Insects are not only a nuisance but are often a menace to your health. Ask your grocer or drug- gistforabottleandasprayertoday. The Toledo Rex Spray Co. Wenatchee Rex Spray Co. Toledo, Ohio Wenatchee, Wash. Payette Valley Rex Spray Co. The Rex Company Payette, Idaho Kansas City, Mo. Canada Rex Spray Co., Ltd. California Rex Spray Co. Brighton, Ontario Benicia, Calif. EVENING POST (Continued from Page 78) unwelcomed. I was Jack hay 5 to at least two hundred good fellows who lived in the same friendly city with me, fellows who knew me as well as anybody in Boston did. There is no need here to dwell on the charm of college friendships, but I must say that being a Harvard man helped me a great deal more in New York than it had in —. You see, in Boston almost “toa ou meet is a Harvard man. In ork that wasn’t so. They were acl but more enthusiastic. The groups and cliques of under uate days that prevented the perfect fusing of a class did not exist among the alumni, who, when brought her, subordinated their year college. They were all Harvard men, and I found myself calling a fellow Tim that at Cambridge I’d always called Allen. With the habitual use of first names and the ion of common memories, you feel more kindly disposed toward your college mates. I don’t mean to recommend my college to young men who wish to become stock- brokers. I would simply record my indebt- edness to Harvard in my own career. Being a Harvard man helped me to establish certain valuable contacts. Through a class- mate I obtained my first job. Through another I did fairly well as a bond salesman. My first day in New York was successful because of my classmates there. For a business getter it was better to belong to the Counsellors and the Harvard clubs than not to belong. It doesn’t mean that I used these clubs to solicit business in, be- cause I didn’t. But I was better equipped to deal with a certain class of men in their offices. The next day I rose early. I could not sleep after six, and after breakfasting and rea the paper I went downtown. I ioel at the office before any of the others, even before Wilson, who usually arrived at eight o’clock. Later on I found a boarding house on Madison Avenue, not far from the Grand Central Station. I had a front room, and the clatter of the milk wagons and the rattle of early trucks awoke me at daybreak. As sleep was hope- less under such conditions I went to the office before eight. While waiting for the clerks to come I got the habit of studying the Commercial and Financial Chronicle. I didn’t skip anything, not even the ad- vertisements. After Business in Earnest One of the chaps in the office was sup- posed to be a sort of manager, but there wasn’t very much for him to manage. For some reason or other he took a dislike to me, It may have been my Harvard ways or perhaps he didn’t like Mr. Williamson’s saying that I was a free lance and under nobody’s orders. At all events he was very disagreeable. I wasn’t used to that, so I told Mr. Williamson that either the mana- ger or I would have to leave or the office would become demoralized. Mr. William- son decided that I should stay. I had done nothing to earn that man’s dislike, but after he left I thought it was only fair for me to take on some of his duties, and I did a lot of extra work voluntarily. I thought it would help the office. Among other things, I was abie to save Mr. Williamson a lot of time by opening his mail, sorting it and preparing it for answering I started out to get ieminett on the morning of my second day in New York. I took my list of names downtown with me. After Mr. Williamson left for the board room I went to call on the first man, Gerald Abbott. He wasn’t in. Then I proceeded methodically and systematically to call on every man in New York whom I knew per- sonally. Every day I went out with my little list in hand and one thought in mind. I renewed my acquaintance with men I had known pretty well in Cambridge. I didn’t skip a single man of the 317 I had copied out of the Harvard Club book. I called on them at their places of business. Some of them were uptown, but most, of course, worked downtown. Several of them wee in the Wall Street district, in the same business that I was in, either as partners or as employes. Some were in banks and trust companies. July 5,1924 Of course, at college I had known some more intimately than others, but now they were all in one class. Each was a potential customer and it did not occur to me to play favorites. I was doing a heap of thinking and planning, putting into practice theories I had evolved in the years when I thought that some day I would go to New York to develop a big stock business. To start as I did helped me a great deal more than I realized at the time. In the first place, although I did not actually get much business at first, going after it made me a better business getter because for one thing it took away the feeling of loneliness and isolation that so handicaps a man who labors where he is an utter stranger. It made me cheerful and optimistic when every one of these 317 men told me he was glad to see me and looked it. I believed it because I was equally glad to see them. told them all why I was in New York and what I hoped todo. Some of them promised to give me business the moment they had any to give. Others assured me that they would keep me in mind. Many of them gave me letters of introduction to friends of theirs who traded in stocks. Harvard certainly helped me. You see, I did not need to be vouched for by anyone in the matter of integrity, industry or intentions. Those fellows had known all about me; they had the best kind of line on me, on my way of doing things, on my mental charac- teristics. They had known me as I was, when there was no thought on my part of self-seeking of any kind. When I offered them my services in my capacity as business getter for Bronson & Barnes, I simply told them what I had come to New York for, just as I would have told them of a hunting trip or any other personal experience. [ knew that there were no end of brokers who would execute orders on the New York Stock Exchange for one-eighth of one per cent commission. I was equally aware of the fact that one competent, reputable broker had no more to offer a client than any other equally competent and reputable broker could offer. Methods of Approach Such being the case, I did not ask myself what I had to sell that the other fellow hadn’t. I asked instead what it was that I had tosell at all; whether others also had it or not. Well, all I could see I had to sell was service. Was my service better than the service given by others? Yes, it was at least, in my opinion -because I went out after buyers of that service in the spirit I did. I was not only willing but eager and anxious to give my entire time and all my strength and energy—every- thing I had !—to giving the very best service possible. I realized clearly that to get the business, I had to give value. Good service, competent, honest, painstaking, quick, I could guarantee; these things, and also my zeal to help, my fervent desire to serve my firm by serving its customers. No personal discomfort, no sacrifice of time, would be allowed to interfere with my doing my best always; I knew what I could do; which was also what I was willing to do without the need of being urged by anyone. As for advice or tips, I gave none and promised none, I had none to give. More- over, it was not the way in which Bronson & Barnes did business, and believing as I did in my firm I was anxious to sell that belief to others—and I did. I knew that they had ample capital, exceptionally good floor men on both the New York and the Boston stock exchanges, and they desired to deal fairly always. And I sold that knowledge. Nothing could shake my be- lief or alter my knowledge. I am, of course, speaking relatively. I did not actually sell these things to the men I tried to turn into customers. I sold them to myself, and that enabled me to keep on cheerfully trying to get business. I had promises aplenty, from my old friends and thir friends, but no actual orders, no busi- ness whatever, and yet, always the thrill was there, the zest of the chase. The thought of getting men to trade with my firm when we couldn't give them anything that other firms couldn’t give was ex- hilarating. When success came it would be (Continued on Page 82)

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82 (Continued from Page 80) all the sweeter for the competition. I remember thinking it would be nice to tackle only men who already had accounts in some other broker’s office. It would be quicker than breaking tyros into wes in stocks, But [ stuck to my Harvard Club list, and after I had seen all the 317 I sought business wherever I thought I might find it. New York I found quite different from Boston, but I was neither surp nor disappointed. I found no difficulty in getting into offices in New York, but that was because I was properly introduced, and after I got in I gave them straightforward talk. I am no spellbinder. I don’t know whether a persuasive talker can induce hard-headed business men into buying stocks and bonds through his firm, book- agent-wise. But I know I never tried. I have always given business reasons to busi- ness men. If those reasons did not appeal to them I couldn’t and didn’t expect to get their accounts, In Boston when I went to see a man he asked me to sit down, and then, both of us comfortably seated, we would discuss in- vestments and consider whether it was better for hira to buy some of the bonds I wanted to sell him than buy Telephone stock or some other popular investment. In the end we were pretty apt to do busi- ness. But whether we did or not, when we parted each knew that pleasant personal relations had been established. In New York the moment I entered an office I was definitely conscious that time was money. The business New Yorker did not diseuss with me whether he ought to invest or speculete. He told me exactly what he wished or did not wish to do, and told it p.d.q. Also, it was less easy to get into a man’s office in New York. There was little of the Boston feeling of belonging to the same club. The fact that both of us lived in the same town did not make us feel neighborly.as it does in every other city in the United States, In New York also I found that the amenities of life did not matter much. There was usually good temper, but not always good manners. On the other hand, one could do much more business much more quickly than anywhere else. It was in the air. Money here became light; it seemed more mobile; it performed its circulatory functions more rapidly and im- versonally, and therefore more efficiently. it struck me this might be use the moment one arrived in New York the spending began. Money went from you with every breath you exhaled. Doubtless the New Yorker felt it was only fair also to get money every time he drew in his breath. Every day two hundred thousand people from the outside came in, bent on business or on pleasure—that is, to buy or to play; to apend money, to add to the supply of it in New York, it therefore did not get a chance to stagnate. It was always either coming or going—chiefly coming. Ain Uphill Fight The first thing I knew, I had been in New York a month and had not done any busi- nessa whatever, Two months and I had not captured a single customer, My record of achievement after nine weeks of hustling was simply zero, But I did not consider myself beaten. I did not feel that New York had defeated me, for all that other houses were doing the business I had not corralled for our firm, I did not make excuses to myself or to Colonel Bronson when he came to New York, as he usually did every two or three weeks, I just told him what I was doing, how I was going about my job of getting business—the - ness that I wasn’t getting. And he would nod pleasantly, an all-right-keep-it-up sort of nod, as though I had m a dozen bull’s-eyes, I kept it up, day after day “tame Harare business, and day after returning to the office empty-handed. I don’t think I was pertenents timid, though I never was the hustling salesman of the s or an expert in glib patter. I did not the fault was with either my technic or my firm; I simply didn’t connect. As near as I can remember, my feelings were about what a-chap feels when he strikes out—a sort of disappointment that he didn’t do better for the sake of the game, of the team and of his vanity. I was doing my best, and so I didn’t have to die of shame; but I didn’t like it. It was going to take much longer to get started than I had figured on, THE SATURDAY and that is always irksome to youth—that has so much time before it! One day, at the beginning of my tenth fruitless week in New York, a man came into the office and asked one of the office boys whether I was in. When I heard his question I rose from my empty desk and walked quickly toward him, my ip = hand out to shake his with fervor and dispatch. You see, I was so keen on getting business that I had got into the habit of regarding everybody I spoke to, even in the most casual way, like street-car conductors or waiters, as prospects. The stranger—a well-dressed, soothingly prosperous-looking man of about thirty— met me with an altogether charming cor- diality. He informed me a mutual friend, Sam Celian, had sent him to me. Well, I was so glad to see him that I allowed him to perceive it. I wouldn't have disguised my pleasure for worlds, He spoke like a man who wanted to do what he could for me, and I certainly knew what I wanted him to do. When he said he under- stood I had not been long in New York I admitted it, but neutralized it by telling him I had been in the Boston office of the firm and therefore knew just what Bronson & Barnes meant in the financial world. They didn’t believe in blowing their own horn, but they had the goods to sell. I told him much more and he listened with such attentiveness that I warmed up to him. I assured him that if I or the firm could be of service to him it would give me a particular ne to do it, both for his own sake and for Sam’s, because Sam’s friends were my friends. My First Customer He agreed with me about Sam, who was then selling tickets at the Bijou Theater. “A t fellow, Sam,”’ he said. “He certainly is,” I said. Then, though he was certain I did not need to be reminded of it, the wonderful stranger began paternally to Po out the grave dangers that beset all young men everywhere, particularly in Wall Street, and how necessary it was to insure your peace of mind and your family by hab‘ts of compul- sory but none the less commendable thrift. He ended by anne me to consider takin out fifty or one hundred thousand dollars o life insurance. He represented the | t, oldest, best and most philanthropic of the life-insurance companies, and the particular form of policy he wished me to take out was the latest and the most advantageous of all, It represented the work of the best life-insurance brains in the world, and the most erous terms were offered. A life-insurance agent! I had nearly invited him to dinner on the strength of his being my first customer, and Ih n to figure our profits on the ten thousand shares a month I had expected to get from him. Still, he might be good for a ew hundred shares now and then, and every littie helped. So I told him that if there was anything I passionately longed for was to take out more insurance. But unfortunately I hadn't done a thing since arriving in New York and I wasn’t sure of my job. So it was out of the question for me to think of giving him ay business until I gt some business m: . You see, it struck me that he might have friends or victims who traded in stocks. He assured me he would make such easy terms for me that I wouldn’t have to worry about the payments. But I told him the surest way to get my insurance business was to introduce me to some a of his fa henna ae os “ good erage house. wou thereby cinch my job and that would en- courage habits of thrift as well as insure premium payments and my life at one fell swoop. He didn’t look very cheerful while I spoke, but of a sudden he brightened as if he saw commissions coming and he cried excitedly, “Oh, I know a man!” I reached for hat. “He isn’t sat’ with the service he is ” he went on. I , and shook my , a trifle premat i “I don’t know,” he answered. “Well, suppose we go to his office and you os me,” I > id. We left the office well disposed each toward the other because both of us saw a chance of doing business. His friend had an office in John Street. He was an importer of high-grade ingot EVENING POST steel used in making superfine tools. I signuied the insurance t to leave me alone with his friend, which he was nice enough to do. I gave that importer everything I had, and in the end I succeeded in getting him to come over to us. He transferred his account from Wolcott, Harris & Co., to Bronson & Barnes. He was the first cus- tomer I got in New York. He is still a customer of my firm. And I never bought any insurance from the man who brought us together. He stopped coming around before I had any money to spare. I rather think he went into some other business. It is very curious that it is always the first that comes the hardest. After I got this customer I had less trouble in getting others. I don’t see why that should be, but it was so. That customers bring customers is as true of the stockbrokers’ business as of restaurants or of physicians. I should like to point out that this first customer did not come to me through my Harvard connec- tions or through personal friends. He walked in wad f closed the door. At all events, it was my first chapter. At last I was doing what I had wished to do from the moment that I decided that New York was the »'ace where a man might build up a big stock-brokerage business. I am sorry my narrative does not abound in thrilling situations or dramatic incidents. I have known many very successful men, but the most interesting chapters of their business lives seldom had to do with their money- making. I kept on gunning for customers. I did not care so much whether I brought down squirrels or elephants so long as ! brought back game to the office. After my first customer my luck—or possibly my shoot- ing—improved somewhat, but it was still mighty slow business. I kept myself from discouragement by developing a habit of analyzing my own efforts with a view to doing better. Mr. Williamson was a very busy man and I knew he had never had any experience personally with the sort of thing I was trying to do, and therefore I did not like to take my troubles to him. There was no one in the office who could help me. But one day I did speak to Mr. Williamson, and he was so nice and sympathetic and gave me so many valuable crqpeenens that after that I made it a point of talking with him every afternoon after the close of the market. After I was taken in as partner we still kept up that habit, and he always knew what I was doing and what I planned or ho to do. I think that my partners are the finest men in the world. Their attitude toward me always was that of elder brothers, and I,can never be too grateful to them. They made my work a pleasure. Learning the Business But it was not alone from my wise and kindly chief that I learned. Ata very early stage I realized that my outlook on busi- ness was too narrow; that I didn’t know as much as I had thought I knew; and that what knowledge I did have was not ac- curate enough to be of real help to me. fieagenee 3 about it made me realize that two methods of increasing my knowledge and improving its quality were before me. One way was to let my experience be the sole teacher. This, of course, was sure, but also slow and expensive. The other method was to profit by the experience of others. It was all very well for me to analyze my own technic and study the possibilities of my own business; but, I decided, I could learn far more quickly by studying the methods of my competitors. The moment I grasped this I lost no time in matricu- lating. I have kept up my studies and you can gauge the magnitude of my ignorance when I say to you that hardly a day passes when I do not learn something about my own business by studying what my com- petitors do and talking to them and prof- iting ¥ their experience as well as by my own. When I find that I have nothing more to learn from others I shall instantly retire from active business. The fun will be gone and the decay will have begun. Why linger, a liability instead of an asset to my firm? I had many friends like Bill Winans who were in other brokers’ offices. I made it a point to spend some time every day in one or another of them. So they were too busy to talk to me, but oftener than not on had time to give me, and I made use of it to something about their business, because that also was my busi- ness. Whatever I learned about stocks or July 53,1924 bonds meant an increase in my working capital. The magnitude of the daily ac- cretion was of less importance than the fact of the accretion itself. And these faithful friends, whom I to Harvard, intro- duced me to other men in other houses, fresh friends from whom I also learned. I always feel that I am not entitled to any credit for this because I found as much pleasure in it as the average man feels when he is riding his hobby to his heart’s content. Learning my trade and getting _ for it was like drawing double wages. paid the firm back later, when we successfully promoted certain companies. If it had not been for what I learned in those early days in the office of a friend in the matter of the application of certain aay to our business, I never should ave known how to go about it. One never can fix the date when knowledge is going to pay dividends. But without eaoiiedans we are sure to pay assessments. One of the things I learned from my daily visits to my friends’ offices was some- thing that had never occurred to me while I worked in the home office—to wit, that I could get business from other brokers. There were quite a number of commission houses in New York that did business in Boston stocks, and I soon found out that they were = willing to give us that business. They had been turning it over to other Boston houses. I asked for it and after that whenever they had an order of that kind they gave it to us. It was not long before we built up quite a nice little business. It paid, and also it made us better known among the other brokerage houses in New York. Business From Other Brokers After that it did not take me long to discover that the larger banking houses did not execute their own orders on the Stock Exchange, although they were members of it. They always gave out their business to other brokers for various reasons, one being the desire or the need to cover up their tracks. This was perfectly legitimate. For example, let us assume that a client of J. P. Morgan & Co. for some perfectly good reason wishes to sell ten thousand shares of U.S. Steel which he has owned or carried for some time. He wishes to shift his investment or needs some cash to put into some new venture or to buy tax-exempt bonds. What would happen if J. P. Morgan & Co.’s board member were to go into the Steel crowd on the floor of the Stock Ex- change and ‘try to sell that block of ten thousand shares of U.S. Steel? Everybody would instantly ask, “Why are J. P. Morgan & Co. selling that stock?” They would not wait for an official explanation or an answer to a question they had no business to ask. They simply would think the worst, and proceed to play safe by also selling Steel. What J. P. Morgan & Co. do is = to be deemed worthy of emulation by the Street. And so if the stock-exchange member of the premier banking house of America was seen selling any stock on the floor there is no telling what would happen to the stock and the price thereof, And it would be just as unprofitable to execute buying orders. The fear of having their actions misconstrued has as much to do as anything else with the bankers’ habit of giving their orders to other houses to execute. I made the acquaintance of men in the larger banking houses and asked for some of their business and got it, though, of course, this took time. There were other places where I looked for business. In those days it was a custom of the brokers to haunt the uptown hotels, cafés and clubs in the evening, making or trying to make customers of the men they met. I used to hear the old-timers talk about the time when the great gathering place was Delmonico’s, then on Fourteenth Street, and later on at the Windsor, and still later at the Waldorf. The last was the favorite hotel of the Western plungers, like John W. Gates. It was there that James R. Keene lived when he conducted his masterly campaign of distribution in the newly found U. S. Steel stocks in 1901. Well, I went there, too, looking for trade, as my forefathers had looked for timber. The talk was all shop—that is, entirely speculative. It was all about what the market had done that day and what it was going to do on the morrow. '* was for all the world like race-track dopc rather than talk about a legitimate business. But how (Continued on Page 87)

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THE SATURLAY EVENING POST PT HE big problem in a satisfactory speedom- eter for Ford cars has always been the drive. Now AC has solved this problem. The simplicity of the new A'C ‘direct drive (see illustration) does away with the swivel joint and internal gears. The AC Speedometer for Fords can be easily and quickly installed. It comes complete with all at- tachments. When mounted it presents the neat and attractive appearance of factory installation —and does not look like an afterthought. % % The cost is surprisingly low—$15.00 ($15.50 West of Denver)—your DEALER CAN SUPPLY YOU. PEEP EEELELLL | 7 Y AC Speedometers are now factory equipment on the following cars: ? Buick Gray Maxwell > Chevrolet Haynes Oakland» . Chrysler Lexington Oldsmobile \ Service on AC Speedometers is available at branches of United Motors > - Service Inc., and 142 Authorized AC Speedometer Service Stations. re | ? . . . . mi . Fully jeweled, magnetic type, registering 0 to 75 . miles per hour, as well as total mileage and trip | : total, resettable. ? Features of the AC Direct Drive y Direct drive, no Reinforced fibre swivel joint or in- drive pinion. - ternal gears. Felt lubricating ‘ . Felt washers to wick. 4 he : “ — out dust and Spring oiler. 15 () 5 ; ; ig Long bronze Lock nut and lock u hide. bearing. washer. TENTED f . Can be installed without removing spindle from axle. 9 3 4 5 ? AC You want to know how fast and far you go. The AC 2 5 Speedometer for Fords will tell you this accurately, and also give you a check on your mileage from gaso- line, oil, tires, etc. AC Spark Plug Company, FLINT, -AGchigan Makers of AC Spark Plugs—AC Speedometers U.S, Pat. No. 1,135,727, April 13, 1915; U.S, Pat. No. 1,216,139, Feb. 13, 1917 Other Patents Pending os 2 ew es * . Flexible Drive "ee TEPIGTIITITFI _- 7777 /3 lidddédaanae . . ; Cable and Casing

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OT long ago, in these pages, we described the Dalton ‘‘Mystery Room,”’ the Experimental Depart- ment where Dalton inventive genius is constantly at work on ‘“‘finer and still finer figuring machines.’’ Today, we announce the latest and one of the greatest triumphs of this ‘‘Mystery Room’’—the new Dalton ‘‘Bookkeep- ing Cash Register.”’ With this newest and latest machine, all necessary sales information— amount of sale, commodity sold, clerk’s designation—is recorded and distributed when and as sales are registered. It shows at a glance de- partments that pay and those that do not, commodities that are profitable and those that are ‘‘shelf-warmers,”’ clerks who are good salesmen and SATURDAY EVENING POST ...now from this “Mystery Room” BOOKKEEPING those who are not. Profits safe- guarded! All these features in this one Bookkeeping Cash Register: @ ‘Forced indication’’—clerk must print designating symbol in registering sales. @ Immediate subtraction of cash paid out as payments are made—cash always in balance. @ Records and designates charge sales and received-on-account items. @ Provides printed total of cash in drawer at any time. @ Lock and key prevents inspec- tion of records save at proprietor's discretion. @ Roomy cash drawer and desk; adjustable writing table enables oper- ator to make desired notations oppo- site recorded items; Circassian walnut finish, @ With the simplified bookkeeping system that goes with the machine, all essential figure facts as to how business is running at finger tips. @ No bookkeeper is required. Proprietor, owner or any employe can operate this simplified accounting system. Finally — © This new Dalton, which costs no more than an ordinary cash register, combines with its unusual cash regis- ter features a complete adding-calcu- lating machine—addition, subtraction, multiplication and general office figure work performed in the speedy, sim- plified Dalton way without disturbing cash register record. Phone the Dalton Sales Agent in your city for a demonstration as ap- plied to your own work. A man to meet! If you have figure prob- lems—adding, calculating, bookkeeping, statement, or handling cash—here’s a man who can help you. He is the Dalton sales- man. Phone him. THE DALTON ADDING MACHINE SALES COMPANY, Cincinnati, Ohio, U.S. A. Agents for Canada: The United Typewriter Co., Toronto and Branches Sales Agencies in all the Principal Cities of the World Dalton ADDING-CALCULATING + BOOKKEEPING STATEMENT AND “CASH REGISTER” MACHINES 152 Models at Prices Ranging from $125 to $1200 July 5, 1924

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST HE NEW DALTON ASH REGISTER ~~ Write for this descriptive folder It describes in detail this new Dalton Bookkeeping Cash Register. Tells how, in your own store, this machine will safeguard profits and save time.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST July 5,1924 Individually Packaged Tools for Household Uses This is the first time a complete line of tools for househo!d uses has ever been sold in distinctive, individual packages, and tagged with the retail price. The red Four-Square mark with the name STANLEY is your guide when buying good tools made expressly for the home. As a satisfied user of any one Four-Square Tool, you then know exactly what to ask for when you need more tools, because all Stanley Four-Square Tools are alike in quality. Stanley reputation and prestige are back of every one of the 32 Four-Square Household Tools. STANLEY NEW BRITAIN, CONN..U.S.A. EY HORNE ~ THE STANLEY OULE @ LOVER Mant

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(Continued from Page 82) the brokers hustled! I have seen well-to-do men, known to be active stock traders, surrounded by two or three or even four hungry business getters. The head of one of the largest stock-commission houses in Wall Street called in person every morning at 9:15 on Anthony N. Brady to get what orders Mr. Brady had to give him. As for James R. Keene, he was usually surrounded by a crowd of tip seekers, floor traders and two-dollar brokers, who listened with their very souls while the greatest operator of his time carefully told them nothing, all the time smiling his famous smile, so like a sneer—the grin a particularly sardonic tiger would show if a young goat made of burlap and stuffed with excelsior had been thrown into his cage. I remember hearing the junior partner of a commission house that did a large and sporty business say to his respected senior partner: ‘Why in blazes do you run after Keene like an office boy trying to earn a dollar tip? I don’t want any business that makes you act like that! Itis too humiliating.” There was an office on the top floor of one of the large hotels. I didn’t have any friends there, but I tad met one of the firm’s customers’ men and I visited their famous branch office. They did an active business in stocks, grain, cotton and pro- visions. The quotation board was in a huge room most sumptuously furnished. There were several card rooms and every facility for playing—tables, decks of cards, boxes of chips, markers, and so on. There was a ladies’ room with maids in attend- ance, a large sun parlor with lounges and armchairs, and a luncheon room. The im- pression you got was of a small casino or gambling place. The firm went on the assumption that the way to get customers was to entertain them more lavishly than other brokerage houses. You see, the Chicago bunch were all high rollers. They had set the fashion in plunging in stocks, and the talk was of the number of thou- sands of shares bought or sold and the profits, rather than of earnings and trace conditions. I heard the senior partner of the firm converse with a St. Louis manufacturer. I could scarcely credit my ears, the talk was so reckless. It was intended to induce blind plunging, the object of course being to make commissions. In the smaller rooms men were smoking, drinking and playing cards and trading in stocks, or having luncheon at the expense of the house and trading in stocks, or listening to glib-tongued customers’ men and trading in stocks. And all the stock trading that I could see was simply in the nature of bet- ting on up or down. A Bad, Bad Break I couldn’t see how any house could make money with the expense account this branch office must have. And with every man in every hotel café north of Thirty-fourth Street surrounded by brokers or their paid b-siness getters whose capacity for booze and for listening to drivel was greater than mine, I decided it was a waste of time for me to look for business there. The firm that made it so pleasant for their customers in their Thirty-fourth Street branch went into bankruptcy not so long afterward. It was, of course, bound to. That was twenty years ago or more. Today they could not do that kind of busi- ness, in that way. They wouldn’t be allowed to. The Business Conduct Com- mittee of the Stock Exchange would not permit it. In going after customers I had some amusing experiences. One of my class- mates, Leonard Durfee, worked in his father’s office not far from Wall Street. He was learning the business, as befitted an only son. Leonard was anxious to help me and one day when he and his father went to the Counsellors Club to luncheon he saw me sitting at a table by myself. He introduced me to Mr. Duriee and told him point-blank that I was a good friend of his and that I ought to get some of their business. The old gentleman was evidently very fond of Leonard, who was a mighty fine boy, for he smiled pleasantly and then and there gave me an order to buy five hundred shares of stock. I was pleased beyond words with his order because I naturally looked upon it as merely the first of many to come. We ought to build up quite an account, I thought, with Mr. Durfee so willing to be nice to me for Leonard’s sake. At that THE SATURDAY time my idea of happiness consisted of finding a customer who would trade several times an hour every day excepting Sundays and holidays. But Mr. Durfee was a fine- looking, dignified old gentleman, and it behooved me to be very careful for Leonard’s sake and for my own. So I thanked him as nicely as I knew how and decided to impress him with my conservatism, besides playing safe. So I asked him solemnly, ‘‘ Mr. Durfee, do you wish us to carry this stock on margin for you or do you prefer to take it up?” Well, sir, my blood ran cold when I got the look Mr. Durfee gave me. He surely was one an old chap. But he made a great effort, right there, before my horror- stricken eyes, and managed to say in a voice that made you think of a polar night in January, “Young man, I am sixty-five ears old, and I have been in business orty-five years, and I never bought any- thing on margin in - life.” “No, sir,” I hastily agreed with him. “TI didn’t think you ever had, sir. I just asked so as to ——”’ a yes,” he interrupted; “so as to h, find out if I had the money to give you.” “Oh, no, indeed, Mr. Durfee. It wasn’t a question of the money at all, sir,”’ I denied earnestly. “No? Well, that stock is selling at 101 or 102, and that’s fifty thousand dollars. That is quite a lot of money for an old fellow to have.” Mr. Durfee’s Rating **We know you're good for it,”’ I assured him, with the confidence of my ignorance. “Then it must be that you wish to make a stock speculator out of me, at my time of life.” And he glared at me. I certainly wished it, for he was only the fourth customer I had found up to that time, but I said, “Not at all, sir. Not at all!’’ To my astonishment he began to laugh. He roared so that other people at the tables about us looked at him and smiled the in- decisive smiles of men who ought to have listened to the joke but having missed it do their duty visibly by grinning. Finally he said, ‘Young man, send the stock to my office with your bill, and I'll send you my check. You are taking big chances, though.” And he walked away. Well, I went to the office and gave the order. That afternoon after the close I told Mr. Williamson about it, and he also laughed and informed me that Mr. Durfee was conservatively estimated to be worth from ten to fifteen million dollars. He was one of the richest men in New York. But it wasn’t a fatal mistake, for Mr. Durfee still buys and sells stocks through us at times. He is over eighty-five years old and is worth all of thirty-five million dollars. Every time he runs across me in the Street or at the Counsellors Club at luncheon, he he yells at me at the top of his voice, “‘ Well, Jack, have you learned yet how to size up a customer’s rating? Eh?” And when I say yes, he asks me, **And do you still buy stock on margin for old men? Yes? Want to make a margin customer of me, eh, Jack?” And I always tell him that is my one ambition in life, and he laughs. But he is still on our books, Another classmate did something for me for which I can never be sufficiently grate- ful. I called on him at his office one day—one of my educational visits. He was in the brokerage business, but they did more in bonds than in stocks. He asked me, “ Jack, do you know that the Atchison is going to issue some new bonds?” “No, I don’t,” I answered. “Well, it’s so. A syndicate is being formed to underwrite the issue. Why don’t you go in?” “‘T will,” I said, and rushed back to the office as fast as I could. I instantly got in communication with Boston. Colonel Bronson wasn’t there, but Mr. Barnes was, and I told him about the Atchison bonds, and that we ought to be in that syndicate. He agreed with me, to my great joy. He knew all about the road. e was bullish on it and he was certain the firm could market quite a block of the new bonds. The moment he stopped I ran over to the banking house that headed the syndicate. It was a very prominent banking house indeed. I asked to see one of the partners, and when I was ushered into his office I introduced myself and told him that we would like a participation in that Atchison I was very anxious to get bond business. EVENING POST it because it was business for my firm. For me it was the business of getting business, which was what I was paid for. He stared at me meditatively; then he asked gently, “Do you do any bond busi- ness “Not much,” I confessed. “But we can sell Atchison bonds. We are strong be- lievers in the road and its prospects, and we have confidence in its management.” That was not original, but it served my rpose. “Well,” he went on slowly, “we have not yet definitely decided what the issue price of those bonds will be. We shall an- nounce the details in a few days when we send out our syndicate letter.” “Very well, sir,” I said. ‘That will be fine. And Bronson & Barnes would like one hundred thousand dollars.” The affair was settled as far as I was concerned. All that there remained to be done was the actual selling of the bonds to our customers. I fancy he had no trouble in reading this on ro Maine face, for he asked me, very politely, ‘‘ Don’t you think that possibly your firm would be interested in knowing what the price will be before they ask for a participation in the syndi- cate?” “We are perfectly willing to be guided by your judgment in the matter of the price. Why shouldn't we be?” I asked him. I really felt that way, for the reputation of this great banking house was of the highest. They were neither stupid nor un- scrupulous, and that was all I needed to know. Besides, I wanted Bronson & Barnes to get the bonds. So the banker just smiled and nodded. Then I got up and shook hands with him and told him what my class at Harvard was, and I spoke of men I’d met who were in his class. Well, we got the hundred thousand dollars of bonds, and I tried to do my share in selling them. It was my first venture of this kind in New York. Since that time we have been on the great banking house's syndicate list. The bonds were a mighty good invest- ment and in my efforts to sell them I went to banks and trust companies as well as into private offices. In one of the banks I saw the vice president. I gave him my little talk and he listened not only politely but, I thought, with considerable interest. You know, you can always tell when you interest your auditor. hen I finished I felt sure I had made a good impression; that meant that I had persuaded him to take the bonds. And that meant that I would sell him other bonds later on. A new customer! I felt quite happy about it. A Kindly Rebuff Just as I expected him to tell me how many of mz Atchison bonds he would take, he asked me, ‘ What is your name?” I told him. “And the name of your firm?”’ I told him. “And how long have you been in New York?” “Six months and eight days,’”’ I told him. “Well, Mr. Wing,” he said pleasantly, “this bank is rather closely affiliated with the banking house that heads the syndicate, and we are in the syndicate ourselves. In fact we are in the originating group.” He spoke with great kindness. You can imagine how I felt. “I don’t oyees you knew that,”’ he went on, as if he were apologizing, “and I am serry I wasted your time when I let you talk on, knowing we had all the bonds we could use.” “Well,” I said, as soon as I was able to speak, “it is up to me to apologize. I certainly took up a lot of your time. All I can say is that I am very sorry.” “You needn’t be sorry. And now, I'l! tell you this: If we had not been in the syndicate I'd have bought some of those | bonds from you. I mean it. You can come in and talk to me any time you feel like it, and if there is anything I can do I'll do it gladly. I know your firm and I have met one of your partners, of whom I think highly. I shall be glad to see you, Mr. Wing, any time you call at this bank.” We shook hands and parted with the best of feelings. It was the beginning of a friendship that meant a great deal to me. And the memory of it is one of my most precious possessions. The name of the man was Henry P. Davison. Editor’s Note—This is the fifth of a series of articles by Mr. Lefévre. The next will appear in an early issue Er "AlERMORE re ~ Exhaust Hom tiful, clean-cut melodious warning that can be heard over great distances. Yet its tone is of a quality that never startles, never offends. For this reason alone careful drivers are giving this horn the preference. The Aermore is ideal for crowded city or | open country driving. It is durable, de pendable and can be installed on your car easily. Fully guaranteed At your dealer's | --or direct from us. In ordering give make | and model of car. | ° ~ Price complete with Valve Four Sizes: oni‘peth Comet No. 00 22 inch length, for large cars $i4 No. 0 17 inch length, for medium cars. . 12 No. | 15 inch length, for small cars . 0 | Ford Special 13 inch length.....-... 7 Write for circular describing the Aermore and the Fulton Foot Accelerator for Fords. DEALERS —Write us for propesi ties, giving name of your jobber. ~™ FULTON © 732 «75% Ave Milwaukee Wis Automotive Equipment lace Setters of ality sounds a new note in motor wgnaling safety and efficiency. It sends out a Dequ

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A Powerful Selling Force Skillful salesmanship and attractive mer- chandise deserve surroundings that strengthen the total sales appeal—especially clean floors. The JOHN TAYLOR DRY GOODS CO, of Kansas City has discovered how to obtain and maintain clean floors and thus add powerfully to the good impressions received by its patrons, Wood floors are not easy to keep clean but the floors in this store are spot- less, thanks to the FINNELL SYSTEM of ELECTRIC SCRUBBING This system keeps floors of all kinds cleaner than ordinary hand and knee scrubbing at a saving in time and labor. It spreads powder evenly, applies clean water to every portion of the floor, eliminates carrying and emptying pails of water and applies the steady untiring power of electricity so that the last square foot is as clean as the first. Wherever, as one of the public, you see the FINNELL you may expect superior service or a superior product, for it is evidence that the value of perfect cleanliness is SYSTEM in use recognized. And whenever you, as a merchant or manufacturer, use the FINNELL SYSTEM you may expect profitable returns not only in lower cost but also in public response, because CLEAN FLOORS Reflect Clean Business -~menenssenes CLIP BERS rinnect Scrubbing Equipment is obtainable in various models to meet the need of any size ar type of business Caeck the hind of buiiding or bunness in which you are interested Factories Halle Department Stores Auditoriume Schools Textile Mills Y.M.C.A.'s Hakeries Hospitals Banks Horie Churches Public Buildings Ciube Restaurants Retail Stores and any other buildings of large Colleges floor space For free booklet, ‘Electrical Scrubbing," and full information on the FINNELL sysTEM, clip above list, attach to your letterhead and mail to address below. AMERICAN SCRUBBING EQUIPMENT SALES CoO. 107 N, Collier St., Hannibal, Mo. POWER SCRUBBING HEADQUARTERS FOR SEVENTEEN YEARS Direct factory representatives ia all principal cities in U.S Robert W. Wright, 114-116 Southampton Row, Londen J. B. Forbes, 26 Jamison St.. Sydney | who had closed their small THE SATURDAY EVENING POST July 5,1924 SELLING YOURSELF enough confidence in yourself to do the things on this job that ought to be done.’ “Of course I took him and was glad to get him. He’s a likable sort, quick to catch the other fellow’s slant,” concluded the em- ployer. “But why doesn’t the average man seeking a job realize he must sell himself the same way a business man sells his products?” The worth of any answer to that ques- tion depends solely upon its lack of gen- erality. The best one can do is to admit what is undeniably a fact and then attempt to plumb some of the reasons for its exist- ence. An outstanding reason is that the aver- age man intent upon securing a specific position gives too little thought to the em- ployer’s point of view and problems. In- deed, it is altogether natural that a man immediately concerned with obtaining con- genial employment should lack for the mo- ment the perspective and ability to focus his thoughts upon the other fellow’s trou- bles, And yet that ability is the firmest and surest road to a sale, whether it be of goods or services. The keen business man is al- ways in the market for sound, negotiable ideas; and when these are presented by a man who for the moment subordinates to them the position he is seeking, the em- yloyer feels that he is making a profitable investment in securing the services of the man who hatched those ideas. How well such a policy pays has been driven home to me daily, but never more forcefully than in the case of an officer who had served in the chemical-warfare division of the Army. For him the war ended the day he stepped into civvies. Perhaps it is significant that before enlisting he had been an employer on a very limited scale as a manufacturing chemist. Like thousands lants and estab- lishments when we entered the war, he had | been forced, when it ended, to step back | into the ranks of the employe. | discharge he spent two weeks making a sur- | vey of business conditions for his own con- | sumption. He asked no one for a position. After his But in those two weeks, while job hunters were telling a tax-shocked business world of the millions of Uncle Samuel's dollars they had disbursed without error or surcharge, of how many thousand tons of ship steel they had bought and what General Blank of the 0. D. thought of them, this man made a job for himself. His method was as simple as it was direct. He called upon a well- known publishing house which specialized in technical periodicals. Boiled down, what he said to them was substantially this: “You know perhaps as well as I do how much the discoveries and inventions in chemistry during the past five years have stimulated interest and research in that field. So far as I know you publish no hand- books or monographs in that line. I know there is a market for them. I also know well the men best qualified to write them or who can furnish me with the data to write them. It is a case of digging up the stuff and compiling it. Think it over and if you are interested we can come to an under- standing later.” Promising Employers Being business men, the publishers thought it over; and speaking a common language, they came to an understanding with him which exists to this day. Without doubt another reason few men | sell themselves with the ease and finesse with which their fellows sell goods is that the average man is not essentially a salesman. If he were, and therefore possessed the mer- chandiser’s knowledge of human nature and sales psychology, the pathway to his goa! would have fewer bumps and discouraging detours. He would not, for instance, be so credu- lous and quick to lull himself into the belief that the job he wants will soon be his be- cause an employer, doubtless through a delicate regard for his feelings, has sent him away under the impression that he meas- ures up to the position he is applying for and smilingly assures him that fe will call him up, drop him a line or keep him in mind. Perhaps the employer frequently does keep him in mind, but the number of times he drops a line or calls up is about as meager as the net sales of the proverbial order taker. The day when men could pro- eure positions at five and ten thousand a (Continued from Page 10) year by telephone or mail came to a fitting close when Washington canceled its last cost-plus contract. The cash equivalent of the time lost in the course of a year by those who patiently and fatuously wait for a telephone call or a letter from employers who have promised to let them know when their services are needed, or have told them that their appli- cations are- being seriously considered, would be a pretty husky endowment. Though this fault applies to many, per- haps to the majority of us, it is not so common among those who have sold com- modities; but innumerable instances recur of men who, although of proved sales abil- ity, fail utterly to sell themselves at the initial or even subsequent interviews with employers. A Hunch That Works Whatever the number of those who, as they read this, have their lines out today for selling opportunities and are being weighed as desirable candidates for sales work, a good majority of them, I am willing to venture, have not landed their quarry because the employers with whom they have negotiated are waiting to be shown by the men themselves how badly they want the jobs. One of the shrewdest and most successful employers of salesmen in the investment bond business, to whom I have occasionally referred men wishing to enter that profes- sion, said to me the other day: “As you know, I am always on the look- out for salesmen or potential sales material. I have run the gamut of all known and sus- pected methods of sizing up men for the selling game; but there is only one theory or hunch I still nurse after twenty-odd years of sales-organization work. I have waived it on occasions, but usually to m regret. It is this: If a man with actual sell- ing experience wants to sell for me he must sell himself to me. He must have the sales personality and the gumption to convince me that he is more anxious to sell for me than I am to employ him. “Just what constitutes a sales person- ality I am willing to leave to congressional debate. It is as futile to analyze and index the reasons that lead me to —- a man as for me to explain why I prefer my eggs boiled one day and poached another. With some sales managers, a square chin, an aggressive approach, a brisk carriage, an expansive smile or an at-home bearing may tilt the scales. Yet the very characteristics which appeal to one may repel a man across the street. Unfortunately, there is no recipe for salesmanship, A salesman is a man who sells something because of or in spite of a score or more of qualities or defects. “Nearly every day men who want to join the sales end of our organization call upon me. There may be an acute shortage of apprentices in certain of the building trades, but I can assure you there will always be a healthy surplus of young men who think they are predestined for the investment banking profession. “First of all, I try to place men at their ease so that they will tell their own story in their own way, for interviewing a man for a position is a good deal like taking a photograph; unless he is made to feel natural the negative is wasted. “When men have finished their short or lengthy annals I tell them a few ground- floor facts about bond selling as a profession. First, that about one man in five sticks for more than a year or two, and that approxi- mately a third of those who follow it as a life work make a pronounced success, while the two-thirds make a bare or fair living. When I have fired those two barrels in the air I wait until the smoke has cleared away. In a majority of cases there is a graceful or a lumbering exit. However, if a man is still within range and curious [ tell him that the chances are against a new man, no matter how good a salesman he is, earning his nominal drawing account the first year. I want to get a man’s reaction. If he re- bounds and comes at me strong, I am at least interested. “T have a new man starting this week who is a good illustration. He is thirty and a civil engineer. He was tired knocking about the country and living apart from his family in construction camps, and decided to break into a new line before he became too old to make a change which would be to his advantage. After the usual exchange of courtesies and sparring for openings I took down the old elephant gun and pumped away for nearly ten minutes. He never gave ground an inch. Each charge seemed to make him more interested. When I had finished he admitted that he knew it meant an uphill fight, and that it was entirely probable he wouldn’t set the world on fire for some years to come; but nevertheless he believed he could sell. I had my suspicions he could myself. Finally I gave him an- other cartridge: ‘You think you can sell bonds; so do most men who come to me. Yet you have never sold a dollar’s worth of anything for a living. I can get others with selling experience, so why should I put my money on a green man?’ “‘He was at me before the echo had died away: ‘I’m green; I admit it. But I’m green on only one side; I’ve built properties on which other men sell bonds. Why, I have a friend who has been selling public- utility bonds for years! He doesn’t know a hydroelectric plant from a pumping sta- tion; if I told him that it cost five hundred dollars a mile to build a certain stretch of interurban roadbed, he would have to be- lieve me or shut up.’ He came on like a rhino, ‘If he can sell, why can’t I? Do you mean to tell me that a man who knows what he is selling isn’t as good a bet for your money as a man who doesn’t?’ He would have bored clear through me if I hadn’t started laughing. “T have long since ceased to prophesy, but I’ll say this for him,” concluded the banker: “If he sells bonds as well as he sells himself, he’ll be a hummer.” When I consider how readily those of us who sit securely behind our glass-topped mahogany pass judgment upon the foibles of the man opposite, my mind reverts to a certain director of personnel who for years supervised the employment activities of an industry in the Middle West. I cannot re- call a more kindly or sympathetic industrial- relations official, one quicker to fathom the difficulties and complexes that beset those who came to him for work or advice. To an unusual degree he possessed the rare gift of being able to slip gracefully into the bro- gans or oxfords of the job seeker and to bolster him with the faith that no matter how knotty the problem it would be faced as a joint one. “*Let’s talk it over,’”’ was one of his every- day expressions. An Anchor to Windward He understood men in the mass, I think, as thoroughly as any man understands an- other or himselt. But of this I am sure: He never understood, never grasped in its elementals, the inner workings and mental slant of the man who is out of a job and is seeking one. None of us ever do. The nearest we ever approach that state is when we ourselves are compelled to look for a job; and then too often, like those we have tried to help or shaken our heads about, we lack the mental cast and poise to see beyond the limits of our own landscape. And our friend, who had employed thou- sands and pointed the right groove to many thousands more, was no exception. Un- heralded, the newspapers announced one morning that the organization with which he had been associated since boyhood had been absorbed in a consolidation of a num- ber of competing companies. For a week or more whispered rumors regarding official changes grew, flew or spent themselves. Although so far as he could learn he was to be retained, somewhere in the engine room or. pilot house a thread snapped and he sud- denly resigned. “As I look back, I think the fear that in case I was asked to resign I would have to do a lot of explaining when I went after an- other position threw me out of balance,” was the way he interpreted his act to me months later. That, so far as I know, is the only diagnosis he has ever advanced to himself or others. In any event he resigned. And yet times without number he had cautioned others: “If you have a job and are seeking an- other one, hold tight to what you have until you get what you want. Employers are more interested in workers than in job hunters. A job is an anchor to windward; if you throw it overboard you are a land- lubber who bets on the weather.” (Continued on Page 91)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Good eyes for good pictures ARD to withstand those pleading, ardent eyes, the wheedling touch of that impulsive hand! You almost hate yourself for once more refusing your son’s appeal to go to the movies. You have a good excuse, for the pictures make your head ache. But your family’s beginning to sus- pect that excuse as a shabby pretext to stay home and doze. Do you want to know the truth about your “movie head- ache”? The effort required in focusing your eyes on a bril- liantly lighted, ever-changing surface and the closeness with which you watch the action produce a constant nervous tension. Your enjoyment of moving pictures depends largely on your eyes. And yours are the bread-winning eyes, working all day. If any eyes in the family should not be overtaxed, they are yours. Yet those evenings in the motion picture theatre would American Optical Company mean a lot to you—relaxation, freedom from worry, whole- some enjoyment. play well, you must see well. and to Who can measure the bracing To work well, you must play well; influence two hours given over to the movies has on the working hours of your life? Make the most of your leisure hours If you are too tired after dinner to doze in your chair, if using your eyes in the evening means do anything but dullness and depression next day, if two hours at the movies ends in a headache or eycache, you are missing half the joy of living. trouble begins there. Look to your eyes! The chances are that the Although you may think you see well, there is only one way to make sure. Have your eyes examined immediately Southbridge Mass USA for Better ” Eyesight WELL SWORTH PRODUCTS WELLSWORTH PARK: “*Come on to the movies, Dad, you're not going to back out again, are you?”

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST July 5,1924 BEHIND THE PRODUCT IS CONFIDENCE— le is our constant aim to make every Johnson & J ohnson product worthy of the same confidence that you place ina prescription written by your physician. W hen you purchase any article bearing the Johnson & Johnson signature, you can be certain that it is dependable —the best that can be made. ‘he \ RED CROSS ABSORBENT COTTON RED CROSS GAUZE DRESSINGS “ZO” ADHESIVE PLASTER TRAVELKIT, FOR FIRST AID JOHNSON’S BABY POWDER LISTER’S DENTAL FLOSS —and goo otber products for professional and bome use —— pg YOUR DRUGGIST IS MORE THAN A MERCHANT NEW BRUNSWICK, N.J., U.S.A. In training, in service, in knowledge you «Droge ‘is more = A a » Mer IN CANADA: JOHNSON & JOHNSON, LTD., MONTREAL ised t."" Pharmacy is @ profession; the Druggist cannot afford to sell you any thing less than articles of quality. Try the Drug Store First

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(Continued from Page 88) In the weeks that followed his hasty ac- tion he made nearly every mistake in judg- ment and employment technic against which he had warned his fellow men. He deliberately avoided his former business friends in the fatuous belief that they, be- cause they were his friends, would keep him in mind and be quick to put him in touch with the first congenial opening that mate- rialized. And yet when he held a position he had counseled others until his throat ached: “The best bets you have are your busi- ness friends. No want-ad column or em- ployment bureau can ever help you as they can. Let them know you are in the market. Write them and see them; then see them again. If you don’t keep after them they'll ieke it for granted you have struck what you want. They would be quick to come to you for help and advice, wouldn’t they? If they didn’t you would wonder why, or for- get them. ‘Out of sight out of mind’ applies with as much force to getting a job as landing an order. The only job a hermit gets is nursing a grouch.’ Although for years he had stressed the vital need of meeting face to face the man who had a position to fill and the folly of relying upon secondhand contacts, he for- got it completely when a position he could have measured up to unexpectedly arose. Instead of boarding the first trolley he used the telephone, not to secure an appointment for an interview but to ascertain if an open- ing really existed. Mail-Order Job Hunting “‘No vacancy in our organization,” was the abrupt answer that came to him. A day or two later, however, there was a resig- nation and a man from out of town stepped into the gap. He also had a leaflet printed, sketching the positions he had held, the character of work he had done, his promotions and what he modestly considered to be his capabili- ties. Several hundred of these he mailed to a selected list of employers, accompanying them with a circular letter which supple- mented his experience record and included the names of about fifteen prominent execu- tives of local manufacturing plants as con- fidential references. These latter, by the way, were those close business friends whom he had ignored since his hasty resignation. And this he did only a few weeks after having serenely and sincerely delivered this article of faith to a young mechanical en- gineer who had looked to him for guidance: “It’s fine dope to let employers know you want a job, provided you don’t let them know that a number of other employers also know it. For instance, if I didn’t know you and had learned that you had tried your luck at fifty other plants in town be- fore coming to me, I would be inclined to put you down as a dud. If you try to geta job. by the mail-order route, don’t cover too much territory. The man who broadcasts the fact that he needs a job often finds him- self in the position of the business man who was compelled to sell quickly a small block of his stockholdings in the company of which he was president. So many of his friends heard about it that they concluded he was selling out. Let a selected few know you want a job, but don’t tell the world or it will wonder why. A man can’t have too many references, but he can use too many of them. As a rule, the more of them you show an employer the more likely he is to ask himself why some of the men who vouch for you so strongly don’t snap you up. Per- haps that’s a fifty-fifty split between cuss- edness and common sense, but it’s true.” Ultimately, he was wafted back into his former sphere of work through the efforts of an old business associate who stumbled upon him on 4 Pullman diner. What force impelled or jinx inspired him to preach one thing and practice another? The competition is open to all who wish to register a guess, but my own contribution is that he putted into the rough so consis- tently because he had never been over the course before. He had never sensed the meaning of what golfers call a mental haz- ard until he trudged alone over one of life’s hardest links. Every business has such hazards, and ferreting out a position and selling oneself for it is as distinctly a business as finding a market for wool or hairpins and then selling in that market. However, the stakes are higher when men attempt to sell their serv- ices, and many fail who could doubtless sell commodities with all assurance of born salesmen. THE SATURDAY What just having a job means to a man’s balance and menta! outlook is emphasized strongly by the experience of a man who had been trying to find employment in ad- vertising work. The position in copy writ- ing, his line, did not exist at the time. Therefore instead of wearing out shoe leather and going further in the hole finan- cially, searching for work in the advertising field, he took what he could get, which hap- pened to be canvassing work on a commis- sion basis. He had pushed doorbells for two weeks when late one afternoon he dropped in at a small department store in an effort to put over a sale. The proprietor was in a talka- tive, mellow mood, and for nearly an hour he kept the young man in his private office talking over many phases of his business. What prompted him to take a stranger into his confidence neither of them probably knows to this day. But he suddenly started talking about certain slow-moving seasonal stock he had on his shelves that he was compelled either to sell over the counter by fall or sacrifice in the wholesale market; he could not afford to carry it for another season. Naturally this started the copy writer thinking—not primarily about a job but about a merchandising-advertising prob- lem. The next morning he submitted to the merchant an outline of a newspaper adver- tising campaign which he thought would move the stock. It did, and it also moved the copy writer into a permanent position in the work he preferred and knew best. As he expressed it when he told me of this sudden change in his fortune: “‘T would have had a whale of a chance of getting that job in the advertising game if I hadn’t been working, wouldn't I? Of course, there was a certain amount of luck which brought us together at the psycho- logical moment; but it wasn’t luck which made me take that selling job and plug away at work for which I wasn’t cut out. I never told you, but I took that canvassing job for two reasons. First, because I needed money and it was the only thing in sight where I could make it; and then because I felt sure I would cross an advertising trail where I could head in provided I kept at it long enough. When you're busy, doing something besides looking for a job, your mind’s busy. It crosses trails every block and minute of the day. One of them is yours. But when you're looking for a job it’s different; you're thinking about one thing—getting a job. And when a man thinks and mulls day after day about a chance to earn a living, he takes on a burden which grows heavier every hour. “‘I have been on the hard pavement more than once, but seldom longer than a day or two at a stretch, because I snap into the best job I can lay my hands on. I’ve got to keep my upstairs layout in a normal condi- tion, and job hunting isn’t a normal state. Others may be differently constituted; but to my way of thinking, it never hurts a man to try his luck in another line occa- sionally, because it not only sharpens his faculties but it kee ps his brain from be- coming fogbound.” Yesterday's Mistakes Because just having a job does in the long run dust the cobwebs from a man’s brain, it also gives him a rational slant at himself and the world about him; and nothing is more fundamental in sales success, whether it be in merchandising or job getting. To sell goods, men must think only of the im- mediate present; a momentary flash back to yesterday’s lost sale, or to what might have been, and today’s rosiest prospect goes a-glimmering. So it is in even greater measure when a man attempts to market his services. As the vender of merchandise forgets yester- day’s mistakes or breaks, so must he blot from memory his failures, real or fancied A brusque dismissal from his last posi- tion, the rankling memories which often possess a man when he believes himself a victim of favoritism or circumstances, the position which, after weeks of patient plan- ning and negotiation, went to another, the scores of applications filled out to the last dotted line, the sure-thing opportunity that flivvered, the unanswered letters to news- paper box numbers, erring judgment, stu- pidity, youthful dreams unrealized, or middle-age foundations shattered—al! be- long in the limbo of the past. There Duffy consigned them. Call him that if for no other reason than because he bore a strain of the Irish. On EVENING POST the sideboard in my dining room there is a china tea set. Whenever, in the years to | come, I look at it I shall always recall his | guiding motto. He held many jobs; too many, students of labor turnover might decree. However, when he wanted jobs he got them while men at his elbow talked of con- ditions and of yesterdays. I had picked him from a crowd of a few thousands outside the employment office of one of the war’s construction jobs. “Picked”’ is the word, for I needed a man ina hurry. Fora year and a half he never | — a day. uently, after pay days, I would run ac vam im in the job post office at the war- savings-stamps window. “Duffy, weet are you going to do with | all your money?” these occasions. He hesitated a moment, and then with a reminiscent, rather embarrassed smile: “Well, I'll tell you,” he said. “When the gong taps over on the other side and this Job goes blooey, I’m going to live once again. When you reach on or a bit more you get tired roaming the country on con- struction. You want a home; something to tie to. I haven’t had one since the wife died twelve years ago. I’m tired dragging my anchor.” The gong tapped over on the other side; like a punctured blimp the war's greatest construction job deflated and I lost track of Duffy, until a year later he breezed into m. office one day to tell me that he had manvied. Duffy's Motto “She’s a Belgian woman who lost her husband in the war. She came to America to start life over again. Happy? We're like a couple of kids! And you thought I was thrifty. Well, you me to see her! I've got raore money now than when the war ended. She won’t let me buy a thing for her, and she’s bent on working, although I make enough to keep us both going. I've got charge of the night stokers at the power plant.” Two or three times later he dropped in to reminisce, but always to let me know how happy he was, how happy they both were. And then one winter morning he came again. The only change I noticed was in his dress—a new suit, hat, coat, shoes. “Here’s a little something I brought you,” he said, laying the bundled tea set on my desk. “We came to the office the other day to give it to you, but you weren't in.’ I yammered a feeble protest that he would have more need of it than I “Well, wait until I tell you,” he inter- rupted gently. ‘“‘Maybe you won't think so then. The other night—I’ve forgotten just what night it was—I went to our rooms to change my clothes for the night shift. I kissed her good night. And then as I went out the door I turned to throw her another as I always did. She was staring at me with the strangest, queerest look in her eyes; then she burst out crying and went into hysterics. I tried to get her to tell me the trouble, but she wouldn’t; maybe she couldn’t; you know how women are. So I had to leave her and report for work. The next morning I went straight to the hotel where she was working. I couldn't find her. I asked the hotel clerk where she was. ‘Why, don’t you know?’ he said. ‘She said good-by to us all here late last night. She was crying. She said she was going back to her husband and boy in Belgium.’”’ He smiled for a moment, that wistful smile of the Irish. “So, you see,” he went on slowly, “I haven’t much use for that tea set; besides I want you to have it. “*T went off the handle for a time; I don’t know what I did or where I was. Then of a sudden I came to long enough to remember that old top of the morning we used to have on the job you and I worked on. You re- member it, don’t you? ‘Every day is a new day.’ That sunk in deep. I’m so poor the panhandlers hiss at me, for I spent my last fiver on these new duds I have on. I didn't need them, but I knew I had to start all over again, and somehow the feel of these I asked him on one of gives me the notion I’m not the same man | I was a week ago. I’ve sold my furniture and I’ve changed my address. I’ve changed everything but my name, but sure as you’re a foot high and I want a job, that’s still Duffy!” “Every day a new day” salesmen everywhere, is the creed of At the end of a glorious day When pleasures of summer take their toll in excited nerves—let a swim at renew you! tired dusk Off with cramping shoes and warm, dusty clothes! On with an easy-fitting Jantzen! Plunge, play swim! Cool, green waters stimu late you Every muscle joyously respond One plunge demonstrates the Jantzen’s surprising ease and freedom. This all-wool Jantzen titch swimming suit out-sells all others! beach and no substi patented Thousands at every natatorium know there i tute for the Jantzen It bow-trunk pattern and non-rip crotch insure lasting fit~-wet of dry. It hugs the body snugly, yet is trim and modest. Its clasticity is permanent, Your dealer is featuring Jantzens in the fashionable 1924 colors, for men, women and children. Styl book and Jantzen-stitch fabric sarn- ple sent on request. Ask iJealer for red diving girl windshield sticker or send 4c for two JANTZEN KNITTING MILLS PORTLAND OREGON The Nation’s Swimming Suit THE SUIT THAT CHANGED BATHING TO SWIMMING

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92 MACGREGOR Special Face Inserts THE SATURDAY Always Stay Tight They're Screw- Locked in Plac ay (acaaallll]) Patented € «parame you getaclubthat gives you better results than any club you ever owned—when you find the ‘‘one club in a thousand” for you—it’s natural that you should want it to become a perma- nent part of your golfing equipment. You can always rely upon the durability of MACGREGOR Special Face Clubs with the same confidence that you feel in their wonderful qualities for thrilling dis- tance and bodied in them are patented features of construction, “Seruloc” uninterrupted long life. true direction. Em- such as the Inserts, which assure THE CRAWFORD, McG ESTABLISHED 1829 “Here's a bunch of” our fellows testing out drivers onourown course” e HG ROOREDRS EY a | ®) MACGREGORS | on: + MAKE RECORDS WITH ( G = Qayt Scruloc inserts By screw locking the inserts in place, we make certain that they will “stay put’. We do not be- lieve that it is possible for them to come out—in fact, we have never heard of one coming out although our Special Face Clubs have been used by golfers everywhere for a great many years. Ask your Pro or Dealer to show you these clubs—they, like all MACGREGOR Clubs, are born of experience on our own course. Write us today for our general catalog, our Rule and Score Book and either or both of these book- lets; | —" Golf, the Game of Games” (an introduc- tion to golf), 2-—‘Stepping Stones to a Golf Course" (helpful suggestions for laying out a new course). REGOR & CANBY CO, DAYTON, OHIO. | seemed to have forgotten it. EVENING POST July 5, 1924 THE PYRAMID OF LEAD (Continued from Page 21) yew hedge. Whatever his quest at the pyramid may have been that night, he He was be- coming absorbed in his problem, for he was on the very edge of its perfect solution, and he knew it. Thinly, across the gulf of darkness, there | came the sound of a small dog barking frantically; but it fell so faintly into the | sunken garden that it was almost inaudible. “To continue our condensation—and our guessing—let us reconstruct the affair in this way,” mused Prosper: ‘Nearly ten years ago ———”’ Something moved in the shadows of the yew facing the pyramid; the faintly musical, frosty sound of thin glass suddenly shatter- ing tinkled at Prosper’s feet; and, like lightning, he snatched at the gas mask, | alert on his chest. With a curious, ominous, strangling, | coughing noise, he adjusted it; sat for a | moment drawing short, quick, fiercely la- | bored breaths, his hands beating desper- | ately before him; then he seemed slowly to | deflate; the hands beat more feebly, stilled, | and he toppled quietly over on his side, rolled helplessly onto his back and lay very still, face upward, as though staring up at the sloping side of the pyramid. A bitter, acrid and strangely horrifying reek fumed invisibly over the still form; a reek which a child, or a person who had never heard of poison gas, nevertheless would have guessed instantly —though per- haps too late—was a deadly and devilish atmosphere to breathe. And Prosper Fair lay very still, in the heart of that poisonous vapor at the base of the Pyramid of Lead, and the sunken garden of Kern was silent. xvi ULLY ten minutes passed before the impenetrable shadows of the yews gave up to the lesser shadows of the garden, a silent form, making swiftly toward the pyramid--a man whose movements were soundless and confident as only those of one well accustomed to that place in the dark- ness could be. He came to the still body of Mr. Fair, lax under the pyramid, and stood over it for asecond. Then the white ray of a powerful electric torch bit into the darkness, wavered and settled, mothlike, on the head of the fallen man. His face was hidden wholly by the mask—perfectly adjusted, for, it seemed, Prosper had had just time enough to do that—-and the torchbearer dropped on his knees, craning down to peer close at the masked face. He, too, was masked. For a full ten seconds the glass-covered eyes of the cran- ing man gleamed into those of the fallen one. There was no sound, nor any comment from the man with the torch. But he | shrugged his shoulders as he bent over in the darkness, and was on the point of straightening when with appalling sudden- ness Prosper’s arms shot up. His fingers missed the throat of the killer by a hair- breadth, but struck in on his neck like closing hooks of steel. A queer, muffled cry of sheer terror beat out from behind the mask of the killer, for it was as though the He hands of a dead man had clutched at im. But almost instantaneously he under- stood that he had been decoyed, and so began to fight. He realized his position too swiftly for Prosper—handicapped by his grip on the killer’s neck—to twist out from under him, and he had just time to drive his knees close into Prosper’s sides, grip- »ing him as one grips a saddle. He fiung his ands to Mr. Fair’s throat; but Prosper, gripping desperately, bowed out his elbows and blocked that attempt. The killer, gasping under the slow, in- exorable and agonizing closing of the strong, sinewy fingers at his neck, slid a | thirstily questing right hand between the | bent arms; but instantly Prosper straight- | ened his arms, forcing back the | shoulders so that the killer’s hand closed | only on the wool at the peak of the sweater. head and He withdrew it instantly, for the grip at | his neck was becoming unbearable; Pros- 7 | per’s thumbs were driving deep into the glands and muscles. They were fighting in absolute silence. Pinned by the knees of the killer, Pros- per could not move his body. But he was pouring the whole of his strength into his grip and he knew that if he could hold it so a few seconds longer the other must col- lapse. It was not possible for any human endurance to withstand it. But the killer knew that, also, and with a violent heave he bowed himself up from his knees to his toes, and putting his knees together dropped them savagely, like one who kneels with his full weight, on the stomach of Mr. Fair, who, guessing the maneuver, was able to break the force of the shock a little by a fierce thrusting back of the masked, in- human face and head looming over him. But even so, the vicious drive down on the knees forced a slow, deep groan from be- hind Prosper’s gas mask, and in that in- stant of nausea, of cringing muscles, his grip relaxed. The killer, on the verge of strangulation, tore free with a queer, horri- fying sound, half sob, half scream, hardl recognizable as a human utterance, and col- lapsed on his side. For a second they lay facing each other, their goggled eyes staring blankly. Then, painfully, each dragged himself erect, so that they seemed to be sitting. They had not been fighting two minutes, but it had been so violent and savage and intense that they were like old, enfeebled men. The killer was first on his feet, lurching up a fraction of a second before Prosper. He reeled uncertainly as though to renew the struggle; then, as Prosper braced him- self as well as he could to receive the shock, the killer staggered, threw up his hands to his neck with a grunt of pain, half turned away, tore off his mask and went swaying into the darkness. Prosper, dizzy, breath- ing desperately, engaged in a fierce struggle for more air than he seemed able to get through his respirator—not the mutilated one, but the perfect duplicate he had carried in his big haversack from the time he had received both from Dale—stared after him, reeled round as though to follow, then stopped, overcome by a wave of appalling nausea. He lurched out from the shadow of the pyramid, made his way half blindly across the moonlit patch of the stone pav- ing and so into the dense darkness of the yew hedge, found his way through an arch- way, and in the jungle of wild growth be- yond it tore off his mask and dropped to the ground. Had the killer come to him there with a weapon in his hand, that would have been the end of Prosper Fair—and of the house of Devizes. But the killer, somewhere in the darkness at the other side of the garden, was in no condition to follow Prosper. He himself would have been an easy capture had Prosper been able to muster up suffi- cient strength to pursue him. For nearly half an hour Prosper lay still in the darkness, lax, resting, allowing the waves of nausea which followed each other in quick succession to die down. For a time he was possessed of a dull, sick belief that he was injured internally; but as, gradually, his revolted nerves recovered, his dazed mental faculties won back nearer to normal and his momentarily torture- sapped will power asserted itself, he felt the old gay confidence stir like a tiny flicker of new flame within him. He laughed very quietly and cautiously, for every movement seemed to set up a jar- ring ache extending upward almost to the throat, where he lay. “I almost had hirn,”’ said Prosper, face down in the dark. “Next time —— He’s as strong as a bull, with a neck like a motor tire. Almost any other man would have yielded. I should have drawn up my knees quicker to counter that move of his. I thought he had driven me into the ground. But—it would appear that he did not. “What a godsend I managed to cling onto one last bit of consciousness! If I had not been able to struggle to my feet when he did he would have had me. If he had had to commit murder on his knees ———”’ He chuckled faintly. “A near thing—for each of us. Never mind; better luck next time.” Cautiously he began to rise. He felt extraordinarily weak. All his muscles felt flaccid and icy and a chill perspiration broke out on him. A queer trembling seized him, his teeth began to chatter, and a dull, sick pain seemed to invade his very bones. “I shall be in a charming plight tomor- row,” he said with a shaky laugh; and so, stooping, hugging himself with both arms, he made his slow and painful way back to the camp. (Continued on Page 94)

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Reproducers M4—the latest Magnavox achievement: requires no battery $25.00 M1—also constructed on the semi-dynamic prin- ciple, requiring no battery $30.00 R3—famous electrodynamic type: new model with Volume Control $35.00 R2—same as Ry but larger size: new model with Volume Control : : $50.00 Combination Sets A1-R and A2-R—the only instruments combin- ing electrodynamic Reproducer and Power Amplifier in one unit $59.00, $85.00 Power Amplifiers A1,AC-2-C,AC- 3-C-—the most ethcient audio- frequency Amplifiers: one, two and three stage $27.50 to $60.00 To obtain the fullest enjoyment from your receiving set, equip it with the Magnavox— for sale at good dealers’ everywhere. THE MAGNAVOX Co., Oakland, Calif. New York Office: 350 West 31st Street Canadian Distributors: Perkins Electric Limited, Toronto, Montreal, Winnipeg | thing on. (Continued from Page 92) Ex-Troop Sergeant Major Cass was drowsily awake, thanks to the rather quer- ulous barking of Plutus, who, aware that he was forbidden to roam, was nevertheless conveniently and thoroughly ignoring the rule against barking. But, like most of his kind, Cass was experienced in men, and drowsy though he was, nevertheless he ob- served instantly that all was not well with his host. He sat up in his blankets. “Hullo, what’s wrong?” he demanded. Prosper’s face was greenish white in the light of the small hurricane lamp which had been among his purchases at Carisbury. “Late off pass, sergeant major,”’ chuckled Prosper shakily, and sat down rather heavily. “You look it,” said Cass, wide awake . “Man alive, you look as white as a ghost!” “Yes? There’s a flask of brandy in that haversack there, |e can major. Just pass it over like a good chap. I—ah—need it.” Cass shook himself expertly out of his blankets. “Yes, you do,” he agreed with brevity. “Here you are. What's it all about?” Prosper took a long and heartening pull of the liquid which one. Binns, butler at dis- tant Deerhurst Castle, was wont to affirm was worth its weight in liquid diamonds. Then, politely, he passed the flask to Cass, who took it, surveying him curiously, hesi- tated, then put it down. “You look too groggy to waste brandy on me—just at present,” he stated. “‘Let’s look into this.” “That's all right,” said Prosper, his arms folded affectionately across his stom- ach. “I’ve been for a stroll in the moon- light and I meta Sepa ag who played me rather an ungentlemanly trick.” “Oh, did he? What trick?” “He tried to—ah—do me in with poison gas, but failed,” explained Prosper with slightly forced humor. ‘Yes, he failed; so he tried to jump upon my stomach—and succeeded.” Tersely, Mr. Cass stated his opinion of such a method of personal warfare, and firmly passed back the brandy. “IT had more than half a notion that I’d dropped into a nice little hurrah’s nest of trouble,” he said pensively, and indicated a cut turf in the floor. “T happened to wake up after you'd gone out,” he said. “And lying there, won- | dering why the little dog seemed worried, I spotted that bit of turf. It looked kind of odd, so I lifted it. I know a bit about box respirators, and I took the liberty of looking over the one I found in the hole under the | turf.” He paused, staring reflectively at Prosper. , | “? inspected the box respirator, sir,’’ he | said. “And I want to say I should be sorry to be caught in a gas attack with that It’s been interfered with. It leaks, and I wouldn't swear that the chemi cals haven’t been damaged.” % Prosper nodded. | “Well, I left it there—in that obvious | sort of way-—for that purpose,” he ex- plained. ‘ You see, this little camp is being | watched, and I was hoping—expecting that the gas mask I hid would be tampered with. But the one I wore tonight I kept | with me, and that was in perfect order. I’H explain all that tomorrow, sergeant major. | I feel—fantastic tonight. My internal | economy is not—economic tonight. Also, | it feels kaleidoscopic. Have you ever had | your more intimate clockwork jumped | upon, sergeant major?” “T have, and it’s unpleasant,” said Mr. Cass, though he used a broadish synonym | for “unpleasant.”’ “Take another drop of brandy and let me run my eye over you. Any lacerations, d’ye think?” “Oh, several million, I think.”” But Pros- per’s laugh was very thin-drawn. Silently, Cass ‘‘run his eye’’ over him. “Humph! You'll be a picture tomorrow, | and as helpless as a jellyfish. What you | need is an opiate. Got any?” “ No.” The sergeant major scratched his head. “Well then, you’d better have a stimu- lant-—-a drop more brandy. Man, it’s a marvel he didn’t squash you!” The indomitable Mr. Fair tried to laugh. But it was no more than a wiry giggle. “‘Easy,”’ said Cass. ‘Easy does it. Is or gas worker liable to return to duty to- night?” ‘ Not very liable. He will probably be occupied for some time with his neck and throat—which are liable to be somewhat damaged.” July 5,1924 Mr. Cass, curiously gentle, eased Prosper back onto his blankets. “You take it easy now,” he said. And Prosper was very glad to do as he was told. He lapsed into a sort of aching somnolence, shot with fiery spasms of pain. xvil HATEVER may have been the fail- ings which had reduced Mr. Matthew Cass to his present condition, early morn- ing sluggardliness was clearly not one of them. He was actively in evidence long before sunrise. Indeed, he got little if any sleep after the return of his temporarily half-crippled host to the tiny tent. Over- night, after one quick glance round the tent, he had made careful inquiry concern- ing bathing facilities, and, learning of them, he had negotiated for and acquired the rights in Prosper’s spare towel. Thus, at peep of dawn, Mr. Cass might have been observed making his way swiftly down towards the lake, a towel round his neck and rather eagerly shelling a big cake of soap out of a pod of paper. A passion for cleanliness goes but infrequently hand in hand with a passion for alcohol, but the ex-sergeant major was a man with a life- time’s training in the matter of cleanliness, and he had become aware of a curious de- sire to be well esteemed by Mr. Fair. Therefore he bathed abundantly in the pale light; and when presently he dressed and ignited his pipe, it was with a sugges- tion of slightly increased swagger in his carriage that he moved along the edge of the lake on the way back to the little camp in the Kern woods. It had been shadowy and the reeds had seemed to stand knee-deep in woolly mist when he came to the lake, but now the day was brightening and there was a pale radiance above the trees away to the east. Things which had been invisible to him when he came were plainly visible now. It was almost impossible to miss the gap in the reeds which Prosper had first discov- ered, and any man who saw the gap could not fail to see what lay just beyond it. The ex-sergeant major saw it, and stopped short, standing stiff and rigid, staring with nar- rowed eyes. “The major! know it!” He strode into the shallow water, his teeth set, lifted the body and carried it to the bank. Mr. Cass had caught up with his mate. He surveyed the still, gray form for a moment. “Well, major, there was a time when if a man had told me this was going to be the end of it I’d have—hurt him. I wouldn’t have believed it could come to this, remem- bering what you were years ago.” Some of the stiffness, the vitality seemed oddly to have gone out from him, and his mouth was sagging open. He had relaxed, and his hand was shaking a little as rather nervously he rubbed the grayish bristles of his chin. “You were always my idea of a heavy cavalry officer, and a man branded with an S for success—same as I thought myself! Now here’s me-—-a poor, shaky old scroun- ger picking at a blasted guitar for my beer and bread and cheese; and here’s you here’s you, major He stared for a while, his seamed face puckered, fallen in and wrung, thinking. “The handsomest man in the regiment the best horses—the prettiest wife in the world—and a soldier from your spurs up; all that you had—and here’s the finish of it, major!” He glanced around, then drew himself together and gravely saluted the dead man. **T’ll have to report this at once,” he said, hesitated, made up his mind, and set off back to the camp. “Eh, it'll be my turn next—in some ditch, some bern,”’ he mut- tered as he went, then shook his head jerkily and squared himself. “Pull yourself together, damn you, Cass,” he said aloud, and made a quite creditable attempt to do that. He found Prosper awake when he reached the tent and, with Plutus most anxiously interested, engaged in an earnest but indif- ferently successful attempt to sit up. “It may seem a somewhat comic state of affairs, sergeant major,” he observed with a wry smile, as Cass entered, “but it appears that I have quite a little difficulty in arising from the recumbent position in which I have stiffened during the night. Perhaps the loan of your strong arm ——”’ Cass made haste to help him. “Easy does it, sir. You're stiff to be.” (Continued on Page 97) Before I see his face, I bound

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} 1 | (Continued from Page 94) “Rarely have I heard a truer statement,” agreed the indomitable Mr. Fair, slowly very slowly—sitting up. ‘Stiff to the point of petrifaction—ah-h-h! That is—or doubt- less will be—better. I fancy I heard some of my more intimately personal clockwork ad- just itself. Yes, I am still ticking.” He grinned at Plutus. “Fear not, my old. Little Prosper is mending—with some discomfort, true, but mending.” He continued cautiously to move, winc- ing as he strove to work off some of the aching stiffness. Mr. Cass had started the small stove be- fore he went to the lake, and almost imme- diately he was ready with tea. The hot drink seemed to work some small myste- rious miracle for Prosper. His color became more nearly normal, his eyes brightened, and he began to breathe deeper without flushing. “Ah-h-hi I think that with the assist- ance of a small cigarette the invalid will shortly be convalescent,” he announced. “By the time friend Cass has prepared breakfast, say.” Friend Cass was already past his first preparations for the meal, and he turned again to Prosper, his face serious. “T’ve been down to the lake,” he said. “And—I found my mate. He’s drowned himself.” Prosper nodded slowly, watching the other’s face intently. “You mean Mr. Cass hesitated. “Well, no. I said that name—Smith just by way of marking time, you may say. His name was Merlehurst. In his prime he was a major in my old regiment,” he said. “TI understand,” said Prosper quietly. “TI knew who he was.” The sergeant major stared. “You knew who he was!” “His wife lives in this village,” said Pros- per, “and I saw a photograph of him yesterday at her house. We spoke of him also. But Major Merlehurst did not drown himself. He was killed—by the man who endeavored to kill me last night. He put the body of Major Merlehurst-—his third vic- tim—into the lake, arranging it to look like a suicide, for no doubt he felt that there had been enough people found dead by the pyramid. Meantime, will you tell me frankly why the major came to this place?” Cass reflected, eying Prosper, and de- cided that he would. “T’ll tell you all I know, but it’s not much.” “Nevertheless, it may be enough,” re- plied Prosper. “Tell me when you have breakfasted. Afterward you will have to report your discovery at the police station.” Even as Prosper expected, the story of Mr. Cass made it quite clear that the mo- tive impelling the ruined major to visit the sunken garden was identical with that which had inspired Calhoun to make his fatal quest to the pyramid. “The major | was going all to pieces worse than me,” said Cass; “and he knew that something had to be done if he wasn’t going to die on the road or in a workhouse or a jail. We were doing badly —half- starved—and he couldn't get enough drink. He was a man used to a goodish lot to drink right from the old days in the offi- cers’ mess. In those days they used it very free. He was in a real bad way. But he knew it, and he’d made up his mind just before [| was hung up in Carisbury. He had a notion that there was money about this deserted Kern Castle somewhere—if only it could be found—and he told me that he was going to have a try for it, and if that failed he intended to go to his wife’s and die there if she’d let him. He knew he was nearly all in, y’see. “*T don’t know that I care a damn whether I find anything at Kern or not, Cass,’ he said. ‘For my time is short in the land, anyway. I'll get what I can at Kern Castle; and if there’s nothing doing, I shall go to my wife and ask her for a corner to pass out quietly in. I never treated her well and I haven't seen her for years. She was always too good for me, anyway; but I think she’ll do a little favor like that for me. Eh, Cass? It isn’t such a whole lot for a wreck like me to ask of his wife— just the loan of a bed to die in!’ “That was the way he used to talk, sir; but I believe he had a sort of hope that she’d take him in and forgive him, and all that. . . . He’d had an almighty rough time in the last few years. . . . We both fought in the ranks right through the war Smith?” THE SATURDAY and we clicked for some pretty ugly luck one way and another. You know how the luck can turn on you, especially when you can’t leave the booze alone.” Cass shook his head. “Well, he never got any farther than this pyramid.” “Just what did he expect to find there?” “Money. That’s all I know. He never told me how or where. He must have meant concealed money, for the castle’s been empty for years, hey told me at the village.” Prosper nodded. He saw that Cass had told all he knew. This man’s story of Merle- hurst was, in its way, parallel with Oxton's story of Calhoun. Both Merlehurst and Calhoun were after what they believed might be found at Kern. And if it were possible to trace the past of the woman with the emeralds, no doubt her quest would ee to have been the same, though with ess reason, for her jewels rendered her far from destitute. All this, in conjunction with Prosper’s own conclusions concerning the inscription, seemed to make it certain that Lord Kern had abandoned his money, but that he had not dispersed it. Everything pointed to that—the inscrip- tions, the predatory visits of Calhoun, Merle- hurst and the unknown lady, and the frank statement on the previous afternoon of old Enderby, who had made no secret at all of the fact that he had not the very slightest idea of what Lord Kern had done with his money. Prosper believed he knew where the money was. But he also believed it would do very well where it was until after he had definitely satisfied himself as to the iden- tity of the killer, and had put the man from Scotland Yard in the way of arresting this dreadful guardian, who was prepared ap- parently to murder without hesitation any- one who approached Kern in any predatory spirit. Why did this stealthy, cunning and deadly creature strike out so swiftly and mere ilessly, yet with such discrimination? Marjorie May could do exactly as she liked in the garden. That, Prosper had long decided, was because she was innocent of any designs on the money, and came to the garden because she loved it and honestly believed that some day it would be her own. Yet she was like a bird that played and pecked innocently round the very tongue of a steel-jawed gin. It could only be the fact that she was good and motiveless, which was like an armor-—no, a gas mask— pro- tecting her, for there seemed to be no sort of protection for those—armed and bold and fearless men—who came with preda- cious intent. Everyone who had come to prey, to seek for the money of Lord Kern, had been struck dead. Prosper had come to seek it in a way—-and he, too, had shaken hands with death, but had just enough wit to snatch away his hand. But he was watched—the killer was watching him closely, silently, patiently as a cat over a mouse’s hole. Prosper, hugging his aches, watching the ex-sergeant major glumly and silently chew the generous supply of bacon he had ex- pertly fried, considered a careless theory airily thrown out by Doctor Benson and enthusiastically championed by the black- browed gentleman with the Cupid’s-bow mouth, Eyre-Weston, on the previous after- noon—to the effect that he, hard-headed and unromantic old medical practitioner though he was, would not be greatly amazed to learn some day that Lord Ron had buried his money in the sunken garden and put a pyramid a-top of it, and now was guarding it against thieves, raiders and all comers. But if that were really so, Prosper knew that Lord Kern was not doing his own guarding. The man in the gas mask with whom he had fought at midnight was no middle-aged miser, but a very strong and muscular man in his prime. He fought, in that very abominable fighting encum- brance, a gas mask, like a man used both to fighting and to gas masks. No. Prosper shook his head. He did not believe that Lord Kern was guarding his money—if there really was money there. Nor did he believe the killer was employed by Lord Kern to guard it. That was too wild a theory. He believed that the killer knew of money there, and that he was guarding —for himself. The puzzle was that his guardianship had been extended over so long a period. Calhoun had been killed many months before the woman with the EVENING POST emerald, or the Iron-Gray Man, or the at- tempt on Prosper himself. Why? There was only one possible answer to that. The killer needed time, a long time, either to get at the money or to take it away. Prosper smiled benignly across at Mr. | Cass, still busy with the bacon. He knew that he was right. But his face clouded again as he reflected that all this mental groping—and worse—would be eliminated if only it were possible for Marjorie May to walk—and speak—once again in her sleep. Sleeping, she was aware of the identity of | | the killer. Had she been able to remember | what she had seen on the night she walked, tranced, in the garden, and so have told them all next morning, her father’s life would have been saved, for the killer, ar- rested, could not have been there to receive | him at the pyramid. But here Pr broken by the sudden barking of Plutus and the quick stare of the sergeant major to- ward a spot which Prosper, where he lay, could not see A moment later he understood. Detective-Inspector Garrishe was paying a call upon the camp. xviii HE man from Scotland Yard lost no time in making it clear that his cal! was not inspired by any motives of aggression or suspicion, though he cocked rather an askance eye at Mr. Cass, who, accustomed to askance eyes from the police and police- like people, expertly, though without flurry, roceeded with his task of cleaning up after iis breakfast. Prosper was delighted at the pacific air of the detective. He intended to solve this mystery of Kern—indeed, he had already partly solved it—but he entered upon that enterprise in precisely the spirit in which a sportsman embarks on the enterprise of landing a rainbow trout with a gut cast that the fish could snap like cotton if he were once given a chance to do so. It was the satisfaction of matching himself against the man behind the mystery, fighting him and beating him, which counted with Pros- per. The credit and glory of winning he did not purpose claiming. He did not issue forth to wander the highways and byways, studying humanity for sake of modern- style glory, but for sake of the sport, and because he was a man who liked to be with men. As he frequently said to Plutus, “Owing to my ancestors, it is indisputable that I am a duke, absurd as it may seem. But I ought to be a commercial traveler if I had my rights, ha-ha!”’ He proposed to discover and pin the killer. This done, he wanted to hand the whole thing over to the police, cut and dried, and unobtrusively disassociate him- self from the affair. In this spirit he re- sponded to the detective’s greeting, invited him to be seated and smoke, excusing him- self from rising on the ground that there was a civil war within-——‘‘a form of mild colic, no doubt.” They talked for a while of unimportant matters. But when the ex-sergeant major, having cleaned up, announced his intention of going into the village and, Prosper acqui- escing, promptly carried out his intention, the conversation speeded up. “How are you getting on with the mys- tery of this place, inspector?” asked Prosper. “T’'m not getting on —I'm standing stone still, Mr. Fair. I can't get hold of a loose end that leads anywhere. Between our- selves, that is, you understand. The chief constable told me that you were above sus- picion—without saying who you really were or I should have found myself look- ing a little sideways at you. But anyway, I’m in the mood to look sideways at any- body just at present, from that lovely little soul, Miss Merlehurst, to-—to the local vicar. It’s not an ordinary business —they aren't ordinary murders at all, Mr. Fair and the ordinary methods don’t seem to help a whole lot. It's a deep business — deep and dangerous and difficult.” Prosper nodded. “Dangerous, yes. But not so deep, nor so very difficult. For instance, inspector, I'm only a looker-on—a casual camper on the edge of the thing but I've practically solved the mystery.” Detective-Inspector Garrishe sat up sud- denly, his eyes narrowing. “What's that?” he said sharply. Prosper waved an airy cigarette “T say I have solved it practically. That is, I can guess now—and very soon I rosper’s train of thought was | urself Picture OUR boat, your bass and your Sport Twin! Think what that speedy little boat-motor adds to water out- ings. Long jaunts, without tedi ous oar work —and better fishing at the end of them. Picnics. Bathing parties. Distance no obstacle. These Sport Twin Features are NEw: Evinrude-Zenith Carburetor, true autotype, throttlesand accelerates smoothly without a “miss”, and saves fuel. Improved Flywheel Magneto—instant starting and amazing performance. Safety Re verse, automatic, at a lift of the tiller. Safety Tilt-Up shallows and beaching can’t injure motor, Can be locked for starting. But best of all Sport Twin fea tures is its absolute reliability Back of this great little gob twin is 1§ years of Evinrude suc cess —the best possible guaranty Snags, Examine this motor at yout dealer's. Handsome catalog fre write us for it. (Also write for Folder on Evinrude BOATS EVINRUDE MOTOR COMPANY 176 Evinrude Bidg., Milwaukee, Wis DISTRIBUTORS 115 Bast 2ird St., New York, N.Y 259 Atiantic A Boston. Mase 119 Broadway, Ozkland, Calif 211 Morrison St., Portland, Ore Sport > Twin © i924 &.M.Co,

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National capacity, for 100 sheets and index siee OF ient pocket in cover for business cards, etc 70. Also made in two other handy pocket sizes. Same $2 in imitation leather— National Blank Book Co. National 6122: Flesible, cover of genuine morocco; With 50 sheets and leather index, $2.00. Holds 50 sheets operated by booster levers Lest you THE SATURDAY EVENING POST for sheets 2'4"'x 414". Three \{" rings, forget! The back of an envelope is no place to make im- portant notes. handy, memo book. Jot them down where they’ll be and legible, when you want them—in a When you buy a memo book, buy it for service. 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Conveniently ruled fillers, now made of Hammermi!l, the Utility Business Paper, are stocked by most stationers. LOOSE LEAF AND BOUND BOOKS Wren A ae (\NATIONAL /) © 1924, Natl. Blank Book Co - know—why Lord Kern built the pyra- mi ” “You do!” “Yes. I know why Calhoun came here, and I can guess who the nameless lady i and why she came here. I know how they were murdered and why. I believe I know | why Miss Marjorie Merlehurst will inherit this preety Lord Kern does not return; what Lord Kern did with his money and | why he did it. I have met the murderer— and I know his motives.” The eyes of the detective were frankly _ bulging. “You've met him! Where?” “Last night—by the pyramid. We had a—a bit of a scrap, he and I. It was a draw.” “Who is he?” “Ah, there you have me, inspector,” smiled Prosper. “ It was impossible to see | his face last night.” stranger; “Perhaps not. Probably he would be a but you'd recognize him if. you saw him again, of course,” demanded the Scotland Yard man a little excitedly. | bit of glass | it go. “No, I think not. You see, we fought in gas masks.” The detective started. “Gas masks, hey? Gas! You know, that came into my head—gas. I found a queer like a bit of a bulb—but I let A bit he overlooked, I suppose. He | uses gas, does he?”’ | guessers of Carisbury and Kern Prosper was suddenly serious. “He does. And I want to warn you, Garrishe—I should have done it today in any case—don’t hang about the pyramid or the garden or the castie again without a gas mask on your chest—ready.” “Not—huh?” The heavy jaw of the de- tective sagged a little, and his eyes gleamed. Then he shrugged. “‘ But he’s gone by now. After last night he’s beat it a hundred miles. He’s left the place.” Prosper shook his head. “T question it. He’s a queer customer clever and quick, tenacious and diabolically cunning, and he’s after a big thing.” The detective ruminated, eying Prosper. “Supposing you tell me all you know, Mr. Fair,” he suggested. “It’s your duty to do that, y’know.’ Prosper agreed very readily on the sub- ject of his duty. But he disagreed as to the hour when he should do his duty. “T am not quite ready to do that,” he explained. “It is a fancy—a whim—of mine to hand the whole thing over to you complete, and I don’t think it will be long before I am able to do that.” The detective was disappointed, but did his best not to show it. “Well, I wish you thought differently,” he said. “But I can’t make you tell before you're ready. I’m much obliged to you for your tip about the gas—much obliged.” He continued talking, sliding in a quiet, | casual question occasionally. Some of these | Prosper answered, | glance harmlessly over his shoulder. some he allowed to He told Garrishe of Cass’ discovery of the Iron-Gray Man in the lake, but he with- held information as to that one’s identity. Also he dropped in a few questions himself, | mainly about the people of the neighbor- hood. It was evident that in this direction the detective had worked very hard, very quickly and, Prosper thought, to a certain extent unnecessarily. He seemed to have compiled a set of dossiers of a number of people who were physically capable of the crimes in the sunken garden; and no doubt because these had Jed him nowhere, he was willing enough to pass on his information. Thus Prosper learned quickly and com- pactly that his tennis opponent of yester- day; the dark Eyre-Weston was an ex- officer living close to the village, extracting a dubious income from the breeding of rure-bred Airedales; that old Enderby, the Kern solicitor, was parent of a ne’er-do- well son, Ralph, of about thirty, who once had worked in his father’s office, but had given that up—-for reasons not explained, but readily guessed at by the gossiping and was now a sort of sporting idler in Carisbury | not on speaking terms with his family and badly in debt. He and Eyre-Weston were friends. Enderby often put up for a few days at Eyre-Weston’s bungalow. Even Raymond Barisford the detective had looked up, in spite of the real help | which Barisford had given him, and the | genuine liking Garrishe had taken to hir | Barisford, it | unacted playwright specializing in big spec- appeared, was a_ so-far- tacular blank-verse classicai dramas. He was perfectly aware of the hopelessness of July 5, 1924 getting his works produced in these days of jazz revue; but |. was master of a consid- erable private income, and nonproduction did not vex him. He could pay for his own production any time the craving to see his works acted became intolerable. He had a small but very beautiful house just outside Kern, with some fifty acres of land. He was going to marry Miss Merlehurst, explained the detective. Prosper nodded gravely. “A very suitable match, I should say nice young people, both of ’em,”’ said Gar- rishe, dismissing them for likelier quarry. He ran through the list of possibles, watch- ing Prosper’s face intently. But if, as he named them, he was hoping that when he was getting warm Prosper might inadver- tently give some sign of it he was mistaken. Presently he rose. “Well, I'll be moving along to the lake- side to have a look at that tramp before your—um-——guest brings the local police out to take him over. Let me into your secrets as soon as you can, Mr. Fair.” Prosper smiled. “It won't be long,” he promised. “By the way, did you find anything interesting in the castle the other day?”’ “Not a thing. Dust and course — nothing else.” “Nevertheless, I should like to round the castle myself,’’ said Prosper. “Well, you can. If you like we’ll do it together. I'll get Barisford to come along. He knows it like a book. He lived there for a month when he was secretary to Lord Kern.” Prosper thanked the detective. “An admirable idea. I'll hold you to that promise, Garrishe,’’ he said. “Any time,” the detective confirmed. ‘I don’t ride jealous, Mr. Fair—I don’t want to be your rival. I’d sooner be your part- ner. You know where to find me—I’m at the Kern Arms.” “Oh, yes; and in case you want me, I shall be | moving from here today,”’ volun- teered Prosper. The detective stared. “Leaving here?”’ “IT expect to have the privilege of an in- vitation to stay at Mavisholme, Mrs. Merlehurst’s house,”’ said Prosper. ‘At least, I am going to ask her to invite me there,”’ he explained gayly. “You don’t think this camp is safe?’’ “Not to a man with his stomach so ex- ceedingly disgruntled as mine. Every little nerve and muscle I possess is looking for- ward to a soft and comfortable bed to- night,” he added. “Ts it as bad as that?”’ “I believe so. Suppose we try. D’you mind lending me your hand a moment?” With the detective’s aid, Prosper rose slowly and painfully. “Be neighborly enough, my friend, to guide these faltering footsteps in a little circle around the old campfire,’ he re- quested. ‘‘What I need is a little exer- cise—quite so. You perceive that I am walking as well as any other clockwork fig- ure ever wound up. Better and better. Yes, I confess that I like a man who can stand on his own feet, Garrishe. That is what they were designed for.’ So, with rather painful persiflage, he worked off the keen edge of his stiffness. He began to creep about the camp, mak- ing ready for his articipated move to Mavisholme. But in spite of the wearing off of his stiffness, it was nearing eleven o’clock before he emerged from the narrow pathway worn by Marjorie May from the orchard gate of Mavisholme through the woods to the sunken garden of Kern. Slowly he made his way through the trimly kept orchard into the kitchen gar- deti, passed through the filbert hedge, crossed the tennis lawn and so came to the rose garden. He heard voices at the en- trance gate and moved down the path to see Marjorie May and her mother talking to Nora Oxton, who was excitedly showing them a telegram. Behind her was the black horse Prosper had seen her riding on the downs, and holding it was ex-Troop Ser- geant Major Cass. Prosper drew a little closer, silent on the grass border of the path. “Oh, Nora darling, I am so glad. Oh, I do congratulate you so much. It is just splendid, and it means that the tide is turn- ing,”’ came Marjorie’s clear voice. “May I be allowed to add my modest congratulations to those of Miss Marjorie?” he said gayly, his eyes traveling from one to the other of the very attractive trio. “I may not know what happy event it is which (Continued on Page 101) decay, of look um

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST MENNEN'S ready to give the fect shave From the Arctic to the Tropics MENNENS now AGAIN a scientific achievement for the Mennen Labora- tories! The one last needed step in developing the perfect Shaving Cream. After a long series of experiments a way was found to sta- bilize Mennen Shaving Cream—to make it impervious to the effects of heatand cold. This feat of chemistry was accomplished without changing a single ingredient of the perfected formula. A different sequence and method of mixing the elements solved a problem that has confronted all shaving cream makers. In the frozen wastes of the Far North or the blazing jungles of the Equator—Mennen Shaving Cream now gives the same inimitable shave, always maintains its creamy consistency. This is the fourth original discovery contributed by the Mennen staff to the shaving comfort of millions. Dermutation The basic development made by our chemists was that of dermutation, Dermutation is the term used by scientists in describing the Mennen process of absolute beard-softening. Dermutation is the transformation in the beard caused by the lather of Mennen Shaving Cream. Each stiff, horny hair is made wholly soft and pliant, without the aid of finger-rubbing or hot towels. Hairs softened bythe dermutation process offer no resistance, and instead of turning back the cutting edge of the razor, allow keeps uniform the blade to cut right through. This lack of resistance increases the life of the blade The Mennen process makes beard removal amazingly fast and easy. It prevents hairs from tugging at the skin nerves, thus keeping the skin cool and comfortable The water problem Water varies in all localities. So we put into Mennen Shaving Cream certain elements that soften hard water and neutralize the drying, irritating salts in alkaline waters. Mennen’s gives perfect results with any type of water, hot or cold. Skin treatment Every man’s skin needs regulartoning and stimulation, So we add the remarkable emollient, Boro-glycerine, to Mennen Shaving Cream. This ingredient enlivens the skin. It also relaxes the pores, enabling them to release the deposits that form blackheads In every clime, at any temperature, with any water, Men- nen’s delivers every day the world’s finest shave. ‘To acquaint you with its virtues, we make this offer: Secure ahandy 35ctube or an extra-economical 50c tube from your druggist. Use it a full week. If you are not converted to Mennen comfort, return the tube to us for a full refund. + Or, send the coupon below in for a free demonstrator tube. (UMeunes Gittimaas THE MeENNeEN Company Newark. N.J. U.S.A. The Mennen Company, Limited, Montres!, Quebec MSNASh : | SHAVING CREAM | Name Put a tube of Mennen's on ice for several hours. lhen squeeze out some cream, 11 will be an changed in texture and shav ing quality Pat a tube of Mennens in a pan, and pour hot water on it Note that the cream beeps its original composition and con- sistency JIM HENRY, c/o The Mennen Company, 341 Central Avenue, Newark, N. J. Dear Jim: I want to try dermutation. Send a free demonstrator tube. If I like it I promise to get a big one at the drug store.

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SATURDAY EVENING July 5,1924 Facts and Figures To supply during 1923 the Fisk Rubber Company— makers of Fisk Tires—with the two basic raw materials, rubber and cotton, there were required — 137,000 Acres of Rubber Plantations 11,000,000 Rubber Trees 35,000 Plantation Employees 114,000 Acres of Cotton Plantations in Egypt and America 46,000 Employees to plant—cultivate— harvest and gin the cotton 11,000 Employees in cotton mills to convert this cotton into yarn and fabric In addition to the above, mil- 7 thereto, were required to fur- lions of pounds of chemicals and 5 nish the materials used. other ingredients, tons of steel, | re All these materials put into thousands of tons of coal, millions _ the hands of the skilled Fisk of gallons of water, millions of J workmen turned out the prod- kilowatts of power, and thou- uct that is constantly increasing sands of employees incidental in favor. Time to Re-tire Get a FISK TRADE MARK REG. UV. S, PAT. OFF. Copyright, 1924, The Fisk Tire Co., Inc.

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(Continued from Page 98) calls for them, but that hardly matters,” he murmured. “But 5 can tell you, Mr. Fair,” cried Nora, and passed him a creased and crum- pled telegram. “It’s from the agent of the Duke of Devizes. He wants to know if Fred will train four of the duke’s race horses.” “The duke’s race horses!” echoed Pros- per incredulously. “Yes, truly,” cried Marjorie May. “The telegram came this morning and Nora has just been to the post office to telegraph.” The girl’s eyes were shining as though somebody had given her a long-desired gift. “You see, Nora and Mr. Oxton have been very unlucky at Druid’s Hollow and it began to look as if they would never have any—any clients. And then all at once the telegram came. I expect the duke has heard someone say what a splendid trainer Mr. Oxton is, don’t you, please?” The eyes of the ladies turned with one accord up to him. “Of course that would be it,” agreed Prosper judicially. ‘And I think this Duke of Devizes shows his good sense in snapping up the chance of getting some of his horses into Mr. Oxton’s care.” He turned to Nora. “One only has to talk with your husband to realize that all he needed was just such a start as this.” Nora’s eyes were very bright. “Tt may sound odd, but I know that Fred—and I, too—have just prayed for something like this,” she said with a catch in her breath. “Oh, Fred will just slave to make winners of those horses!” “Yes, and he will succeed. We all proph- esy that, don’t we?” Prosper appealed to Marjorie and her mother, to receive enthusiastic confirma- tion of his prophecy. “Now I must go. There is so much to do to get ready. Four slashing great race horses—it means such a glorious lot of work.” She was glowing like a flower. Prosper, watching her mount and ride off, marveled at the difference between this bright, happy girl and her whom, only the day before, he had found weeping in the stables at Druid’s Hollow. It had been his lot, in the course of his great study of humanity, to contrive many such transfigurations, and it was a hobby of which he never tired, and which never failed to bring the same old thrill. It had been for this that he had given up the big- game hunting which once had been his favorite pursuit. To an intimate friend who had wondered openly about this he had observed that he had stood and seen the light fade from the eyes of many a beautiful wild thing which he had shot; and that he had also stood and watched the light of new hope and happiness dawn in the eyes of those whom he had been able to help, and that of the two spectacles, quaintly enough, he preferred the latter. “But then I’m eccentric,”’ he would ex- plain. He turned from looking after Mrs. Oxton to see that Mrs. Merlehurst and Marjorie were scrutinizing him with wide and rather anxious eyes. ““But— what is it?” he asked. “You look so ill; you are so pale. Please, haven’t you looked at yourself in the mirror yet this morning?” said the girl naively. “Has something happened to you?” Prosper laughed reassuringly. “Yes, something has happened to me,” he said. “I have had a slight accident— nothing dreadful—but sufficient to em- bolden me to seek a good Samaritan. I have come to beg a night’s shelter.” It was not necessary to say any more. Mrs. Merlehurst was poor, but she had not unlearned the art of hospitality. Then Prosper turned to ex-Sergeant Major Cass. It was instantly apparent that this hard-bitten wayfarer had offered himself the position of orderly to Mr. Fair and had accepted the same. He stepped to the gate, with a smart, semimilitary, semi- civilian salute. “I attended to the other matter, sir,”” he stated crisply. ‘And the police have it in hand. I went to the post office. There was no mail, but this telegram was waiting for you”’—he handed it-—‘“‘and, as instructed, waited for you here.” He hesitated just the fraction of a second, a curious expression on his face and in his eyes. Prosper, caught by it, thought he could see in it a curious blend of wistfulness, touched with a hint of defiance, and yet not without a suggestion of lurking humor. THE SATURDAY “Should like to report that I'm now off the—wet canteen,” he said— ‘sworn off.” His eyes twinkled. “I’ve fought John Bar- leycorn these twenty years, Mr. Fair, and I’ve put up a bit of a fight. But I decided to—let somebody else carry on the good work. I can’t stay the course with him, so I’m dodging him. To tell you the truth, it put the wind up, seeing the major’s finish that way down by the lake. So—do you want to buy an old soldier cheap, sir? You know, you ought to have an orderly down at the camp if you're ever going to have time to get on with your painting. I'll work for you for my rations and a trifle over for baecy.” He was standing very straight and square, perhaps badly damaged by life, sadly rav- aged by indiscretion, deeply corroded by hard years, but still a fair figure ofa man. He watched Prosper earnestly, his lips nervous. But he had drifted to the right man. Prosper nodded, as all his life he had been accustomed to nod to lame dogs fretting at difficult stiles. His clear eyes caught up the uncertain gaze of the ex-sergeant major and for a moment held it hard. “Very well, it’s a bargain,” quietly. An extraordinary change came over Mr. Cass. “I'll see that you never regret it, sir,”” he said urgently. “Good! You'd better take over the camp; but move it from where it is now to some place near here. Any good spot well away from Kern. I shall be sleeping here for a few nights.’’ He handed some money. “This will carry you on.” “Very good, sir. I'll report back here when I’ve moved camp.” He saluted, turned and headed away. Once around the corner, he marked the oc- casion of his return to a steady job not uncharacteristically. He unslung the bat- tered guitar, surveyed it a second with sheer distaste; then, carefully dropping it onto his rising boot, kicked it clean over the hedge into an adjoining field. * Dis-miss, the one-man band!” he said in a voice of sheer triumph, and so headed for the camp. Prosper turned from the gate to meet the eyes of Marjorie May, who, with an armful of the roses she had been gathering while Prosper talked with his new retainer, seemed to be waiting for him. “I think that is the man who was singing in the roadway last night,” she said. ‘He looked so pleased, so I suppose he is an- other one whom you have befriended. You are always befriending people.’’ She smiled gravely at him. “So I have picked the very best of all the roses for your room.” Her perfect face clouded a little as she surveyed him. “But you look so tired and quite ill,”’ she went on. “I know that you should be rest- ing. Won't you come in now?” She flushed a little, her gaze fast on his sunken eyes and drawn cheeks, as he moved from the gate. “Why, you can hardly walk! on me! I am very strong.” he said Oh, lean | And that being so, naturally Prosper | rested one arm around her shoulders—very lightly, for she was so slim and graceful that one would hardly care to risk crushing her, so to express it, and together, with the scent of the roses all about, they went slowly up to the house. He had quite forgotten to open the tele- gram. There was something about Mar- jorie May which seemed, oddly enough, a trifle unsettling. When, presently, very comfortably settled in a deck chair on the veranda, he remembered it and took it from his pocket he found it was from Dale, | who evidently was still busy picking up scraps of any information which he con- ceived likely to be of use to Prosper. It ran: Niobe Swayne married a racing man Larry | Calhoun and went abroad with him some years ago. DALE. Prosper noted that and put the telegram in his pocket. A spoon tinkled at his shoulder. “Please, will you try to take this beef tea, Mr. Fair? I have just made it for you.” Certainly Marjorie May was taking no | risks with her patient. Prosper was far from being a beef-tea fiend, and, though decidedly if temporarily groggy, was hardly in the beef-tea stage of illness. But what could he do about it? He devoured it, as men do, and his way with beef tea was greatly admited—by Marjorie May. (TO BE CONTINUED) EVENING POST our Teeth are not safe unless your mouth glands work properly - This tooth paste does more than clean—it stimulates the mouth glands to protect your teeth NSTEAD of being washed all day by the cleansing fluids of the mouth—today our teeth are constantly immersed in an acid bath. The mouth glands which nature intended to counter- act these acids do not work properly. Our present soft diet does not give them the exercise Which hard, tough foods did. 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Established 1910 Woodlawn Avenue, 77th to 78th Streets DUTCH4® BRAND FRICTION TAPE Dutch Brand Orange Rim Shellac Compound binds cycle tires to rims and grips to handle bars. They'll stick tight 2 ounce bottle with handy swab, 20c orange Write for Booklet dealers \ Hundred Lises CHICAGO | nine columns 0} | gold, EVENING POST July 5,1924 TEAPOT DOMES OF THE PAST (Continued from Page 23) as making him a share which he he McComb introduced in evidence two letters from Ames to himself, both dated January, 1868. In one of them Ames said, regarding Crédit Mobilier stock: ‘You say I must not put too much in one local- Ae I have three to place which I shall put where they will do us the most good. I am here on the spot and can better judge where they should go. I think after this dividend is paid we should increase our capital to $4,000,000 and distribute stock where it will protect us. Let them have the stock at par, and profits made in the fu- ture.” In the other letter Ames remarks: “T have used this where it will produce most good to us, J think.” On the back of this letter was a list of names, or initials, written in lead pencil, and opposite each an amount—3000 in four cases and 2000 in the others. This ncil memorandum was in McComb’s ome oS mang but he testified that the names and amounts had been furnished him by Ames. The list footed up 30,000 shares. If there was a bribe of $242 with each share, the loot came to $7,260,000 and fairly justified the Sun’s adjective “colos- gpeien of $242 on each Yet for some three months after the Sun made this unequivocal charge of bribery i it under big headlines, with names, dates and amounts—nothing in particular happened. To understand that, we must foul the background. Grant was inaugurated as President in March, 1869. In the following September, Jay Gould and Jim Fisk undertook to corner The country’s currency still con- | sisted of irredeemable paper money. Gold, | dealt in as a commodity, was the subject | of lively speculation, much like the recent | speculation in foreign exchange. The West was harvesting a food wheat crop, the market value of which would be largely governed by the export price. Exported wheat, of course, was sold for gold or its equivalent, Gould argued that a high price for gold meant a high price for wheat and a rapid movement of the crop to market with large exports. Grant was per- suaded of the soundness of this view. His brother-in-law, A. R. Corbin, sustained friendly relations with Gould and took | some part in the gold speculation. Black Friday Fisk, for a time, was dubious of this bull movement in gold. The Treasury at Wash- ington held anywhere from $75,000,000 to $100,000,000 of the metal. Fisk said that if they put up the price the Government would unload on them and break their backs. Gould replied there was no danger of that, for Corbin, Secretary of the Treas- ury Boutwell and the President were com- mitted to his view of the desirability of a high price for gold. At the beginning of September gold sold at 132. By the twenty-third Gould had bought $50,000,- 000 and put up the price to 144. Mean- while a great many people were short of gold. The twenty-third was Thursday, and the next day was that Black Friday which re- mains one of the most lurid dates in Wall Street annals. Fisk, ‘‘in his shirt sleeves,” ordered his brokers to buy all the gold offered at 150, then at 160, and declared that he would put the price to 200, while the Stock Etihonge passed from one convul- sion into another. A mob of brokers finally | chased Gould and Fisk to their “Castle of Erie” where armed retainers—called thugs by the press— protected them. Meanwhile at Washington the Secre- tary of the Treasury was conferring with the President over these portentous hap- penings in New York, and soon after eleven o'clock the Government began selling gold. As soon as this action was known the price fell to 135. One of the strangest features of this performance is that Gould apeters to have sold most of his gold while the selling was good, leaving Fisk to hold the bag, and Fisk repudiated a part of his purchases; et Fisk and Gould remained partners and riends—embracing each other, so to speak, over the financial graves of a long list of ruined brokers. There is no doubt that Grant was hon- estly convinced of the desirability of hold- ing up the price of gold, and that he was disturbed by his brother-in-law’s share in the speculation. At his »protest, in fact, Corbin withdrew from it. When it ap- peared that Fisk and Gould had cornered the metal he broke the corner by selling Treasury gold. But the Government’s ac- tion had been disastrous to bulls and bears alike. The affair gave the Democrats a han- dle which they were not indisposed to use. The South was still under carpetbag rule, with negro legislatures manipulated by Northern politicians and supported by Northern bayonets. The country’s tem- perature was declining from war fever slowly. People took their politics more passionately than they do now. It was a time of violent statements. Grant was nominated for a second term in June, 1872. Greeley was nominated by a new third party, called the Liberal Re- publicans, and indorsed by the Democratic convention. The Sun espoused Greeley’s cause. It was in the habit of referring to the official crowd at Washington as “‘Grant’s swindlers and jobbers.” One of its pet names for the hero of Appomattox was “The Bull Pup candidate.”’ A front-page heading reads: ‘Brains versus Bull Pups. Uncle Horace on the Road to the White House.” It referred to ‘‘ Robeson, the jolly and dishonest Secretary of the Navy.” H. M. Stanley Attacked Fifty years ago newspapers were usually shouting themselves purple in the face and choking their fists. They thought that was the only way to be convincing. For ex- ample, the Sun always printed the name of one of its competitors, in italics, as The Disreputable Times. Another competitor had sent an extraordinary reporter, named Henry M. Stanley, to Africa to find the lost missionary and explorer, Doctor Living- stone. In the midst of the Grant-Greeley campaign the Sun turns aside to inquire, “Is the alleged discovery of Livingstone by Henry M. Stanley anything but a dis- gusting fraud?”’ And a few days later it announces, in equally conspicuous headlines, “Stanley Proved a Fraud!’’—the proof consisting of somebody’s statement. I quote from the Sun because that paper published the Crédit Mobilier charges, but the quotations must be taken as illustrative of journalistic methods and manners gen- erally. The Sun then consisted invariably of four pages, one of which was devoted to advertising. Of the remaining twenty-one columns of reading matter somewhere from a fourth to a third were regularly devoted to the presidential campaign, with daily indictments of Grant and his party asso- ciates expressed in terms that would cause a sensation in these milder times. All that must be taken into account in order to understand why this circumstan- tial accusation of huge bribery at Washing- ton provoked at first such comparatively slight reactions. Another thing must be taken into account. Long before this ex- posure in print many people knew about Crédit Mobilier’s internal row and lawsuit. In fact, McComb gave his testimony in Philadelphia, embodying the story of con- gressional bribery in detail, with the Ames letters and the pencil list of congressional stockholders, on June 12 and 13, 1871 nearly fifteen months before the Sun, or anybody else, printed it; and the sub- stance at least of McComb’s testimony was in the hands of the Sun for ‘“‘some months” before it published a line about it. It came out finally in the heat of a vio- lent presidential campaign, and, so far as I find, not one of the accused men made any immediate reply. Several days afterwards H. L. Dawes wrote a very brief note to a country editor, thanking him for denounc- ing the false charges of the Sun. “ Neither Oakes Ames, nor any other man living or dead,”’ said the note, “ever gave me, di- rectly or indirectly, a penny of stock of the Crédit Mobilier or any other corporation in this world.” But the charge was not that stock had been given. The charge was that stock worth more than $300 a share had been sold at $100 a share—and the purchaser in some cases permitted to pay for the stock out of the dividends received upon it. So the Sun called this no denial at all. In fact, it said in large type, “How They Lie About It!” For, following the first broadside, Dana’s paper repeated the charge day after day, (Continued on Page 105)

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(Continued from Page 102) printing the list of congressional stock- holders, with 2000 or 3000 shares opposite each name. A few days after Dawes’ note “The Dis- reputable Times’’ remarked, ‘‘ Dana of the Sun had invented some cock-and-bull story about Mr. Dawes, Speaker Blaine, Senator Wilson, and other gentlemen of the highest character having been bribed to support the Crédit Mobilier project by free gifts of stock.”” Dana reprints this and begins his comment upon it by exclaiming, ‘ What round lying is this of the debauched and brutal cockney who now edits the Times!”’ If a newspaper didn’t like you in those days it said so in language that anybody could understand. On the nineteenth, two weeks after the first publication, Oakes Ames issued a short statement to his Massachusetts con- stituents. The nub of it was this: ‘Not a single share of that stock was ever given to a member of Congress by me or anyone else.”” Dana printed this statement on the front page, under the following headlines: OAKES AMES CONFESSES A DENIAL THAT AMOUNTS TO AN ADMISSION OF GUILT! Bear in mind, please, that these were the grand old days of fearless, independent journalism, before the press had become “commercialized’’—the days of Greeley, Dana, Medill, Bowles, and so on, to which critics of modern journalism look back as to a vanished golden age. Newspapers, they tell us, were real leaders of public opinion then. In fact, besides being as a rule hide- bound party organs, newspapers were gen- erally given to a violence and recklessness that largely defeated itself. Here was one of the foremost papers of the time repeating circumstantial charges of bribery on a huge scale, but for a long time the accused men were able practically to wave aside the charges as mere partisan abuse. Not only did Grant win at the polls, with an overwhelming majority in the electoral college, but the Republicans carried two- thirds of the seats in the House of Repre- sentatives, and every man on Dana’s list who stood for reélection was sent back to Congress by his constituents. Charges Against James A. Garfield All the same, this Crédit Mobilier story had been told with such detail of names, dates and amounts, and had been so widely circulated, that Republican leaders felt something had to be done about it. When Congress met in December following the election, Blaine, then Speaker of the House, called Sunset Cox to the chair, took the floor and moved the appointment of a com- mittee to investigate. The motion passed with out an opposing vote. L. P. Poland, of Vermont, was named chairman, and proved to be a good investigator. Another committee was appointed to find out how the builders of the Union Pacific had ful- filled their contract with the Government and what profits they had made. The Senate also appointed a committee, since some members of that body were involved. I believe there is no doubt among com- petent historians nowadays that these committees, especially the Poland com- mittee, got the essential facts. In December, 1867, then, 343 shares of Crédit Mobilier stock were turned over to Oakes Ames, as trustee, with the under- standing that he was to sell them ‘where they will do us the most good.” A part of this stock—but apparently only a part was sold by Ames, in lots of ten and twenty shares each, to members of Congress, at par. In a few cases the buyers paid Ames in cash for the stock. The more usual ar- rangement was that Ames sold the stock on credit, charging the: purchaser interest on the purchase price and crediting him with the dividends received. In such cases Ames retained ownership and possession of the stock. This distribution of Crédit Mobilier stock was made generally in December, 1867, before any dividend had been paid on the shares; no doubt before Ames him- self knew exactly what the dividends would be. All witnesses swore that he did not say how profitable the stock would be, but merely said, in effect, ‘‘Here’s some stock that will be a very good investment for you.” Take a few typical cases: Henry L. Dawes, of Massachusetts, bought ten shares and paid $800 down. In June following Crédit Mobilier declared a 60 per cent cash dividend. Out of that Ames deducted the $200 still due on the stock, handing over the remaining $400 to Dawes. Later in 1868 Dawes decided to withdraw from the enterprise. Ames took the stock off his hands and paid back the amount he had received on it with 10 per cent interest. W. D. Kelley, of Pennsylvania, bought ten shares but paid nothing down. In January, 1868, Crédit Mobilier paid a divi- dend of 80 per cent in Union Pacific bonds. Ames sold Kelley’s allotment of these bonds at 97. In June, 1868, there was a cash dividend of 60 per cent. After credit- ing Kelley with these two dividends and charging him with the price of the stock and | interest, Ames owed his fellow congressman $329, and gave his check on the sergeant at arms to pay it. Kelley, of course, then owned the ten shares of Crédit Mobilier stock. In September, 1868, Ames made him an advance of $750 against future divi- dends. James A. Garfield, of Ohio, was charged with ten shares, paying nothing down. Ames credited him with the two dividends mentioned above in Kelley’s case, and gave him a check on the sergeant at arms for the balance of $32$. Garfield withdrew from the enterprise and never received any actual Ames’ check for $329. Canceled Subscriptions Oakes Ames was a rich, successful man of affairs whose advice on business matters would presumably carry great weight with poor and inexperienced fellow members. The record shows that some such members | had sought his advice on their personal affairs in cases where there was no sugges- tion of corruption. Also, when this stock was distributed, the Union Pacific road had been completed. Its builders were asking no further legislation of any sort from Con- gress. Ames and his friend leaned heavily on both these points. But there were two other points on which they did not lean: The Union Pacific was built. It wanted no further legislation. But it was pretty gen- erally understood that the builders—after receiving a loan of $27,000,000 from the Government and a vast grant of public land--had made a big profit out of the undertaking. As usual, rumor greatly ex- aggerated the profit. In December, 1867, the month when most of this stock was distributed, Congressman Washburn, of Wisconsin, introduced a bill giving the Government power to regulate freight and passenger rates on the road. And Congress- man Washburne, of Illinois, was stirring around for an investigation of the profits accruing from the construction of Union Pacific. Ames and his friends decidedly didn’t want government regulation of rates. They didn’t want an investigation. They wanted to be let alone. And sometime in 1868 it became known to many people that Crédit Mobilier stock- THE SATURDAY EVENING POST stock—or anything else except |

holders were involved in the family row and | lawsuit mentioned above. Some congress- men acknowledged that in canceling their subscriptions to Crédit Mobilier stock they were actuated by knowledge of this very lawsuit which, finally, was the means of spilling the beans. In January Ames wrote: “I don’t fear any investigation here. I have used this stock where it will produce most good | to us. In view of Washburne’s move I go in for making our bond dividend | in full.”” And again, in urging that a divi- dend in Union Pacific bonds be declared at | an early date: ‘‘ Part of the purchasers here are poor and want their bonds to enable them to meet the payments on their Crédit Mobilier stock.”” And in February: “I want that $14,000 increase in C. M. stock to sell here. We want more friends in Con- | gress. If a man will look into the law (and it is difficult to get them to do it unless they have an interest to do so) he cannot | help being convinced we should not be interfered with.” The Union Pacific was finished. It wanted no further favors from Congress; but it did want to be let alone. This Crédit Mobilier stock was | distributed among members who, on their record, were friendly to the Union Pacific enterprise. Ames had been a member of the House sev- eral years and was well acquainted with his fellow members. He knew how difficult it was to get them to look into anything un- less they had some political or personal motive for doin An agitation for in- vestigation of "Sain Pacific, or for rate

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And after you have crumpled or punctured a milk bottle cap, you never can re- place it tightly —the partly-used bottle of milk is constantly in danger of contamination. Perfection Milk Bottle Caps will pro- tect your milk. Easily lifted off by a tab which will not tear off, and can be replaced as often as you wish. Send the coupon today, and let us send you, free, enough Perfection Caps for a month’s protection. After you've tried them, seen for yourself how safe and convenient they are, ask your milkman to use them. Send the coupon now. PERFECTION MILK-BOTTLE CAP .»°™*~ ay P6 THE SMITH-LEE COMPANY 537 Pitch St., Oneida, N. Y. Without obligation, please send me a month's supply of Perfection Caps EVENING POST control, might develop a good deal of pop- ular interest. Ames wanted to cement these men’s friendliness to the road by let- ting them buy at par stock that would be worth $300 a share—but only ten or twenty shares to each man. He didn’t overrate his fellow members. Naturally this investigation aroused much public excitement. Before the com- mittee some congressmen at once stated their connection with the affair. In every such case, I believe, the man was forgiven by his constituents and escaped unscathed. Some others tried to shuffle out of it, and suffered the consequences. As the hearin: went on Oakes Ames had reason to fee that in some cases he was being made the post, and produced a famous memorandum ook in which he had recorded sales of Crédit Mobilier stock to congressmen, the amounts they had paid on the stock, divi- dends received, and so on. Perhaps the most tragic figure in the affair was Schuyler Colfax, one of the most popular and promising men in political life at that time. He had been a brilliant young editor in Indiana, and had taken a leading Se in organizing the new Republican arty in that state. Sent to Congress in 1855, he remained fourteen years, the last six as Speaker of the House. In 1868 his position in his party and before the country was such that when he accepted second , Place on the Republican ticket it was con- ) sidered something of a sacrifice on his part, although the ticket was headed by the con- ueror of the Civil War. When Horace reeley died, before the Crédit Mobilier investigation, he was offered the editorship of the New York Tribune—Colfax not having been renamed for the vice presi- dency. A great many people expected to see him in the White House. Oakes Ames’ memorandum book showed twenty shares of Crédit Mobilier sold to Colfax. Before the investigating committee Col- fax read a statement nning: “I never received a dollar or the value of a dollar on any account whatever from Oakes Ames. . I state explicitly that no one ever pe me or offered to give me any shares of stock of Crédit Mobilier or Union Pacific. I have never received any dividends in cash, bonds or stock on any stock in either organization.” A Ruined Career He explained, however, that Ames did offer him twenty shares of Crédit Mobilier stock, recommending it as a good invest- ment. He consented to buy it, if Ames would carry him for a while, as he had no cash to pay at the time. Ames agreed. Sub- sequently he paid Ames $500 on account. Then he learned about the Crédit Mobilier litigation, and told Ames that under no circumstances would he buy a share in a lawsuit; he had never been a party to a lawsuit in his life, and didn’t propose ever to be; he would have nothing further to do with Crédit Mobilier. He said that Ames did not return the $500. Next year or so Ames Brothers suspended payment. The witness felt sorry for his friend in this financial misfortune and told him to dis- miss from his mind the $500 which he had paid on the stock. So, as a net result of the transaction, the witness was out of pocket that $500. Now in 1870 Ames Brothers were forced to suspend payment for a while, having overstrained their credit in carrying out the Union Pacific project. Colfax’s testi- mony was given in January, 1873. Ames evidently resented the statement that he had pocketed his colleague’s $500 all this while. His memorandum book showed that he paid Colfax $1200 as a dividend on Crédit Mobilier stock on June 16, 1868; | and he prodyced a canceled check of that | date, for that sur, drawn by himself on the | sergeant at arms, yable to “S. C. or bearer.” He swore that was the check with which he had made the payment to Schuyler Colfax. Colfax swore . had re- ceived no such payment; but when the ot hold of his bank book it showed a cas eposit directly afterward of which he was unable to give a very convincing explana- tion, although he tried hard. This—and the rest of the proceedings— may be found in full in House Report No. 77, Forty-second Congress, Third Session. It makes pathetic reading now. It closed Schuyler Colfax’s public career—another financial indiscretion that came up at the same time driving the nails in the coffin. Before the presidential campaign was over he had made a disingenuous denial of the July 5,1924 Sun’s charge against him. The historian’s judgment is that when the investigation came up he felt bound to save his face by sticking to this denial, and probably got panic-stricken and hopelessly tangled him- self up. : I think there is no doubt now that if he had met the charge in the first place with a frank statement of his part in the affair he would have got off with hardly a scratch, as some other men did. What ruined him was not a belief that he’d had the poor taste to buy twenty shares of Crédit Mobilier stock from Ames at par, but a be- lief that he did not tell the truth about it. Garfield, as previously mentioned, was charged with ten shares. Ames paid him $329, and he withdrew from the affair. Ames understood that this $329 was the balance of Garfield’s dividends, after charg- ing him with the price of the stock and in- terest. The balance at that time would come to just $329. The money was paid as usual by Ames’ check on the sergeant at arms; but Garfield testified that he under- stood it to be a loan from Ames, and denied that he had ever knowingly received a pay- ment on account of Crédit Mobilier stock. The House in Merciful Mood The affair figured largely in his campaign for reélection in 1874. He insisted upon his version of it, and his opponents, of course, made the most of the opposite view. His constituents returned him to Congress, although that was decidedly an off year for Republicans. They continued to ex- press confidence in him, and in 1880 he was elected President of the United States. The case of William B. Allison, of Iowa, was similar. He was down on Ames’ list for ten shares, but said that on second thought he withdrew from the affair, and for many ears afterward—indeed to the end of his ife, in 1908—he represented Iowa in the Senate. Blaine denied that he had taken any Crédit Mobilier stock, and there was no evidence to the contrary. Thus on strict investigation the Sun’s 30,000 shares dwindled to rather less than one per cent of that amount. Before the investigating committee McComb ex- plained that the numerals on his penciled list meant dollars and not shares—that is, 2000 after a man’s name or initials meant that he was to receive twenty shares at the par value of $100 each, and not 2000 shares. Even Colfax, the most conspicuous vic- tim, received only $1200. Thesums charged against most of the others were pitifully small. Yet a dozen or more of the most influential members of Congress had let Ames sell them at par—and usually on credit, to be paid for out of dividends stock that was worth decidedly more than par. The public was shocked, for this coun- try holds its public servants to a stricter code in such matters than any other coun- try in the world. The committee held that none of Ames’ stockholders had been guilty of a criminal intention; but that Ames had intended to influence the official action of his fellow members. It recommended, therefore, that he be expelled from the House. Another man, not on Ames’ list and quite forgotten now as far as the general public is con- cerned, came within the scope of the in- vestigation. Thiswas Con man Brooks, whom President Grant had made one of the overnment directors of the Union Pacific. he evidence satisfied the committee that, after his appointment, he had asked Durant, vice president of the road, to get him 200 shares of Crédit Mobilier at par. Durant had not been able—or willing—to do this, but finally had sold Brooks 100 shares at par and gave him a bonus of $5000 of Union Pacific bonds and $2000 of the road’s stock. The law forbade a govern- ment director to hold stock, so Brooks had the shares transferred to his son-in-law. The committee recommended that he, too, be expelled from the House. The House softened the penalty to a vote of censure, which was passed February 27, 1873. Brooks died April thirtieth, follow- ing, and Ames on May eighth. here seems to be no doubt that anxiety and humiliation contributed to the death of both men. Certainly to Oakes Ames, more than to any other individual, the building of the Union Pacific is due. It once brought him to the verge of financial ruin. After his death it appeared that his profits on the undertaking from first to last amounted to less than $1,000,000. Undoubtedly he (Continued on Page 109)

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packed to bulging . . . THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “Give me a ticket to... !” A trusted employee . . . Little peculations . . . Years of false entries . . . A deadened fear of discovery. Then the big chance . . . A fortune for the taking . . . A bag A stealthy trip to the carefully timed steamer ... Give me a ticket to . And he’s gone. . . Up the gang plank . . . To some port of missing men . . . While someone must 65 make good a stagg ering loss! FAETNA-IZE ha “GIVE ME A TICKET TO It is the trusted employee who absconds. No other has access to important funds. True, he is always an exception to the great majority who are as trustworthy as they are trusted, but these exceptions make a long record of embezzle ment and defalcation. The best protection for your responsibility to family, friends and business associates, as well as to your trustworthy employees whose advance ment depends upon the organization's profit, is an Etna Fidelity Bond in the amount advised by an expert AEtna representative. Under an Aitna bond, your losses through unfaithful employees are made good promptly and fully. Under an Aitna bond, you are protected against having in your employ men whose records are not susceptible to the closest scrutiny. The industrious and faithful employee, therefore, welcomes an AEtna Fidelity Bond because it vouches for his character and encourages his employer confidently to dele gate duties of greater responsibility to him. And without responsibility no man can grow. For seventy-four years the Aitna Life Insurance Company and Afhliated Companies —the strongest multiple-line insurance organization in the world has been administered by New England men im bued with traditions of New England's high ideals. Everywhere the word “Aitna”™ stands for confi dence, prestige, reliability and strength. See the AZtna representative in your community. He can give you wise counsel and furnish unrivaled protection for all your interests, great or small —for your property, contracts, income and your life. He is a man worth knowing. ZETNA LIFE INSURANCE COMPANY AND AFFILIATED COMPANIES ATNA CASUALTY AND SURETY CO. AUTOMOBILE INSURANCE CO., OF HARTFORD, CONNECTICUT tna Protection Includes LIFE . ACCIDENT HEALTH GROUP LIPE GROUP DISABILITY AUTOMOBILE MPENSATION LIABILITY BURGLARY. . . PLATE GLASS . .. WATER DAMAGE FIRE MARINE TRANSPORTATION FIDELITY BONDS SURETY BONDS

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THE SATURDAY EVENING July 5,1924 TANGLEFOOT FLY PAPER- Sanitary, Effective and Inexpensive Wherever food is exposed and flies are present, Tanglefoot Fly Paper is indispensable. Of all fly destroyers manufactured, it is the most sanitary. It catches the germs as well as the fly and holds them fast. This feature of Tanglefoot Fly Paper recommends it for use in alli domestic, institutional, commercial and industrial kitchens when cooking is in progress or foodstuffs are being prepared for serving or packing. No other fly destroyer can be used freely in such places during working hours. For more than two generations Tanglefoot Fly Paper has been the most widely used fly destroyer in homes, stores, restaurants, hospitals and factories. It is safe, non-poisonous, effective and so inexpensive that it may be employed freely and the sheets replaced frequently. By buying your summer supply at one time .. . . asking for Tanglefoot iy Paper by the carton .... the cost per sheet is trivial. Every grocer and druggist sells it... . it is easy to find. THE O. & W. THUM COMPANY, Granpb Rapips, Micnican FLY PAPER - FLY SPRAY - FLY RIBBON -ROACH & ANT POWDER - TREE TANGLEFOOT TANGLEFOOT: FLY SPRAY Tanglefoot Fly Spray is the quickest-acting and most positive household insecti- cide known for exterminat- ing flies, mosquitoes, moths, bedbugs and fleas. Just close the doors and windows, shoot Tanglefoot Spray into the air and the flies are killed wholesale. To make camp life bearable, to moth-proof the clothes closets and to kill swarms of flies in a few minutes, you must have Tanglefoot Fly Spray. Tanglefoot quality costs no more than ordinary liquid insecticides. It will pay you to demand it. Every dealer has it in stock or can get it quickly.

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————————— a ———— Ce ———— eo ——— —— (Continued from Page 106) wouldn’t have gone into it unless he had ex- pected to make a profit. Undoubtedly, too, he regarded the building of the Union Pacific as an important service to the na- tion. Given an optimistic, energetic man of affairs like Ames, anybody with a human imagination can see how it all could have happened without any villainous intention. Having got the Crédit Mobilier affair off its hands Congress almost immediately passed a bill retroactively increasing con- gressional salaries. The salary grab, and the back-pay grab, it was termed in the opposition press. Calling it a day’s work the national legislature then adjourned, and before it met again something happened of more immediate importance to the political fortunes of the Republican Party than this Crédit Mobilier scandal. That is, on September 18, 1873, Jay Cooke & Co. failed. They were building the North- ern Pacific Railroad and engaged in vast credit operations. That failure touched off one of the worst panics in the country’s history, followed by one of our longest and hardest industrial depressions. Mainly it was an inevitable reaction from postwar boom and inflation; but if I were a political party, having re- gard merely to immediate results, I would rather be caught selling the National Capitol for a motion-picture theater than with a panic and industrial depression on my hands. A mangled and bewildered pub- lic blames it on the party in power. The congressional elections next year, hard times continuing, were a Republican slaughter. In the old House they had two- thirds of the seats. In the new House the Democrats and independents had a ma- jority of 74. Pennsylvania, Ohio and Massachusetts went Democratic on the state tickets. Of course Democrats said it was the death and burial of Republican- ism—and it must be confessed that the Republican Party seemed to omit hardly anything which might hasten that consum- mation. The South, remember, was still partly under carpetbag rule, which in some cases meant ignorant negro legislatures manipulated by white scoundrels. So it was furnishing items like Louisiana’s open market for legislative votes, and South Carolina’s $200,000 spent for state-capitol furniture that was appraised at $17,715 one famous item being a set of china spit- toons billed to the state at $1600. The Whisky Ring Benjamin H. Bristow had succeeded Richardson as Secretary of the Treasury, and presently discovered that in St. Louis and other Western cities the Government was not getting the internal revenue from distilled spirits which trade reports of pro- duction indicated that it was entitled to. His investigations disclosed a whisky ring that will figure in political literature for a long while to come. In brief, certain crooks in the internal-revenue service conspired with certain crooked distillers to beat the Government out of whisky taxes. McDonald, supervisor of internal rev- enue at St. Louis, and a member of the ring, estimated that the Government was defrauded of $2,786,000 in whisky taxes at that city. If distillers were not crooked in the first place, crooked internal-revenue officials bent them into the desired moral shape by leading them into some technical violation of the law and then blackmailing them into joining the gang. The stealing was carried on in a very singular manner that is, the distillers were permitted to swindle the Government out of taxes and were then “assessed ’’ by the official thieves, ostensibly for the Republican Party’s cam- paign fund. The matter touched President Grant closely. McDonald’s salary was $3000, but he presented Grant with an expensive pair of horses and paid the expenses of the President and party at a St. Louis hotel for ten days in 1874. Moreover, he was on intimate terms with Babcock, the Presi- dent’s private secretary, on one occasion presenting him with a diamond shirt stud costing $2400. Today, of course, almost anything would be believed of a man who wears a diamond shirt stud; but other days, other manners. Babcock discovered a flaw in the stone and complained about it, whereupon McDonald took it back and re- placed it with a flawless one. After dis- closure came, McDonald said that Babcock not only knew about the whisky ring but was a member of it and had received, at various times, $25,000 in cash from it. THE SATURDAY shown to him Grant wrote on the back of it that famous sentence: “Let no guilty man escape.” Without doubt that expressed his sentiment at the time. The Democrats naturally pounced upon these whisky frauds with yells of gleeful vengeance. It wasn’t difficult to persuade | Grant that there was a lot of partisan poli- | tics in the affair. And he liked Babcock. He grew restive and irritated as the investi- | , gation proceeded. A grard jury at St. Louis indicted Babcock, and in due time the private secretary was put on trial. Then | occurred an odd scene in the White House. Before Chief Justice Waite, of the Supreme Court, acting as a notary, the President of the United States gave a deposition in de- fense of his private secretary. It amounted | to a certificate of good character for Bab- cock, with unshaken confidence in his “in- tegrity and ability.” This testimony from | the war hero is believed to have had much | weight with the jury, which acquitted the accused man. Upon acquittal Babcock re- | sumed his post at the White House, but public opinion was by no means satisfied, and in the face of it the private secretary 300n resigned. Trading:Post Graft And on March 2, 1876—right on the heels of this whisky-ring affair—the chair- man of the House Committee on Expendi- tures in the War Department reported the discovery of malfeasance in office by Gen- eral Belknap, the Secretary of War. Evi- dence collected by the committee was to the following effect: By government license, trading posts were maintained in Indian Territory. Some of these posts were very profitable. Sometime in 1870 the wife of the Secretary of War suggested to one Marsh that he apply for a trading post, conveying at least a suggestion that she would not be averse to sharing in the profits of the establish- ment. Marsh did put in an application for the important and profitable post at Fort Sill. Later on he received word from Mrs. Belknap, or from the Secretary himself the testimony being uncertain on that point—that Evans, the incumbent of the Fort Sill post, was then in Washington and — Marsh would better have a talk with nim. Marsh and Evans met and agreed that Evans should keep the Fort Sill post, and should pay Marsh $12,000 a year, quar- terly in advance, as long as he held it. The first quarterly payment was made and Marsh turned over half of it to Mrs. Bel- knap. . Soon after, the lady died. Evans continued making his quarterly payments to Marsh, and Marsh sent half the money, in cash or certificates of deposit, to Bel- knap. Altogether the payments amounted to $40,000. Such was the gist of the evidence, and on the strength of it the committee recom- mended that Belknap be impeached. The House adopted thisrecommendationshortly after three o’clock. But Belknap had al- ready got word of what was coming, and handed his resignation to President Grant, who immediately accepted it. Therefore when the House voted to impeach Belknap he was already cut of office. The impeach- ment dragged along in the Senate, where many members argued that the body had no jurisdiction because the accused man was 2 private citizen, amenable only to the courts, when the proceedings started. A majority of two-thirds was necessary to convict. On the final ballot thirty-seven voted guilty and twenty-three not guilty, but a majority of the twenty-three ex- plained that their vote was on the question of jurisdiction rather than on the intrinsic merits of the charges. But the Republican troubles were not over. James G. Blaine was easily the most brilliant figure in that party. He had been Speaker of the House and was now House leader. He had been brought into the Crédit Mobilier scandal, but there was no evidence that he had received or agreed to receive any stock from Ames. In the spring of 1876 he was the outstanding candidate for the Republican presidential nomination, when a fresh charge was brought against | him. It involves a very curious and inter- esting story. Congress had voted a land grant to aid | construction of the Little Rock & Fort Smith Railway. done and the grant was about to expire. A bill to extend it was before the House. It was the last night of the session. Blaine When a letter implicating Babcock was | No building had been | EVENING POST AEG UB OAT OFF. our representative sells at your home } District managers and men and women repre- sentatives wanted. Liberalcommission, Likeown- ing a business, without expenses. Write for plan. ~ _SMARTSILK HOSIERY CO-115 EAST 23RD ST-NEW YORK Meeting the needs ee of your business- Your business is different — yet, you keep records to give you the same information that every other business requires. To give complete information about cash, accounts receivable, purchases, pay roll, and other activities we have prepared a wide variety of sheet forms which are ready for shipment. This enables you to buy carefully designed and proved by test record keeping forms at quantity prices The pamphiet “Kalamazoo Sheets” contains illustrations and de- scriptions of many of these forms. Your request will bring it Kalamazoo Loose Leaf Binder Co. Factories at Kalamazoo, Mich., and Los Angeles, ( ig \ WANTED a We want more men-—men ff who realize fully the ne cessity of rendering defi Rite service in connection 7 with every sak Men ca pable of selling a diver sified line of products ff through proper applica- jj tion to customers’ requirements. Ui ff yy you are such a I = k xX Se e' LEDGER AND GENERAL PURPOSE BINDERS, € aamionwethe tp YS > CATALOG COVERS, he ] 7 RULED SHEETS. LITHO. bf a | } ) ) Ht ry GRAPHING, PRINTING, , a hin ee fh f-+y INDEXES, MECHANICAL I Fb fined Hi} } } AND HAND ACCOUNTING Equiewent ——\— re; KALAMAZO()” 743 Better Accounting and Record Keeping Methods te a i y ACC OU

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4 Full-porcelain, one- piece interior (patent pending) designed for greatest cleanli- ness, cooling efficien- cy, and durability. Lasts a lifetime, THE SATURDAY HE new Rhinelander AIRTITE Re- frigerator has a fine dignity —a ‘rich distinctiveness in appearance — that places it in a class by itself. Doors and sides are of smooth, solid construction — no thin panels to warp, collect dirt, and admit heat; no decorative “ginger-bread”. Simplicity is its keynote! And the one-piece, full-porcelain interior is a gem of spick-and-span cleanliness, with lower edge more-than-flush with door casing to simplify cleaning—no hard- to-get-ar, sunken corners. But most important of all — heat can’t get in, and cold can’t get out, thanks to the new AIRTITE triple air insulation! Foog is kept fresher, ice lasts longer. Let us tell you where you can see this extra- quality refrigerator which costs no more than any set “eb porcelain-lined ice® box. Your choice of golden oak or white enamel finish. Free descriptive literature on request. RHINELANDER REFRIGERATOR CO. DEPT. D-? RHINELANDER, WIS, "MADE ALITTLE BETTER REFRIGERATOR THAN SEEMS NECESSARY The Head Office Boy The Salesman The Sales Manager They All Make Extra Money In This Easy, Pleasant Way: , [ SONY ROSS is head office boy in a large furniture establish- ment in New Jersey; is an automobile salesman in Indi ee ee tt The Curtis Publishing 1 Company ; 909 Independence Square ; Philadelphia Pennsylvania Gentlemen: Please tell me, but without obligation, how | may make some extra money. Name Street City State Mark Stanley Why Not You, Too? tion ee ey ana; W. H. Guscott is sales man- ager of a paint concern in Ohio and each makes many an extra dol- lar by acting as subscription repre- during spare eS for The Saturday Evening Post, The Ladies’ Journal and The Country Gentleman. Tony has earned $2.50 extra in a single day; in January alone we paid Mr. Stanley over $70.00; Mr. Guscott has made $90.00 in one month—and all this is extra money, easily earned in spare time. Wouldn’t a similar opportunity interest you? We have it, no matter where you live or how busy you may be. And you don’t need previous sales experience to succeed —just the willingness to try. First step is to mail the coupon printed at the left for your convenience. sentative, | bonds. | of $15,000 for selling $43,900 of Little | Rock and Fort Smith securities. | Smith bonds which Union Pacific EVENING POST was Speaker. The Little Rock bill was up. A. destructive amendment was offe Blaine ruled out the amendment and saved the bill. It was snappy work in the last hours of an expiring ng, Meena Probably his ruling was correct. At that time Blaine had no personal or financial interest in the road; but he ac- quired an interest some months later. As to the circumstances under which he ac- quired it and as to what followed, Blaine’s statements by no means agree with some other statements; but by a preponderance of evidence it seems that the promoters had great difficulty in raising the capital for their project and Blaine undertook to sell some of the bonds to his friends up in Maine. The terms of subscription to in- }| siders were $1000 in first-mortgage bonds, $1000 in land-grant bonds, $1000 in pre- ferred stock, and $1000 in common stock, for each $1000 of money paid in. There is no explanation of why they overlooked some debentures, income bonds and second preferred stock in making up their gift package. Blaine did sell his Maine friends $125,000 of first-mortgage bonds, and gave the pur- chasers as a bonus a like amount of pre- ferred and of common stock; but the | $125,000 of land-grant bonds, it appears, went to him as a commission for making the sale, and he also received as a commis- sion on the sale $32,500 of first-mortgage Later on he got a cash commission Two Boston men named Caldwell and Fisher were taking a leading pers! in this enterprise, and one James Mulligan was ausociated | with them. How Blaine Made Good The promoters were excessively liberal in handing out engraved papers, but their railroad was of very little account at that time. It soon defaulted in payment of in- terest on bonds. No doubt Blaine believed in the bonds when he sold them, for the purchasers were old friends in Maine whose political support was valuable to him, not to mention any other consideration. He borrowed funds and took up their defaulted bonds, thereby involving himself in a long and painful financial embarrassment. Sometime in 1871 the Atlantic and Pa- cific Railway bought $100,000 of Little Rock and Fort Smith bonds, and a like amount of its stock, for $79,000; and in December, 1871, the Union Pacific Rail- road bought $75,000 of Little Rock and Fort Smith bonds at $64,000. The bonds were then in default and this was much above the market price. In the spring of 1876, when Blaine was the most prominent candidate for the Re- publican ery og 5 nomination, it was charged that the Little Rock and — ad bought at much above their market value belonged to Blaine, the obvious inference being that Union Pacific was purchasing Blaine’s political influence. The bonds bought by the Atlantic and Pacific were said, also, to have been Blaine’s; but in- terest mainly centered in the Union Pacific transaction, for that road—having been cay financed by government bonds and the Government having its own directors on the board—it was a quasi- government enterprise. Also, at that time, it still | smelled strongly ‘of the Crédit Mobilier | scandal. Blaine promptly procured a statement | by Thomas A. Scott, president of the Union Pacific, that the $75,000 of Little Rock and | Fort Smith bonds which his road bought in 1871 belonged to him personally, and that Union Pacific took them off his hands at more than their market price by way of | compensating him, over and above his sal- | ary, for his valuable services as president of the road. But that unequivocal state- | ment by the president of the road by no means settled the mattcr. The Democrats, | in control of the House and flushed with | suecess, were overlooking no opportunity to gun for a shining Republican mark. | They took Scott’s statement and cthers of | a corroborative sort with tongue in cheek. The Judiciary Committee of the House started an investigation. Before this Blaine had fallen out with his Boston associate Fisher, and Fisher’s confidential man, James Mulligan, appeared. before the committee to testify. In the course of his examination he mentioned in a quite casual way that he had a bundle of Blaine’s letters relating to this Little Rock and Fort Smith July 5,1924 deal, whereupon Blaine whispered to a Re- publican member of the committee to move an adjournment. The Republican member did so, alleging that he was sud- denly ill and unable to continue. When the affair next came up in the House, reference to this member’s illness provoked ribald laughter. he committee adjourned, however, and that evening Blaine called on Mulligan at the latter’s hotel in Washington. When he left the hotel he had the letters. Mulligan testified that Blaine, eloquently mentioning his wife and children, begged permission to read these old letters, promising to hand them back but, having them in his pos- session, walked away with them. Mulligan also supported the contention that the $75,000 in bonds bought by the Union Pacific really belonged to Blaine. The House committee demanded that Blaine produce the letters, but he asked time to consult counsel, and after consider- able delay produced a statement by his counsel that they had read the letters and found them irrelevant to the subject under investigation. But the committee was not satisfied with that. The Republican National Convention was to meet in Cincinnati on June four- teenth. Blaine was the leading candidate for the presidential nomination, but this row in the House over the Mulligan letters was doing his candidacy no good. On June fifth he rose to a question of personal privilege and made one of those dramatic speeches for which he was famous. The let- ters, he said, were his private property; but having resisted the committee's unwar- ranted attempt to trench upon his rights, he was perfectly willing that the public should know their contents. Thank God, he had nothing to conceal. ‘Here they are’’—holding the bundle aloft—‘“‘in their very original package!’’ And he proceeded to read them, commenting as he went along. His enemies said he didn’t read them quite accurately, or quite all of them. When the investigation was impending he had wished Fisher to write him a letter ex- plaining the Little Rock and Fort Smith affair, and had suggested what Fisher should say. At the bottom appeared the famous phrase, ‘‘ Burn this letter.’’ At one time Fisher wrote to him coldly, “Owing to your political position you were able to work off all your bonds at a very high price.” Again, early in the affair he had written Caldwell and Fisher expressing willingness to receive a “bedrock share”’ in the projected railroad. A Dramatic Defense Proctor Knott. was chairman of the judiciary committee which did the investi- gating. Having read the Mulligan letters Blaine turned dramatically upon Knott and demanded to know whether he had not received a cablegram from Caldwell, then in Europe, corroborating Tom Scott’s statement that the $75,000 of Little Rock and Fort Smith bonds bought by Union Pacific belonged to Scott and not to Blaine. In fact, Knott had received such a cable on June first, and had kept it dark. Flab- bergasted by Blaine’s sudden attack, he shuffled around the point for some minutes. But Blaine was hot on the trail, and forced him to admit that he had received such a cable. At this admission Blaine’s friends in the House burst forth with wild demonstra- tions which made the scene memorable, and many Republican newspapers next morning appeared to be under the impres- sion that by convicting Proctor Knott of having suppressed the Caldwell cable, Blaine had triumphantly refuted the charge of having sold his bonds to the Union Paci- fic. All the same, the Republican National Convention nominated Hayes instead of Blaine. Though Tilden led Hayes in the opular vote by about 250,000, the Repub- ee nominee was finally declared to be elected President. Last winter and spring, while the sena- torial investigations were going on, I read ood many impassioned statements to the effect that public confidence in our institu- tions and in the integrity of Government had been shaken to the foundations. Some senators said so, and some representatives and some editors and some orators. But some senators and representatives and editors are always shaking something or other to the foundations. It seemed worth while to turn back and see what had hap- pened before.

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Robbins When the midsummer sun has been baking the roof all the long, sultry afternoon; when all your friends are away at the lakes or seashore, you, too, can forget the heat and all your troubles if there is an R@M breeze blowing gently at night in your bedroom. * + A Robbins & Myers Fan can stir up a gale or waft a caressing, sleep-producing zephyr, as you like. Stationed on the chiffonier or dressing table and throttled down to a whisper it fans you lightly as you wf quietly, peacefully through the night. little folks, R&M Fans chase Great friends of the Fans and THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Now for a cool night’s sleep THE ROBBINS & MYERS COMPANY - SPRINGFIELD, OHIO: BRANTFORD, ONT away prickly heat—keep everybody well and cool and happy. Great friends of the grown-ups, too! Two or three are not too many about the home. The cost for current is so low you really can’t afford to be without them. Some R&M Fans have been doing home sentinel duty for more than twenty-five years. There's prac- tically no wear-out to them. Good dealers everywhere sell R&M Fans. There are types, sizes and prices for every need in home, office, factory, club and store. Myers Motors

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST July 5,1924 Thisec Roads to Comfort As makers of low air pressure cord tires for nearly five years, Dayton offers you riding comfort in three forms: l—Dayton Balloon Tires for 20-inch and 21-inch wheels 2— Dayton Semi-Balloon Tires for standard size rims and wheels 3—Dayton Thorobred Cords— built for low air pressure And the greatest of all tires are Dayton Thorobred Cords—built for low air pressure. They are of standard size and shape. They give you every advantage of low air pressure. They steer easily. They don’t wobble or “shimmy.” They cost less. You’re sure of long mileage. And you can buy them one at a time and use your old tires until they’re worn out. See the Dayton Dealer near you. THE DAYTON RUBBER MFG. CO., DAYTON, OHIO ton orobred Cords Th Pioneer Low Air Pressure Tires

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| For dense impressions Use Star Brand Type- j ™ writer Ribbons No. \ 9099. Made for every \ typewriter, copying and printing machine, in seven Shades of Black Record; also Blue, Pur- ple, Green and Red and Brown Record and Copying. Also in all combinations of colors. } Star Brand No. 8593 isadurable ribbon that withstands hard use. Star Brand Regular Inking is good for general requirements. Ask your dealer, or write to our . nearest warehouse for the Star : Brand Ribbons you need. { MultiKepy your letters for better copies. F. S. WEBSTER Co., INC. | Established 1889 335 Congress St., Boston, Mass. Branch Warehouses New York Chicago San Francisco Philadelphia Pittsburgh Cleveland STAR BRAND TYPEWRITER RIBBONS -~-——you feed the gas with your foot Any man who owns a larger car will tell you that he feeds the gas with his foot That's because foot control is easier and safer and handier It gets you over rough roads more smoothly. It gives you faster getaway. It provides more power on hills because power comes from feeding the gas “just right The Williams Accelerator for Fords does not inter- fere with the hand throttle. That remains unchanged Williams “Regular” sells for $3.00—Williams “Junior” for $1.50—in orange and black cartons. Ask your garage man to show you the Williams Accelerator. And make sure you get the genuine. No foot rest required. WILLIAMS BAS. AIRCRAFT CORP. FREE and Potrero Avenue, San Francisco, California |, Write for iacerseed booklet showing and de- » scribing these wonderful Ford Foot Throttles. , WILLIAMS ACCELERATORS FOR FORDS the Rochelle band graduated out of kid- hood and we designed a coat of arms for the new bass-drum head, the “ Rochelle’ and “Band” were done in red-colored capitals, while between them gleamed the vivid pic- ture of a cornet rampant. Everyone knew that meant “ Rochelle Cornet Band.” Why not? There were cornet bands in myriads of ne like Rochelle, and in towns of lesser e 3 ven in that awkward age for the rural American band, when there were twenty within twenty miles of Rochelle—the Syca- more Band, De Kalb Band, Kings Station Band, Monroe Center Band, Steward Band, Lee Band, Ashton Band, Franklin Grove Band, La Fayette Band, Oregon Band, and so on—they were all or nearly all silver cor- net bands. Silver plating of brass band in- struments was just coming into vogue. It was the era of the silver cornet band. Then village bands began to slip. The props were kicked from under our band by the passing of the Rochelle Agricultural Fair. The fair grounds became a real es- tater’s subdivision and the band lost its principal source of income. Other fairs were temporarily eclipsed by the motor-car craze. The torchlight processions of the | national presidential campaign were aban- | doned about that time. That was a hard | Rockford and other distant cities. | dentally, blow for all bands. For the political torch- light processions brought bands together in the home town, or in Dixon, Forreston and Inci- they kept alive that delectable custom of serenading the successful local | candidates for mayor and town council. Why, in one night of persistent serenading, | our band once got as high as fifteen dollars cash and six boxes of cigars from the happy winners of the Rochelle political marathon! Then came the aforesaid slump. And so for a while village banding was not so good. We of the Rochelle Cornet Band left the local musical field. The com- munity bass drum and E-flat tuba rested dustily in the old town hall. Band uni- forms, kept at home by the band boys, were lost. Some of the band boys stuck to the old-home town, clerking, farming or work- ing at trades. Others of us scattered to foreign fields. Lloyd Ingraham, son of an actor, joined the Buchanan Comedy Com- pany Band and Orchestra, playing six stage | parts weekly and doubling in brass on the | daily street parades. Will Gage Carey, ctill a poet, got a job as railroad mail clerk. Handsome Willis Calkins went on the road for a hardware house. I went windjamming with a circus band. The world wagged on. | Thdt was in the late 80's, about the time Warren Gamaliel Harding graduated from peck horn to helicon bass with the Marion Silver Cornet Band. Now witness what wonders time has wrought! Wednesday Night in Rochelle Should you happen into Rochelle, !linois, almost any Wednesday night this summer you will find the Rochelle band discoursing effectively before enthusiastic thousands on Town Hall Square or in the new War Me- morial Park. Band-concert night is a gala night. And our band is a symphonic band! The old title, cornet band, is passé. I doubt if there are a dozen cornet bands in Amer- | ica. They are now military, concert, sym- | Creek—marine bands. tryfolk, who come from miles around and ! phonic or—in towns of the true interior where the biggest body of water is Buck The latter title is reminiscent of the old Sousa Washington Marine Band. In proof of their marine character, these prairie-land or timber-town bands invariably play The Blue Danube or Over the Waves. The Rochelle Symphonic Band of 1924 has thirty or more pieces, including flutes, piccolos, a saxophone quartet, a bevy of clarinets and a BB-Aat bass or so. It also has the Baptist preacher doubling in saxo- phone and vocal solos, for we are becoming a singing as well as a playing nation. But what is more important, my old home-town band is no longer dependent for its exist- ence upon the caprice of fortune as repre- sented by two paid jobs each year or by the mendicant passing of the hat. The Rochelle Chamber of Commerce has seen to it that the annual city budget carries an item for the support of its band. The band has be- come a municipal institution. The weekly band concerts are attended by thousands of townsfolk and by other thousands of coun- THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE SILVER CORNET BAND (Continued from Page 11) chat in their motor cars or mingle c hummily | on the greensward. The Rochelle Sym- phonic Band is a going concern. So are thousands of other small-town bands. The American small-town bands are gradually getting on a financially sound basis. For this let us give deserved thanks to Major George W. Landers, of Clarinda, Iowa. He put over the Iowa Band Tax Law, which permits any Lowa town or cit of less than 40,000 inhabitants to tax itself for local band support. The tax is limited to two mills. Each town can vote this tax upon itself. Each of the 5000 citizens of Clarinda pays thirty-five cents a year for a long season of band concerts, held in its courthouse square during the warmer months and in the big armory when winter comes to Main Street. The band plays good stuff, too, with the soft pedal on the jazz. The Iowa Band Tax Law has been on the statute books less than four years, Already 100 Iowa towns have elected to have such a regularly organized band supported by pub- lie taxation. A dozen other states have adopted the Iowa Band Tax Law or a varia- tion thereof. Any town can discontinue this tax by popular vote. No town, so far, having voted this tax upon itself, has voted to discontinue it. Within a decade all the 10,000 small-town bands will become credit- able permanent musical institutions. And the village band is the foundation—the be- ginner’s school--of music in America. Wind-Instrument Making Perhaps some psychologist can tell us why a lusty youth bitterly resents an hour’s sawing on a violin in the comfort of his study, but will cheerfully put his heart, soul, liver, and lights into an hour’s practice with the other boys down in the band room, Perhaps the boy is intrigued by the pros- pect of a Main Street parade or concert in resplendent band uniform or is naturally gregarious. Or he may be the victim of inheritance. For from the days of Jericho and its trumpet-tumbled walls, the wind in- struments have had the call in the juvenile mind on strictly stringed instruments. Our musical standards have changed since the cornet was evolved from a conch shell, the trombone from a hollow thigh bone, the clarinet from a simple reed and | the drum from the tom-tom. Of course, there are occasions when we think, mayhap, Shakspere was right when he used ‘‘noise”’ as a noun meaning a band of English musi- | cians. But whether it be with the piccolo and flute, from which music is produced by blowing across an opening into a wooden tube, or pipe; the clarinets, oboes, bassoons and saxophones, from which music is pro- duced by the vibration of a reed at the end of a wooden or metal pipe; or the cornets, altos, trombones, barytones and basses, from which music is produced by the vibra- tion of the human lips at the end of a metal tube, the science of wind-instrument manu- facture has kept step with the science of music and the skill of musicians. Up to 1500 A.D. nearly all musical pipes were made of wood, hollowed out by boring through with a spit. chinery in the hands of highly paid experts turns out tone-perfect wood wind instru- ments, while the tubes of the brass instru- Now complicated ma- | ments are tapered and smoothed inside and | out by patented processes, in one of which | hydraulic pressure is the deciding factor. Incidentally, there are more than forty highly organized wind-instrument factories in the United States. Their total annual output hovers around the million mark, be- cause the youth of the land goes in for band music first, The orchestra ‘comes later usually a lot later. Musical America got its start in the silver cornet band. Many romances might be written around the silver cornet band. For instance, there is the romance of Hicksville, Ohio, and the Swilley House. Hicksville is on the Balti- more and Ohio Railroad near the Indiana | boundary. It has a population of about 2500—has had it quite a while. It is a regu- lar rural community. The Swilley House is its hostelry. Mrs. Swilley, long its proprie- tor and manager, was the mother of the great American actress, Amelia Bingham. Amelia underwrote the Hicksville Boys’ Band, while O. V. Hart, better kriown as Oz Hart, the jeweler, was the teacher. Oz was a devotee of art as exemplified by band music. Sitting at his jeweler’s Main Street window repairing a balky watch, Oz a I é) ° Make Your Porch Cool Make your porch into a cozy cool retreat by day and a sleep ing porch at night—airy and secure from inquisitive eyes In VUDOR Porch Shades only can you obtain the exclusive Ventilator woven in the top VUDOR Porch Shades are made of beautifully stained wood slats in weather-proof permanent colors. VUDORS last for years VUDOR Porch Shades are ver ‘62 rf ' moderate in price. A shade 6 : et wide with a drop of 7 feet, 6 inches now coat MMV «sc ceeeee , north of Als ibama and east « ol » fit any porch priced pr aon mately Send for illustrations in colors and t! of your local dealer Hough Shade Corporation 250 Mills Street, Janesville, Wis. Send name of your local dealer an in lors to Look for the VUDOR nameplate — the sign of the genuine Vudor Self-Hangin Ventilaten

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&88GGeacse CegakGnanas Pee. bod | other light. light,” not “ Picture shows a night view of the Bureau of Engraving and Printing at Washington— distinguished by a work-light. the peculiar clearness of the Work-Light illu- mination within. Our paper mon- ey, Government Word in Plant Illumination ORK-LIGHT which explains instantly why it is different from any Not “artificial daylight,” mercury vapor light” name bites in. Every factory manager knows what it means. a new name for Cooper Hewitt light not but “ “that greenish work-light.” That Think of the various kinds of illumination:—soft reading lights, dim candle lights, brilliant footlights, intense spotlights, powerful searchlights, spreading street lights, and scores of others, performing their specific jobs. special job that Cooper Hewitts perform; a light to work by Then think of the In plants where high production schedules govern every operating detail, you find Work-Light most extensively used. Light that helps men work makes a difference the employer can’t afford to ignore. We believe the time is coming when the quality of work- bonds and light in our factories will be universally recognized as a major stamps have influence on production and profits alike. been made un : : A 7 : der Work-Light You will want to know more about Cooper Hewitt Work- aince 1907. Light. Send for the booklet; you will find the details inter- esting. COOPER HEWITT Work ~ ~Light Cooper Hewitt Electric Company, Hoboken, N. J. 19 ©C. H. E. Co. 1924 THE SATURDAY Dutch cuts and bobbed hair Keep them neatly trimmed. Our Head Barber's bocklet shows you how. May we send you a copy? BROWN & SHARPE Mfg. Co. Providence. R.L,US.A. Brown & Sharpe Mfg. Co., Providence, R. 1. Please send me . free copy of your new booklet, “How to Use Clippers.” Name Address City State S, BR. P. 7-5-24 CLAD MLMMMA, the « Waters any lawn, large or small, easier, y. quicker and better. A fast worker on low or high pressure. 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RainKing The Best Sprinkler Made EVENING POST would espy Hale Byers, now saxophonist with Paul Whiteman’s orchestra, and Erk Greer, now one of New York’s leading tuba players, idling the happy hours away; whereupon he would seize them or their kid companions and set them to practicing in the jewelry store’s back room. He was a fiend on rehearsal, was Oz Hart. Hale Byers, who then played piccolo, sat directly under Oz Hart’s baton and many a time had his skull whacked for nonattention or for slipping in a blue note. The Hicksville Boys’ Band became the official Ohio state band and played in Columbus in bright red uniforms, each with a white heart embroid- ered on the left breast. Oh, halcyon days! You should hear a bunch of Hoosier York, become sentimental about the old silver cornet bands of Indiana, especially about Fritz Schultess, the Swiss tuba player of the po pomege Band, whose boast was, “I can play the tune on the tuba and whistle the variations at the same time.” Scoff not at this claim to superpower. Your Hoosier bandsman will cry you down. Or he will swiftly switch your attention to the tale of Bratcher Bradford De Marcus, whose saxophone now wails in excellent metropolitan circles, but who was known as Red back in Bloomington, Indiana. Red’s father started him on the violin and the Carnival of Venice. After Red had played that tune six thousand times or so serted the violin for the alto and joined The Bloomington Silver Cornet Band. But when the Bloomington portable band stand was wheeled into action beneath the main- stem bright lights on a balmy spring night the swift flying June bugs mistook Red’s topknot for some other flaming arc. They bombarded him and insisted on getting into his eyes when those eyes should have been on important quarter notes and demi- quavers, so Red resigned, to court harmony in gay Manhattan. There is the romance of Henry Waak, BB-flat bass player with the Vincent Lopez orchestra. When Henry was sixteen he walked into the office of the village sooth- sayer—who was also the shoemaker— of his native Aberdeen, South Dakota. He knew Henry’s family history and he knew Henry. “You will die of consumption in six months,” the soothsayer declared. Henry Waak, having walked right in, turned around and walked right out again— and purchased a discarded bass horn for six dollars. The village tinsmith soldered the largest leaks in the tubing, then Henry hopped to it. He was soon pro- moted from the Aberdeen Boys’ Band to the big band of the village, since which time he has become a bass soloist of renown. Today, twenty years after consulting the Aberdeen soothsayer, Henry Waak weighs 162 pounds—almost as much as I do—and is still strong enough to play the Sousa- phone, the hugest bass horn extant. In twenty years he has produced 200,000 musical notes. A Barber Doubling in Brass The unwritten history of the silver cornet bands is filled with similar short stories. Our country is populous with standardized and officiall supported village bands which are fed by boys’ bands. If you drop into almost any small town in the country, and have difficulty in finding the secretary of the chamber of commerce, ask any barber about the local band and he will instantly become eloquent about Fred Spier’s boy, who plays “an all-fired strong B-flat cornet in our kid band.” For the smail-town bar- ber is an ardent patron of the arts. He is responsible for many a small-town band, as well as for the soul-soothing barber-shop chords. Long before the barber became a tonsorial artist, he practiced, during his leisure office hours, the art of wind- instrument music. A census of fifty old silver cornet bands would show thirty, each boasting. a barber in its ranks. That's partly because barbers are in tune and in touch with the world and are facile and versatile. If I remember correctly, it was while Fred Smithers, the leading barber, was playing barytone with the Wahoo, Ne- braska, Silver Cornet Band, that Art Landers called Fred down because Fred was starting out on the Fourth ws Fe ad petats with three days’ beard besm is countenance. Whereupon Pak are i | out of the ranks, dropped into his wes om on hastil plied the tools of his trade; and when the band had circumnavigated | the block, jeans into the ranks again as musicians, marooned in cramping New’ July 5,1924 smooth as a smelt. Not for nothing is the barber a good bandsman. But I was dwell- ing upon kid bands. I won’t say there are ten thousand times ten thousand of them. But they are almost as thick as locusts in the proverbial seventeenth year. This ap- plies to town as well as country. AsI write this, Edwin Franko Goldman— whose symphony orchestra in brass, offi- cially known as the Goldman Band, gives sixty free open-air concerts each year in New York’s Central Park to audiences of from 20,000 to 50,000—is preparing for the first annual grand contest for boys’ bands on the Mall, Central Park. The contest is open to any organized juvenile band of thirty or more players resident within fifty miles of New York City. All participants must be under seventeen years, conductors excepted. No entrance fees are required. Each contestant will receive a 1924 contest button. The three best bands will be given prizes. This is only one of many boys’ band contests. Nearly all these American kid-band players are taught by the same professional teachers who teach the older bands in village, school or city. They are being given the right start on their musical careers. A great majority of them will some day play in the big bands. School Band Tournaments In June, 1923, the Music Industries Chamber of Commerce of the United States sponsored the first National School Band ournament, in Grant Park, Chicago. Contestants came from distant high schools, grammar schools and military or prepara- tory schools. Six thousand dollars in cash and many instruments and medals were won by bands from Fostoria, Ohio; Council Bluffs, lowa; Hyde Park, Chicago; New Castle and Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania; Paw Paw, Michigan; Gary, East Chicago and Evansville, Indiana; Cedar Rapids, Iowa; Louisville, Kentucky, and Rockford, Illi- nois. Thousands gathered along Chicago's lake front to witness the contest and sub- sequent parade. The second annual Na- tional School Band Tournament is sched- uled for this summer. This time the Rotary, Kiwanis, Lions and other public- spirited clubs are coéperating with the Music Industries Chamber of Commerce. This time, also, there were preliminary state band contests during National Music Week, May fourth to tenth. Winners in these state contests will compete in sec- tional contests. The survivors will mest in the national contest. All these contests are under the auspices of the Music Super- visors’ National Conference and the im- mediate direction of its Committee on Instrumental Affairs. This committee will have the codperation of the National Bu- reau for the Advancement of Music, which is an organization designed to suggest to the many other national and sectional organizations how some of our music money shall be spent. It is estimated that between $20,000,000 and $150,000,000 is philanthropic ally de- voted to music each year in our dollar- chasing country. A much greater sum is invested in professional salaries for musi- cians engaged on a strictly business basis. A large proportion of this great sum goes to pay bandsmen. Though few, if any, orchestral organiza- tions can finish a season without a heavy deficit, especially if they go on tour, we have had one or more bands touring this country at a profit since Patrick Sarsfield Gilmore made his first professional appear- ance forty years ago. The band is musical America’s first love, and 75 per cent of our great bandsmen of today started with some silver cornet band. The traveling-show bands have almost as much to do with inspiring the youthful small-town bandsmen as do the mature local musical organizations. There is a snap and dash about the circus, minstrel and dramatic tent-show band that peps up the most unimaginative town boy. And the standard of show bands has improved with the years. When I finished my career as a circus bandsman by being fired, in 1894, from the Ringling Brothers’ band, it was Band- master Bini Weldon who fired me. Peace to his ashes. I was fired because I had a sore lip. Almost every other cornetist of those days had a sore lip now and then. The customary exchange of greetings among cornetists was: “Morning, Jack. How’s your lip?” (Continued on Page 116)

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BOOKLET FREE HIGHEST REFERENCES PROMPTNESS ASSURED Watson E. Coleman. Patent Lawyer, 644G St., Washington, D.C. THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 114) “Morning, George. Rotten. My lip’s gone back on me.” There was nothing funny in this to the gentlemanly cornetists. A cornetist, or any other musician whose livelihood depends upon skillful playing of any mouthpiece instrument, such as cornet, alto, trombone, barytone and bass, cannot earn that living with a sore lip—not very long anyway. Sore lips were as prevalent among the cornetists of my day as are sore noses among frogs kept too long in the bait box. That was because most of us cornetists de- pended upon pressure of the mouthpiece ny the lips to get the higher tones. ence when circus bands rode parade on top of springless band wagons, or village bandsmen rode on hayracks or marched over rough roads, the lips were often cut by the teeth and mouthpiece. Hours and days of subsequent lip vibration in the mouthpiece did the rest. Such hours did for me on the Ringling show because no one had taught me the nonpressure system of cornet playing. Billie Weldon was just perfecting it. I give him credit for the discovery. Other Columbuses may arise to claim the honor. Very good. There is glory enough forall. It revolutionized the play- ing of cornets, altos, trombones, barytones and basses. Billie Weldon and his school taught that higher and lower tones on such instru- ments can be produced easily, without lip pressure, by merely contracting or loosening the lip muscles. The tauter the lips across the teeth the faster the lip vibrations and the higher the tone. High C became easily obtainable and the sore lip disappeared from band circles. As kids, we used to make a red-faced fight to hit high C—that is, the C above the staff—largely because certain show-band cornetists dwelt bril- liantly upon that elevation, Now profes- sional cornetists, such as B, A. Rolfe, Paris Chambers and Stephen Crane, can sus- pend a cornet on a string, and with lips barely touching the mouthpiece can pop five G’s. Which means they can sound two G's below the staff, the G on the staff and two G's above the staff, all without press- ing the lips against the mouthpiece, The expert cornetist now has a range of twenty- two full tones. The normal range in my day was seventeen full tones, from A below the staff to C above. Science has replaced brute force and there are no sore lips in banddom.,

Circus Bands Looking Up So wheh you hear Merle Evans, current bandmaster with the Ringling show, take his cornet in one hand and soar with it like the lark, don’t feel sorry for him. That kind of soar will not bring the other kind. He can keep it up indefinitely. So can his

| thirty assistants, in their various capacities. | They can also include in each daily gram generous and well-rendered selections ro- rom Rossini, Tschaikowsky, Wagner, Mey- erbeer, Litolff, Gounod, Massenet and Men- delssohn. Each day’s work calls for six many lightning changes of melody and | tempo. Science makes this possible— | science and better remuneration for circus | musicians. In the old days a circus band | consisted of twelve musicians each getting | twelve dollars a week. A modern circus band consists of thirty musicians getting thirty-two dollars a week each. That isn’t so much, but it is nearly three times twelve dollars. After Billie Weldon blew me out of the circus business I went in for higher educa- tion at the University of Wisconsin. Ikey Karel, then a famous football halfback and | now Judge John C. Karel, of Milwaukee, | hunted me up. We organized the univer- sity’s .first official band, with Ikey as manager and me as director, Ikey and his athletic team mates valued the stimulant of music on or near the field of battle. Our first year’s band had sixteen pieces. We had no drum major, so, on college drill days, I had to double as drum major during battalion dress parade. I also doubled as college cornet soloist. My repertoire was | limited. I had just one encore, Asthore, a | sad song, which I played on every seem | and impossible occasion. Even now some old-timer occasionally runs across me and | asks, with feeling, if I still play Asthore. | The passing years had left this part of my career rather hazy in my mind, until last summer when I was standing in front of the Minneapolis Athletic Club, waiting for EVENING POST July 5, 1924 a friend to pick me up, and a curly-haired | ™ chap greeted me by name. “You don’t remember me, do you?” he remarked pleasantly. “Your face is familiar,’ I admitted. “You fired me from the University of Wisconsin Band in 1897,” he reminded me. And then I recalled that during that, my last year as director, the band had been placed on a credit basis, I had been given a salary and the rank of second lieutenant and had been forced to separate the musical sheep from the nonmusical goats. Even after that heroic operation it must have been a very bad band, for we were barely able to play simple pieces for football and baseball games and for the big balls in the college stone But you should see the University of Wisconsin Band now! It has moved up in the scale—no pun intended—along with the village Cont There are 135 members of the current University of Wisconsin Band, about half of whom are, ve selection, organized as the University oncert Band and half “ the second band. The latter, as Con- ductor E. W. Murphy puts it, “is a f for the concert band and takes care of the rougher work demanded by the athletic and military departments.” We were in luck to be able to do the rougher work in my day. College-Student Bandsmen All Wisconsin freshmen and sophomores who pass the tryeuts and are accepted into the bands are given one credit each semester toward graduation. All juniors, seniors, special students and graduate stu- dents who pass into the concert band and who remain over in Madison to play for the commencement exercises are given wv dollars, a refund of the yearly tuition ee, The organization gives a bronze fob to each two-year man, a silver key or fob to each three-year man and a gold key to each four-year man who makes the concert band. Band rehearsals are of the same importance as recitations in any other subject. Public appearances are much like examinations. “Much orchestral music,” says Major Murphy, “adapts itself rather nereny for our Fe. concert bands, and the playing of these symphonic works by bands both in and out of doors gets them before the peo- | ple, thereby creating a desire on the part of the listener to hear these works presented by the symphony orchestras in the manner conceived by the composer. “ College-band members of today demand an opportunity to study and take part in the performance of the highest grade of music, and very soon after reaching the campus outgrow the desire to march the car tracks and blow the bells off their horns. Every man does his best to get into the concert band. To do so he must perfect his technic, tone and musicianship. That the people are interested in seeing how well Co students accomplish their desire is | attested by the fact that at one recent | Sunday-afternoon concert more than 2000 | people were packed into the university | eens and 300 were turned away. | ea rs ago we abandoned the custom of playing concerts fortnightly at ten cents | admission, for Madison is now visited by | the finest symphony orchestras in Amer- ica, and it has been considered wise for the | band to take more time to prepare for public | appearances and play up to audiences which are more critical and better informed each ear. “Along with the growth of the bands is the development of a department in the School of Music for the training of orchestra and band directors. Students are given a chance to become familiar with the routine of organizing and conducting musical groups and to write and arrange music for various combinations. These classes are granted two credits each semester. For a number of years our assistant band directors for our own bands have been trained in these classes.”’ Where our first band at the University of Wisconsin had, on good days, one tuba, two barytones, one trombone, three altos, three cornets, four clarinets and two drums, the combined university bands now have twenty-two clarinets, two piccolos, three flutes, two oboes, three bassoons, one alto clarinet, one bass clarinet, fourteen saxo- phones, eighteen cornets, twelve horns or altos, nine trombones, five barytones, eight basses and nine drums or other instru- ments of percussion. I get goose flesh at ee Times and Combs Have Changed A hair comb used to be merely a toothed device with which hair could be passably arranged after a painful ordeal. § But times changed, people began to learn hair culture and the Ajax Super- Quality Comb arrived. 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; the thought of trying to conduct a band like that! And the stuff that University of Wis- consin Concert Band plays! Here’s a sim- ple program: PURDY On Wisconsin WAGNER . Selection from the Opera Lohengrin DELIBES. Pas des Fleurs Intermezzo from Ballet Naila TSCHAIKOWSKY Andante Cantabile from Symphony in E minor No. 5, Op. 64 MEYER-HELMUND Serenade Roccoco HERBERT Canzonetta, Op. 12, No. 4 WAGNER. Pilgrims’ Chorus from Opera Tann- hauser Drico. Serenade d’ Arlequin DELIBES. March and Procession of Bacchus from the Ballet Sylvia The encores are characteristic military marches of different nations, comparable to the well-known American marches of Sousa, Paris Chambers, Panella, and others. I mention the University of Wisconsin Band merely because I knew it, and because it and ali other college bands are fed by village bands. There are dozens of other great American college bands, some larger, some smaller than that at Wiscon- sin, but nearly all organized as the village bands are rapidly being organized—on a permanent basis, with music for their main business. College boys in my day used to try to get into the Wisconsin band in order to get out of drill, or to make a trip with the football team, just as so many of the old silver cornet bands were recruited from the mass of young fellows at the crossroads who had plenty of time, a little money and a huge desire to leap into the local lime- light. Now, after the kidhood stage has passed, a boy or a man has to be something of a musician to make any band. This even applies to the thousands of amateur bands, such as the police bands, postal bands, Elks’ bands, Moose bands, Odd Fellows’ bands, Woodmen’s bands, and that great army of fraternal bands not here listed. One hundred and ten Shriners’ bands were massed under the direction of John Philip Sousa in the American League Baseball Park, Washington, D. C., in June of last year. My great and glorious country has banditis, and I’m glad of it. If there is any more interesting and ele- vating sport than tooting a horn or clarinet or pounding a drum in any kind of band, good or bad, I don’t know where you will find it. We'd have a rotten time of it, in peace or war, without music. And music, with us, begins, for better or for worse, with the village band. Until the Boy Scout movement got under way it was about the only form of discipline our young boys en- joyed. Even in the old crude days when the silver cornet bands came and went, there were many bands in which some older though perhaps musically no wiser head exercised some sort of control—when such a leader would look sadly at some raw re- cruit and say, “Kid, you start tomcrrow practicing that passage in the woodshed, and don’t you come to rehearsal again until you can play it.” from Ballet Les Millions Woodshedding Hence arose the custom of woodshed- ding. Thousands of our present prominent citizens got their start woodshedding at the operating end of a cornet or some wood wind instrument. Ask I. C. Speers, adver- tising magnate of Santa Monica, California, or J. D. Bunkerhoff, attorney of Garrett, Indiana, or almost any tenth man of middle age what he knows about woodshedding and he will smile sentimentally and say, “Those were the happy days!” And then there were the annual volunteer firemen’s tournaments, where the church ladies furnished coffee, sandwiches, fried cakes and pie, and the breweries, alas, fur- nished beer! And what would the old Decoration Days, Fourths of July, county fairs and old settlers’ picnics have been without the village bands? On those peace- ful, highly colored, musically adorned days the most thrilling spot in ‘the world was the intersection of Main and Washington streets when the silver cornet band turned loose. They built us up, those silver cornet bands. From them came the village orches- tras, the village singing societies, the love of music, without which any nation ‘ for treasons, stratagems and spoils.” From those village bands also came the | thousands of regimental bands which in- spired our troops during the great World | War. That war was largely responsible for the tremendous boom in the small and big town band business. Many an American boy went into battle stronger in body and soul because his regimental band had sent him to the front with Over There, America, The Star-Spangled Banner or some other national air in his ears. Back of the lines band music boosted the boys’ morale. On the march it kept them going. Here at home it kept many a mother from weeping. The influence of band music on the fight- | ing man’s morale has been recognized since historians began to write. From an able work by the English Francis Galpin, who is | described on the title page as “‘M.A., F.L.S Honorable Freeman of the Worshipful Company of Musicians,” we learn that “The musical development of the human | race has been divided by some writers into | In the first our forefathers | three stages. delighted themselves with the rhythmic beat of the drum, in the second they made merry with the cheerful strains of the pipe, | and in the third they began to appreciate the subtle refinement of the stringed instru- ments.” Doughty Hornblowers Most of us have not quite reached the third stage of refinement. We prefer to blow the pipe or its offspring, the horn. | And as Mr. Galpin points out, “The office of the hornblower has from early times been considered honorable.”” Hornblowing frequently brought victory in war. Those | of us who have Irish blood can point with | pride to the second book of Polybius’ His- | tory in which he says of the Roman legion- | aries and the Irish bands: “The parade and tumult of the army of the Kelts terrified the Romans. For there were among them an infinite number of horns and trumpets, which, with the shouts of the whole army in concert, made a clamor so terrible and loud that every sur- rounding echo was awakened and all the adjacent country seemed to join in the horrible din.” Other ancien: supported Polybius in this confession. In time of war we revert to type. Can historians | anyone in time of peace fail in respect for | the full-chested police bands of New York, Boston, Chicago and other cities? we recognize their potentiality. Big business has harnessed the power of music, port employes’ bands. They include many recruits from the silver cornet bands who Not if | Thousands of our industries sup- | are either not quite skillful enough to be- | come professional musicians or who, after years of professional life, prefer to settle down in some factory town where the are assured steady wages for regular oun and can augment their annual incomes by professional engagements. Armour and Company have in their Fort Worth, Texas, plant a band of 75 that compares favorably with the best bands in the Lone Star State, | In the Armour and Company Chicago plant is a girls’ band of nearly 100 members, each of whom does manual labor in the plant, each of whom is the daughter of foreign-born parents. These girls speak many languages. But they all understand the language of music. | There are many girls’ bands in the country. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ‘is it | Bera Almost any civic parade will present one or more of them Twenty-five years ago the Iowa State | Fair had one band of twenty-five pieces. Now it employs eight or ten bands, each with thirty or more pieces. Last year 571 fairs in the United States spent more than $500,000 on music, most of it for bands. There are orphanage bands, prison bands, farmers’ bands, asylum bands. One trade paper, subscribing to one clipping bureau, receives reports of more than fifty bands organized each week, and this does not in- clude any of thousands of so-called jazz bands—which are neither bands nor or- chestras. Few great retail establishments are with- out their bands. A store in Philadelphia maintains a military band, a boys’ band and a girls’ band, recruited from the white The biggest nickel’s worth You can buy an ice-cream cone for a nickel; it is cooling for a minute. Or you can buy electricity The same nickel that keeps an electric fan running all day will operate an electric vacuum cleaner 344 hours, or a washing machine for an hour and a half. On the motors of these mod- ern servants look for the General Electric Company monogram. The letters are a sym- bol of service, the in- itials of a friend. for a nickel — enough to run a twelve-inch G-E fan for ten hours! Is there any bigger nickel’s worth in the world than this— coolness and comfort all day long, and a feeling of freshness at the end? GENERAL ELECTRIC aii le] § 7.5 8 2 PRICES A SEND FOR OUR BIG FREE BARGAIN BOOK of the best Auto Supplies ‘ made! You'd be surprised if you knew our sources and names of manufacturers. EVERYTHIN Special made Bodies—Tires ubes — Batteries — § Spottights — Bum pers— Tools book ¢ —_ tly illustrates in colors 2025 +; ase thousands of bargains —what- ever om need or want in Equipment. Every oa os backed by our Legal, Binding Guaranter of absolute sat isfaction. Thousands of pleased customers everywhere. Get on the inside of this Price-Saving business. Send postal card for this BIG FREE Book. Be sure to ask for Book Special G NEW YORK AUTO & RADIO SUPPLY CO. 61 N. Peoria Street Chicago, I. AUTO SUPPLIES KNICKERBO : c 182 10 1 520 a A Knickerbox ker Shower in the morning keeps you fit all day Knickerbocker Showe Bath-Brush KER MFC. COMPANY (CACO, U.6.A. BOYS! or flashlight—could you use any of these? your town (in U. 8. A.) We'll show you how and help you get started! WANT PRIZES COST-FREE? New baseball goods, a bicycle, swimming suit, watch Earn them without cost by delivering The Saturday Evening Post and The Ladies’ Home Journal! to customers in Extra spending money, too! MAIL THIS COUPON TODAY!¥} COUPON The Ourtis Publishing Company Dear Your N “ Sales Div, 1 Philadetphia Pa please me get starts © Indepencence Sq New prizes will surely un't weit to learn hew to Vriend TT ame Street Address

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THE SATURDAY Want $300.00 Extra by Sept. 1? OUNDS like a lot of money, doesn’t it? So it is—that is why it’s worth trying for. Louis Wersen of Washington is aiming at $500.00. And the chances are that he’ll make it—for last July and August he easily earnéd more than $300.00 as our subscription representative for The Saturday Evening Post, The Ladies’ Home Journal and The Country Gentle- man. This year, Mr. Wersen can count on easy renewal profits and liberal commissions for extending his business. The next question is, wouldn’t a similar opportu- nity interest you? Mr. Louis Wersen of Washington You Need No Experience We will tell you just what to do and say to make money, whether you can sell us all your time or only an occasional hour now and then. In either instance, profits begin at once, THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY 908 Independence Square, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Though Gentleme ent I surely would like the same offer you sent Louis Wersen. I can’t promise to try it out, please send me details. Vame Street City | tion march from Meyerbeer’s EVENING POST employes, a colored band, and a boys’ and girls’ trumpet corps and bagpipe band. In country and city the musical standard of American bands has imprzved with methods of maintenance and instruction. In the old days a few simple waltzes, quick- | steps and galops, with a very modest over- | ture, comprised the repertoire of the typical silver cornet band. Now you wil | William Tell and Semiramide on the same find programs with The Merry Wives of Wind- sor and Schubert’s Serenade. Great crowds in New York and other city parks will re- main, intent, throughcut an evening of grand opera selections, includin: ng the corona- i he Prophet; the overture from Wagner’s The Flying Dutchman; the meditation from Masse- | net’s Thais; excerpts from Verdi’s Aida; the yay of the knights of the Holy Grail from Wagner’s Parsifal; the aria from Verdi’s Traviata; the intermezzo from Leoncavallo’s Pagliacci; the inter- mezzo from Mascagni’s Cavalleria Rusti- cana and excerpts from Gounod’s Faust. This may seem like a pretty stiff dose of classical stuff for the proletariat to swallow, but it is taken at random from last season’s programs of the Goldman Band concerts in Central Park, New York. There is hope for a nation when 25,000 or more New Yorkers can sit in straight-backed chairs and fight mosquitoes, or on unyielding turf and fight ants, just to hear good music. And in and out of New York, from Machias, Maine, to San Diego, California, and from Puget Sound to West Palm Beach, you can thank the vitality—sometimes a crude, discord- ant, rather pathetic vitality, but a vitality nevertneless—of the silver cornet bands, the village bands of America, for most o | our increasing devotion to music. Where are the village bands of yester- year, our Rochelle Cornet Band in partic- ular? Ed Cleveland is, I think, living near Richland Center, Wisconsin. George Eng- land has become a successful produce mer- chant in Chicago. The last sight I had of Lloyd Ingraham was as the judge in the great motion picture, Intolerance, since which time Lloyd has become one of the big movie directors. Will Gage Carey is somewhere in revolution-torn Honduras. | Willis Calkins is traveling in North Dakota July 5, 1924 or Minnesota. Elmer Countryman became a prominent banker before he died, a year or 80 ago. Fernando Palmer died years ago of spinal meningitis. I attended Clint Hartong’s funeral at Rochelle last summer. Two days before his death Clint stopped me in front of my old Rochelle home with “Do you ever play cornet any more?” “Not guilty,” I answered. “‘I threw my cornet into Lake Mendota just before I left college at Madison.” “You know,” he continued wistfully, “TI often think of the days when you and I used to play that duet for cornet and barytone, Bravo.” “T don’t recall it,” I confessed. “Tt goes like this, ” he replied. He made several futile efforts to reproduce the old dulcet melody. ‘No use,” he complained. “T can’t whistle a tune since I got my false teeth.” The next night he was gathered to his fathers. And the Rochelle band didn’t turn out for the funeral! So soon are the great forgotten! But his soul—his bandsman’s soul — goes marching on, as do the souls of other mem- bers of the old-time silver cornet bands who have passed to the other side. As for the living, Johnny Bain, who graduated from alto—or peck horn, as we villagers loved to call it—to trombone and harp, is at home on his black-loam farm north of town. He has stopped blowing a horn, but you can hear him picking away at his harp on a quiet summer evening. Clam Oyster—whose real name is Clarence Eyster—contents himself with the violin, but he has a son playing cornet in the Rochelle band. Of all our real old guard, Arthur Lazier alone remains in the ranks. He still plays in the Rochelle band. He is an alto player now. But he has two sturdy sons who are corking good cornetists—a credit to Rochelle. And Wilbur McHenry, many times the ig be of my home town, could play a peck horn again if he were asked. It is the fashion to make fun of the vil- lage bands. I suppose they are funny to lots of people. But I know we had a lot of fun in them, and our successors are having more fun than we had; and we would be in a pretty sorry national state if it had not been for our silver cornet bands. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST The coupon brings you FREE Supplies Equipment and Instruction! SEND FOROUR MONEY SAVING CATALOGUE N28 1T LISTS THOUSANDS OF ACCESSORY BARGAINS WRITE FOR ONE YOU WANT TO SAVE MONEY - I AUTO SUPPLIES ae SQUARE AUT SUPPLY (6. n INC. ONDWAY_ AT. SOMSTNYC Louis Wersen is by no means an ex- ceptional summer money-maker. Literally scores of our workers will make more than $100.00 a month; hundreds will make up to $1.50 an hour for spare time. Last summer, for example, Floyd Parks of New Jersey made nearly $600.00, in ex- actly two months, There’s a mark for you to aim at! (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. The Largest Selling Quality Pencil in For utmost satisfaction and economy, always use VENUS PE . 17 black degrees — 3 copying Write for Free Sample American Lead Pencil So, 218 Filth Ave., Dept. P, NewYork For OF- Ea ilal Trolling and Still Fishing! STUBBY ROD ano REEL A Complete Fishing Outfit Built strong enough to land the “ Big Boys" yet can be carried in your Pocket, Tackle Box or Traveling Bag. Ideal for Campers and Tourists. Ask Your Dealer © Send For Colored Circular The Amevican Display Co., Dayton, Ohio, U.S. A. Table of Contents July 5, 1924 Cover Design by J. C. Leyendecker SHORT STORIES The Gate in the Wall— Clarence Budington Kelland Pep Letter No. 3— Robert R. Updegraff ; The Falling Bean—George Kibbe Turner The Taste of the Thumper—H. M. Sutherland Slide, Brains, Slide!—Sam Hellman ARTICLES Gambling With Grief—SamuelG. Blythe . Selling Yourself— Kenneth Coolbaugh The Silver Cornet Band— Ear! Chapin May The Making of a Stockbroker— Edwin Lefévr2 Teapot Domes of the Past—Wéill Payne SERIALS The Pyramid of Lead (Fourth part)—Bertram Atkey . Bill the Conqueror (Seventh part)—P. G. Wodehouse . MISCELLANY Editorials Short Turns and Encores 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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_ SATURDAY EVENING POST Buy From a Fry! This great, big, good-looking gasoline pump, is designed from the ground up to give everlast- ingly accurate service. When you buy gasoline from a Fry Pump you get Accuracy Speed Visibility Economy —all in one complete swift operation. The Fry Visible Pump serves with unfailin accuracy both the public who buy from it, — the operator who dispenses from it. That is why Fry-equipped service stations are good places to patronize. You get com- petent, courteous, accurate service. Whenever you see a Visible Pump—think of Fry. Buy from a Fry—millions do! Guarantee Liquid Measure Company, Rochester, Penna. PHILIP GIES PUMP ¢ Canadian nufacturers and Dis KITCHENER, ONTARIO a Visible Pump Made in both § and 10 Gallon capacities “Always Accurate” Oo. Lid Vistribus

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< Z y DECORATIV July 5,1924

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Jon) IS SOS The red plush sofa has gone to join the base-rocker, the crayon enlargements of family photographs and the golden-oak parlor furniture as mementoes of a bygone age in the American home. Now the old fashioned “chandelier” is also on the way. The lighting equipment is coming into its own as a truly decorative factor in home furnishing. And Riddle Fitments have received a correspondingly wide acceptance as the present standard of home lighving. Riddle Fitments are sold only through Authorized Riddle Dealers, who are especially fitted to advise you helpfully in any matters pertaining to home lighting and to give you details of the Riddle Planning Service for suggesting appropriate lighting equipment for any residential purpose. Retail prices of Riddle Fitments range from $4 to $52.50. A folder illustrating, in color, the various styles in the Esperanto Decoration wil! be sent on request. Genuine Riddle Fitments may be identified by the Riddle tag and the name Riddle stamped in every piece. THE EDWARD N. RIDDLE COMPANY, TOLEDO, OHIO

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E is an office worker, and his time is valuable; and he does try to concen- trate. But ringing telephones, and clicking typewriters, and raised voices, and clattering footsteps mean four or five hours’ production in a seven-hour day. Perhaps that’s because his boss has never stopped to figure up his “noise overhead.” And when he does figure it, there will be less noisy equipment, and more linoleum floors installed . . . . Noise probably wastes more money than idle help. Linoleum floors are quiet floors, springy floors, durable floors—good floors. What linoleum is Linoleum is made of cork and linseed oil and burlap. Now, cork deadens sound. So lino- leum is a silent floor. Cork is springy. So linoleum is a foot-easy, energy-saving, easy- to-walk-on floor. Cork is tough. So linoleum is a long-wearing floor, just as it is a smooth, practically seamless, dignified-looking floor, Even Your Floor is Part of Your Overhead that forms a veritable part of the color scheme of both walls and furniture. Such floors take on a beautiful polish when waxed. The thin film of wax between them and scurrying feet not only protects the surface but mellows and deepens the color as time goes on. Inquire about linoleum floors Your architect, contractor, or any good linoleum merchant can give you information as to the installation of linoleum floors, their economy, and their low cost of upkeep. The growing use of linoleum floors has developed in the larger cities a new type of business known as a floor maintenance service. These firms are making a specialty of caring for linoleum floors, and there are instances where this treatment materially reduces floor maintenance costs. Floors of Armstrong's Linoleum will reduce noise in your place of business. They will save you money in janitor service and floor refinishing costs. Call up the store where you are accustomed to trade and ask to see samples of the latest types of Armstrong's Linoleum floors—the new marble tiles or plain tile effects; the two-tone Jaspé linoleum in brown, gray, green, and blue; Armstrong's Battleship Linoleum for spaces and corridors where walking is almost constant. Consider the new bordered linoleum floor —simple to achieve, and yet it gives the ap pearance of a floor designed to fit your room, When you buy linoleum you can be sure of getting Armstrong's Linoleum by looking for the Circle “A” trademark on the burlap back. Send for this booklet Write for a copy of our 48-page booklet, “Business Floors.” It contains colorplates of plain and inlaid linoleum colors py 6, mh, CIRCLE “A” trademark on the burlap hack and patterns, photographs of installations, advice on the care of linoleum floors, and directions for laying Armstrong's Linoleum over concrete or wood, ARMSTRONG CORK COMPANY, Linoleum Division, 832 Liberty Street, LANCASTER, PENNSYLVANIA Armstrong’s Linoleum for Every Floor in the House

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; <S DGCla O) em eiticas Keeps SS (11NY Aluminum with Sanitary Gi erebel bes tato You nave great pride n your aluminum ware | YT ataleiati ght and sparkling. Nothing can - y keep it so as Old Dutch Cleanser it regularly with Old Dutch each time n #& used and it will always be sweet, parkling. Avoid gritty cleaners which irtace; sctatches accumulate dirt’ and Hteleielar dm 1 ing difficult Old | iuse 1 Vive; 1 ly Safe and Faget ient be ts fine, feather icles are flat shaped ind erase Girt and Gis¢ | ratiol swith it injury Old Dutch goes further: and doesn’t hurt the hand | il f \ There ts nothing else like it fo Economy and Perfect ¢ loanline eahiine The manufacturers of “Wear-Ever,” “Mirro,” “Viko,” “Lifetime” and “Wagner” aluminum ware recommend Old Dutch Cleanser for cleaning their utensils. © 1924 The C. P. Co,