The Saturday Evening Post 1924-08-30: Vol 197 Iss 9

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THE SATURDAY | EVERAC POST ekliy . Franklin AUG. 30, 1924 Samuel G. Blythe—Agnes Burke Hale—George Pattullo Octavus Roy Cohen—Ben Ames Williams—Sam Hellman

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ‘see S i ’ » A pee J, 7 s * pl f (OWy ouneeee * ~ ~ \ y 2 . ~ 4 . Sa Mat, ‘. cr on 2 tt * > i Fe yee oS 3 : 3 ; A oe } aA? me f Oe Ky “) & los «as BE DE Oe OMe SS hae Sesh &/ &/ PR Dy m2 CThe Cornell When the Cornell suit was brought out, it met with an extraordinary recepticn. Its cut was so correct a version of the loose style, that well dressed men wore it from the very first, as they are wearing it today. Broad shoulders, easy fitting, the back shaped just a trifle; straight, wide trousers. Very comfortable, very tailored-looking, the new Cornell is again the thing for fall. Society Brand Clothes For Young Men and Men who stay Young ALFRED DECKER & COHN, MAKERS * CHICAGO - NEW YORK: IN CANADA: SOCIETY BRAND CLOTHES LIMITED, MONTREAL P « 1924, A.D.8C. at 6 iad Se 2: Ly: f 2: * « 73 aa ~~] rd THE: RN ee Wl See = + De ey in PRE hp * wk ae aa P ah vb] awe ce ay ee - . Cll . > Ye vent 7 :" a 3 SR sry = it

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST men who attend banquets The favorite peroration of orators and after-dinner speakers begins, “What this country needs, therefore, is e and the may be anything from better hairpins to bigger, brighter, better after-dinner speakers. But since 1879" you haven’t heard anyone say, “What this country needs is a better soap.” For in that year arrived what may be called the soap- -millennium. All the under-sea work in the bathtub— the constant searching for sinker-soap —which had wasted so much of men’s time and patience, became at once unnecessary. The gymnastics of lather production were automati- cally cut down. And from an incon- clusive labor of faith, rinsing grew to *In October of that year the first cake of lvory Soap was sold. be a mathematically exact science. Soap purity changed at once from a theory to a condition. As the use of Ivory Soap (“It floats —99“/roo% pure”) spread country- wide, there was a noticeable improve- ment in men’s dispositions; the home atmosphere became brighter, and much surplus energy was stored up, to be released later in the pursuit of fame, golf balls and cynical fishes. Gentlemen, it is necessary to admit that there are still men who have neglected the opportuni- ties for self-improvement and social betterment offered by the daily use of Ivory Soap for bath- ing, face-washing and shampooing. What the country needs, therefore, is that these stragglers be brought into the, fold. What makes our task so pleasant is that when such insouciant souls finally do succumb to the blandishments of Ivory, they always become the most enthusiastic of ies champions. PROCTER & GAMBLE At home— August 30,1924 I V OR Y SOAP When you have Ivory (medium size) for your bath and shampoo, and Guest Ivory (the new smaller Ivory cake) for 99 44/100% PURE IT FLOATS your face and hands, your seap equip- ment rates 100%. © 1924 by The Procter & Gamble Co., Cincinnati

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Company William Boyd. Advertising Director London: 6, Henriette Street Published Weekly George Horace Lorimer EDITOR The Curtis Publishing Churchill Williams, F. S. Bigelow, Cyrus H. K. Curtis, President EVENING P O S -: Associate Editors C. H. Ludington, Vice-President and Treesurer ea i ral Business Manager Entered as ond-C las» Matter, November 13, 1879, P.S. Can Conerel ® a aaa e at the mn on . - Polodslghtn Under tone sof Paco 8 0 siamenee ang Founded A’D' 1728 Ay Benj. Franklin eg a ar Covent Garden, W.C. Copyright, 1924, by The Curtis Publishing Compeny in the United States and Great Britein Entered as Second-Class Matter at the Title Registered in U. S. Patent Office and in Foreign Countries A.W. Neall, Thomas B.Costain, Thomes L. Masson, Merch 3.1879. Additional Entry ot Columbus, 0., St. Louis. Mo,, Chicege, HL, Indianapolis, tnd. Post-Office Department, Ouewe, Cenada Volume 197 5c. THE copy PHILADELPHIA, PA., AUGUST 30, 1924 $2.00 = Number 9 NE fall day, not so long ago, I was JB SAM UE VI G prowling about in that retiform "7 ° assemblage of streets behind the American Club, which is at 95 Pic- cadilly, London, seeking something now forgotten, and I came upon a barber shop that had all the earmarks of a haughty and exclusive aristocracy. It was a dignified bar- ber shop, and superior. One could see that before entering. There was an air about it that caught my attention and caused me to stop and look in its window. I noted a most substantial and correct lady at the desk; an indubitable miss of the upper serving classes at the counter; an array of tonics, washes, soaps and perfumes of the sort used in the best circles; and then a legend on the glass caught my eye: ‘Hair cutter to His Majesty.’’ That was all there was to it. There was no explanatory “by appointment.”” The important statement was made in a grave and courtly manner. It carried weight It so happened that I could do with a haircut at the mo- ment, and I went in, urged, no doubt, by the thought that though it would be extraordinary, and probably impos- sible, to have one’s hair cut by royalty, it might, at least, be interesting to have one’s hair cut by royalty’s hair cut- ter. I was greeted by a majestic person in a long frock coat, and he, upon learning my wishes, escorted me to a booth in the rear and prepared me for the ceremony. “You are an American, I perceive,’”’ he said, with just the slightest aspiration; and there I was again, discovered. For more than thirty years now I have been trying, from time to time, to assume an easy and native familiarity with the Tudor barber shops of England, and act as if their funny little chairs and their early Elizabethan implements were a part of my life, but I never have been able to put it over. Keen chaps, those English barbers. “Yes,” I said, and waited for his comment. ‘I had the honor to serve one of your countrymen during his residence here.”” And I fell to wondering who that might be. One of the boys at the American Club, perhaps. Pic Cross? No, not Pic, for Pic has no hair to speak of. Bill McKinley, possibly. Bill has long and waving tresses. Or maybe ——— “It was His Excellency, the Honorable John W. Davis, when he was Ambassador to the Court of St. James,”’ the barber explained. I might have known. A shop for am- bassadors, surely. ‘** 4 most personable gentleman is Mr. Davis,’’ the barber continued. ‘‘ Most personable.” The Five Million Golf Votes THOUGHT of what the royal barber said when I saw Mr. Davis, not long after his nomination for President by the Democrats, receiving the congratulations of the Demo- cratic leaders who had just emerged from a sixteen-day struggle not to nominate him, and were there to tell him just how valiantly they contended in the convention that the honor might be his, and would he be sure to make a note of it? A personable man. And well turned out. You may say what you like—and many persons probably will before the campaign is over—but he looks the part. He has a good tailor, and the tailor has a good subject for his drapings. That man is always impeccable in his dress. He was born with his trousers creased. If John W. Davis gets into the White House you are at liberty to stack up any princes, potentates, rulers or leaders whatsoever against him, and he will be the best-looking of the lot. Also, the best dressed. Moreover, he has the grand manner. With his regular and regardful features, his gray hair, his suitable sartorial scenery and his suave and seemly manner, he is an impressive person, is this West Virginian; but he is no cooky pusher or cake eater. On the contrary. : It is to be hoped his campaign managers will take some pictures of him when on the golf links. Probably they COPYRIGHT BY UNDERWOOD 4 UNDERWOOD, > Hon. John W. Davis IR. DAVIS IB If WY T HIE won't because some bonehead is sure to say that the great and common people do not approve of golf, which is political ho kum of the sort that prevails with most campaign managers. They'll probably seek to convey the impression that ever since he waa a small boy Mr. Davis has spent his entire time studying the Constitution and reciting the Declaration of Independence, with two morn- ings a week devoted to Washington's Farewell Address. Campaign managers are like that. Nevertheless, some golf pictures should be made of this candidate. There are five million golf votes in this coun- try, and they are worth going after. Five million golfers would thrill to see John W. Davis come upon the links, for nobody dresses the part of a golfer with more assiduous attention to the fine detail of such correct and seemly garb than he. Nobody. When he walks out on Piping Rock there walks out the last word in correct attire. Perfect Every move a picture, and the picture framed in the uppest-to-date tweeds, with stockings softly blending into the general color scheme, and shirt and tie and tassels and cap in harmony. There wouldn't be much to that, for the externals of golf are to be bought ad lib. To be sure, there are many who can apply those externals with the distinction that is the natural heritage of Davis, but, even so, the point is here It is a wide and liberal education in golf to watch John W Davis play, because his playing and the manner of it must surely endear him to the great army of golfers who seek to break ninety and never do. A Test of Sportsmanship O BE it that the Democratic candidate is, it may be, more regardful of his golfing attire than many, how does he regard his golf? With imperturbability, with a calm and reasoned consideration, with a philosophy, and with the highest sporting spirit. He is no arrogant and pestilential golfer who can send them screaming down the center, and pluck his par at every hole. Far from it. He is just the same sort of golfer that most of the rest of us are, and his progress from green to green is similar to the progress ol the great bulk of the golfing brotherhood and sisterhood In fine, the Democratic candidate might get medals for his clothes, but he never will get medals for his cards. To break a hundred is a happy circumstance for him, and thus he qualifies for the golfing vote, for to break a hundred is a happy circumstance for most golfers, for the bulk of that great fraternity that is screaming ‘ Fore!" from coast to coast. A sporting and an imperturbable and a cou*teous and considerate golfer and a sporting and an imperturbable and a courteous and considerate man. Sam Burrill, of the Cleveland Times, told me a story a time ago that illus- trates Davis better than any I have ever heard about him, and this is it: The Lakewood Chamber of Commerce had a meeting one night in late October four years ago, Lake- wood being on the edge of Cleveland, Ohio. It was raining as it rains in the Great Lakes region in the fall. That is to say, it was doing more than raining. It was pouring, and what was poured was cold, wet water. Only a few members were present, and the meeting was held in the office of the secretary, John C. Bethel. Pres- ently Bethel took his umbrella and went out for some- thing, and when he came back he brought with him about twenty of the forlornest and wettest Democrats in the state of Ohio. They had been trying to hold a Cox meeting in a small tent not far from the chamber of commerce, and the tent leaked, and their umbrellas leaked, and it was a sad affair. Bethel invited the soaked Democrats up to the chamber auditorium to hold their rally, and they were glad to come. They were trying to do something for Cox, but their handicap out there in that leaky tent was too great. It was almost a washout.

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THE SATURDAY The speaker assigned to that meeting came with them, and that speaker was John W. Davis, then Amer- ican Ambassador to the Court of St. James and now the Democratic candidate for President. Somebody had blundered—or had been vicious—and Mr. Davis had been assigned for his only speech in Ohio to a little tent, put up on a vacant lot on a street in a suburb of Cleveland. He came into the chamber of commerce, crouching under an umbrella held by a man a foot shorter than he was, and soaked. “Well,” said Burrill, ‘‘ there was an interesting situa- tion. Here were twenty wet suburban Ohio Democrats, and here was the wetter Ambassador to England. Nat- urally we expected that the Ambassador would demand a cab, and be on his way, but it was soon apparent that he ian’t that sort of person. Instead of complaining, or commenting, or making any sort of fuss whatsoever, he stood and dripped until his little audience—there were not twenty-five, all told—found seats; and then, in his best manner, and with as much care and effort as 'f he had been talking to an audience in Madison Square Garden or the Cleveland Public Hall, he made one of the best speeches for Cox that was made in that cam- paign. Itwassuperb. Hespoke, mostly, of the League of Nations issue, as was to be expected, as he was one of the outstanding figures in the Wilson Administration, and Cox had made the League a leading issue in his own campaign. “He talked for an hour, with the same grace of ora- tory, poise of manner and polish of diction that might have marked a speech to thousands on a most impor- tant occasion, and after he had finished shook hands with his damp audience and bowed himself out. He showed no embarrassment, no resentment, nor any de- sire to do anything but make the very best speech he possibly could for Cox. And he made one of the best political speeches I ever heard. It was a sporting thing todo. A smaller man would have refused to talk when he found himself assigned to such a place on such a night, but not Davis. He went through without a quiver and without a quibble.” Burrill is right. That was a sporting thing to do, and it was a sort of Davis thing to do too. Probably the speech did not have much effect on the fortunes of Cox, but it did establish John W. Davis in the minds of those citizens of Lakewood as a gentleman and a good game sport. The Clarksburg Home:Town Club THEN we look back at those mad and messy days in New York that preceded the nomination of Davis, and think that no matter what political fortune may have in store for this West Virginian who finally emerged with the victor’s wreath jammed on his austere brow by a gang of febrile delegates who were, at the EVENING POST The Democratic Presidential Candidate and His Campaign Manager, Clement Shaver of West Virginia and chairs in the space, and sedate newspapers and maga- zines to read. Clem was quiet, unobtrusive, almost shrink- ing. He tacked up a little sign which announced that this room was the headquarters of the John W. Davis Clarks- burg Home-Town Club, put up a photograph or two, and began to circulate. The raucous headquarters of Governor Smith were across the hall. Around the corner the Vir- ginians had a revolving glass ball that typified something or other for Carter Glass. Not far away a few hopeful souls held forth for Jimmie Cox, hopeful but not happy. And 80 On, Clem moved around. He brought sixteen votes for Davis with him, sixteen standfast votes from West Virginia, and with these as his nucleus he circulated, never speaking much above a whisper, and always seeming to efface himself; August 30,1924 indeed, so unobtrusive was he that many of the corre- spondents thought for the first week or so that his name was Savory, having heard it indistinctly and not taking pains to inquire. He consorted a good deal with George White, the former chairman of the Demo- cratic National Committee, who although buffeted con- siderably by the divagations of the Ohio delegation, had a leaning toward Davis that persisted until the end. Then the convention began, and it was soon apparent that the main object of it was not to nominate anybody and was to prevent the nomination of two somebodies namely, McAdoo and Smith. The business proceeded with all its slants, curves, angles and incidences until that Monday night, July seventh, when that Doric old Democrat, Sam Ralston, of Indiana, gummed up the program most frightfully by sending word that he’d be hecked if he’d run, and that when the cards were all stacked to nominate him. The power of connected thought was then practi- cally absent from the gathering, but it began dribbling and dripping and seeping into the bemused intelli- gences of those present that if something wasn’t done mighty soon to close up the affair there would be an adjournment to Bloomingdale forced by the state lunacy commissioners. Clem Shaver’s Private Exit EANTIME Clem was moving around, at all hours of the day and night, quietly, unobtrusively, almost deprecatingly, but moving around. Then, at eight o'clock on Tuesday morning, the eighth, the final can- vass was made. A way out was imperative. The thing could not be prolonged much further. A nomination must be effected. What that convention needed more than anything else, what it demanded, shrieked for, yearned and yowled for, was terminal facilities. It sought an exit, and it had to have one. Well, there was Clem Shaver, and Clem had an exit in the shape and form of John W. Davis, than whom there was nobody in the running half so than whomer. As an exit he was dignified, superior, impeccable save for some Wall Street connections that could be sloughed off. He had the looks. He had the record. He had the position. He had the goods. He was conservative enough to suit the East, and he could be made liberal enough to satisfy the West. As for the South, he was a cinch. “Look him over,”’ said Clem, and they did, and between eight o’clock on Tuesday morning and three o’clock on Wednesday afternoon the looking was transmuted into votes by certain processes of solidification and arrange- ment and other expediencies of the politicians, and then * Clem came into his own. His man was nominated, but, at the moment, Clem was nowhere in moment, willing to nominate anybody save McAdoo or Smith and get back home before they all became Enoch Ardens, we think of Clem Shaver. We think of Clem and we know that, regard- less of all the gifts bestowed on this favored son of the Panhandle State, the best luck that ever happened to him was the luck of having Clem Shaver fora friend. The convention was called to meet at noon on June twenty-fourth. Along about a week or so before that date Clem came into the Wal- dorf Astoria Hotel, and hired the old barroom, where in bygone days the five-o'clock crowd that surged and soused around the circular bar was more typical of New York than any crowd before sight. He was modestly sitting in a corner, not say- ing a word. Now it may be that Davis would have been nomi- nated if Clem Shaver hadn’t or- ganized his Davis Clarksburg Home- Town Club, and it may not be. The facts of it are that Clem did organize his club, and that Davis was nomi- nated,and thefinal and clinching facts are that there never was any in- tention in that convention to nominate Davis, that he was not considered avail- able, until there had been almost a hundred ballots, although there was none who did not admit his abilities and his suitabili- ties. Clem stuck around. And he came home with the bacon. All of which goes toshow that a friend in need gathers a lot or since. Now the PHOTOS, COPYRIGHT BY UNDERWOOD & UNDERWOOD, N.Y. 0. bar is gone and there are tables John W. Davis Receiving Congratutati on His Nominati Left to Right: Dorsey Potter and Mrs. Phit Watson, a Sicter of Mrs. Davis Mre. Prank L. Potk, Mr. Davis, Mrs. Davis, (Continued on Page 74)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST By BEN AMES WILLIAMS rTLELUSTRATE O BY J. ca&aesenwvy?@ a SHEPHERD Pe. ae a “‘We Got Out Halfway or So Along the Stide Before We Found Dell. He Was There, Sure Enough" but Hebron, his back to the window, watching the other’s eyes, saw the cloud of reluctant hesitation that gathered there. Ramsey Hebron—they knew him better as ‘‘Ram”’ Hebron, anywhere north of Bangor could never overcome a certain wistful regret when he saw that look in the eyes of a young man. This young man, this Jack Ford, had seemed to promise different stuff, and Hebron thought he might be mistaken in what he saw; so he continued to the end of what he had to say. At least, he reminded himself, there was no suggestion of fear in the young man’s eyes. Yet Ford might have been forgiven a certain fear in the presence of Hebron. The older man, overlord of thousands of acres of spruce and pine, was the dominant figure in a corporation so colossal that it could and did spend a million and a half to build a road in order that over that road mate- rials might be transported for the construction of a certain piece of equipment necessary to the tremendous task of harvesting the lumber from those northern acres. Two and a half millions to raise the water in a certain lake a matter of nineteen feet or so! Ford had first met Hebron two years before, on the sec- ond day after the final football game of the season. He was not likely to forget that interview, although it had been astonishingly brief. Hebron had simply said, ‘‘I liked the way you kept hit- ting that line, young man. They were too good for you, but you kept coming back for more. Want to go to work for us in June?” Too younger man had listened with dogged attention; And the upshot of that was that Ford did go to work for them in June. Since then he had seen many things and done many things. He had watched the transformation of a four-foot bolt of spruce wood into white paper. He had scaled mile-long rafts of logs at the boom in Argyle; he had driven a giant tractor roaring through the snow-filled wood roads with a train of logs behind him; and he had spent one month afoot, a pack upon his back and an old woodsman for companion and instructor, learning how to estimate the amount of lumber an acre of forest would yield. A week ago he had been summoned two hundred miles to this interview; had come face to face with Hebron again, and had listened, with dogged attention, to what the older man proposed. But Hebron had finished now; his rumbling voice was still; he was watching Ford, and waiting for an answer The young man did not reply at once. He pulled a pipe from his pocket and lighted it, and he looked out of the window. Hebron, who had been immovable and attentive, moved when Ford moved, shifted his position to take a cigar from a humidor. He tilted back in his chair again; and Ford’s eyes met his and the young man spoke. “I don’t think it can be done,” he said steadily. Hebron seemed to weigh this reply; yet it became appar- ent that he had expected it, for he countered at once. “That means you don’t think you can do it.” “I don’t think anyone can do it in the time set.” Ford smiled in a deprecatory fashion. ‘You know best, of course,”” he added mildly. ‘‘That’s just the way it strikes me.” “There are some doctors,” said Hebron, “who make a practice of predicting the worst. Then if things turn out well they get the credit.” The young man flushed. “I'm trying to make good with you,” he said, in a voice a little raised. “If I should tackle this and make a bust of it, it would give me a black eye. I don’t see a chance to put it through.” Hebron said reminiscently, ‘‘l remember the first time I saw you. Your team was two touchdowns behind; you had the ball in your own territory, with less than a minute to play, and they gave it to you, to hit the line. As I recol- lect, you did hit the line. Hit it hard too. Kind of a waste of effort, wasn’t it?”’ “That was different.”’ “It was different enough to make me hire you.” “I don’t see the sense in butting into a stone wall. Hebron, who had been rigid and attentive, slowly re laxed. His bulky body seemed to sag in his chair, and he tilted back and his eyes turned toward the window. The young man began to remember some of the tales that were told of Hebron’s temper, his sudden rages; and he braced himself to meet an outburst of that kind. But when the other spoke, it was in a mild and meditative tone. “You know Dell Langley?” he asked “I've heard of him,” Ford replied “Ever see him?” “No, sir.” “Little fellow,”” Hebron explained “Don't look as though he was hardly strong enough to get himself around. (Continued on Page 40

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST EVERY HE sun shone, birdies twittered merrily, ik flowers cast their fragrance upon the smoke- laden air of Birrningham, and Eddie Quartz knew that there was naught in the world save happiness. Of late, life had been very kind to the dapper Mr. TLLVUSTRATEDO LITTLE By Octavus 7 Cohen GOoOutb eT?! . August 30,1924 got the cash to go ahaid with another unless us sells a heap mo’ stock. Black Cat Luck cost about seven thousan’ dollars to make. Us needs another seven thousan.” Mr. Randall looked at Mr. Clump and Mr. Clump looked Quartz. In a single bound he had risen from the lowly estate of iceman to the eminence of a stock salesman; and whereas his decided lack of physical strength had caused him to be a distinctly second-rate chaperon to hundred-pound blocks of frozen water, he was proving a very excellent dispenser of hand- somely engraved certificates, There were several reasons why Eddie made a good sales- man. In the first place he de- spised the ice business and had long yearned to be emancipated therefrom; in the second place, as an aspirant to the hand of the wealthy and pulchritudinous Iodinah Jones, he had discovered that the somber habiliments of the ice-vending profession were not eyed with approval; and in the third and last place, Eddie believed passionately in the thing which he now strove to sell, There was no slightest doubt in the mind of Eddie Quartz that purchase of stocx in the Mid- night Pictures Corporation, Inc., was the most gilt-edgest invest- ment since Liberty Bonds sold at 83, wherefore he carried into his sales campaign a passionate conviction which developed fre- quent sales and luscious com- missions. He was certain that the Midnight Pictures Corpo- ration, Inc., was destined to rev- olutionize the two-reel-picture business, and he gazed raptly into the dim, distant future, visualizing himself as a portly and prosperous stockholder in that organization, supporting, by virtue of his tiny atockhold- now somewhat unat- tainable lodinah Jones, Fortunately for Eddie’s tran- quillity of soul, it was not given to him to know the inner turmoil ings, the at Mr. Randall. Then both turned reproving glances upon the portly gentleman who had contracted to pay them fairly sizable salaries. “Cain’t be got,” the director sadly. “They ain’t no such word as ‘can’t’ in my hexagon,” snapped the president. “‘Which is how come I to ¢all this confe’ence.”’ Star and director hitched their chairs forward. “Shoot!” invited Mr. Clump. “Hmph!” Orifice R. Latimer snipped the end from a black cigar, lighted it and inhaled lux- uriously. “‘Opus, you is the man which can do somethin’.’”’ “What ’tis?”’ “In yo’ comp’ny is a young lady— Miss Iodinah Jones.” The eyes of Opus Randall glittered. “Boss man, you said a-plenty. Ol’ Venus D. Milo is a small- timer alongside that gal when it comes to looks.” “Yas-suh, Opus, an’ when you utters them words you ain’t half started to talk. Now I asks you a question, Opus, same bein’ this: Is you aware that Iodinah’s daddy, Mistuh Noble Jones, is pretty near the richest cullud man in Bumminham?” “Says so?”’ “Uh-huh. Ain’t you noticed that gal drivin’ to the studjo ev’y day in her own flivver coop? Ain’t you inspected them rings an’ that wrist watch what she wears? Man, Noble Jones is so rich that gittin’ hol’ of some of his money is the onliest thing us needs to make suttin that we gits a chance to put this comp’ny over.” “Yes; but I is an actor.” “Also, you is the heaviest lover I has ever met up with. pronounced which was causing frequent con- ferences and headachy worry on the part of the officials of the Midnight Pictures Corporation, Inc. He did not dream, for instance, that the company had commenced operations on the proverbial shoe string and that the shoe string gave promise of becoming somewhat frayed. Headed by the pompous and portly Orifice R. Latimer, of Chicago, the Midnight Pictures Corporation, Inc., had desvended upon Birmingham two months since, converted an old and dilapidated warehouse into a studio, equipped it with amazing lights and commenced shooting the first of a proposed series of two-reel comedies of negroes, by negroes and for the universe. Birmingham's Darktown went wild with enthusiasm. Here was something so new that it defied conjecture; something so amazing as to be beyond belief; something so interesting as to afford a never-ending topic of conversa- tion. Local talent was drawn upon for miner réles and extra work, Colored carpenters and mechanics were given jobs and received magnificent wages. The new company radiated optimism and prosperity, and when a stock cam- paign was launched there were many who were eager to subscribe. Of the three stock solicitors who worked for the Mid- night on a strictly commission basis, Eddie Quartz had been the most signally successful. But even his unflagging persistence was not proof against the adamantine skepti- cism of those who failed to subscribe with the first rush and sat back to await results, Colored Birmingham was interested, but colored Birmingham was also inclined to be somewhat canny and it wished to see a dividend or two before investing heavily. Chat this sudden cessation of stock buying might embar- rass the Midnight Pictures Corporation, Inc., never “Mistuh Jones, How Much Money the Midnight is Gwine Make is Goin’ to Make a Flivver Fact'ry Look Cheap" occurred to the effervescent Eddie Quartz. He considered that he performed a personal favor for each person to whom he sold a fifty-dollar share of stock. He was strictly of the company, his personal interest in its success being not one whit lessened by the fact that his beloved Iodinah was playing a small part in their first picture, a rough-and- tumble comedy which bore the title of Black Cat Luck. He did not know, for instance, that for more than a fort- night certain powerful forces had been at work to cause him misery. He knew nothing of the conference which had taken place fourteen days previously between President Orifice R. Latimer, Director J. Cesar Clump, and Mr. Opus Randall, ponderous masculine star of the company. *‘Gemmun’”’—it was the president speaking—‘“ gittin’ along fine, but we ain’t got no money.” Opus Randall struck an attitude. “How come?" he asked pointedly. “These Bumminham folks ain’t buyin’ stock like they ought to.” “But, Mistuh Latimer ——” “Don’t but me, big boy. All the conversin’ in the world don’t git us a dollar. An’ s’posin’ I did tell you us was feenancially solvent, don’t you reckon I was obleeged to say that in order to git you down here makin’ pitchers? That was business. P’int is now that us needs money an’ needs it quick.” J. Cesar Clump, puttied and goggled, leaned forward. “We is most finished with Black Cat Luck,” he vouch- safed. “When we sell it ——”’ “When! What you means is if. I takes it to New Yawk next week, but the chances are they ain't no distributor gwine buy one pitcher. An’ doesn’t they do so, we ain’t we is They ain't no cullud gal c’n hol’ out against you. Tha’s where you comes in at, see?”’ A deep silence fell upon the gathering. Opus Randall smiled slowly. “T commences to see what you elucidates, Brother Lati- mer. You kinder has the idee that was Iodinah Jones to fall fo’ me, her daddy would be interested feenancial in the company which bofe I an’ she wuks in. Ain’t that it?” “Brother Randall, perception is the on’y thing you ain’t got nothin’ else but.” “So I rushes the daughter an’ gits in with the ol’ man an’ conwinces him that he oughter inwest— yeh; but what does I git out of it?”’ “Regalar sales commission, an’ a good job when the comp’ny keeps fum goin’ bust, an’ a good-lookin’ gal. Ain’t that enough?” “Well, it seems Mr. Orifice R. Latimer could be hard-boiled upon occa- sion. “Does you refuse,”’ he snapped, “you gits nothin’ an’ won't even be able to keep that. Comp’ny goes flooie, job ceases, an’ you don't even git car fare back to Chicago. Says what now?” There was but one thing Mr. Randall could say. After all, he did not entirely dislike the task, and he yearned to keep his present job. Wherefore he formally entered the lists; but so subtly did he work that it was two weeks before the beatitude of Eddie Quartz was rived by knowl- edge that he had a rival. The knowledge came as a considerable shock to Eddie, for that enthusiastic little stock salesman considered him- self engaged to the fair and affluent Iodinah. True, Mr. Noble Jones, Iodinah’s male progenitor, had never formally given his consent to the match. His refusal had first been ”

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based upon an unwillingness to see his daughter united in wedlock to an iceman, and later through a canny desire to see how Eddie’s present company developed; but as be- tween Mr. Quartz and Miss Jones, there was a delicious understanding. There came two weeks of fast and furious work at the studio. J. Casar Clump was a decidedly efficient picture man with a well-balanced sense of dramatic and comedy values, and he drove the company almost frantic with retakes. At length Black Cat Luck was completed, cut and titled, and Mr. Orifice R. Latimer departed with the pre- cious negative for the film market in New York; where- upon the studio of the Midnight Pictures Corporation, Inc., went temporarily dead. During this final two weeks Mr. Opus Randall neglected no opportunity to impress upon Iodinah his own desirabil- ity. It was plain, too, that he was making considerable headway. lIodinah, a recruit from local amateur ranks, responded eagerly to the honor of being singled out by this magnificent satellite of filmdom for particular personal attention. It gave her a prestige greater than any she had ever before known. Not that she was false to the bewil- dered and miserable Eddie Quartz; but after all, Eddie was a gentleman of distinct limitations, Besides, Opus Randall and Noble Jones got along famously. It was plain that Mr. Jones considered Opus some pumpkins, and Opus let it be understood that he was quite willing to be regarded as a friend of Birmingham’s wealthy colored citizen. Eddie Quartz circulated around the Jones homestead like a bantam rooster suddenly bereft of his head. He didn’t know what it was all about, and was more than a trifle frightened. Once he cornered his lady fair and put the question direct. “‘Todinah, don’t you love me no mo’?” “T don’t do nothin’ else, Eddie.” “But you ain’t leavin’ me see much of you.” “Shuh! I reckon you is gwine see plenty of me after we is ma’ied.”’ “ After we is ma’ied! All the time you make talk "bout after we is ma’ied, an’ we ain’t no closer to bein’ such than when I was totin’ ice.” “We is too.” THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “Tha’s what you says, but how do I know them. words gits us anywheres? How comes you to be traipsin’ round with this heah Opus Randall all the time?”’ Iodinah’s eyes narrowed speculatively. . “Is you jealous of he?” “ Ain’t I got a right to be?” “Well, not ezac’ly.” “That don’t mean nothin’. I asts you, Is I is or is ain’t?”’ “He’s an awful swell feller.” “Swell is right. Does he swell any mo’ he’s gwine bust. I ain’t never sawn a man which thinks as much of hisse’f as Opus Randall does. An’ you joy ridin’ around with him nighttimes in a be-yo’-own-driver car which he rents.” “He’s he’pin’ me with my art.” “Yo’ which?” “My art.” “Goodness goshness, Miss Agnes! Where at does you git that art stuff fum?” Iodinah was inclined to resent his voice. “Don’t see where you gits off at ‘scussin’ art. Ain’t I an actor in that comp’ny, an’ ain't Opus Randall the big star, an’ cain’t he show me how to act better’n I does?”’ “Yeh ’’—pessimistically—‘‘or wuss.” “Now listen at me, Eddie Quartz! Us ain't ma’ied yet, an’ I ain’t gwine stan’ fo’ you castin’ aversions on which gemmun I chooses to run round with. If Mistuh Randall craves my sassiety 24 “Leave him have it!’’ Eddie was a gentleman of more spirit than discretion. ‘Give him all of yo’ sassiety he wants an’ see does I care. Reckon tha’s what kind of a gal you is. "Long comes a big fat ol’ buzzard with a mustache an’ you right off quits me. Well, you go right ahaid an’ ——” Iodinah Jones did. When Eddie Quartz showed up at the Jones home on Avenue F the following night he found Noble Jones seated on the porch perusing a late popular novel. “Where Iodinah is at, Mistuh Jones?” “Out.” “Who with?” “Opus Randall.” Eddie emitted a groan. ee “That ol’ hunk of overdressed side meat! Wonder what she sees in him.” “Opus is a fine man.” “rar. *‘An’ a great actor.” Eddie was honest. “T ain’t never said he couldn't act. I ain't got a lick of use fo’ him, but I seen Black Cat Luck an’ like to busted a suspender laughin’ at how funny he done.” The lips of Noble Jones expanded into an appreciative grin. “That shuah is the funniest pitcher I ever set eyes on. The things that happens to that feller after he trips over that black cat! Feiks tell me they is gwine make a lot of money out of that comp'ny, Eddie.” Eddie had not long been a stock salesman, but he pos- sessed the correct instinct. He detected in the voice of his lady friend's father an I-want-to-be-convinced nuance; whereupon Eddie Quartz went to it. Not only did he yearn to sell a sizable block of stock but also he earnestly believed that the proposition was a good one, and that the surest way to enlist Noble’s sympathy in his courtship would be by doing him the enormous favor of putting him on the company’s books as a stockholder. “Mistuh Jones, how much money the Midnight is gwine make is goin’ to make a flivver fact’ry look cheap.” “You reckon?” “Ise shuah. Lots of real wise folks has bought steck a’ready an’ they is the ones I envy. Ise on’y sorry you ain’t one of them.” Noble Jones was cautious. “There's plenty of time.” “Tha's what you says. Maybe they is an’ maybe they ain't.” “How come?” “Just thisaway. S’posin’ they sell this Black Cat pitcher right offen the reel, does you reckon they’s gwine dispose any mo’ stock outside? I reckon they ain’t. Nos- suh, they’s gwine keep it all fo’ themse’ves, an’ you know it.” “But s’posin’ this pitcher don't sell.”’ “Then the next one will.’’ “S’posin’ none of them don't sell.”’ (Continued on Page 44) “Gemmun"'— it Was the President Speaking —“‘We is Gittin’ Along Fine, But We Ain't Got No Money"

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 30,1924 AFFLUENT CORVINUS HE house was many-gabled, with unex- Toeceet projections of varied but harmoni- -& ous line; its roof had an artistically mossy stain; its tall chimney stacks terminated in red pots, only a few of which had ever emitted smoke; pierced green shutters that were never shut flanked casemented win- dows; and a large, shining brass knocker that could have been used if the electric bell got out of order decorated its front door. Modified Fliza- bethan, the archi tect had called it In its neighborhood were examples of modified Colonial, modified Italian and modified Span ish; all modifica- tions being late suburban Amer- There was just one stubborn example of pure rural American, that belonged to the original owner of the rigidly re- stricted subdivi- sion. The canny old hick wus still hang- ing on to his weedy pas- ture, which contrasted strongly but not happily with the smooth emerald lawns, blazing flower beds and trim green hedges of the semi-Flizabethan mansion tenanted by the Atwoods, Suzanne ran like a young Atalanta down the path through this pasture to the gate opening on the road. Itwasa fairly high wooden gate, and it had good hinges and an easy catch; but Suzanne did not stop to open it. Hardly checking her speed, she laid her hand on the top and swung over it as prettily as you please, only the not-too-long skirt of her dress had to catch on a sliver and tear, “Damn!” exclaimed Suzanne, it was almost excusable, for she had selected that dress after much consideration and some hesitation, and this was its first public appearance. Not at all the sort of dress for vaulting gates, any more than her silly, high-heeled slippers were suitable for a two-hundred-yard dash. It was a pale pea-green crépe de chine that suited her golden beauty perfectly. But Suzanne wasted no time in vain repining. The next instant she was in the middle of the dusty road and standing directly in the path of a rapidly approach- ing car. The oceupant of the car honked furiously, but Suzanne stood immovable, her freshly and unnecessarily carmined lips parted in a smile. The car swerved to the other side of the road, With the bound of a two-cup tennis victor, the girl met the move. There was a loud screech of the brakes, a shout, and the car came to a sudden ‘stop; but only a quick backward step saved the pretty dress and its wearer from absolute disaster, _ Suzanne laughed and walked to the side of the bright yellow cut-down flivver, wherein a bareheaded young man sat upright, glaring at her under straight black brows and wiping his sunburned face. “You can’t bluff me, Bill,” Suzanne said. “Only over my senseless and bleeding form!” “*Senseless’ is right,” said the young man emphatically. “You crazy jane! For the cat's sake! You nearly ——" He gasped and swallowed, Then with an effort he forced himself to speak in an even, sarcastic tone: ‘“ Well, what's the colossal idea?" “T want a ride,” Suzanne told him. “Oh,” said Bill. ‘ That's it, is it? Well, you ask old man Griswold; and if you talk pretty I wouldn’t be a bit sur- prised if he gave yeu another ride in that new panhandle of his. You'll have to excuse me, won’t you be so kind? I’ve got a date.” He started his engine and reached for lis gear lever. The yellow bug started with a jerk that, somewhat to his can. “You Can't Bluff Me, Bill,"" Susanne Said. Sensetess and Bleeding Form!" By KENNETT HARRIS ILLUSTRATED BY R. M. CROSBY “Onty Over My surprise, threw Suzanne into the seat beside him, at which he came to a standstill again. “T guess you didn’t quite understand me,’’ he said coldly. ‘I didn’t ask you to get in. Nothing of the kind and quite the contrary, if you get me; unless you want me to take you as far as Pauline Hart’s. You can get out there or you can get out here, justas you please; only make up your mind, because Pauline will be waiting for me.” Suzanne’s smile widened. “You never said a truer or more truthful word in your life, Bill. She'll be waiting for you. She won't like it either. In fact, she'll never forgive you if she hears that you were driving with me this afternoon, and I'll see that she does hear of it.” “She may hear that I chucked you out,” Bill threatened. “Say, where do you buy that nerve tonic you use?” “Don’t use any. Don’t need any,” said Suzanne. “T'll say you don’t. Gee! If my brakes hadn’t worked! Listen, Suzanne, you pile right out of here. What do you care whether I take Pauline out or not? You don't really, ard you know you don’t.” He looked at her anxiously. “You know you haven’t got any use for me yourself,” he suggested, witn some emotion in his voice. ‘ You wouldn't care if I took forty frails out joy-riding. As long as you can chase around with a mucky millionaire in his panhandle you should worry! Not that I care a darn,” he added gruffly, seeing that she was regarding him with increased amusement. “Are you going to get out or not?” “Not,” answered Suzanne. ‘‘ Now, step on it, Bill, and let me see whether the yellow paint makes her any speed- ier. You did a lovely job, equal to a professional six coats, and the color is the bee’s knees.” “Not so scaly, is it?’ Bill modestly admitted, with a faint grin of appreciation. ‘But listen, Suzanne.” “T can listen just as well if we are moving,” said Suzanne. “Better really!” “Holy mackerel!” sighed Bill, capitulating. ‘I have ” to hand it to you, Suzanne; you get what you go after.” “Of course I do,” said Suzanne, as the yellow bug got under way. She twitched Bill’s silk handkerchief from the pocket of his shirt and flicked the dust from her shoes. “Old man Griswold never had a chance in the world,” Bill muttered. ‘Where do you want me to take you?”’ he demanded. Suzanne crammed the handkerchief back into his pocket. “Drive past Hart’s,’’ she directed. ‘Pauline will most likely be peeking behind the window curtains. It’s a habit she has.” “There’s one thing,”’ Bill observed. “I can tell her how you held me up and climbed into the bus and that you wouldn’t get out when I asked you to like a gentleman. That will give her a laugh. I don’t need to tell her a word more than the truth.” Suzanne leaned against a seat back that had been specially contrived for her ease, her expression one of calm and complete satisfaction. “There are some things you can always be depended on not to tell. I can give you credit for that,” she told him. ‘“ How do you like this rag?”’ “T was noticing it,” Bill replied with a swift glance. “It’s the frog’s pajamas. Yes, you've got me foul, all right. We'll compromise and make it Silvern Lake.” “Silvern Lake suits me,” said Su- zanne, “just so we keep moving. I’ve been reading to grandmother ever since lunch, some of the stupidest, stuffiest tosh you ever did, and my head all feels clot- ted up—but she’s a dear. Don’t you think she is, Bill?”’ “Oh, I guess so,” said Bill unenthu- siastically; “sure.” ‘Harvey Griswold thinks she’s a wonder.” “T suppose they enjoy talking over old times to- gether,”’ said Bill; ‘‘the good old days when they were young.” “Yes,’’ Suzanne as- sented, “I suppose that is it; being so near of an age. Grandmother's eighty-seven and Harvey must be all of forty, al- though he doesn’t look it.”’ “He’s all of forty-five,” said Bill grimly. “An old widower. What he wants is somebody to nurse him.” “It’s a wonder he hasn’t long ago, the polo he plays,” Suzanne remarked. ‘But he’s naturally reckless. The way he drove the other evening! Sweet daddy!” Bill turned on her savagely, opened his mouth to speak and closed it again with tightly set jaws and gave his earnest attention to the road. After a little while Suzanne patted him softly on the shoulder. He shook himself impatiently, and she sighed deeply and in a moment or two patted him again. “Quit it!” Bill snapped. ‘Cut it out! Paw old Griswold if you want to paw anybody.”’. He brought the car to a standstill in the shade of some roadside trees. ‘‘I don’t make you,” he said angrily. ‘‘ You told me the other night where I got off, and I got off, didn’t I? All right, then that’s that! Now what do you want to come butting in between Pauline and me fdr?” : “Because I don’t like Pauline,” Suzanne answered sweetly. ‘I don’t think she’s at all suitable, and I take enough interest in you to want you to have the right kind of little playmates; and so when she told me last night that she had you dated up for this afternoon, I decided to nip her in the bud. No, Bill, not Pauline. Is it all clear to you now? No, don’t start yet. Let’s stay here for a while. Have you got any money with you?” “Three dollars,” said Bill. “But I'll have to buy gas. It will spread over to some hot dogs and coffee at the Lake though. But listen; if you have any suggestion to make about a suitable girl for me, who do you think might do? How about Mollie Egan?” “Bill! Why, you know as well as I do that Mollie Well, of course, if you think you'd like a girl like Mollie Egan, I haven’t any objection.” “Well then, who?” Suzanne considered with a very serious expression for some moments. Then she looked up at the young man and smiled. 4) y ty Kw ~ Vt oy? el) { 7

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“Honest, Bill, I can’t think of a soul,” she confessed. “You really do need somebody like me.” “Forget it!”’ said Bill emphatically. ‘“‘Never again! I'll tell you what I'll do though. If you'll give old Gris- wold the razz I'll forgive all and take you on again. Otherwise I'll pick who I darned well please, and the next time you stand in my road you'll get a bump.” “Lovely!” said Suzanne. ‘We'd be regularly engaged, wouldn’t we? And you could get me a dandy quarter- carat ring—five dollars down and the balance in twenty years—and we'd have a sweet little four-roomed flat and seventeen darling children. I'd go about the housework singing happily as I scrubbed the floors and darned your socks. Bill, I wish you would talk sense.” “But if I'd Griswold’s money, you'd feel different about it?” “Is that your idea of talking sense? Don’t you under- stand, Bill? We're not rich; we're not even so well off as you would suppose, and I’m not an only progeny. There's Fred and Madeleine to think of, and their futures. I like Harvey Griswold no end. I liked him before I knew there was any such animal as Bill Blake. I like him better than most women like their husbands, and the family are happy over it. If I marry him I'll be an asset; if I were idiot enough to marry you I'd be a serious liability.” “If you marry him you'll have everything that money can buy and all your life to get sick of it,”’ said Bill. “But it’s your funeral.” He pulled a pipe and a pouch from his pocket, filled the pipe and lit it, snapping the match into flame with his thumb nail. “I wish you'd teach me to do that sometime,” Suzanne. “There ain't going to be no sometime,”’ ing down at his pipe bowl. “What do you mean, there ain't going to be no some- time?” “I’m leaving for Seattle in a day or two,” he replied. “Griswold can’t have everything. If he gets you he loses me.” “No!” Suzanne cried excitedly: ‘‘Hcnest, Bill?” He nodded. “Cut loose and go; bianket roll, frying pan and a spare tire or two’and hit the highway. Got a job there the first of next month. A better one than I’ve got with said said Bill, squint- “Thanks So Much,’' Said \ Griswold Gratefully;"‘I Will Certainty Try It. Marks, Did You Say? Mrasrekeca? Thanks" THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Griswold’s. Fellow I know. Would have been enough for us to have married on in a small way.” “You aren’t going in this car?” sparkled. He nodded again. “Yup!” “Gee! gorgeous, O-o0-0-oh !”” He shook her hand from his arm. “He doesn't want me to touch him,’’ murmured Suzanne plaintively. ‘‘Won’t be petted. Doesn't like me at all any more. Abuses me. Takes me out riding and acts like a pig the whole way. Grouches instead of trying to make him- self agreeable. Just the same, I bet he’d like to kiss me. He'll be trying it the next thing, and then I'll scream.” Bill puffed stolidly at his pipe, eyes front. She moved closer to him, closer still, her head tilted a little back, her lips pouted enticingly, the devil in her eyes. “Bill!” Bill’s eyes shifted, met hers somewhat coldly for the fraction of a second. Then his muscular arm shot out and gripped and held her in its crook. His pipe tumbled, spill- ing its fire on the mat unregarded as he bent his head to hers. Quite a few seconds elapsed before he raised it, and even then he still held her. “T like to have you kiss me better than any other man I know,” said Suzanne faintly. Again Bill bent his head, but there was an interruption. A penetrating yet mellow ululation sounded behind them, rising and falling and increasing in volume as a magnificent roadster swept by them and disappeared in a cloud of its own dust. The two started apart —too late. “Who were they, Bill? Did you see?” “*A couple of guys,”’ Bill replied shamefacedly. ‘Sorry, Suzanne, but I didn’t hear them coming up.”’ Suzanne looked a little troubled. “Why didn’t they give us the merry?” “They must have seen.” ‘““Maybe they didn’t, and maybe they were gentle- men,” said Bill. Suzanne’s eyes Wouldn’t it be Camp out I'd like to go along with you. Bill? Wouldn’t we have fun! she asked. 9 “I wish you hadn't painted it that bright yellow,” said Suzanne. “But let's go on. This is our last drive together, Bill.” As her grandchild had declared, Madam Atwood was a dear. Some shallow people considered her rather a dull sort of an old dear, and others emphasized cone of her un- deniable characteristics by calling her a dignified old dear. She was certainly dignified. In her immaculate morning gingham, her afternoon dove foulards or her evening black silks, enthroned in her straight-backed, winged easy-chair, or walking quite erectly with her erutch-handled ebony stick, she was never less than impressive and at times ma- jestic. In her presence the most frivolous and irreverent became sober and deferential, and well for them that they were. Madam Atwood had a way of looking at an offender through her lorgnette that was calculated to quell the boldest and reduce the more sensitive to blushes or even to tears. A wonderful old lady! Everybody agreed that she was wonderful. Eighty-seven last January and all her facul- ties, except that her memory of recent events was some- what unreliable, hearing quite good and eyesight “My dear, where is your ring?” Suzanne looked rather disconcerted and spoke unthink- ingly. “Darned if I didn’t forget!"”’ she exclaimed. She dived into her bosom and pulled out a knotted scrap of handker- chief and untied it. A large sapphire set with brilliants came out of the knot. “Darned!"””" Madam Atwood's tone was shocked. “I mean dear me,” said Suzanne. “I took it off -"* “Your engagement ring?” “Why not, grandmother?” ‘In my day—and I was unaware that the eustom had changed—a young lady only removed an engagement ring after the wedding ring had been placed upon her finger, and that was never removed. If by an inadvertence or accident the engagement ring was taken off before the wedding day, it was regarded as a presage of misfortune. I am not inclined to be superstitious, but my own expe- rience has convinced me that beliefs of this nature have in most cases some foun- dation, else why should they ever have obtained currency?” Continued on Page £1

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 30,1924 Al BOUT WITH ABOUTS By SAM HELLMAN me SCN MMOLE 19 TOC ee > oe | iteee *%*.% Fe ITLLUSTRATED ar TONY SARG station—sure, they're talking of building a new one— to make a rattier for the Big Town when I find my tick-tocker’s gone on the blink. So I stops a bobo and asks him what time it is by his watch and chain. “It's just about eight o'clock,” he answers, polite. I catches him flush on the jaw with a short right, and as he’s sagging inte the gutter I cracks him on the chin. I’m planting my dogs in his map when another lad butts in. “What's the adorable idea?” he inquires, and tries to pull me off, “He said ‘about’ to me,” I explains. “Gimme a free kick at him, won't you?”’ begs the new- comer. ‘‘I’'m having a house built too.” Of course, this didn’t really happen—what'd I be doing chasing trains at dawn, and besides what's the time got to do with getting 'em on the Long Island?—but it expresses my feelings, and yourn too, maybe, if you've fallen for this own-your-own-home hop and are spending the rest of your life filing down the teeth of a coupla mortgages. You know, a dollar down and a sheriff a week. Three months ago me and “about”’ was on the bestest terms; it was just a nice little noun that I threw a lotta my alibi trade to and treated just like any other verb that didn’t never do me no harm. But now it’s a fighting word with me even if you smiles when you pulls it. According to Webster, who must ’a’ been a cuckoo, anyways, wasting his time on a book that couldn't be turned into a movie feature with a off-color title and a colorless story, “about” pinch-hits for “near,” “close to,” and the such, I guess it does sometimes, but they should oughta be a note in the dictionary explain- ing that when “about” is used by a real-estater or @ contractor it signifies ‘you should live so long,” “some snowy Thursday in July, maybe, if ever,” “five times as much as you think it’, gonna cost and then you're low,” and the so forths. All that | owe or ever hope to pay I owe to Hank Ritter. Us and him and his frau and the Magruders is sitting around the porch one evening giving the neighbors a rubdown and having a lotta pleasures feeling sorry for-some friends of ourn that’s in a jam, when that bimbo twangs his bow and shoots a poisoned arrow at me. “Talking about that murder in Chicago,” says he, careless, ‘why don’t you build yourselfs a house, Dink?” “For the same reasons,”’ | returns, “that I ain't in Africa shooting one-eyed frizzle-wiffies and eating stewed missionary with the chief of the Eczemas. I ain't got no desires.”’ “What a ridiculous comparison,” sniffs Lizzie Magruder, whose brains is noted for their ain’t- ness. ‘What is the connection between shooting what you're talking about and building a house?” * Don’t you know?” I exclaims, “You tell her, Hank.” “T thought it was common gossip,”’ plays along Ritter. ‘The friffle-wizzic's a bird with the face of a erying hyena and the eyes and nose and ears of a Weish rabbit that lives in the mortgage tree. When the wind is in the wrong direction its high interest notes can be heard for a mile or three.” “Take that bottle inside,” snaps the frau. “You two’ve had enough and.” Tiss other morning I’m hoofing it to the Doughmore “This is a Road House, Ain't It?" I Comes Back “Serious, though,”’ goes on Hank. “What do you wanna keep on paying rent for?”’ “T’m willing te quit,” I answers. ‘‘Ransoming the hut every month ain’t no hobby of mine, but landlords is got to live, ain’t they?” “Not necessarily,’’ returns Ritter. “As far as that goes, so does Lizzie ———”’ “Leave me outta this,’’ cuts in the Magruder think blank, cold. “I does like I pleases.” “Here you is,” continues Hank, “forking up three thousand fishes per annual for rent, and what you got to show for it at the end of the year?” \ \ “I shave every morn- j ‘\ ing,” says I, “but what f \ | /, L ‘““Confidentially, I Think the Company That's Building This is Los ing Money" have I got to show for it at the end of the day? What have you to show for anything in the long run excepting a stone with your moniker chiseled into it?” “Buying a house,” remarks Ritter, ‘‘is a serious matter, but it don’t call for no crying jag or a graveyard stew. Know how much dough three grand is the interest on?” “No,” I returns, “but it’s one of the things I’ve wanted to know for years.” “Why didn’t you ask me?” inquires Lizzie. “Oh, well,” I shrugs, “you got a lotta housework to do and you ain’t been in such good health lately and ” “Fifty thousand iron men,” interrupts Hank. “Let’s say you sink thirty thousand into a shack. You put up ten thousand and set yourselfs up to a pair of mortgages for the rest. It only costs you a hundred a month to carry the plasters, another fifty for taxes and the such, and you got your own roost.” “The mortgage trick strangles the idea,”’ says I. “‘ You know darn well I ain’t got no son.” “What's that got to do with it?’ asks Jim Magruder, who up to this time ain’t said nothing, which don’t mean that he ain’t been talking. Quite the contraries, ma cherries. “Who,” I wants to know, “is gonna come back from the wild open places and lift it just as the sheriff is auction- ing off our dead baby’s cradle and the chromo of Kate’s uncle, Zebullem? Who's gonna dash into the garden when me and the old lady is kissing the family cheese-hound good-by and yell ‘I forbid the bands’?”’ “Maria and hell!’’ yelps Ritter. ‘Ain’t you got nothing in that mind of yourn tonight ex- cepting cemeteries and poorhouses?’’ “In a pinch,” says I, cheerful, ‘I could drag out a hospital or a hanging.” “T think,”’ exaggerates Lizzie, ‘‘ Dink’s reasons for not buying a house issilly, don’t you, Hank?” “Well,” replies Ritter, who’d paint a picture of the Magruder double-O if he was asked to do nothing in oils, “they is much to be said on neither side of the question. Of course, when I first brung up the idea I didn’t know that Kate had a uncle named Zebullem and ~” “I ain’t,” snaps the misses. “And then,” continues Hank, “if Dink expects to keep a cheese-hound he’d probably have trouble getting a place. One of them pups will destroy anywheres from eighty to twenty-three lawns a night.” “That'll be enough cabaret,” suggests the wife. “I’m really interested in getting a home of our own.” “But I ain’t,”’ I barks. “Yes, it is cool tonight,”’ returns Kate. ‘“‘ How should we go about finding what we want?” “Hunt up a real-estater,” says Ritter, ‘tell him what you’re after, and he’ll do the rest.” “Who, besides me?”’ I sneers. “You won't be done,” answers Hank, “if you hooks up with a honest lad.”’ “Is they such?” I inquires. “The real-estate business,”’ says he, ‘runs about as many dips and porch climbers to the hundred as any other game, and not no more.

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Of course it’s pretty hard to get one that won't try to talk a swamp in Arizona into a mountain with a ocean view, or who ever heard of any distance greater than a ten- minute easy walk between a house and a station, or who won’t guarantee to sell the dump he’s unloading on you for five thousand dollars’ profit in five months, but you know the motto—‘Caviare emptor.’”’ “Fish eggs, eh?”’ I remarks. “What does that make me, the fish or the egg?”’ “It means,”’ explains Ritter, “‘‘let the buyer beware.’”’ “Where?” asks Lizzie. “There,”’ returns Hank. ‘‘Let the buyer be there.’ It’s up to you to sieve the blah outta the blarney he’ll hand you. Why not try John Gates? They calls him Honest John.” “You can wash him up,” says I, prompt. “I’m alway: suspicious of babies that is gotta label theirselves as being K.O. I oncet knew a feller they called Square Bill Ginley, that was so crooked he used a corkscrew for a ruler. Remember how Honest Dan Grogan got his handle, don’t you?” “The wheeze has probably grown some since I heard it last,” returns Ritter. ‘‘What does the revival sound like?” “It seems,’’ I spiels, “‘they was holding a political powwow on the New York East Side and about noon the boys took a layoff for chow. It was winter and they was a red-hot stove in the room. Being afraid it might start a fire they left Grogan on watch. When the gang come back the stove was still there; it hadn’t even been moved. “Since then they've called Grogan, { Honest Dan.’ “‘How could anybody steal a red-hot stove?” Lizzie wants to know. “That ain’t nothing for some of them East Side lads,”’ says Hank. ‘‘They could swipe the secks offa guy’s kicks without touching his shoes while he was run- ning a foot race in another town.” **It don’t seem hardly possible,”’ gasps the Magruder why-am-l. “Getting back brisk to the real- estate business,” I suggests, “did I understand you to make the crack that I gotta frisk myselfs for ten thousand sinkers right offa the bat if I was to buy a shanty, which I ain’t?”’ “Just about,” answers Ritter, ringing the bell for the start of the bout with the ‘‘abouts.”’ um HE next Sunday, leaving my objections in my everyday suit, I piles with the Ritters and the frau into Honest John’s buzz buggy and we clicks off to Manor Park, where the glib tells us they is prac- tically giving homes away. ‘“‘Prac- tically,’’ I finds out quick, is the stable mate of “about’’; in facts, they live in the same stall, right next to where the bull’s tied. The first dump Gates tries to stick us with is a stack of stucco with about six masters’ haylofts, enough bathtubs for me to wash each finger and toe in a different one, and a beautiful view of the Sound, if you’re willing to walk a mile for it, lugging a pair of marine’s glasses and your imagination with you. “Is this where we have lunch?” I waiter.” “Eh? What’s that?” inquires the real-estater. “This is a road house, ain’t it?’’ I comes back. “It is pretty large,’’ smiles Honest John, “but Mrs. O’ Day tells me she wants guest rooms.” “No wife of mine,” I yelps, in- dignant, “is gonna take in boarders, asks. ‘Call a

fone JANG. “I'm Only Getting Three Dollars a Day, and I’ve Onty Been Here Two Days"

“Take Me Outta Here Quick!"’ I Shouts to Hank. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST not so long as i got a thousand berries, and | nearly got that much cash saved up now. I'll have eight hundred sure by Christmas the way the dough’s piling up in the penny bank.” “Huh!” gasps Gates, and I sees his jaw drop over the idea of showing sixty-thousand-dollar mansions to a sixty-cent piker. ‘“‘I—er—thought _" “*My husband,” cuts in Kate, “is kinda religious; he don’t never let his brains work on Sunday. How much is this place?”’ “Well,” returns Gates, ‘“‘they wants seventy-five thou- sand, but I thinks I can get it for you for about seventy if you’ll make a cash payment of about thirty.” “Cut that out,” I snaps, doubling up my fists. “ You're pretty fresh for a stranger. I don’t stand for nobody flattering my misses. I know all about you Long Island livers and them wild week-end parties with midnight vels and , “*Clam yourselfs, Dink,” interrupts Ritter. ‘‘What you doing, writing a movie or getting ready to move? Let John show you some other houses if this one ain't in your reach.” “My reach!” I barks. “I got as much right looking at a seventy-five-thousand-dollar deadfall as a goldfish is got of chasing a cat up a sic-em-more tree.”’ “It is rather high,”’ admits the wife. “Some rather!’’ I adds. “But,” persists Honest John, “you should see all the land they is around the house. I’ll wager I can sell the place for you in about a year for about eighty thou- sand dollars.” *‘Go on and do it,”’ I urges, “‘and I'll split the profit with you. How far are we from the station?” “ Vu ‘tale a “ About eight minutes,”’ he answers. “‘ Ain’t that ashame, Kate?’ saysI. ‘I was just getting ready to make you a offer,” I explains to Gates, ‘but the eight minutes kills the deal cold. I’m one of them system- atical guys, and seven minutes and eleven seconds is the limits I allows myselfs ——~” ‘Come on,” sighs the frau, weary, “‘and let’s see some cheaper homes.”’ “What you trying to do,”’ growls Hank when we is sitting in back of the whizz wagon—“ put the skids under the house idea with kids?” “No,” I tells him, “I’m going to get hooked with a hut, sure enough, but that guy Gates is kidding me is “How wuch,” cuts in Ritter, ‘do you figure on picking your pockets for?” “About fifteen grand,’’ I tells him. “First payment?” he wants to know. “First, last and all the time,” I answers. “Don’t be silly on Sunday,” says Hank. “For fifteen thousand they wouldn’t sell you the leaks in the garage roof in this part of Long Island. You gotta brace your- selfs for a forty-thousand wallop at the roll anyways.” “Don’t be a sap on the Sabbath,” I comes back. “If I was to strip forty big boys offa the roll I’d be so deep in the hole it’d take a suction pump to pull this sucker out.” “You don’t have to take it all to the cleaners at oncet,”’ goes on Ritter. “Ten or twelve down and the rest on mortgages. Suppose you put up fifteen on a forty-thou- sand tap. You gets yourself a first for fifteen and a second for ten. That’s got you paying fifteen hundred a year interest.” “It’s got me, all right,”’ I agrees, “but suppose I muffs out on some of them interest fork-overs? Don’t they stick up a red flag, plant a constabull on the front porch and begin pitching furniture outta the window?” “? Peets the Blood Lust Coming on Again"

“Heavens!"' Snaps the Frau. “Ain't I Got Enough to Do With the House Without Worry: ing About Trifles?" “T never seen such a guy for getting a run outta feeling run down,’’ grumbles Hank. “What do they do if you don't pay rent? If you've been able to stand a gig of three thousand a year, why does one of fifteen hun- or yd dred give you the pip? ‘See “I don’t know,” says I, “but I sorta had a idea that mortgages was always foreclosed,” “Somebody,”’ remarks Ritter, “musta foreclosed on alla your ideas. No matter what happens, you is always got a equity in the house.” “What's that?” I inquires. shed?” “A equity,” explains Hank, “is what you has left after you subtracts what you has from what you hasn't, minus what you owe, plus court costs, and multiplied by interest. That’ssim- ple, ain't it?” “Even a blind moron could see it in the dark,” says I. “If I was to pay eight dollars to draw cards in a poker game, twelve bucks to call with my pair of deuces, and another guy netted the chippies with a ace full, what I'd get outta the pot’d be my equity. That's it, isn’t it?” “What's he stopping here for?" asks Ritter, as Gate pulls up his oilean in front a place that ain't nothing but a foundation with poles sprouting outta it. “| guess,”’ I returns, “he wants toshow us what makes these shacks out here tick.” “This,” explains Honest John, “is the best buy in Manor Park. The price is twenty-seven five and m “As is,” roof on?” ““Completed,”” says the real- estater. “‘Here is the way it'll look.” And he drags a circuiar outta his pocket. From the picture it’s a right spiffy layout, and the price is kinda interesting after that seventy-thousand- piaster jolt at the other joint. “Confidentially,”” continues Gates, “I think the com- pany that’s building this is losing money. I'll wager I can get thirty-two five for it with my hands tied.’ “Maybe,” says I, “but not with your tongue in a sling. Why don’t you do it then, and knock off five thousand berries for your favorite real-estate agent?”’ “You has perhaps heard,” returns Honest John, “that they is some realtors a “Some which whats?” “ Realtors,” smiles Gates. ‘That's the new name we is known by.” . “Well,” says I, “if a real-estate man is a realtor, that makes a section hand with a pick a picador and a mat ped- dler a matador, don’t it?” “And,” adds Ritter, “‘a old-clothes man a closet deor.”’ “What I was gonna tell you,”’ babbles on the Babbit, “is that they is some real-estaters that is out for nothing but the money, regardless, but I'm in the business to make people happy by getting ‘em homes. Why, sometimes I even forgets my commission.” “Estimated liberal and high,” I asks, “about how often would you say that was?” “Let's take a look at the dump,” whispers Hank, “ be- fore this bobo gets a crying spell and makes you a present of the bus and his right ear.” “ How far is it to the station?’’ I queries of Gates as we is climbing up a jiggly plank into the skeleton “About half a mile as the crow flies,’’ he answers “T ain’t got no crows keeping me, or no ravens, neither,” I tells him. “How long would it take a middle-aged gent with a Charley horse to flat-foot there?”’ (Continued on Page 70 “The view from the back I cut in, “or with a TERN S7,

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 30,1924 W I FOUND MYSE The Retailer’s Story sino acetic by Chester T. Crowell rTeEeLUVUETTRATE DO BEGAN my so-called career playing baseball on sand I lots and frequently getting paid for it, but not always. Sometimes each team made up a pot and we played for the money. Of course, my team didn’t always win. My father had an enormous farm on the Ohio River and it had been in the family several generations. They were pionee rs. It was one of the best equipped and best man- aged farms I have ever seen. We even made our own wag- and for every piece of seasoned hardwood taken off the barn rafters another piece of green hardwood was placed there to dry. My grandfather—and perhaps his father—had an obsession on the subject of not buying anything that could be made on the place. The result of all this thrift was unusual prosperity; the market for farm produce was not very good in those days. My father was a sort of feudal baron, very proud of his independence. He was especially full of dignity when selling a crop. To see him measuring out potatoes you might have thought they were the law or the Gospel. He would give precisely the quality or size demanded, and I don't believe a barrel top was ever nailed on until he was willing to testify that every article under it was up to the highest grade. He didn’t really have to sell anything, and if prices were lower than the cost of production—as they often were he didn’t sell anything. He had money in the bank and livestock enough to eat a crop, so he’d go hunting. ons; Where R Stood for Riot {S people originally came from England, where they were merchants. My mother’s people were merchants in Ireland, and still are. I used to hear mother talk, oncein a while, about her father and uncles. The only story I re- member was something about some sailcloth that her father sold to a sailing master. He discovered a defect just before delivering it. Then he traveled a long distance to exchange blows with the man who made it; he came back very happy, with a black eye. His position, mother said, was that defective sailcloth constituted possible murder, There were ten of us children and we went to the usual little red schoolhouse of that day. Pupils ranged in age from eight to eighteen years. There was only one teacher. The principal business of that teacher was to lick the big boys and keep them licked. School was a riot. Mother used to get up about four o'clock in the morning and the first batch of us kids would start to school along about EVANS seven. We were turned out in pairs from then on until eight o’clock. We rode to school in buggies, spring wagons, one pair on a mule, and the last pair would be given a saddle horse because they had to hurry. When it rained we all rode horses or mules, two or three kids on each mount. We whooped and hallooed and raced and splashed along the road all morning. People for three miles around the valley could hear us going to school. We'd yell at them and they'd yell back at us. It was great fun, but I didn’t get much education, I am sorry to say. The only teacher I remember with affection was an elderly gentleman who taught me about four years of arithmetic in three months. I was just getting hold of algebra when he lost a battle with one of the big boys and the others piled in with the playful intention of riding him on a rail. The last I ever saw of that teacher his coat tails were disappearing over a worm fence. Ten half-grown men and a couple of overgrown girls were in hot pursuit. That just about ended my education, although I continued to go to school. The last thought on earth for me, as a boy, was that I might ever have any difficulty about the necessities of life. I was handy at the forge and a good craftsman in the tool house; I knew the farm work fairly well and my father thought I was prepared to take charge when the time came. Meanwhile he was entirely willing for me to enjoy my youth. So I spent most of my time playing baseball. About this time a drastic change was made in baseball rules and it turned out to be a determining factor in my life. Pitchers had always been required to lob the ball up easy so the batter could hit it, but a new rule permitted them to use any skill they possessed to deceive the batter. I could throw a baseball so hard you could scarcely see it, so I began pitching. Presently I discovered how to control its curves, for it will nearly always curve if you throw it hard enough. Not long after that I was wearing the uni- form of a National League team, drawing a salary that made my farmer family dizzy. Cw" ow. . s* *s Sse a PARCELE When it was suggested that 1 ought to take over the management of the farm I laughed. My right arm was producing more cash every year than the farm. I didn’t realize that all wealth isn’t cash. I was paid two hundred and fifty dollars a month. Men reared families then on fifty dollars a month. Father died, the farm was sold, each of us children received a little dab of cash, and baronial days were over. I was a foot-loose entertainer of the multi- tude, homeless, landless, traveling with a strange crew, and under the tragic illusion that my fortune was made. Pitcher or Bookkeeper? HEN I came home at the close of my first season, mother told me she had made arrangements for me to take a position as bookkeeper with a wholesale produce house. I didn’t really know how to keep books, but I was somewhat of a prodigy in mathematics. I can still add a column of figures in my head faster than most men do with an adding machine. Also my penmanship was good. You know, they used to drill us in penmanship by the hour in those old red schoolhouses. Mother said she thought I ought to be learning something that I could depend upon when my baseball days were over. If I had only taken her advice! But how can a boy, after his first season, dream that his baseball days will ever be over? Poor, dear old mother, I thought, she’s nursed us through measles and whooping cough and so many other troubles that now she refuses to believe there aren’t any more. Also, I kept thinking, I’m going to have a business of my own. I want some kind of business that I can own and manage. I don’t want to work for someone else. That was my father’s spirit speaking; but the farm was gone. I would look around for an opportunity to buy a business; but, you see, I didn’t know anything about business, so I couldn’t see any opportunities. Probably I didn’t look very close either, because I wanted to go back with the (Continued on Page 37) ms ea . The Last I Ever Saw cf That Teacher His Coat Tails Were Disappearing Over a Worm Fence

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ISS CARLOTTA COLE was the prize child of an adoring mother. As Mrs. Cole, the widow of a bank teller, was always telling people, Car- lotta was all that she had to live for. She had been christened Hazel. After Carl Cole’s death her mother had renamed her Carlotta, as if through the name Mrs. Cole could re- tain some shred of her hus- band’s poor pale self. Car- lotta, despite the flood of maternal passion in which she was drowned, grew up to be, the neighbors agreed, a lovely girl. These neighbors along the street of semidetached houses allowed, too, that Mrs. Cole was as smart a woman as God had made. When Carlotta had reached her early teens her mother was making a good living asadressmaker. She could cut and snip and fit with an unfailing yet refined smartness; unfailingly, she knew what was good and what was not; the fat and the thin she could restrain from the mistakes of their desires. Carlotta was dressed and washed and curled as if that dark- haired nymph were heiress to a kingdom. Carlotta was, indeed, the good little girl her mamma was always asking her to be. She brought home good report cards. As she ma- tured she exchanged pret- tiness for beauty. She had large gray eyes, sometimes pale, slaty, almost innocu- ous; yet as she drifted into adoleseence these eyes grew softer, wider, more luminous. Their inner pu- pils were dots of deep-sea blue, and their lashes were long and dark. The boys in the West Side High School were not slow to put themselves, like sheep, under their unfathom- able spell. Carlotta liked high school. Some of the girls in her class were going to college, others were staying home; most were going to work. Of these, Carlotta appeared least fitted for that future. This lily, with her smart, severe frock, her satiny black head, her wistful doelike eyes, was not easily envisaged amidst filing cases, offices, business. Yet ever since she was a little girl Carlotta had heard her mother talk of that time when Carlotta herself would be able to help mamma. Helping mamma meant going to business, more money, and less tension for that tireless woman. Go- ing to business, too, meant a sally into the unpredictable world, in which men made money and women found husbands. Carlotta would have a home ot her own and the shelter her beauty deserved. For she had beauty. She knew it, her soethibe knew it. The boys in the West Side High School were sure of it. So Carlotta was taken into the Gamma Iotas, because one had to have Carlotta no matter what her family was. Yet the plaudits of her calflike beaus left Carlotta cold. She was growing up to the values of life. Sometimes in the homes of her giggling friends she would consider furtively the silver, the linen, the chintzes and the sateen-covered chairs, the marks of worldly prosperity. These girls did not differ from her; certainly they were less beautiful; their clothes cost more, but they wore them no better. Celia Ardell’s father was a rich wholesale feed dealer; Nannie Talbot’s a lawyer. Carl Cole, had he lived, might have been a banker; richer than any of these. He might have moved his family over to the North Side, where she would have gone to Miss Willis’ School and reached heights from which the Talbots and the Ardells would be invisible. When she was eighteen Carlotta came home one day, a week before graduation, and said that she intended to get a job. Her mother was desolated. CHARLES tae erg Wy > Mae tt THE SATURDAY EVENING POST QUEEN MAKER By Algnes Burke Hale ILLUSTRATED D. ar MITCHELL “Oh, Carlie,”’ she said, her hands busy with the folds of a pink organdie, “you're not going right to work? I was thinking maybe you’d rest all summer, and then we could go to the lake together in August.” If there was one thing Carlie didn’t iat to do it was to go to the lake. Nannie Talbot's people had a large camp in the near-by woods, and Carlotta did not intend to be rescued by the Talbots from the inexpensive Eagle House, where Mrs. Cole spent two weeks each summer. “No, I’m going to work,” she said. “I can't stick around here all summer.”’ “You have all your nice friends.” “‘ All my nice friends’ papas have houses in the country. And they’ll soon forget me. At least : “Why, Carlie!” Mrs. Cole was dismayed. She was proud of the connections her girl had. “Nannie Talbot no you.’ Carlotta, in a chair opposite her mother, put a long leg up on the sewing machine, and stretching her arms above ° her head, cupped her black head in her hands. Her body made one long enchanting line, and her mother imagined that slimness incased in a thousand delightful materials. “She’s my friend now,’’ went on Carlotta, “but she won't be in six months. Neither will Jim Hennion be tak- ing me out in his car. She’s going to a boarding school and he’s going to Yale. Each of them is going to pick a dif- ferent crowd. No, I’m through. I’m going to work.” Mrs. Cole’s sentimentality was offended by Carlotta’s bluntness. “It seems too bad, Carlotta, that you have to plunge right in. If your father had lived ” “But he didn’t.””. She moved one foot affectionately to her mother’s lap. “Don’t worry, mom. I'll make you rich and famous.” She meant it. There were lots of good jobs. And some- where, sometime, a man would come into her life to offer her love and money, ease and happiness, al! tied up in a little package, a premium that came with marriage. 13 Three years later, when Carlotta was twenty-one, she was earning thirty dol- oe lars a week as secretary to Mr. Alanson, the head salesman of the Hedges- Hawley Wrench Company. She had climbed to these heights from the outer darkness of the mail de- partment, and she was as absorbed in the affairs of Hedges-Hawley as she was in the shingling of her hair. She felt important, too, in her job. Hedges and Haw- ley might make these wrenches, but where would the partners be if she and Mr. Alanson and the salee- men of the New England district ceased to sell them? She was typing one Jan- uary afternoon in the outer office when a young man came in and asked for Mr. Alanson. She lifted her eyes, to see that his suit was the kind her imaginary husband wore, English, tailored, an indescribable brown, “What j asked. “Carmichael. He'll know. He told me to come.” His eyes were direct but impersonal. When she came back he was looking at a map of New England. “Gosh,” he said, “I never realized that the Maine coast was so in- dented. Did you?” “Well, yes. That’s my map. Mr. Alanson says for you to go in.” She pointed to the door, which he fell up against as he opened it, A hard boy to have around the home, thought Miss Cole. Fifteen minutes later Carlotta took up her sheaf of let- ters and ventured into Mr. Alanson’s office. No partition could have kept her from hearing that Mr. Carmichael was in the promotion office, helping out Mr. Gladstone. Mr. Alanson must be advising him, for except for inter- mittent shouts the talk had quieted down. She decided tc look at Carmichael again. Regally she slid around the door and drifted to the desk, where she laid the letters down, and stood, her sleek head a little bent, only her long lashes flickering as she followed Mr. Alanson’s eye over her letters. They were faultless. So was her poise. If she felt Carmichael looking at her, she had perfect office control. Mr. Alanson signed the letters. With a ladylike bend, she took them and went out. “Who's the princess?”’ said Carmichael. “Princess?” said Alanson. “She's my stenographer and the best in the house. Two years ago that girl was a file clerk.” “Two years, you say, she’s been with you?” “Two years this February.” - “Two years, taking your dictation,” said Carmichael sadly. “Have you ever thought of what happens to some women in two years?” “Oh, come,” said Alanson. ‘The girl’s well off. She's got at least forty-five beaus, whose candy she never eats because it’s bad for her skin. I take it home to my wife.” “Well, your wife doesn’t need to worry about her akin. She's got you padlocked. Yet this girl—now, she's good. Have you noticed her shoulder blades?" Alanson shot Carmichael a look. “See here, young man, you came in here to talk about the Detroit conference.” “I know,” said Mr. Carmichael dreamily, yet with a demoniac interest in his gray eyes. “I know I did. But that girl interests me. The Lord made her with a certain kind of a body and head and throat, so that she walks like a queen. And this civilization sets her down in a wrench factory!’ name?”’ she ‘Now Leok Here, Miss Cole, You've Got te Pay Some Price for Being the Most Beautiful Girt in Springdate"

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14 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST He looked out the window, where the towering little skyserapers of Springdale were turning into fire-dotted pavilions against the winter sky. Mr. Alanson swung around, too, to look at Carmichael. He was a handsome young man, as a rich man’s son should be; impulsive, errant, yet intelligent. Alanson liked him. “Yet this woman must work, Carmichael,’’ he said. “Yes, she must work like you and me. But who wants to work? Now that I think of it, and it’s the first time I have thought of it, | curse this crushing of woman in in- dustry.” “Oh, woman does well enough,” said Mr. Alanson. “She's always getting engaged, married. Look at Miss Cole—-candy in her desk all the time.” “Tt's not that. It’s the stupidity,” said Carmichael, “which chains her to a typewriter, when she ought to be in a temple. Suppose, Alanson, you put Miss Cole in a window, with a sign, See What We Have in Our Shop. Buy Hedges-Hawley Wrenches. Can't you feel the pull of the market? Who could forget Miss Cole? Who could forget her associated cofactor, the Hedges-Hawley wrench?” Mr. Alanson shook his head. “You're a nut, Carmichael.” Mr. Carmichael grinned. “Not so nutty as most people think.” “No, one never is, Now let me do the talking.” He handed the young man a report of sales of rival wrench companies for the preceding year, and Carmichael read and listened, while Alanson talked. But he wasn’t thinking about wrenches. Mr. Carmichael could not be anywhere long without starting something. He had started so many things which might have better been unbegun that his father decided to put him to work.. Running his eyes over all the companies in which he held a controlling interest, he decided that Joe could do least harm in the Hedges-Hawley wrench works. It was in Centra! New England, far from New York, the races, the theaters, even—old Mr. Carmichael in his inno- cence believed -from seductive women. “You stay there a year and then tell me what you think of things,”’ he said, “and perhaps I'll give you the business.” “And perhaps you won't,” said Joe, “ Right.” Joe, strangely enough, was weary of New York, and he did not want to go abroad. Moreover, he feared that he would net last another season unmarried. He must work sometime, and if it had to be the Springdale wrench works, why it might as well be that as anything else. He looked upon the wreneh works as he was wont to view musical comedies, dog shows and dinner parties. What was here to divert him? With innate adaptability, he found Springdale and the wrench works exciting, like a new kind of circus. His mind jumped lightly from one aspect of it to another. Not until Carlotta came through the door did he feel what he called the rush of blood to the brain. An idea was germinating. Carlotta would have been anneyed if she had known that Mr. Carmichael’s in- terest was not in her, but in the ideas she had evoked in his capricious mind. Two weeks later Mr. Alanson was working away one morning when Miss Cole came in. “Mr. Fields wishes to speak to you.” Alanson took down his receiver. What did the old man want now? “Come on over, Alanson, will you? I want to ask your advice.” Alanson went over, relieved, J. B. Fields was the man aging director, fifty, dominant and awfully clean—a model magnate. If he cared for anything but wrenches Alanson had yet to learn of it. But Alanson liked him because no man could get around him. At his desk sat Fields, and beside him, smoking, the irrepressible Carmichael, who gave Alanson the nod of a conspirator, Immediately Alanson knew that Carmichael had got around Fields “This young man,” bellowed Fields, ‘tells me that you have a beautiful stenographer.” Alanson nodded, “Don't try to take her from me,"’ he warned. Carmichael grinned. Alanson had a horrible vision of Miss Cole detailed with Carmichael to Detroit for the United Convention of Promotion Men—her head turned, her speed ruined. “T trained this girl —"" he began crossly. Fields waved a soothing paw at him. “Come, come, you're not going to lose her. What I want to ask—Is she the knock-out this young man says?” Mr. Alanson didn’t answer. “Is she?” pressed Fields. ‘It’s a business investment. If she isn't, we'll get another.” “What for?” asked Aianson hopefully. Carmichael jumped to his feet. “Oh, come on, Alanson! We want Miss Cole for the All New England Beauty Show next month. Fields wants to know what you think before he sends for her.” Alanson looked at them in amazement. The Hedges- Hawley Wrench Company, the oldest wrench makers in America, lending themselves to the circus antics of a lot of yelling boosters! “This is your doing, Carmichael,” he said. Carmichael nodded proudly. “Ts she a knock-out?” boomed the insistent Fields. “You mean, will she win the prize?’’ asked Alanson. Fields nodded. Carmichael nodded. So Alanson nodded too. “She’s your best bet. But I'll do my best to persuade her against entering,”’ he said. “You won't,” said Fields. ‘‘Send her here. her.”’ Alanson raced down the corridors to his office, where he found Miss Cole, a picture in a dark-red flannel frock, lay- ing letters on his desk. ‘Miss Cole,”’ he said breathlessly, “you mustn’t let them make a fool of you.” Abruptly he paused. She waited. Was he crazy? The telephone rang. As she answered he took the re- ceiver from her hand. “Run along. Mr. Fields wants you right away. Oh, shut up!” he yelled through to Carmichael. on her way.” Mr. Fields was impressed by Miss Cole’s entrance. It was her usual entrance—the little beseeching pause as the door closed, the eyes searching the room for a terminal and the lilting march across the floor. If Carmichael was there he did not exist for her. This pleased Fields. “You sent for me,” she said in the low throaty voice she had acquired to match her coloring. “Walk over there and back,” said Fields, rising as if to address the Kiwanis Club. ‘Now over to the window. Now turn the profile. Good! Now the other way.”” Car- lotta did all these things without embarrassment, for the fit of her frock was as flawless as her face. ‘‘Fine!’’ said Mr. Fields. ‘‘ Now sit down in that chair.” Carlotta sat down wits a fluent slowness; her feet and legs went into place, her hands fell into her lap. Her gray eyes were wide open, gracious, but questioning. Fields turned to Carmichael and nodded. *‘Good!" he said. “ Very good!” “Top hole,”’ said Carmichael. “What is it?” she asked, looking coolly at Carmichael and then back at Fields. ‘‘What do you want of me?” Mr. Fields explained in a little speech into which he wove the Springdale beauty show, the chamber of commerce, the more-established firms, beauty and wrenches, a new de- parture, her selection by the board, service to the company. When he finished she should have been persuaded. “It will take the next month. The company will spare no expense, Your salary will go on as usual. When you are out of the office a substitute will do your work.” Carlotta leaned forward in her chair. “Oh, that will upset everything. I don’t think I care to do this.”’ Mr. Fields had never imagined refusal. “Don’t care to!’”’ he boomed, ‘ Miss Cole, you are drafted for service.” Carlotta shook her head mulishly. “No, I won’t be, It’s good of you, but I don't care to.’ “But why?” Carlotta shrugged her shoulders and looked unhappy. She wished Carmichael would go away so that she could tell Fields what &he thought of beauty shows and cheap advertising. “But why?” insisted Fields. “Why?” “Why should I?” she asked boldly. “I don’t like pub- licity. My mother wouldn’t like it.” That was a lie. Her mother would love it. ‘Oh, come, Miss Cole,” said Mr. Fields. He looked ap- pealingly to Carmichael, a young man who had never failed to persuade a girl to anything. That youth leaped up, grabbed a chair and planted himself in front of her. “* Now look here, Miss Cole, you've got to pay some price for being the most beautiful girl in Springdale,’’ he began. Her gray eyes met his, and as Carmichael talked some- thing flickered in their depths. A little flicker of vanity, of ambition; whatever it was, Carmichael saw it and en- couraged it, and breathed over it with subtle flattery, so that after ten minutes of hypnotic persuasion she con- sented. His words did not vanquish her; it was because he treated her as if he and she together were putting over a little deal. “Right,” said Mr, Carmichael as she rose to go. “ We'll go into Boston for the costume, and the rest of the things we'll get here.” “Oh, yes ES": ” “Local men,” said Fields. He shook Miss Cole’s white hand and Carmichael took her to the door. “Tomorrow,” he said, “I'll submit a schedule.” Miss Cole went out, wrapped in a heady assurance. Yet it irked her a little that Carmichael had managed her so adeptly. When she told Mr. Alanson he said, ‘‘It’s all foolishness. And I'd like to know what's going to become of me.” When she told her mother that good woman, who was running up a green crépe de chine for the wife of a rich grocer, took the pins out of her mouth in her excitement. I'll talk to “She's August 30,1924 “Oh, Carlie,’ she said, “ you—you mean they chose you?”’ Carlotta nodded. , “They did, It’s all that Mr. Carmichael “Who's Mr. Carmichael?” “Oh, a new bird in the promotion department. He’s full of ideas. I wish he hadn’t picked on me though.”” She was secretly glad he had. “Mom, is my flat crépe pressed?” “It’s in your closet. Ella did it before she went.”’ Ella was the laundress. “I'll stop in a second and get the supper.” “No, I’ll get it.” “No, you'll have to dress.” Carlotta went into her bedroom and Mrs. Cole sat idle for a moment. They must think pretty highly of Carlotta down at Hedges-Hawley if they chose her to represent them at the beauty show. It was official, dignified, and the whole city would marvel at Mrs. Cole’s daughter. Mrs. Cole glowed with pride. “This’s going to make Steve sore,”’ said Carlotta when she came down to set the table; “sore as a crab.” “Steve isn’t your boss.” “No, but he’d like to be.’ Carlotta shrugged her shoulders and thought of Mr. Carmichael. Steve was a burly, dogged young man who had been a senior in high school when Carlotta was a freshman, and who was now the owner of a garage. His ambition was to convert his present rather makeshift structure into a vast concrete autodrome, with plate-glass windows, inclined drives, elevators and superservice. He intended to create a motor home—the garage beautiful. When he was not dreaming about garages he thought of Carlotta, whom he humbly but indefatigably desired. Her beauty, her in- different independence, scared him. Yet Steve had the persistence of the patient, and propinquity was on his side. His mother lived in the same block. He was always com- ing around in the evening to forestall other male advances. That night at the movies Carlotta told him about the beauty show. He shifted his long body in the seat and shook his head. “Don’t do it, Carlotta. “Why not?” “It’s cheap advertising, and it will cheapen you.”’ She shot him an angry glance. He was unimpressed. “ What's the big idea anyway?” he said, turning toward her. * Ain’t the wrenches paying dividends? Or is it some new fool of an advertising man?” Carlotta was suddenly on the defensive. well as Mr. Carmichael, was impugned. “Don’t be a gloom, Steve. All the automobile people are for it.” “Of course they are,’”’ he echoed her. “The big saps. One company goes in and then all the others chase after it. But what do they get out of it? Hey? A lot of hot air. You oughta hear the Priceless man on this publicity stuff. If you’ve got a good car you can sell it. You don’t need a beauty show. The same applies to a wrench.” “Well, it doesn’t hurt the wrench, does it?” “No, but it hurts you.” He was angry now. “You, stuck up like a human billboard, with a lot of other janes! It’s cheap, and the janes will be cheap and the men cheap.” “They’re not,” she fired at him. “Oh,” he said, ‘‘they’re not? Well, you ought to know. Anyway, you won’t win anything. Thank God for that. You won't get a chance against all those houris.” “You make me tired,” she said. ‘You’re a Turk.” “That’s what you girls need in this country,” he said; “‘more Turks.” They didn’t speak for fifteen minutes. They became en- grossed in the film of A Flapper Who Gave All and Got Nothing. Yet Steve, when he left Carlotta at her door, went away without lingering. “He’s mad,” thought Carlotta. ‘Well, he’s been mad before.” She went calmly up to bed. In the excitement of the next three weeks Carlotta forgot Steve. She forgot everything but herself. Very skillfully the agile Mr. Carmichael was holding up a rairror to her into which she liked looking. She already knew some of her good points; those she had neglected Mr. Carmichael pointed out to her. There was a great deal to be done. To Mr. Alanson her work seemed a series of exits; her place was taken by a stolid, snub-nosed girl who had bobbed her hair in a des- perate effort to gain piquancy. The effect was dispiriting, and so was the stenography. He missed his Miss Cole. That paragon was engaged in continual conferences with Carmichael. Her photograph went to the press. Mr. Fields called a meeting of all Hedges-Hawley employes and pre- sented Carlotta to them. They gave her cheers. She made a little speech. Some thought she was pretty; some did not. But she was a cynosure. There was a tremendous discussion about her costume. It was decided that Mr. Carmichael should take her into Boston a week before the contest, when Miss Springdale was to be chosen. Carmichael had a married sister there who would take them to a dressmaker. Carlotta, who had had a modest wish that her own mother might dash her off a tinsel robe, was abashed. This dressmaker was a man; his name was Berté. Don’t do it.” Her pride, as

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“‘He’s immense,” said Carmichael. “Used to design wall papers. But now he doesn’t care about the home—only women, home wreckers. Boston is changing.” He whis- pered this hoarsely. ‘‘Women who go to Berté develop strange mysterious charms; the coldest eyes melt; they stop wearing spectacles; the soberest lawyers run after them; the most austere bankers grow indiscreet. The old barriers are breaking down.” Carlotta was dazed, “And you want me to go to him?” “You're going. You'll send tremors down the backs of the aldermen. The other girls will be got up as City Pride or Municipal Ownership; then you'll come in, all black night and white pallor, perhaps a splash of crimson—the touch of blood that unites us all. Wow!” He snapped his fingers. ‘You'll have a name that will knock ’em cold.” Carmichael was having the time of his life. He had enjoyed manipulating the pretentious Fields; he liked even better to make a goddess out of a little girl. For Miss Cole, for all her twenty-one years and her show of poise, was, by his standards, a little girl. This was her first trip to Boston. She had never left Springdale except for vacations at the lake; she had beaus who took her to the movies or dancing; but the assumptions, the penetrations, the aura of pro- tective disillusion that is sophistication, these she had not. Yet she knew all about the wrench market, and was as beautiful as Diana. For her physical endowment Car- michael’s sisters would have pledged their souls. She was piquant to him. So he took her down to Boston. His sister Rebecca, who was Mrs. Spademan Gore, met them at Back Bay. Car- lotta, who had expected a haughty duchess person with THE SATURDAY EVENING POST pearls in her ears, was startled. Mrs. Gore was thin, not so tall, and as incredibly homely as she was smart. She was one of those horselike girls with large protruding teeth and an oncoming smile who occur in the best families. In a great many cases, as in Rebecca's, such a girl warms up the home atmosphere. Mrs. Gore wore smart French clothes, black, mannish, but unangular, and her hat was clamped down over her honest green eyes in the best air-tight type. If she had hair, she hid it until night. She embraced Car- michael. “Oh, Joe, hooray for you! This is Miss Cole?"’ She took Carlotta by the arm. ‘ Well, well, so this is your work, Joe. Where are your bags?”’ She stopped short. ‘‘ You're going back? Unsay those words! You can’t. Stay for a party.” “We can’t, Beck, honestly,” he said. ‘“‘Miss Cole's mother expects her. We can just make the six o'clock. I’ve got to be on my job.” “Aren’t you on it now?’’ She laughed in his face. “That’s no reason for not being human. Come on, we'll fight later. Come on, Carlotta.” They got in the motor, a long low town car with two men on the box. Carlotta was terrified. What was ahead of her? She wished she hadn’t come. Yet she felt safe with Car- michael, and his homely sister, for all her grandeur, was intensive and alive. Rebecca Gore never talked according to rule; she did not ask after the hunting in Springdale or if Carlotta knew the Singleton Sopestones. She raved about Berté, theorized on beauty shows, asked if the other girls were jealous, until Carlotta was talking as naturally as if she were at home. Berté practiced his art in a house on Newbury Street, whose commonplace exterior gave way indoors to the proper atmosphere of unprecedented fantasy. A tall Senegalese—who, rumor said, had saved Berté’s life in the war by extricating him from a heap of fallen trunks at the Gare Saint Lazare—let them in. He wore long black trousers, a red satin jacket, and on his head a white fez; there was something diabolic about the Senegalese as he raced, slightly side- wise, up and down the yellow stairs. “They're Terribte,"’ f He Toid Carlotta. } “Now Remember, ts Don't Watk Like a ibs : Modet"’ a Wh CHARLES D mh 4a EO 15 They waited in a little drawing-room, taffeta-hung and mirrored. The only decorations were some frail chairs and a jabbering monkey in a painted cage. Carlotta shivered. “What's the matter?” said Carmichael. “That man,” she said, “and this monkey.” Rebecca laughed. “The monkey's tame. The man is too. His name is Pete and he goes to all the baseball games. He's Americanized.” Pete came back, grinning. “Monsieur Berté will see you.” He bowed and ran up the stairs again. Carmichael ran after him and the two girls trooped along. They waited again in a great room, unfurnished except for a black velvet carpet, a model block and a row of chairs. At one end was a full-length mirror. Becky turned her back to the mirror. “T never look,”’ she said. “I feel better about things. But you needn't worry, Carlotta. You were made to stand in this room.” The devastating Berté stole in upon them. He was a thickset blond Frenchman, whose head thrust itself for- ward from his shoulders and whose sleepy blue eyes sug- gested inexpressible compliments, indiscreet flattery. He cared only for beautiful women, but he never turned down a homely applicant who also happened to be rich. He had therefore the greatest respect for Rebecca. He knew she could ruin him if she so chose, He was all attention, “Meester Carmichael, how do you do, Meester Car- michael? It is delightful to know the brother of your veree smart sister. Veree smart. She has brought me thousands of business. I do for her one little robe—you know "~~ he made indescribable gestures, indicating what the robe was like—‘‘a little frock I call Her Little Secret Sin; yes, that is it—Her Little Secret Sin; and she wear that frock to a party at Mrs. Peabodeez; and I tell you, Meester Car- michael, the next morning, the ladees they rush up theez stairs—oh, two thousan’-three thousan’ ladees, I ery, ‘Plees, plees, go back, ladees.’ I stamp the foot. I send Pete; but no, no, they cry, I must do the frock, they say, like Mrs. Gore’s. I refuse. I refuse encore. They are not chic like Madame Gore. But I gif them the appointment I make them other frocks."” He shut his eyes, raised his eyebrows and extended one hand toward Mrs. Gore. “‘ You see, my dear Meester Carmichael?” Carmichael admitted that he saw. “You are ruining pure Boston. But I want you to do something for Springdale.” “Springdale? Springdale? Where is Springdale?" Carmichael explained about Springdale’s beauty show “This is the candidate,"’ he said, pointing to Carlotta, who had stood all this time, ignored but interested, between Carmichael and his sister. Berté, not knowing that she was anybody, as she wasn’t, had never looked at her. She was badly dreased too. Now he took her hand and led her forward. Placing her just so, with the light on her white face, he walked away to look at her. Continued on Page 62)

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16 THE SATURDAY EVENING Many a Rich Man Makes Money Because of His Money resumed John K. Wing, but the average man finds it a convenient theory; and we all know the type we calla lucky man. Progress toward that man’s goal is made easier by circumstances over which he has no control. I might have known that Bronson & Barnes would pick the right man to put in charge of their New York office. Nevertheless, I call myself fortunate indeed that my chief there was Joe Williamson. His friendship has been a greater comfort to me than the money I’ve made. He had more to do with my success than I can make clear to you, because it is difficult to dramatize the way in which a good chief brings out the best in his men. I liked Mr. William- son from the first, and he, New England-like, said nothing about liking me; but it was not long before I was certain that he trusted me. One day when I was feeling rather blue over my failure to put through a certain deal on which I had been working rather hard, he said to me, “Jack, don’t worry about that matter. I know you are reliable and you always do your best; so I'm with you to the limit. I have no doubt what- ever about your ability or your intention to make good. I see only one danger ahead,” I looked at him and perceived that he was in earnest. I asked him, ‘ What's the danger?”’ “That when things begin to go your way in a rush, you'll get the swelled head,”’ I laughed. -I couldn't help it. I had just fallen down hard on a deal | was sure I had closed, and here was my boss warning me against the swelled head. What a warn- ing to give after a disheartening failure! T: A PHILOSOPHER there is no such thing as luck, High Standards of Service THINK I told you that I early fell into the habit of talking over our business with Mr. Williamson every afternoon after the close of the market. The first thing we agreed on was that we must show the home office what service was. That meant that everybody in the New York branch must be on the job every minute of theday, We were quick and accurate. We never explained why things we were asked to do couldn't be done by anybody, nor did we insist on demonstrating the impossibility of giving better execution. We contented ourselves with doing our best. In doing this we gave such service as had never before been given to any Boston house by its New York correspond- ents. The home office perceived it and played it up so that even if our local business did not grow as fast as I wished, the Boston business increased. And such is human nature that the very excellence of our service caused us annoy- ance. The slightest delay or a difference of one-eighth of a point in the price we paid or obtained on a market order brought us complaints from our Boston customers. Had we not led them to expect infallibility and competence from us they never would have asked for perfection. It used to vex me deeply that Boston did not seem to realize that in Mr. Williamson they had the best broker on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange. Being only a clerk, I could not know that Mr. Williamson was the most intimate friend as well as the trusted associate of both Colonel Bronson and Mr. Barnes. Well, I think Mr. Williamson and I succeeded in build- ing up a machine for doing business that had a capacity far greater than we could utilize. In the consciousness of this we found a fresh and stronger incentive to do more business. As I have said before, the only way to get busi- ness is to go after it, and that is what I did. I made changes in the office system and developed a more efficient clerical force, but my chief concern always was new busi- ness. In common with most commission houses we were still under the influence or glamour of the old tradition. We still believed that it was the big trader who paid. We all wanted big accounts. The other day somebody asked me why in Wall Street tipsters still spoke about the mysterious and purely mythical coterie of supermanipu- lators who are known as “They” and are supposed to move prices up or down at will in furtherance of elaborate plans for milking the market. Well, I really think the persistence of the “They” myth is due to the fact that we still hear more stories about the millions made by this or that plunger than about the aggregate winnings of the thousands of men who trade successfully. I mean the men who have used common sense and have bought or sold stocks only after informing themselves thoroughly about conditions. Being still under the persuasion that the big account was most desirable I went after it. After all, there was ample reason for preferring the big customer. He was usually much more than merely a man with’money. He was a man who had made a fortune in his own business by the use of those success-compelling qualities which are valuable in any business. Now a man who had gumption enough to make millions in his own game was a good man to do business with. He usually did his own thinking. He wanted facts and not opinions. He was more apt to give good advice than to ask for it. All he needed was ac- curate information— if and when obtainable—and good execution; or, in other words, good brokerage technic. With such a man I did not have to use words of one syllable. If the customer got enough clinical data to enable him to form an intelligent opinion he did not hesitate to act; and that made him a good purveyor of commissions. Such a man was accustomed to assuming responsibilities, to deciding quickly, to losing money with- out losing his grip. In other words, the big customer was a big man in many ways. He didn’t make millions in his own business without learning something. Of course I knew even then that there were exceptions. There were and are d.f. millionaires just as there are d.f. pikers, and many a rich man makes money because of his money rather than because of his brains or his knowledge or his nerve. But I am speaking of the type of big man who earns his success. POST The Making of a Stockkb By EDWIN LEFEVRE August 30,1924 CARTOONS mM. L. BY BLUMENTHAL The little fellow was more bother. That was the common experience. He was the reverse of the big one. He wanted not facts but tips. He wished to be told what to buy or sell and then to be forced into doing it. If the advice proved good he would think that he had paid for it when he allowed his broker the twelve dollars and fifty cents commission per hundred shares. If the stock went up ten points and he made a thousand dollars he still thought the twelve dollars and fifty cents amply paid for it, though he told his friends how clever he had been to get aboard when he did. If he lost he didn’t think of the broker’s twelve dollars and fifty cents, but of the four or five hundred dollars he himself had dropped—as though the broker had taken the money out of the customer's pocket and put it into his own. Facts Better Than Tips ODAY the up-to-date brokerage office has its fully equipped statistical department which supplies the de- sired information— official statistics of earnings, analyses of trade conditions, and so on. Our customers today are actually compelled to know what they are doing. We do not give irresponsible tips or market gossip. When we are bullish on a stock we know why, and we give our reasons in full. The customer does not have to do any- thing if our reasons don't hit him right. If he takes our advice he does so, knowing what he is doing and also why. People often ask me what the principles of investment are. Well, I should say the first thing to do is to go to an honest dealer. The operation of buying stocks or bonds is like buying jewels or shoes or furs. Get an honest broker; ask him for facts and figures and do your own thinking and deciding. Use the care that you would use to select a doctor or a butcher. When I first came to New York I took every account I could, I made mistakes. I mean, I took accounts I never should have taken. After I exhausted what I might call the immediate prospects on my Harvard Club list, know- ing we had the capacity to handle much more business than we were doing, I went after the big man in earnest. I remember, for instance, hearing that Colonel Bronson was acquainted with Winthrop C. Ross, at whose office I had called at least fifteen times but never got beyond the secretary, for Mr. Ross was one of the busiest men in the world. He was interested in all sorts of enterprises. At that time he was interested in promoting a big deal in Boston and he spent half his time there, so I took it upon myself to ask our senior partner to tackle Mr. Ross. I myself was perfectly willing to call at Mr. Ross’ office every day for ten years, but I wanted the account as soon as possible. It didn’t matter through whom it came into the office so long as it came. The important thing was to increase the business done by the New York branch, and Ross was no chair-warmer. He was a New Hampshire man and owned about all the trolley lines in that section of New England. He had

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accounts with some of the biggest and richest commission houses in the Street, and if he was good enough for them he was good enough for us, I thought. I learned it was nothing unusual for him to swing a line of one hundred thousand shares in the office of Westcott, Blaine & Co., at that time one of the biggest of the big houses of the Street. They had more multimillionaire customers than any other. The glory had passed from I. & S. Wormser, and Long & Dawes and Flower & Co. and Westcott, Blaine & Co. were now the topnotchers; but not in the newspapers. The firm had at least fifteen customers of Ross’ caliber. Well, Colonel Bronson did talk to Ross. You know, the colonel is the most persuasive man that ever lived. He always gets about everything he asks for, and the reason, as near as I can make out, is that everybody is willing to do as he wishes because it is perfectly plain that he himself is willing to do what they ask of him. They all feel they cannot refuse a man who cannot refuse them. Safety in Trading T ALL events, the colonel told me to call on Mr. Ross, and I did. This time I was allowed to see him. I told him we were ready to give him the best of service in both Boston and New York. He was doing quite a bit in Bos- ton just then and he used us rather extensively; but I saw to it that he also gave us a lot of business to do in New York. It was a very profitable account, for, as I told you, he swung a big line. He was the moving spirit in a half dozen corporations whose stocks were dealt in on the New York Stock Exchange and he traded heavily in those shares as well as in others that were not controlled by him. I will say here that many people wondered that a con- servative house like ours took the account of such a plunger as Mr. Ross. They thought it couldn’t be safe. There is a popular delusion that margin business is risky and there- fore not quite legitimate and all that. That is not true. Of course, margin business is like everything else. A house may be so keen about getting business that it will take too many chances. But if a broker uses judgment his margin business is the safest business in the world. Our own experience is that we, as a firm, have lost more money dealing in first-class municipa! bonds than in bad marginal accounts. We have not lost ten thousand dollars in such accounts in ten years. We simply do not let any customer trade on a smal! margin. By insisting on safety for ourselves we insure safety for the customer. We have stuck to our rule of having margins kept up, and by so doing we have kept our business and our cus- tomers. We never have been so anxious to get commissions as to make us forget this rule. a That is one reason why we have never had a bank call on us for additional collateral. What we have insisted our customers should do we have ourselves done without waiting to be prodded by the banks, whose margin customers we were. A man in the brokerage business has to deal fairly by the banks. It is a theory of my senior partner that it is silly to quarrel with the banks about the terms of a loan. Suppose we pay one-fourth of one per cent more to our bank than we would need to if we went about and shopped for money, what difference does that make? We always keep about a thirty per cent margin on our bank loans, for it is a rule of Bronson & Barnes to see to it that this is kept up. The moment it begins to look weak we pump more collateral into it. If a bank asks us to take out certain securities we do so at once, without remarks, however strong our convic- tion may be as to the value of the securities in question. There isn’t anything remarkable about all this. Every good brokerage house does the same thing, But I will say that for years I worked very hard to demonstrate to my fellow brokers the folly of doing business on an inadequate margin. When I first came to Wall Street the average was about 10 per cent. There were some houses that did busi- ness on a five per cent basis, for they thought they must compete with the bucket shops. But we have changed all that and thereby eliminated a source of loss to the public. Insufficient capital and inexperience are the chief causes of commercial failures in the United States. This is as true of stock speculation as of retail dry goods or shoes or men’s clothing. Winthrop C. Ross was the largest account of our New York branch. We made a great deal of money in commis- sions and we gave him the best service we could. It must have suited him or he would not have stayed with us. We naturally wished to keep him in that frame of mind. He was a very shrewd man, a multimillionaire, with a record of a dozen brilliant flotations and a reputation for great skill in corporation financiering, which is very different from financing. Such a man would not expect to be dunned for margins or be subject to the ordinary rules of a broker’s office. Star customers are apt to want more than the usual consideration. Well, there came the time when we had the Silent Panic of 1907. Things began to go wrong and the reason was not clear at first, although when the big crash came one STAR CUSTOMERS => ty ae) cpt ee - gw ; Star Customers are Apt to Want More Than the Usual Consideration THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 17 epigrammatic broker explained it by stating that somebody asked for a dol- larand when he could not get it tried to sell stocks. But weeks before that hap- pened came the news that Mr. Rosas had resigned the chairmanship of the board of directors of a bank of which he had long been the largest individual stockholder. With his loss of the abso- lute control of the bank came rumors, for Mr. Ross had been too bold a plunger to go unscathed by the gossip mongers of Wall Street during a crisis. Mr. Ross, as I had reason to know, was a very rich man and his account had been very profitable to us; but we had our rule about margins.. When a rule is based on sound business prin- ciples it is wise to adhere to it. If you begin to make exceptions every time that adherence to it means a disagree- able five minutes, the rule becomes worse than valueless. Policy is policy always. We were carrying a big block of New Hampshire Trac- tion for Mr. Ross, It was his pet. He had made several sensationally successful coups with it. In fact, common gossip had it that he always paid for political favors, franchises and the like with market tips on that stock; also, that when aldermen or bosslets, having tasted blood, threatened him with strike bills and other forms of un- punishable blackmail, Mr. Ross gave them more tips on New Hampshire Traction. He thereby reduced the cost to himself of the previous favors, and as the politicians lost their shirts, they were in no position to fight, so they com- promised. Mr. Ross, they used to say, would often bear half the alderman’s losses even though that involved his contenting himself with half the profit to which he was entitled. I did not begin to hear these stories until later. One never does. Calls for More Collateral S$ I SAID, we had this big block of New Hampshire Traction in the office. The price of it began to decline in sympathy with the general weakness, and presently Ross’ margin began to get closer and closer to our irreducible minimum. If it had been anyone else I should have sent him notice to come up with more margin, but in Ross’ case I hesitated to do so. We had never before had to call on him for more margin, and star customers often suffer from the peculiar irritation displayed by all very rich men when they are asked for actual cash at any time for any reason. They do not rel- ish taking gilt-edge securities out of their strong boxes. It is too much like using up actual capital instead of doing busi- ness on their name as usual, There isn't much difference when you get (Continued on Page 8&1) :

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i8 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 30,1924 PROFESSOR, HOW COULD YOU! Vv r MERGING from the park we walked rapidly K to the nearest corner to await a street car, -— and here Mr. Jackson asked me for the sil- ver he had restored to me. This I readily gave him, and his first act was to hail ILLUSTRATED By Harry Leon Wilson RALEIGH ar HENRY hope that I might find further particulars of the frightful degeneracy that menaced America’s home life. But, as I have so often remarked about our public press, it ignores the gravest of our probleins for the petty round of murders, robberies, official cor- a street urchin and purchase a newspaper. Handing this to me he directed in a gruff low tone that I hold it before my face con- tinuously, As I took the sheet I glanced back to the park exit and saw Bertrand Meigs issue from it. Almost at once he caught sight of my companion and me and had the impudence to wave his stick at us. I directed the attention of Mr. Jackson to him, who shook his clenched fist at the fellow. Our car coming, he seized my elbow and propelled me to it. Boarding it, we both observed that Meigs still regarded us, and Mr. Jackson again sheok his doubled fist, whereupon the detective, as I now did not doubt him to be, waved his stick and his unencumbered hand in a manner that seemed not only carefree but cordial. Our car started and as we seated ourselves Mr, Jackson savagely remarked, ‘I should have soaked that bird a plenty when I had the chance,” “Tf dare say,” I replied, not divining the precise meaning of his speech, but feeling its intention to be hostile, i then held the news- paper up before my face as I had been instructed to do, and was shocked to find my glance resting upon a muddied portrait of my- self. Noted Educator Still Missing, was the headline over an account of the futile search for me in the environs of Fairwater. I was glad to see that I was not any longer described merely as ‘‘spouse of mayor,” although much of the article was devoted to the activ- ities and eminence of Mrs. Cop- plestone, who, said the screed, “occupies a place of distinction in her unfailing support of cultural things in addition to extensive philanthropic and social-service work, all of which have combined to make her the town's ideal ' ruptions at our national capital and the scandals of the ill-mated. Aside from the account of my own disappearance there had been little of real interest in the sheet. As I threw it down in some dis- gust for its trivialities a knock sounded on the door, and in answer to my call a young man entered briskly. He was a slim youth rather carefully attired and wear- ing a cap pulled down over a pair of gray eyes that had a curious effect of being constantly watch- ful. Seeing that the room was empty save for me he remarked in a friendly manner, ‘I thought Sooner was here. Didn't I hear his step a while ago?”’ “You perhaps did,’’ I rejoined, “but Mr. Jackson has gone out on some errands. It is possible, however, that he will return after a time.” “After a time, eh?” said the young man genially, and added, ‘Is the old bird still up against it or has he made a killing?”’ I instantly now perceived that it must be a fashion of speech among these men to refer to human beings as birds, but I was puzzled by the remainder of his speech. However, the boy had an in- gratiating manner, so I thought to satisfy him. “TI do not know,” I answered, “what Mr. Jackson may be against, but in any event I doubt if he would resort to murder. It is true that he lately spoke of soak- ing a bird, but I do not think he would have gone to the extreme of killing him. He merely hustled out with his tickets after I had given him some of my kale.” The young man was now regard- ing me steadily with a somewhat bewildered glance. After a moment he paced twice across the narrow room, humming lightly. Then mayor.” The dispatch was dated at Fairwater and I had little doubt that Mrs. Copplestone herself had penned it. I presently folded the paper so that this item might not arouse the suspicion of Mr. Jackson. A long time we rode, penetrating at last a dingier part of the city, and when we alighted in a mean street I was pleased to think that my Nemesis was at last baffled had it been his intention to continue the odious persecution. Also 1 was glad to remember that should he again come near me while Mr, Jackson was by he would become a soaked bird, which, from the tone of my companion, would seem to be something harshly to his disadvantage. I was beginning to rely greatly upon this strange person who, for all his theat- rical surface, seemed devoted to my interests. Rapidly we walked several blocks along the street in which we alighted, then turned into one of an even meaner aspect, its houses dismal and dilapidated. Into one of the most sordid appearing Mr. Jackson led me and, after mounting three flights of uncarpeted stairs into a squalor that increased with our ascent, threw open a door of a tiny chamber at the back of the house, containing an iron bed, a searred bureau and one decrepit chair, Closing and locking the door he breathed a long sigh as of relief, and remarked as he surveyed me, “For the nonce that h—-hound of the law is thrown off, but don’t show your face outside this dump till I give you the word, I didn’t like the way that bird was acting.” “Y dare say he would be much better soaked,” I said. “Trust me,” replied my companion grimly, “but I ought to get you out of town, because that bird is probably this minute making his report and every police station here will have your description. However, I have a flash. I got it when we come along in that car. But first I'll have Several Other Attempts He Made to Baffle My Quick Eye, and When Each Time I Picked the Shett Concealing the Peliet He Became Rather Piqued to get some things out of hock, so if you were on the level about that kale, show me.” I saw him to mean that if I had been honest in saying I was in possession of money he would like to see some, so I reached into a convenient pocket and, manipulating the safety pin, brought forth one of my assortments of cur- rency. The eyes of Mr. Jackson lighted eagerly as he took the bills and ran them over with deft fingers. “Bighty-five,”” he said, ‘‘and I sure beg your pardon, Professor, for having doubted that fairy tale about you being a murderer.” : “Bing, bing! I mow them down,” I said, recalling Joe’s tribute. “I believe you, I have to believe you. No one gets eighty-five dollars these days for much less than murder.” “T have still more kale, a number of dollars of it,’’ I said, reaching for another pocket, but he stopped me. “This is enough for tonight. Later, I may have a seri- ous talk with you about the rest, but now I got to hustle out with my tickets.” He opened the door, pausing only to warn me that I must not leave the room, and was off. Again I nursed mis- givings about the integrity of Mr. Jackson caused by his description of this abode as a dump. Both Edward and Richard had predicted that I would on the morrow awaken in a dump with nothing but my safety pins left. Now I was in what Mr. Jackson himself frankly admitted to be a dump, and I had intrusted him with a considerable number of kales. Resolving to face the situation calmly, however, I picked up my newspaper and, having crumpled its first sheet into a ball, searched its remaining columns in the after readjusting his rich cravat in its broken mirror, he came to rest by leaning against the edge of the dresser. From this position he eyed me pleasantly and said, “‘Some of your kale—I believe you said you gave him some of it?” “Yes,” I replied. “I was about to give him more, but he declined it, saying he had already enough for his present purpose.”’ Again the youth paced across the room, hum- ming lightly. He made a conventional remark about the weather and absently took from the pocket of his well-cut coat two small objects which I did not at first recognize. With these he began to*play on the dresser top and ap- ’ peared to have forgotten rfiy presence. At length he glanced up at me apologetically, saying, “I beg your pardon, sir, but I became engrossed with an interesting little game I have just found. I noticed a chap playing it on the street today and it simply fascinated me, so I bought a set of the implements for a few cents. You will see how simple they are.” He held up to me what I now saw to be merely the two detached halves of an English-walnut shell and a small pellet of some compo- sition I could not identify. “It is most interesting,’ he went on, turning again to put his toys on the dresser top. “If you will step here I shall be glad to show you the game.” I left my seat on the iron bed and went to watch the young enthusiast. It was indeed a simple game, a mere matter of deftly manipulating the two shells so that the onlooker should be uncertain as to which of them lay over the pellet. I saw at once what the object of the player would be and observed that the youth could not yet have mastered sufficient skill to make the contest other than one-sided. I frankly pointed out that he was doing the thing clumsily, and he took my comment in such good

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spirit, showing not the least sign of offense, that I could not help liking him. “I know I can’t do it well, yet,” he confessed, “but you should have seen that chap on the street. He deceived me almost every time. Now, let me see—how did he do it?” And taking the pellet and the two shells he again manipu- lated them, but still so clumsily that I had no difficulty in picking the correct shell. Somewhat chagrined, he hope- fully tried again, and once more I was able to follow the movements of his firgers. Several other attempts he made to baffle my quick eye, and when each time I picked the shell concealing the pellet he became rather piqued and, declaring that the quickness of his hand would yet deceive my eye, he again went through his clumsy motion, and turned pridefully to me with the boast, “‘Now you are fooled. This time I have succeeded.” I assured him, however, that he had not and was about to pick up the proper shell when he restrained me. ‘One moment,” he remarked. ‘I am so sure I have fooled you this time that I would be willing to wager a few dollars upon it. What do you say to that?” Now I knew he had been clumsy again and that the pellet lay under the shell to his right, but thinking to teach him a good lesson, I cried, ‘‘ Willingly!’’ meaning, of course, to give him back such money as he might foolishly stake and lose to me. “Good!” he replied, and taking some notes from his pocket he looked at me inquiringly. ‘How about a ten- spot (ten dollars],’’ he inquired, and as I had one of these bills at hand I heartily agreed, laying my own bill beside his on the table and promptly picking up the right shell. My astonishment may be surmised when I say that the pellet was not there, where I had distinctly seen it placed. My opponent smilingly lifted the other shell, proving, in- deed, that my eye had been deceived. I was now concerned about the young man, for I knew that only an accident had served him, and I immediately proposed that we make other wagers so I might presently prove to him that he was not sufficiently master of the game to hazard his money on it. He seemed rather loath at first, but, in response to my urging, at last consented, sug- gesting that we double the stakes. To this I gladly agreed, and I was reaching to unfasten another safety pin when our door opened and Mr. Jackson entered, his arms full of bundles. My young friend glanced around at him in some annoy- ance and instantly closed his hand over our first stake. Mr. Jackson, although he seemed not to notice this move- ment, dropped his bundles on the bed, came over to the youth, grasped the hand that still held the two notes, extracted one of them and lightly flicked the wrist above it, saying, “‘Naughty, naughty, Harold!” Although I was aghast at the rudeness of this perform- ance, my injured young friend merely grinned at his as- sailant not unamiably, elthough he remarked as he paused at the still-open door, “I wish you had broken both legs coming upstairs.’’ This, of course, must have been said in jest, but before I could expostulate at the treatment he had received the speaker had gone and Mr. Jackson was eying me severely. “Was that your first bet?” he demanded. “It was,” I replied, ‘although I had just prevailed upon the young man to make another at double the stakes when you so roughly spoiled our game. And I wish you to understand clearly that I was not trying to fleece the lad. He is very clumsy at the game, this being the first time he has tried to play it. After showing him that he should not risk money on his skill—it was by the merest accident he won our first wager—I meant to return his losings with a few words of wholesome advice. As you have prevented me from doing him this service I make no doubt he will fall into the hands of people less considerate.”’ Mr. Jackson had again stared at me in his curiously steadfast manner during this speech—which I meant him to take as a rebuke for his interference. He continued to stare a long moment after I had finished. Then he came to me and warmly grasped my hand, which he shook at length, to my great bewilderment. Presently he held me away from him and again surveying me, spoke. “Professor,”” he began, “‘in my forty years some very wondrous things have happened to me, but never anything like you. I really don’t know what I have done to deserve you. And I see now that you are indeed the person you have claimed to be. You are beyond a doubt Mr. Addison Simms, of Seattle. That’s just as easy to believe as the rest of you.” THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 19 I now surveyed him in my turn. “Your speech is not clear to me, Mr. Jackson, and yet I feel a confidence in you not warranted by your manner. In short, sir, you are an enigma to me, even though I rely upon you.” “That’s just what I wanted to say about you,” he re- plied, “only I couldn't think of that word. But I am glad you rely upon me. And further, | am about to put your confidence to a severe test. For your own good I want you to come clean with whatever kale you have left; you have mentioned a number of safety pins, and I am afraid one of them might work into your old hideand cause appendicitis.” Seeing that I was quite at the man’s mercy and still moreover, feeling the confidence I had expressed, I pro- ceeded to disburden myself of the bank notes secreted about my person. As I removed them Mr. Jackson placed them in a pile on the bed, skillfully counting them as he did so. When I had removed the last note he sighed and re- marked, “I certainly am the original bobbed-haired ban- dit. What lovely picking you would have been for Harold and his trained shells. And if you hadn't met him you would tomorrow have been buying the city hall. Let me warn you now, should you again come into money, not to buy that property. I admit the offer is temptingly made; I have known the city hall to go for as little as two hundred dollars if that was all the bird had, but promise me you will never buy it.” Despite the obscure wording of this speech I felt some- how that a true devotion to my interesta underlay it Without misgiving I saw Mr. Jackson roll my bills into one lot and stow them in a pocket. Only then I remembered my old precaution. “TI ought to tell you,” I said, “it was long since made a rule that I keep one bill constantly pinned in this upper left-hand pocket, in case I should find myself away from home utterly without money, as more than once has happened.”’ Mr. Jackson withdrew my money and took a bill from it. “Very well,” he said, “I'll let you keep this one if you'll promise to forget which pocket it’s in, and especially prom- ise not to wager it on the game of that Harold boy that rooms across the hall. Your intentions were noble, but let (Continued on Page 54 To Thie I Stepped the Dance and Reproduced the Sounds He Had Made as Best I Could

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20 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST REG. VU. 6. PAT, OFF, FOUNDED A°?D! 1728 PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY INDEPENDENCE SQUARE PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA, U.S.A. GEORGE HORACE LORIMER, EDITOR @uleceind Five Cents the Copy From All N: deal P To the United States and Possessions, Argentina, Bolivie, Brazil, Colombia, Costa Rica, Cubs, Dominican Republic, Ecuador, Guatemala, Isle of Pines, Mexleo, Nicaragua, Panama, Paraguay, Peru, Republic of Honduras, Selvedor, Spain sad Urugusy, $2.00 the Year. Remit by U. 8S. Money Order, Express Money Order, Check or by Draft, payable in U. §. Funds, Te Canada — By Subscription, $2.00 the Year. Single Copies, Five Centse— Canadian or US. Funds To Newfouadiand (with Labrador) and other Foreign Countries, exclusive of those mentioned above, by subscription, post paid, $6.00 the Year. Re- mittences to be by Postal of Express Money Order or by Drat on « bank in the U. &., payeble in U. 8. Funds. PHILADELPHIA, AUGUST 3&0, 1924 Man the Conqueror VERY man with a drop of red blood who has been following the gallant attempts of the Third Everest Expedition to scaie the peak of the Queen of Mountains will wiah to accept the belief now held by Lieutenant Colonel Norton, leader of the expedition, that his lost comrades, Messrs. Mallory and Irvine, before they per- ished actually stood upon the topmost crest. The world has too few of these bold and steadfast pioneers, who will go happily to poverty or to death to reach a goal that has never been reached before and who see no less glory in failure than in success, provided only that they do their best and keep up the fight as long as life is in them. And yet we can point to some fine specimens of the breed. Some of them have been flying round the globe. Some are giving their lives to stamp out devastating diseases, Mr. Richard O. Marsh and his fearless companions braved hardship, pestilence and all the perils of the Isth- mian jungle before they found the lost tribe of blond Indians; and Prof. J. L. Baer, of the Smithsonian Institu- tion, and Mr, Paul Brin, the Panamanian botanist, perished in the attempt. Other men of the same breed dedicate their lives to reaching that spot of earth where there is no direction but south; and their brethren of the laboratories, no less devoted, labor day and night to trap an unseen atom and learn the motions of its invisible members, as though they were the steps of a new dance. Of such is the vanguard of humanity, Such are the men who haul the rest of their kind after them and set up the new milestones of human progress. Whatever task they undertake, these leaders have one character in common: They are the officers who direct man’s age-old warfare against Nature; and they head an army that continually marches on from victory to victory and leaves many a dead captain by the way. Sir Francis Younghusband, the distinguished Tibetan explorer, publishes in the London Times a stirring article in which he argues that the eventual conquest of Everest is a foregone conclusion. It is worthy of more extended quotation than space permits, not only on account of the world-wide interest in the subject but also because the author's argument applies to every field of Nature that THE man has determined to penetrate and conquer for his race. Thus Sir Francis: “The doom of Everest is sealed; and for one simple, one very obvious reason. Man grows in wisdom and stature; but the mountain’s stature is fixed. Man can exalt the spirit within him, but the mountain cannot add a single cubit to her measure. He finds means to outwit the mountain’s allies. And each throw he receives only heightens his spirit. He quickly recovers himself, and un- daunted returns to the battle. While the mountain for ever remains fixed, the spirit of man can heighten itself — ean rise higher and higher as the battle demands and oc- casion requires. As man looks up to the hills and earnestly strives to attain them his spirit increases within him.” Sir Francis goes on to survey the history of mountain climbing during the past forty years. A generation or more ago, 21,000 feet was the Ultima Thule of altitude. Twenty years ago the limit had been advanced to 23,000 feet, and so on until, a few weeks ago, Colonel Norton’s expedition reached 28,000. Sir Francis reasons: “21, 23, 25, 27, 28—arithmetic itself shows that 29 must follow and Everest be vanquished.”’ And then he pictures the sight that brave eyes will some day behold: “A sea of peaks will stretch all round him. Kingdoms, principalities, and powers far down below will lie sub- merged in bluey haze. Raised high above the rest of earth he will feel himself to be, and to have reached a region of sternest austerity, indeed, but loftier, purer, clearer, and of more dazzling radiance and farther stretching horizon than man had ever known before. And his vision will be all the more intense because he will have won this glory for himself by his own unaided efforts. And ever after as man looks upward at Mt. Everest it will not be with a craven sense of his own littleness beside her. He will then be justly proud of his own greatness. Supremely lofty as she is among all mountains, he wi!) know for certain that his own spirit can exalt him higher still.” As man has conquered lesser peaks, so will he conquer Everest. As he has put down smallpox and tuberculosis, so will he put down cancer and infantile paralysis. Pres- ently we shall have cold light and derive our power from the energy of the sun. We shall understand the constitu- tion of matter, we shall know more about the mysteries of time and space. Those who dare the mountain tops will achieve; and we who grub in the valleys shall enjoy the fruits of their labors—but their visions we shall never see. The Anglo: Soviet Muddle ONDON has for many weeks been the scene of as dreary ¥ and grotesque a tragi-comedy as the financial world has ever witnessed. We refer to the negotiations of the Russian delegates to the Anglo-Soviet Conference looking toward closer trade relations and the flotation of large credits with only the sky for security. The world has never seen a more striking example of a government that wanted to eat its cake and have it too, Twin aims of Bolshevik polity were to destroy the pur- chasing power of money and to annihilate capital. In both these designs it succeeded. Bolshevism made the ruble worthless ard it did to death that portior of its economic capital represented by instruments of production, by al- lowing its mills, factories and industrial establishments to go to rack and ruin. Then, to signalize its contempt for the ethical standards of capitalistic nations, it repudiated its obligations, We have yet to see a newspaper comic strip depict a situation more absurd than that of the Soviet delegates attempting to wangle the British Government into guar- anteeing an international loan in order that bankers may have a sound ta'king point when they try to distribute the bonds among investors. Both communists and socialists are to such a large extent tarred with the same brush that the Soviet commissioners feel infinitely more at home at Westminster than they would at Washington; but even Mr. MacDonald, with all his reputed tenderness for the pink thought of Continental theorists, has not, up to this writing, been able to stomach the proposals of his Russian SATURDAY EVENING POST August 30,1924 visitors. The Soviet bait is the promise of a profitable out- let for British manufactures. Improved housing condi- tions alone excepted, this is the one thing that Britain most needs; but even the most radical of her ministers knows that the price is too high and that the delivery of promised benefits is too uncertain. To appraise the good faith of the Soviet proposals at their face value would be grossly to overrate it; for though it is reported that the Russian conferees have offered to unsay their repudiation in respect of fifteen per cent of Russian obligations due to Britain and British subjects, even this shrinking fifteen per cent honesty is conditioned by several provisos and stipulations, not the least of which is the granting of a loan amounting to some fifty or sixty million pounds sterling. The mission of the Soviet conferees has not been made any pleasanter or more plausible by the fact that the officials with whom they are treating are fully aware that the Soviet Government, through its tools, is waging the bitterest sort of warfare, both in the open and in the dark, upon Mr. MacDonald’s government. There cannot be the smallest doubt that Russian money is being used to foment outlaw strikes and to stir up discord within the ranks of British trades-unions; to form communist groups in every large industrial plant in England; to convert moderate socialists into red communists. It is always to be observed that no matter how lean the Soviet exchequer may be, no matter how heavy the toll of famine and misery may be at home, there is never lack of funds for propaganda abroad. Just what measure of success will crown the Russian efforts in the end it is not possible to predict with any cer- tainty. No one can forecast just how the Labor Govern- ment will handle the problems that are pressing for solution on every side. Indeed, we doubt if the ministers them- selves can see much farther into the future than those who are not in their confidence. We like to think, however, that Mr. MacDonald and his colleagues are animated by genuinely patriotic motives; and that they will, as their eyes open, throw overboard some of the radical notions to which they stand committed, rather than afflict their sorely vexed country with new and needless trials and bur- dens. To some members of the Labor Party it is a cause for secret rejoicing that they are not in undisputed power and for that reason do not bear quite so heavy an onus of responsibility for the events of the next few months as they would have to shoulder if Mr. MacDonald’s will were law. The Labor Party’s position is most difficult. Not only is it in a parliamentary minority but it is powerless to maintain any semblance of discipline within its own ranks. There is always some ginger committee ready to kick the sleeping dogs into snarling activity. Labor’s most formid- able enemies are the extremists of its own household. The gravity of Britain’s position is indicated by the restraint that marks the utterances of both the Liberal and the Unionist press. This attitude appears to be predi- cated upon a belief that the times are too ticklish to war- rant irresponsible heckling or to justify the ordinary tactics of partisan politics. During the sessions of the interallied conference for the consideration of the Dawes report the press, as a whole, was most carefu! to refrain from pub- lishing matter calculated to embarrass the prime minister or to hamper his negotiations. In practically every quar- ter there has been a whole-hearted disposition to give the government a chance, Dark as the British outlook has been, there are on the horizon bright spots which have been growing noticeably larger. Anglo-French relations seem to be approaching a firmer footing The final adoption and faithful execution of the Dawes plan for the rehabilitation of Germany hold out vast possibilities for good, Broadly speaking, the socialist government has not been successful in coping with the housing shortage; but its failure has been relative rather than absolute, and gradual betterments may be looked for, even though they eventuate with tragical back- wardness. In time, even the Anglo-Soviet tangle will be straight- ened out; and one is tolerantly safe in assuming that when differences are finally accommodated England will again prove that she is too old a trader and too experienced a banker to accept the hot end of the poker.

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VERY great nation is symbolized for pictorial purposes in a type, and to this symbol its citizens fondly cling, yj Y persuaded they can visualize in it the national virtues. Hurrah for John Bull! Hurrah for Uncle Sam! When the English think of themselves in bulk they like to conjure up a hearty, bluff old gentleman of the Georgian era, possessed of a manly contempt for subtlety, who con- tinually manages to muddle through to triumph by sheer force of character and the luck popularly credited with Now this portrait of John Buli would raise raucous laughter anywhere in Con- attendance upon purity of aims. tinental Europe. Of course in point of physical resem- blance it is not a faithful symbol, and in respect to the other attributes Europe considers there has never been a nation in history so subtle and farsighted in statecraft and business. Europe Studying Uncle Sam ND we ourselves have long, lean, phlegmatic Uncle Sam—shrewd and kindly and wise, patient with the patience of great strength. How about that picture? To the outside world it is even more banal than the other. Cartoons of Uncle Sam as a cunning, swollen, greedy miser hugging a huge pile of gold have enjoyed immense journalistic vogue in England and France; and from Eng- land, which ruled the world with gold from 1815 to 1914, countless high-purposed missionaries have come to our shores to urge the salvation of our souls by getting rid of it. At the other extreme are the cartoons of Uncle Sam as a beneficent brother of charity, which the needs of certain hungry lands made temporarily popular therein. Each of these portraits had a specific purpose, and they represent only what the makers of public opinion in the countries where they circulate want the masses to accept. Also, they hope for certain reactions to them in the United States. What those governing classes themselves think is entirely different. Therefore, though we may experience a measure of sur- prise that a people whose humanitarian gifts abroad dur- ing the past six years exceeded those of all the rest of the world combined should be lampooned in the réle of a miser, we can afford to ignore it, remembering that the passing of financial supremacy to the Western Hemisphere could hardly come about without some bitterness and envy. Nor should we be sold on the beneficent-brother portrait. It is quite as much out of drawing. The governing classes of Europe follow our politics and internal affairs closely; since their war needs made it necessary they have made a 1 study of how the American peo- A ple respond to various forms of appeal; they have sounded us time and again to determine the best way of winning American acquiescence. And naturally they have arrived at a picture. It is far removed from the cartoons of Uncle Sam as a greedy miser—farther still from THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 21 am and the Tub Thumpers By GEORGE PATTULLO that portrait of a self-possessed, resolute and patient gentleman with a goatee which we have grown to revere. If put into words the picture they have built up through watching us perform since 1918 is that of a very nervous giant with the oppor- tunity and potential strength for world leadership, but so devoid of moral courage he will not undertake it, nor even stand up for his own rights against organized clamor. They see what they call a nouveau riche so uncertain of himself that he grows garrulous to conceal it; easily pricked into going out of the way to justify his course when it needs no vindication; a colossus so supersensitive to criticism that he can be kept continually on the defensive; who succumbs to every sentimental appeal, and is so read- ily hoodwinked that his idealism and fits of magnificent generosity do as much harm as good. The Johnson Act HAT may sound overdrawn, and I freely admit my own observation in nine countries I have visited during the past seven months may be all wrong, so let us dismiss per- sonal conclusions from consideration and proceed to a study of the methods of approach employed by other na- tions since 1918 in their dealings with us. They ought to provide sure indications of their estimates of the American people. Recently the American Congress passed an immigration Every country asserts the right to re- strict immigration, to say what kinds of people shall settle And ali na- tions concede this right, except to those countries soe act long overdue. within its borders and what kinds shall not. defenseless that they cannot assert anything. Great Brit- ain, France, Germany, Italy, Japan, Canada, Australia— all have restrictions; they all discriminate. Consequently the United States was well within its undeniable rights. Yet immediately the purpose of the new act became known, a storm of protests broke out. Italy vigorously objected; (Continued on Page 106)

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Miss Willa Gray—The Hyena FP YHE Wild Hyena’s laugh, we've found, 1s probably the world’s worst sound Unless, wher at a matinée, You've chanced lo hear Miss Willa Gray. Now laughs themselves are no dis- grace But hers are always out of place. She has an awkward way of choosing Such moments as are most con- fusing; Aa when, let's say, the audience Is plainly panting with suspense For fear the Hero's shot will miss Or during a perfervid kiss Or when our pet abomination, The Questionable Situation, irises——as il has a way Of doing in the modern play Or jokea are told that make us try Our beat to shun our neighbor's eye — It's then, as by some force mes- merte Propelled, that Willa's laugh hysteric The theater's tension tears to tal- tere, And every nervous system shat- ters. Hyena and Mias Willa Gray One in the Zoo, one on Broad- way Both share this common quality Of misdirected joitity. Since Seience contradicts the rumor Hyenas have a sense of humor And Witla certainly has not, Although she talks of it a lot, We'll bet thai neither, off the bat, Could tell ua what they're laugh- ing at Edgar Swope —The Soapfish IMHE Soapfish, although known to few, We find well worth a closer view. Of lowly piscatoriai rank, He shares another fish's tank, At least, that was the way we saw him The day that we went down to THE SATURDAY EVENING POST SHORT TURNS AND ENCORES An Unnatural History au The Superiority Complex (A complex is a modern name for a fault; something good that is carried too far; a virlue devilized, It is an imp that hovers about us but which can be seen only by the Psychoanalyst—so they say —and sent back to normal —- whatever normal is-——where no complex can exist. In the interests of science we have pictured a few of the most noted complexes, believing that it is best to come face to face with them and talk it over.) August 30,1924 Have striven with but slight avail To salt poor Art’s elusive tail. La Vie Bohéme that poets sing Is really quite a solemn thing For pale young men, with thoughts free-verse-ward, Who use “ Victorian” for a curse word. They're serious about their thinking, And awf'ly so about their drinking. Of Art they're sternly critical, And Life, and things Political. While Love—ah, Love! They scorn—they flout it! You ought to hear them talk about it! You wonder where they get the time. Young Wilfred Peek’s just written Slime— A book in verse that’s more than free— To prove that Marriage Shouldn't Be. He feels this sad world sorely needs it. Come on, let’s go before he reads it! The Debutante—The Seventeen-Year Locust TTENTION is but rarely focused Upon the Debutante or Locust Before the age of seventeen. But once they've burst upon the scene They vie, with Youth's horrific zest, To see which is the bigger pest. No follower of Fortune shifty, We'd place the odds at fifty-fifty Without the slightest hesitation, And recommend extermination. The Hon. Augustus Glupp— The Great Auk T PRESENT there is littl talk Of what was once the far-famed Auk Which on a time, we've read and heard, Was thought a most important bird, And merited sufficient fame To warrant “Great” before his name, His fault was it—or Fortune's whim— draw him. You've never seen a fish forlorner Than he was, lying in one corner While tank mates, gayly flitting o’er him, Seemed, selfishly, io just ignore him And leave him there alone to mope. It made us think of Edgar Swope. For he, in Mother Nature's plan, Suatains the réle of Extra Man. How oft @ hostess, disappointed, Her dinner table ail disjointed, Sees suddenly a ray of hope When someone says, “Call Edgar Swope!"’ But when in answer to her prayer He comes—you'd think he wasn't there. Look here how Mesdames Wills and Reece Just treat him like the centerpiece And ialk acrosa him! He must wish He hadn't come—the poor fish! ORAWN @Y ART YOUNG Mr. Jonas Bone—The Dancing Bear ERHAPS you think we seem unfair To Jonas Bone—or to the Bear— To pair the one, so nobly bred, With euch @ clumsy quadruped. We hasten, in thie circumsiance, To add it’s only when they dance They seem—especially round the knees— As like az the proverbial peas. The Bear, of course, must dance for treasure, While Jonas does it just for pleasure. The Superiority Complex — Roosterius Frogissmo— Sings @ Song About Itseif. It Feathers its Own Nest and is Ready at Any Time to Pose for its Picture. It Never Recognizes Any Other Complex Uniess it Belongs to the Superior Species. Its Favorite Habitat is in the Minds of Cotlege Graduates, the New Rich, Literary Cults, Public Officials, or Wherever a Sense of Proportion Has Been Lost or Neglected The pleasure—if it pleasure is Is solely and distinetly his. Yet both dance solemnly and sadly, And very, very, very badly. Though Jonas’ faulis we would condone If, like the Bear, he'd dance alone. And here's another way they're kin In their Terpsichorean sin: Although, at superficial view, The Bear has four feet—Jonas two We know that on a ballroom floor He never walks on less than four, And stumbles through a waltz divine On two of his and two of mine. Wilfred Peek—The Penguin HE Penguin's superserious air We never have seen anywhere Except in Greenwich Village parts, Where Little Groups pursue the Arts. “ Pursue,” we think, is just the word; For most of them--or so we've heard— That now one rarely hears of him? Perhaps Augustus Glupp’s sad case Explains what may have taken place. For 'Gustus, at a tender age, Seemed made to grace some History’s page. A genial youth, and one proliz, He early turned to politics. Of promising and noble nature, He quickly reached the Legislature, Which proved to be the Rubicon That won for him the prefix ‘‘ Hon.” From there—the mive was purely tentative He next became a Representative At Washington, D.C. And then it Was but a step into the Senate. It seemed that ever on and up Must glide the star of ’Gustus Glupp. Alack! His foes, with fell intent, Elected him Vice President. And now the fact cannot be blinked Both Auk and 'Gustus are extinct. Mrs. Bell—The Elephant HE Elephant and Mrs. Bell We think are deadly parallel. They're each the largest of their kind, But neither of them seems to mind. The Elephant can tuck away Without a qualm a bale of hay; (Continued on Page 105)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 30,1924 By JOSEPH HERGESHEIMER i £88 Ff iw tT 8 fb a? FP. R. - — -:. 2 & Bf with Richard Bale’s complete appreciation of Balisand, his unquestioned ailegiance to all that the plantation But with the progress of summer, the approaching election of a Presi- dent, he was drawn further and further into the local agi- [: THIS manner a vague discontentment ran parallel and his fortunate engagements expressed. tations and party rivalry. He viewed this, mostly, from a largely traditional—Bradlock Wiatt called it an anti- quated--position. Richard had never been reconciled, at ease, with the extreme developments of party organization. The Perfume of a June Garden Iilusively Envetoped Him did us a lot of harm. Why, the one on the vindication of the General Ticket Law carried the list of proposed Republi- can electors everywhere over the State. “We've had no such meeting as the one in January where they had near a hundred members of the Virginia legislature, and every prominent man they could get, at the capitol. There isn’t a Federalist as loud as Giles or as skilful as Samuel Shields. They appointed committees for everything—to interview the electors for the party, to notify the counties of the answers; they have special men He insisted that, with things as they were, the voter "teto see voters they may influence; and, not satisfied with after shouting that only the Democratic-Republicans could ensure his freedom from tyranny-——had become no more than a machine: he would cast a prepared ballot, in the coming election, for electors already chosen in the State legislature; and the electors, in turn, rather worse than better, must vote for candidates previously selected by Congressional caucus, That was the full extent of his new liberty, For this, though, Wiatt reminded him, he had his own party to blame: it was Hamilton who had conducted secret nominating committees, and there had been a con- ference in the Federal Senate chamber for the purpose of forwarding Adams’ interests. “The Republicans only followed our example,” Brad- lock asserted. “But [’m not like you, I don’t object; it’s necessary, Richard; the country can’t be reached to-day with local methods, And, we might as well admit‘it, Jef- ferson is ahead of us. Look at his supporters— Madison, he came back to the Assembly to take care of his party in Virginia, James Monroe, Sam Adams, Gallatin, George Clinton, in New York, Franklin. Perhaps Marshall is as good as any, but he hasn’ t the support here he’ll need. Those Richmond circulars in March that Franklin signed that, they have a standing committee in all the important sections. I’ve heard ’em. Don’t you think they’re letting the Jay Treaty get out of sight! Copies of the Virginia and Kentucky resolutions have been sent te every excuse for a village. I don’t know who wrote them, but it was no clerk. The Alien and Sedition Acts were never popular, Richard; we know why they were framed—to take care of Genét’s friends and editors like Freneau and Bache; but that’s all been forgotten. It’s the Federal Government again oppressing the people.” “Are you preparing to follow Madison?” Richard Bale demanded. He stared with disagreeably narrowed eyes at Bradlock Wiatt. “No, I’m not, you contentious Tory, and you know it. If you insult me I'll shoot you with both barrels of one of these new French guns. It’s just that I'm not blind.” They were standing outside the tavern, where a meeting had been called of the leaders among the Federals of Gloucester County. There was a stamping of tied horses, a great activity among the hostlers, a hum of voices from the tap room. “It takes more energy than I have to convince you of anything,” Wiatt proclaimed; ‘I'll have to have brandy.” They went in to the familiar crowded space, sharp with the odour of strong spirits, and a concerted laughter met Richard Bale. He was led, ceremoniously, to where, written in chalk on a wall, was his engagement with ‘Balantine, the landlord: Mr. Richard Bale of Balisand is agreeable to a hundred dollars when Jefferson is elected President of the United States. “How much,” he was asked, “will you pay to have that wiped out? W hat will you settle for now? Fifty dollars?” That amount was met with jeers. Ninety? Ninety-eight! “TI am at the wrong meeting,” he called above the friendly tumult of voices. “This one is to propose Page as an elector. I’m looking for one to nominate me.”” Henry Dalney cheered. “Listen to them supporting each other!” Bradlock cried. “The old musket and the venerable hull! Why, they think it’s still winter in 1776! My dear Henry and Richard. follow us carefully—the law of 1792, when elec- tions were viva voce and held by the High Sheriff is no more. The Act of '99 has taken its place. You must now proceed in a decent and orderly manner, and endorse the names cf your choice.” “Or make their mark on the printed ballot.” That was greeted with prolonged applause. “In addition,” the instruction was continued, “the clerk of the county will be at the polls to see if your taxed land is proper and right.” “Taxed land, I’m told, would disqualify me,” Richard answered. “To have anything to-day—a plantation, a house, a servant ——”’ “A fast horse,” he was interrupted. “To own anything,” he proceeded, “is to be suspected “Thomas Jefferson.” (Continued on Page 26)

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co ee a i i } Se PE Hupmobile Unit power plant-motor, clutch and transmission—the practice which Hupmobile has followed since 1908. Clean, simple, accessible and com- pact. Easy to keep in adjustment; easy to take care of. Ignition distrib- utor at rear of cylinder block, pro- tected from rain, snow and splashes which the fan might draw in through the radiator, high and always dry. Cooling promoted by four outlets from water header, instead of a single outlet asin the usual design. Exhaust pipe leads off at front end of the motor, so the driving compartment does not become uncom- fortably warm. More Proof of Hupmobile Economical Service Scientists tell us that there is a cause for every effect. The trouble-free operation of the Hupmobile, and its low me- chanical upkeep costs, are the effects of simplicity of design, quality in materials and high standards in manufacturing. In the picture above, the sim- plicity of the Hupmobile en- gine is apparent at a glance. Note These Effects The effects of that simplicity in operating economy and du- rability cannot be seen, but they nevertheless are definite. For example, the Hupmobile L-head motor is notable for the accessibility of its valve assembly. As a phrase that means little, perhaps. In actual use it means the difference between low- cost and high-cost upkeep. Where Hupmobile Saves You Money Take the simple, but inevi- table job of valve-grinding. Hupmobile valves can be ground in about half the time that it would take to do the same job in a more compli- cated engine. And in that job—as in every other—time is literally money —the car owner's money. Simplicity is not the only quality characteristic of the Hupmobile engine; it is equally distinguished because of the strength and quality of its units. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST The Hupmobile valve assem- bly, exclusive of nuts, bolts and lock washers contains only 60 parts; another popular car uses 274 parts in the valve assembly. The Hupmobile crankshaft, for example, weighs 14.37 pounds per cylinder; 3.11 pounds per cylinder more than in another well known car which is slightly higher in price. The Hupmobile oil pump is easily and quickly accessible from the outside for adjust- ments. Simplicity Means Economy In every detail Hupmobile is designed to give long and trouble-free service. Nothing is skimped or hastened—but every part and every operation held to close tolerances and exact standards. Never forget the simple but im- portant fact that engine com- plication wastes money, where simplicity saves it. And remember, too, that Hup- mobile long life and operating economy are results obtainable only from genuine quality in the hidden but important parts. By all means examine. the Hup- mobile parts display which the nearest dealer has. There you will find conclusive proof of Hupmobile’s outstand- ing right to be called far and away the best buy at its price. Hupp Motor Car Corporation Detroit, Michigan

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (Continued from Page 24) “That will do as well as another,” he acknowledged. ‘And I[’ll say this: the country may go to hell with him, but Balisand won’t; every friend I have can turn Repub- lican, but there will be no Republicanism at Balisand. As it stays where it is by the North River, as long as there is a Bale alive, it will keep the way it’s always been, with a bow! of punch on the table and a horse to It may be a small horse, or but I'll back her to beat any gray Pegasus ny as iong &@ earry the black cockade, even a mare, ever foaled,” A renewed shout rang through the tap room. Everyone present emptied a glass in the honour of Careless. ‘But this black cockade,” he was asked; ‘we don’t appear to remember about that.” A chorus rose eager to repair the fault of memory. “Richard’s grandiather wore it riding, and whoever passed had te get off his horse and stand at attention, or he had a whip broken over his head.” Dalney said to Richard; "It's getting pretty drunk. If the meeting isn’t called soon there won’t be one.” This, Richard Bale saw, was true; but he replied that if it was necessary to stay sober in order to preserve the Federal party, then, at last, it had vanished into thin water, “No gentleman can make his mind up about a candidate, any more than he can fox-hunt, without the resources of Antigua,” he said. “An election can only be floated on rum,” “Tf that’s so,” Dalney replied, “and true of meetings, the anchor is up and you are already far from shore, It’s i good thing you have a safe harbour up the river.” The noise, generally, was subsiding; the tone of the assembly grew serious; solemn voices, absurd plans and pre- tensions, took the place of the former lightness of humour. Richard Bale was suddenly depressed, his confidence in the ultimate, if not immediate, triumph of Federal principles, diminished; he felt almost helpless in the face of an in- creasing spirit that he couldn’t measure or understand, In the past there had been a specific issue, a designated man, to meet; but now no place could be selected for attack. It was useless even to declaim against Jefferson, for he had withdrawn himself into the organization of his ambitions. Washington, and, it seemed to Richard, the example of Washington, was gone. He was obliterated in a featureless and shallow praise. Hamilton, who was popularly sup- posed to have prompted and led the President, was an infinitely smallerman . . . andso were all, all, the others. The meeting, in the main room of the tavern, was called by James Fanning, who proceeded, briefly, with a review of the local situation and its part in the approaching national crisis. “As we have found out,” Fanning went on, “the local conventions we have been holding were very unsatisfactory. They hadn’t any authority, and the delegates they sent to Richmond couldn’t bind their districts. They were held whenever called and at any time of the year, and each year had to be completely reorganized. Sometimes their in- structions were followed and sometimes not, and, if one or another wasn’t satisfied, he was free to nominate himself and split his neighbourhood twenty ways. In addition, what we’ve been hearing of as the correspondence and conference system, though it was an improvement on mass meetings, isn’t a great deal better for the simple reason that the local committees are too loose and narrow—I’d like to say ignorant—in their sittings. We're too content with ourselves, that’s plain. “T have seen, in our committee room, a dozen circulars asking for our preference in candidates not even opened. That, however, will soon be over, because the general elec- tive privilege of Virginia is slipping away from us, since the Legislature is taking on itself the nominating power. Well, we can’t complain about that, for we brought it on our- selves; but we can, if it isn’t already too late, come to a common agreement and act with one informed mind. I do not, personally, think it is too late; but the situation is dangerous, We're carrying too much old baggage, relying on the special virtues of our past, and if that continues it will mean the destruction of Federalism.” August 30,1924 Richard Bale, increasingly irritated by all that Fanning said, and recognized by the meeting, rose. “Before I came into this room,” he said, “I was pessi- mistie about the future of the principles we firmly believe in; and, again before that, there was a certain amount of laughter at the mention of a black cockade. My tempo- rary dejection, I’m certain, was from that misplaced though happy humour. Mr. Fanning thinks that we are at fault; we have, he says, no organization, no party integ- rity; and he makes it clear that he’d like to call us, in his sense, ignorant. For one, I am totally willing to accept that charge—I am highly ignorant of all but a few things; and, as I hinted in the tap room, when they pass away and are no longer valid, then I shall be no longer valid; there will be no Bales at Balisand. “With your permission, and the assurance that they hang directly on the issue of the gathering, I shall repeat them. The first is that the United States is a nation inde- pendent of all other nations; and, together with this, you will recognize the undeniable truth that the business of the separate integrity of a country lies exclusively with the central Federal Government. We will not pause here. The second fact for your notice is that, practically speaking, what independence we have was won for us by a small, a pitifully small, group of men guided by Federal honour and principles. They were strong men, and, I am willing to ad- mit, moved by prejudices. Even General Washington I like best that title—had certain views upheld with more emphasis, than, perhaps was warranted. These, then, ob- tained our freedom; and, through a bitter period of doubt, they were ceaselessly attacked by what, I believe, is known as the people. Every law passed for our proper safety, every measure for our mere iife, was fought by the public and the leaders of the public. I needn’t, now, recall the outrageous conduct of the Democratic-Republicans through the summer of ’93. That soon enough collapsed, broken down and dispersed by the character of the President. The Jefferson party has made you so familiar with the Jay British Treaty that I won't subject you to further details; (Continued on Page 91) “Taxed Land, I'm Toid, Would Disquatify Me,"’ Richard Answered. “Toe Have Anything To-day —a Plantation, a House, a Servant

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2 a Se | Standard Sixes fe fe Open Models 2-pass. Roadster. . . $1150 5-pass. Touring . . ~. 1175 Closed Models 5-pass. Double Service Sedan o* becuse. 20 eee 5-pass. Sedan Bh fhe ape a 1665 4-pass.Coupe . .. . 1565 2-pass. Double Service ee. +. s.. 4. i 1375 Enclosed Open Models (With Heaters) 2-pass. Roadster. . . $1190 5-pass. Touring . . . 1250 All Prices f. o. b. Buick Factories Government Tax to be added THE SATURDAY EVENING POST EVERY Buick Model embodies these fund- amental Buick features 6-Cyl inder Buick Valve-in-Head Engine Butck, Four-Wheel Brakes Complete Automatic Engine Lubrication Low Pressure Tires Third Member Drive One-piece Full Ventilating Windshield On all Closed Models ) Cantilever Rear Springs Double Bearing Steering Gear Buick Velvet Action Instantaneous Clutch WHEN BETTER AUTOMOBILES ARE BUILT, BUICK WILL BUILD THEM Maste r fixes Open ‘Models 2-pass. Roadster . ; . Fi a $1365 5-pass. Touring . bar Cathe i 1395 7-pass. Touring . Ra heyy, 1625 3-pass. Sport Roadster . . . 1750 4-pass. Sport Touring ‘he eee 1800 Closed Models 5-pass. Sedan Yip ay a ee 7-pass. Sedan "dile. ae ade 2425 5-pass. Brougham Sedan ar 2350 3-pass. Country Club Special , 2075 4-pass. Coupe Foie eile ; : 2125 7-pass. Limousine ; , . . 2525 Town Car sah isl tele Sealed 6 2925 Enclosed Open Models (With Heaters) 2-pass. Roadster. . . . . $1400 aa meee 8 le es 1475 7-pess. Touring . . . + « 1700 All Prices f. o. b. Buick Factories i Government Tax to be added

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There Was a Wondrous Fog and They Stood Unobserved Under a Tree. ISS FORD sat at the foot of the low satinwood bed—-though a faultless nurse was in attendance too—-because the old lady had much liked her infrequent visits and had expressed high approval of her. Turnbull sat beside the bed, very grave, performing his duty with adequate affection, regret and respect. And the old lady on the bed noticed none of them. She was off on the last journey, along a new path, and on she went like a wandering baby, turning here and there from side to side flowers from the sleepy fields of memory. Years and yearsand years,” said the oldlady. “ Years and years-—-and years ago; such pretty babies they both were. John was a little beauty. And then there were three And I remember how surprised I was to find Raymond was coming. ‘Another baby, mamma!’ { remember saying to my mother—though—though why a woman should be surprised at a thing like that, I don’t know; do you, nurse? Oh, dear! Oh, dear! How have things gone so wrong, nurse? Oh, dear! Why do they quarrel so? I wish you could have seen my little Raymond, nurse. A friend of mine used to say: ‘That is not an ordi- nary child. He is like an angel. He has things that money can’t buy. He has the gifts of heaven.’ A funny, fanciful woman she always was, nurse. But, oh dear! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! They have quarreled so, It has all gone wrong. But if you could have seen them, nurse, running in our orchard, and playing ball with the apples! Little Raymond and I played ‘ball with the apples on his first birthday; and john played too. They did love each other-—years and years and years ago—-always hand in hand, sharing every- thing—the two little boys,” to pic “ years between. Miss Ford remained to have dinner with John Turnbull and to take down necessary letters at his dictation, after it was all over. Afterwards he would send her home, con- siderately, in his car. The blinds had been pulled down at four o’clock, though the effect of that was not felt now, since the lamps were lighted anyway. The big house was SATURDAY EVENING POST She Said, ‘You've Got By May Edginton ILLUSTRATED BY GEORGE E. WOLFE set high on Hampstead Hill, and the quiet of its surround- ing garden, heavily treed, encircled it. Soup had come and gone, giving place to a course that took more time. John Turnbull was looking at Miss Ford across the table under the shaded electric center lights that hung over it. The house had now no mistress. “Thank you for remaining,” he was saying. “It wasa comfort to poor mother to have you, I'm sure, though just at the last, of course, she didn’t recognize you. She always esteemed you very highly and said she wished she saw more of you.” Miss Ford looked under the shaded light at her employer. She was thirty-five, he over forty; each looked it. She felt the spacious comfort of the dining room enveloping her warmly. She remembered that this was the third occasion on which she had dined here, sitting on Turnbull’s right hand at this highly polished and expensively flowered table. Twice before—when she had come here after office hours to do extra private work for him, overtime being generously paid—she had remained to dinner at old Mrs. Turnbull’s instigation. “Thank you, Mr. Turnbull,” said Miss Ford. ‘I was only too glad to be of any service to her. She was so kind to me.” “She definitely asked for you this morning.” “So you said,’’ Miss Ford murmured. ** After dinner I should like a talk with you in the library, and we must write the-—ah—necessary letters about the funeral, and so on.” * Certainly, Mr. Turnbull.” “(f the car takes you home by eleven, that will be all right?” “Thank you, Mr. Turnbull.” to be Rich Again. August 30,1924 You've Got To!" The staid butler, materialized once more out of the gloom by the sideboard, changed their plates and served them again. Soon they went together to the library, for “No,” said Turnbull, “I shan’t wait for a glass of port, Talbot, unless Miss Ford will stay and take one too.” “No, Mr. Turnbull; thank you very much.” um URNBULL stood on the hearth looking down upon . Miss Ford, whom he had seated in a deep chair, the arm of which was amply wide enough to hold her coffee cup. He wanted to stand; he felt unusually restless—he to whom his stolidity of soul and bearing, his materialism and hard common sense had become second nature. He let his eyes dwell upen her—the slim, tallish figure in a dark frock that was quite charming in its austere way, and yet quite prudish. She had a rather narrow face with nice eyes, framed in well-dressed brown hair; her hands were slender and quiet. He was used to her; And during their five years’ association he had become slowly and thought- fully interested in her. To a more sensitive man she would have figured as merely a rather pleasant machine. But John Turnbull was not a sensitive man. Miss Ford looked up at him expectantly “I want to talk to you about my brother,”’ said Turnbull “Raymond?” said Miss Ford. “Raymond. Yes. You heard my mother speak of him.”’ “It was the first time I have ever heard anyone speak of him,” said Miss Ford in her quiet attentive way. “Quite so. He left England ten years ago, after giving us a lot of trouble. He had always been a trouble—wild, irresponsible, at the mercy of his imagination—and that’s putting it charitably. He enjoyed life a damn sight more I beg your pardon—than any sane man with a business to keep going has any business to do.” “Business?”” murmured Miss Ford, all attention at the so familiar word. (Continued on Page 30)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (Continued from Page 28) John Turnbull stood, thick and square, on the hearth, looking over the room reminiscently. Like the dining room it was rich and orderly, and every stick of it was his own. “We were in the business together, Miss Ford, when my father died. My father had built it up into what you know it to be now, one of the most solid general merchant's businesses in the city. It was left to my brother and my- self, with a life interest to our mother.” “Hand in hand, sharing everything—the hoys,"’ said the old voice in Miss Ford’s ear. She closed her ears to this intrusion quickly, a little surprised at the effect the day had had on her. “Raymond and I could never get on; we had different ether. And besides, I think it was only natural that I should feel injured at my father’s leaving him a full half share. I was the elder son, and a better son; I'd never given them a moment’s trouble; I worked hard and ran straight. I was perfectly justified in my feeling. There’s no doubt but that my mother had persuaded my father ver the making of that will; no doubt at all. Anyhow my brother and | had the very hells of rows—you must excuse me re two little ideas alto ‘Oh, please,”’ said Miss Ford with graceful respect. ‘He lived very fast; my mother condoned it. He had he was up to every crazy lark you can imagine when he should have been settling into a re- pectable City man, with half the responsibility of such a business on his shoulders.” “He didn’t work?" “Oh, he worked--he worked—in his way. But we eouldn’t get on. I simply couldn't feel that the office was big enough for both of us after all the trouble he’d been, the money he’d run through at Oxford, and everything. If I teld you haif the things he did—but I don’t propose to waste the time. It’s futile. The last scrape he got into us to pack him off abroad,” Ford made a gentle sound of attention and sym- mad ideas. He erable M iss pathy Tle nearly murdered a man,” said Turnbull, He said it between his teeth, and Miss Ford, glancing up at him and seeing him standing there stockstill with his eyes, queerly shining, staring out. into the room, reflected that the hate of strangers is as nothing to the hate of brothers when they hate. She had acquired a good deal of cynical understanding of some sides of human nature. ‘‘Nearly murdered a man,” Turnbull repeated; “fellow had got the better of him in a deal in some shady way, but we really can’t murder people for being dishonest; at least, we sane ones don’t. And this fellow—so Raymond's story went—had got the better of him over a girl, or got the better of the girl or something—-pardon me again Miss Ford’s slight gesture betrayed her tolerance. “But sane men really don’t come to physical combat over business or women, What are law courts for, I'd like to know? And anyway Raymond’s loves never amounted to much. Anyway nearly murder the fellow he did—gave him a frightful beating up in a fit of passion —and for days it wasn’t known if he’d live or die. Mother absolutely broke, and I told Raymond to clear in time; as a matter of fact the fellow lived and there was no inquest, and not much of a scandal, considering. Raymond had got a pass- port he’d used for business trips, but he’d got no ready cash. That was the way he ran through it, I tell you! He was ready to stay and face the music, but my mother went on her knees to him “i Again Miss Ford saw the old lady in her bed puzzling at life, and again she tried to shake from her the emotional effects of this day. so I gave him my ultimatum. A thousand pounds cash for his share of the business, and he was to get out and not disgrace it any longer!” Miss Ford's trained instincts said to her: ‘The profits on this business are ten thousand pounds a year at least.”’ And some other instinct forced these words to the tip of her tongue: “So he sold his birthright for a thousand pounds?”’ But she forced them back, hardly knowing that they were there, with, ‘‘No doubt he was glad to go.” “He made a little trouble over signing, but I assure you there was no time to be lost, and I made him see it. Be- sides, mother 8 “Poor old lady,” said Miss Ford. “My present trouble is,’ said Turnbull, now walking about, ‘that she left a letter to me. I’ve just read it. She August 30,1924 lays it upon me, as a—a sort of sacred duty to find Ray- mond again and make peace with him, and so on. Of course the old lady didn’t know quite what she was doing when she wrote the letter, but I have-—er—some sort of conscience, and there’s one’s duty to the dead.” “‘But where did he go?” “To the Continent, and then by a roundabout way to Australia. As it happens, I think our solicitors can trace him at the present time. I heard from them that they believed he was on his way home again.” **And sha!l you ——” “There’s one’s duty to the dead of course.” “Of course.” The clock on the mantelpiece chimed ten. “The letters?’’ Miss Ford reminded him. “Yes,” said Turnbull. She rose to go to the writing table for pad and pencil. Again his eyes followed her with personal interest, a slow warmth. He knew that he must have been thinking about her, weighing up her qualities, not only as business machine but as woman, for months past. But all his decisions were taken deliberately and weightily. Still, the house had no mistress; and he believed in a man dying with his family around him. She was thirty-five. She understood him. He under- stood her; he was sure of that. She had a cold distinction of a certain type and had been educated as a lady. In some soft brocade that swathed itself round her thinness, with diamond earrings in her waxen-looking ears, he could see her gracing the head of a table. ““My mother,” his voice followed her, ‘looked upon you as a daughter.” “She was very, very kind to me,” She took up her pencil. “By the way,” he said, ‘tomorrow we must go thor- oughly into the matter of that Russian concession. Keep my morning free from all appointments, no matter what they might be. I shall try to be at the office at ten in spite of —of—all this.’’ With a vague gesture of the hand he indicated his bereavement. “Yes, Mr. Turnbull.” (Continued on Page 32 Miss Ford replied In the Brief Second He Knew Why the Contained Woman of Thirty:Five Had Fiamed Into the Fiery Giri of Eternal Youth

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(Continued from Page 30) “Serge Kulinski is the man who can put me into touch with a fellow named Me- rovia~a Russian count who’s turned Bol- shie, strangely enough—who has the ear of the government. It’s a question of feeing Merovia, of course; and feeing high.’ “So I should understand, Mr. Turnbull.” “Yes, yes, Miss Ford. I—I know you're very quick on all these things. I—I know ———” He halted and looked at her. She looked back at him. And, being the man he was, her slight prudishness rather lured him. Turnbull had thought cautiously about marriage; now he began to think of its preface of love. And in this state, with his ears and eyes opened, words came back to him as they had been drifting back to Miss Ford all the evening. “* The gifts of heaven’?” hesaid. “ What can anyone possibly mean by ‘the gifts of heaven’?” “T realiy don’t know,” she replied. om do 1,” said Turnbull. “ Let’s work,” She leaned back in the swift car that took her back to Belgrave Road, where she lived in @ great attic dignified by the name of stucio, but which was far too tidy and orthodox to be anything of the kind. Tonight somehow she, too, could look pack years and years and years, and could see again, if she would see, the gifts of heaven that are poured into the hands of all little children, who do not know at all what they are. But tonight, if she would, she could have known. Only her head was full of the house that had no mistress. am ISS FORD was alone in the office when, two days later, the man of legend—so he had recurred to her once or twice during the intervening time—walked in and said: “Good day. I am Raymond Turnbull. Can 1 see my brother?” Miss Ford had been sitting in the little inner room—her own sanctum—with the door open so that she could keep an eye on the empty room beyond, which the three clerks had left to go to their lunch; and it was across the threshold of this inner room that, still seated at her desk, she answered this legendary brother. “Lam sorry; Mr. Turnbull is out; I do not expect him in again today. He is very busy at the moment with outside private affairs.” And she stopped stammering, thinking, “Does he know?” And she added, “Your mother ——” “Yes.” he said, “thank you for your con- cern; for I see that you are concerned. The lawyers have already told me.” Miss Ford continued: “'The—the clerks are out at lunch. I am alone—but if there is anythin 1 can do for you ——” “If Im gnt come in and interrupt your work for a few minutes ——” “Come in,” So he walked over the threshold into her life like that. She stared at him-—not knowing that she was 30 staring-—-and saw a tall man with a face at once irregular, beautiful and very masculine. He had brownish hair, bleached paler than its natural color by years of sun and air; he had eyes that had the blue of far hot seas. His worn and careless clothes were ne carried. And he under- stood—he understood—a multitude of things that one never asked about nor thought about nor cared about until one saw him. Then suddenly Miss Ford became aware of his eyes returning her look, gazing straight and m4 d into hers. And she drooped her eyelids, “Who are you?” he asked. “My name is Ford, Lam Mr. Turnbull's secretary.” “Thank you. thing of me?” ” a little.” “TI should like to know something about my mother.” She told him. “ Did she die pies 5» Al “1 think so,” said Miss Ford. “Where did she die?” And Miss Ford said, “In the orchard playing ball with the apples with you and your brother.” She corrected herself, cry- ing, “I mean, of course, in the house at Hampstead,” But he understood. “Tell me of my brother.” 3 She told him, this time without vision. “So the old firm prospers Miss Ford?” “Oh, exceedingly,” she said. I expect you know some- THE SATURDAY He sat thinking, and she sat wondering about his thoughts. And in those moments she knew somehow that she had just em- barked on a tremendous journey to a strange port red with the dawn of a splen- did day. But though her soul—at present her soul went alone, bodiless into that red dawn—was aloft and away, her mind still remained in that enviable little inner sanc- tum which John Turnbull had paid her the compliment of delegating to her sole use; and her mind concerned itself with the business import of Raymond’s return, “You have come to join your brother again?’’ she was asking quickly. And then as quickly she drew back with: “I beg ye pardon. Really I—I don’t know why I am saying such strange things to you. It is, of course, your private business—yours and Mr. Turnbull’s. I can’t think why I —~” “Oh, ple often speak the truth to me,” said Raymond, “and I to them.” It was the beginning of the miracle. Where were her years of training, her cold detachment, and, above all, her sense of office etiquette? She sprang to her feet. She did not know it, but she was flushed like that strange dawn into which her soul had gone rejoicing; her eyes shone; her mouth was red. And Raymond got up, too, quite simply looking at her. “Tell me,” she was crying, “you think your brother owes you a very great deal?”’ “T have hardly thought about it,”’ said Raymond, “but I know that I would rather be owed the world than owe hay to any man. Then one has freedom, and freedom is ——’’ She caught her breath. “Freedom is rs “A gift of heaven.” Miss Ford suddenly sighed. “Freedom from what?”’ she asked. Raymond looked around him, and her look followed his. ** Humbug, lies, rivalries, petty rules made by one man for another, greed, vanities — all the penal servitude of life as lived be- tween four city walls.” “But surely—haven’t you come back for what is yours?” “T came back—for a journey—to see England again—to see my mother—and go again.” “But now you'll stay?” “A certain time perhaps.” “*A certain time perhaps’? What is ‘a certain time’?”’ “T don’t know now,” he said, standing close to her. “Oh! But long enough to take back what is yours?” “‘T want so little,” he said gayly; adding, “for myself.” “But it is yours! A man must fight for his own.” “A man will fight for what is worth having, and for no more unless he is a fool. EVENING POST When I see men fighting for money, lying, cheating, tricking t emselves, selling them- selves, it would make me sick if I weren’t able to laugh.” As he looked again round the room, fur- nished in mah y and the best leather, she knew that he was thinking of his ac- quisitive, his reputable, his industrious brother John. * age men can laugh at most things,” he said. “But—but we can’t all be so free.” “We can all be free in our souls if we’re honest enough,” said Raymond. It was a queer conversation; as if she had fallen — and were dreaming in this familiar little room of hers. And yet never had she been so splendidly awake. Mt freedom everything?” she suddenly cried. Raymond looked back at her. “ Aren’t there other gifts of heaven?” He nodded. “Yes.” “Tn all your journeys—your wander- ings—your happiness—for you are happy,” she said, “have you ever found everything you wanted?” “As you sat here day after day, pretend- ing to admire poor old John—as you must have done to keep the job—typing, filing and what not, how much did you find of what you wanted?” She did not answer. Then the amazing miracle flowered. “Well,” he said, while she stood listening, and all the lovers in the world cried to her unaccustomed heart, “I think I know what we have both found, you here in this com- fortable little prison, and I at the end of my journey; and because I am a truthful man—and, my dear, let me persuade you to be a truthful woman so that life may become worth living at once, without any waste of time—because I am a truthful man, I say, no doubt I shall tell you within the next half hour. Before that time I hope you will put on that hat and coat I see there and come out to lunch with me.” - With a decorous commotion the three clerks came into the outer office and es- tablished themselves at their desks. Miss Ford moved to the mirror and pinned on her hat. The hat took upon itself a new significance, fitting her proudly, like a crown. As she noted its royalty above her marveling face she heard Raymond behind her singing under his breath, two lines of what she straightway knew to be the loveliest song in the world. He sang: Journeys end in lovers meeting, Journeys end in dreams come true. Iv HAT afternoon John Turnbull came into the office late to sign his letters. The three clerks had gone home, and even ORAWN @Y A. & FULLER The Babbling Brook August 30,1924 repara- Miss Ford was putting on her hat pore ut she tory to leaving when he entered. er the hat on its peg again. She came to his room and put the letters one by one before him, and he signed. “By, the way,” he said, “you in a hurry to go? “Not at all, Mr. Turnbull.” “ Please sit down then.” She sat down, quiet, graceful. She was in no hurry to do anything at all. That lunch hour! The afternoon beyond it had flowed over her like a dream dreamed but dimly. The evening showed blank, entirely blank. The night was a black spell to get through. Then another dawn would come, and anything might happen—tomorrow. She felt newly rich and serene, and for the first time the office was unreal to her. “T’ll run through this Merovia letter,” said Turnbull, reading it. He sat, thinking over the letter heavily, and at last heavily wrote his small signa- ture. His writing was close and tiny. He turned on his swivel chair to look at the — sitting a little behind him on his eft. “T think he’ll keep the appointment. Probably ny ag you in the morning before I get here. If so, arrange it for three o’clock, and keep me a full hour free.”’ “Yes, Mr. Turnbull.” “He'll want a fat commission, of course, or a biggish fee paid down. On the whole, I’d rather pay the fee and get out of it. Let me see, spe ee | was suggested ——” “Five hundred guineas in return for recommendations and credentials,”’ said Miss Ford. “That was it. I’ve all the papers—map of the locality, and so on—in my safe. Yes; going into the matter, I believe the oil’s really there. Yes. I don’t think our clients are such fools as I thought they were when they first asked me to buy. If so, it’ll be a very big thing for them.” “A Russian oil concession is something quite new for us to handle,” said Miss Ford by way of saying something, though the office and its affairs seemed now so remote to her. “The first won’t be the last,” said Turn- bull. ‘ Russia’s teeming with amazing con- cessions to be om eo up by anyone who is quick enough and who knows how. But this business has worried me a bit. Do you think anyone else in the City has got wind of it and is trying to forestall us? Because, I tell you candidly, it is a wonderful stroke of business if we pull it off.” “T don’t think anyone can have heard what we're doing.” “That’s your considered opinion?” He valued her opinion; she was so quick, so keen, so even so cold. “Tt is,’”’ Miss Ford replied. “Then why did Kulinski have all that trouble to get hold of Merovia, and why does Merovia hang fire so? That’s what I want to know; that’s precisely why I’ve ot to have this appointment fixed for not ater than three o’clock tomorrow. You'll see to it. I suppose you’re right. Merovia doesn’t yet know our proposition; Kulinski doesn’t know it. No one here can have talked. Only you and I know anything. Well’’—and he handed over the letter— “we'll dismiss it from our minds till to- morrow.” - Then his words hovered in his mind: “You and I ——” He rose and stood looking down upon her. She charmed him. Now he knew it. Now he knew that for months, perhaps years past, he must have been semicon- sciously thinking of her enthroned as his wife in the house without a mistress, And there was a curious, lovely, dream- ing quality about her tonight. “Did you hear what I said?” he mur- mured, looking at her heavily. “I said, ‘You and I she Before he could go on she had answered with what was in her mind. “Do you know that your brother Ray- mond is home, and that he came here today?” Lost in surprise, he stammered in reply, “Why! How sh-should I know! I was out!” “Yes. He ee to see you. He—talked to me awhile about his mother. He—left an address, I have it on my desk. Shall you see him tomorrow?” “How can I see him tomorrow? I’m too busy. Even dining with my solicitors. Small matters like gossip and family news can wait.” (Continued on Page 34)

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(Continued from Page 32) “‘But—-it may be more about business that he wants tosee you.” Asin amaze, but finding her way clearer every moment, she spoke: ‘He may want to come back into partnership.” “You must know as well as I, from what I've told you, that I'd never take him back. Wants! No doubt he wants the moon! He always did!" “But he'd never cry for it,” quickly, “Crying to me won't serve him anyway. No, Our business relationship is finished. He’ll get some of my mother’s money-—-or even all of it if she’s left her savings that way. I haven't seen the will but she saved for years—no doubt, for him. But it’ll be a very few thousands-~ three or four at the most that the prodigal son will pick up.” ‘You won't take him back, or let him buy himself back then?” “How could he buy himself back with a paltry suin into a big business like this?” “You bought him out with a paltry sum,” “Business is almost roughly you are not Her eyes were turned to the safe in the wall behind his chair. “You haven't been persuaded into sym- pathy as She did not answer. I don't understand you this evening.” She did not yet fully understand herself; but that afternoon she had seen a vision. Another house in Hampstead, and she and Raymond in it, and littler folk in it, too, all established comfortably, safely; full of warm joys that she suddenly comprehended and grasped at, to which she would cling, and lor which she would fight and die. “T was thinking,” she said at last, but she said it so quietly that he saw his sane woman again--his modest, cold, reliable, estimable helper, with the quick brain and the steel control. At the same time she made a little movement to go. * Wait,” be said, and his hand went out, almost touching her. ‘You're different this evening.’’ * Different?’ Electric. Yes, somet hing has happened to you. It’s not him: it’s me—is it? Did you feel day before yesterday, as we sat at dinner ad vem think, like I did, that we might be very happy there together al- ways? I'd give you all you wanted,” “But all | want is ‘Wait. I know what you want, a tremendous affection for you dous! We're used to each other each other so well sd : ‘No! no! We don't know each other—at all.’ “Tt will come. Let us begin. Don’t hurry I don’t want to hurry you~ but will you marry me soon? Very soon? I know that I can give you all you want. We're not fools, either of us. We know the true values of most things in life. We're not young ‘s “Yes!” she whispered suddenly. And I do not know she said Turnbull Surely business,” said “Leave it alone. I have tremen- we know “Tm very young. anything at all.” “You're saying strange things. I’ve surprised you too much. Will you answer me tonight?” “Not tonight.” “Tomorrow?” “Oh, I can’t,” “In a week, then.” Her eyes went beyond him to the safe in the wall Count Merovia did not come the follow- ing afternoon. It was rather strange. But the following evening Miss Ford met Raymond and they dined together and walked into the park. There was a won- drous fog and they stood unobserved under a tree She said, ‘You've got to be rich again. You've got to! You've got to!” ‘And he said, “I won't listen to any more of that nonsense you talked during dinner, What do [ care for oil concessions and Russian counts and soviets? Keep your lily hands out of all their messes. For here you are with me, and I with you. And I maven’t yet asked you what your name is.’ * Alice “Oh, how adorable!” And she said, “But I want us to have a house like "And she described the twin of the house with the encircling garden on Hampstead Hill, “And I want you to have a car like ———" And she described the twin of another car that had several THE SATURDAY “And I want us to have And she described them times carried her. children like ——” wonderingly. “You want every woman’s marriage, dear.” “Yes, I want every woman’s marriage.” And he said, “ After all, it sounds good. Women know. But And she said, ‘We must have it! We must have it! We must have it! How much money have you?” “The lawyers say three thousand pounds. But And she said, ‘‘ Teach me a lot about life and a lot about love. I am thirty-five yeurs old and I know nothing.” She cast herself into his arms. v ND the next day Count Merovia could make no appointment. Miss Ford told John Turnbull so. She said that she had been on the telephone talking to him actually to himself—three times, and he could give no appointment to Mr. Turnbull as yet. He inquired of Mr. Turnbull’s business with him. Miss Ford had replied that it was of a private nature, entirely for personal dis- cussion. Old Mrs. Turnbull’s funeral was over; the extra work entailed by the clearing up of her few business matters was over. John Turnbull had written to his brother Ray- mond~—-care of their mutual lawyers—-an invitation to dinner at the Hampstead house for a week ahead. He was feeling perfect certainty as he awaited Miss Ford’s answer to his proposal of marriage as to what that answer would be. So his mind could concentrate itself on the Russian deal, which was one of really great im- portance and to which Count Merovia—or a person of similar power, difficult to find and tempt — was signally necessary. Count Merovia--when the matter was explained, and the various maps shown and the accompanying information given to him could, pon go Pron sy would if it were made worth his while, send the affair straight through the department that would deal with it. And he would send with it his personal recommendation. So Turnbull confidently anticipated. But they could not, Count Merovia. “Do you suppose,”’ Turnbull asked Miss Ford again and again, “that Yates & Dob- son” -—a firm with whom a peculiarly pi- quantrivalry was maintained— ‘‘ know what we're after and have cut in first? Do you suppose they have a client—or even, per- haps, have approached our client with cut terms? Do you suppose anything of that kind is happening? Miss Ford, whom he trusted implicitly, said, “I am quite sure that it is not.”’ She even smiled at his idea. And he saw how much softer and fuller and richer her whole thin personality ap- petoes these days, and he knew they would ”e married soon. Why, she was changed, flowering under his very eyes at the thought of it! And he—he began to change and flower too. He mellowed. It enriched him. At last his tardy, heavy feet stood on the threshold of romance. it seemed, catch ay It hindered him in important considera- tions and calculations. He was always wondering on what pretext he could touch his bell; or when of her own accord she would appear before him. She came in only with letters or on business, however, during those three days that elapsed since he had spoken to her; and once she came in to ask if he could lend her his keys, for a drawer in her desk was locked, and she—it was unlike her; it was, he sensed, all this new beautiful agitation-—-had mislaid her own. And when she had tried the keys she had to make a special journey to bring them back again. He blessed all such special journeys. vi UT that evening when John Turnbull had reached the house without a mis- tress and had gone to his room to dress reparatory to going to a City dinner and aid his watch and his loose change and his keys on his dressing table, he suddenly stood still, his mind bristling, and his eyes fixed on the keys. The little slim steel key of his safe was missing. There were several things of value in the safe; bearer bonds that he meant to have taken himself to his bank that day; and a whole sheaf of confidential reports from his managers in Asia, in Cuba, in Canada, EVENING POST in East Africa; and those notes—rough gleanings at present, it was true, from an engineering a a! with a good man somewhere in the Caucasus, and from Kulinski, who knew certain particulars, and estimates suppositions at present—from the same engineering company; and letters from his client on the case, and from one or two others whom he had tentatively sounded with a view to forming a syndicate; and a map or two, and—yes! All the papers relating to the Russian oil concession were in the safe too. Turnbull took up his change again, slipped his watch into his vest pocket, and rang through to the garage, where his chauffeur had put the car while he snatched a hasty meal during his master’s dressing. “Car quick, again, Fawkes! I’ve left something important at the office.” Then, downstairs again calmly into the car, lighting a cigarette but all the while feeling very queer; with a heart beating strangely, and a soul lost in a dark region somewhere that soul had never explored before. His mind kept refusing the suggestion that some unknown enemy out of oe dark persisted in making. ‘“‘Oh, no,”’ he kept saying. “Yates & Dobson she’d never sell me. She’s mine. She’s—I know her so well, Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no. She's she loves me if I know anything of women.” The enémy returned, whispering, ‘‘ You know nothing of women.” And the car rushed into the quiet City, the vast hive that the bees had left. He went into the office building, and the respectful night watchman took him up in the lift to the emptiness above. “Thank you,” Turnbull said. Don’ t wait about here. I may be some time.’ He did not know why he wished the man below stairs again, but he did. He knew that he meant most urgently to go alone to what awaited him. So the lift descended, and he stood before the massive doors of his own second-floor offices, fitting the key into the lock without noise. Through the lobby and the clerks’ room and her little room he went swiftly. And he knew that he would find her. He knew! He knew! He saw a crack of light and the door ajar, he heard her sobbing and protesting in a very rage, and he entered to find her but he found her in Raymond’s arms. The safe was open; scattered on the floor were neatly tied bundles of papers But she was in Raymond’s tightly locked arms, sobbing; and even in the brief second that Turnbull looked he saw his brother kiss her. And in the brief second he saw all the reasons of all the rapturous change in her. In the brief second he knew why the con- tained woman of thirty-five had flamed into the fiery girl of eternal youth; he saw her fierce and loving and fighting —all law and order and discretions and reservations forgotten —even as, in that red moment, he also forgot all law and order. And he forgot what the law courts are for, and that everything, from theft of money to theft of women, can be accounted for somehow there. His muscles quivered like steel springs; his groomed well-fed body went supple again; he knew a great animal rage; and hurling the woman aside though softly, because his instinctive pas- sion was to keep her safe for himself—he leaped upon his brother unawares, and bore him back against the desk, and down down—down. And as he felt Raymond be- ginning to fight, all reason and mercy and humanity left him entirely. He was a murderer. He crashed his brother to the floor, and then, raising his head as the unready fists confusedly beat into the air, he crashed that against the side of the desk. And Raymond drooped and lay still. John Turnbull stood straddled over him, and then he felt the weight of Alice brush his side, as she slithered down beside Ray- mond, and leaning over him, called to him, and kissed his lips. And she looked up at Turnbull and whispered: ‘‘ You have killed him.” There was an immense silence in the room, in which, besides Alice’s whispering voice, Turnbull heard another, that of the secret enemy who had sat with him in the car all the way from Hampstead, also whispering. It said: You see? skin.” Turnbull raised himself, and turned aside putting his hands to his head. “Oh, my God! My God!” he called out hoarsely. “You see? You who judge? We are all brothers under the August 30,1924 It was he who first saw Raymond move. She was moaning, “ He followed me to stop me! To stop me! He knew what I meant to do! To arrange the concession for him. I wanted himtoberich. I had got Merovia! I had! I had! Oh, please, God, please! He only came to stop me And then Turnbull saw Raymond stir, and he was at his cellaret, unlocking it, all trembling, bringing brandy, that wonderful old liqueur brandy which Never mind! What did anything matter? Alice was still moaning--he saw her for the first time, shattered, weak, passionate, incredible: ‘‘Soeasy —soeasy. You knew I stayed behind—a long—long—long—|-long while I--stayed to work. He-—he—he t-t-told the caretaker he had come to call for me. S-s-so easy, it seemed. All for him. To be happy! But you have killed him.’ Turnbull had not spoken beyond his first ery. He poured the brandy, spot by spot, through his brother’s lips. “He’s living?”’ Alice’s lips formed. “Living,” said Turnbull in a cracking voice. ‘My car is below. We'll take him to Hampstead.” “No! No! No! He is mine. To my studio. All mine. And quick! A doctor!” Raymond opened his eyes slowly. His gay, adventurous eyes shone on them. “Doctor?” he said weakly. ‘‘ Rubbish! Keep it quiet. Alice, where are you?” She leaned down and they kissed. And Turnbull found himself sitting in the midst of an extraordinary clear quiet, in the outer office, wondering how long they would stay toget her i in there. vil URNBULL woke up at seven next morning, just as usual. He drank his tea at 7:30, and bathed at a quarter to eight. He felt twenty years older, at least; and yet when he looked in his glass he saw a face that was curiously young and startled. He opened his paper, and saw in the first column the day’s report of a murder case, and he knew: “There, but for the grace of God, go I.” There was a letter from Raymond, written rather shakily, for it was before midnight that he had posted it, and he must still have suffered. He said: Alice and I are going to be married at the Aubrey Street Registry office tomorrow morn- ing at twelve. She won't come to the office again. I arranged for the license a couple of days ago, though she didn’t know it. I thought she would love to be rushed, and so she does, I am awfully happy. Good-by, old man, once again. You've had a bit of a shock, I'm afraid. Good tuck. RAYMOND about mother's ‘Hand P. S. Alice was telling me death, and how she was talking of us in hand, sharing everything, the two little boys.” Good days then —good days now~ and good days all the time. That’s how I think of life. I don’t envy you a bit, old man John Turnbull breakfasted, feeling very old, although that morning his face was so young, with a fresh color. He left home earlier than usual because he wanted to visit the family solicitors. Twelve o’clock saw him waiting in the car outside the Aubrey Street Registry office; and at 12:15 he saw them come out, the bride and groom, enchanted. He stepped forward. ‘‘To congratulate you,” he said haltingly. ‘‘And to bring you a~—a little wedding present.” He held it out, something flat in a long legal envelope. The radiant strange woman who was Alice looked at it. “Oh! What is it?” “Deed of partnership, bull. Then ” said John Turn- Raymond said gayly, “Thanks, John, but no. I’ve no use for it. I want nothing from you. I have found all { want. And we are leaving England this afternoon, and I am going to show Alice lots of life and lots of love, and I am going to give her all she wants too.” And the radiant strange woman said, “He will give me the gifts of heaven.” So, as they were above any more mun- dane gifts than those, John Turnbull went away alone again, and he went into the City, and how empty it was! How empty! How empty! And yet, how full and how gross! And presently he went back—the elder little boy —to the house at Hampstead that still had no mistress. And he asked him- self: ‘‘What makes some poor men feel such kings?” And still he did not know!

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THE SATURDAY EVENING

Why lubrication is Important to plant executives

The fallacy of saying: “We have no trouble with our lubrication” cient atl

particular requirements of individual engines and machines. Many plants are sitting on the edge of trouble and do not know it.

y ¥ . ; hat causes “‘trouble”’ in a plant: What can a busy executive do to insure cor- . . . . > i “Trouble” — that is halted machinery, breakdowns, rect lubrication! i) shutdowns, etc.—is only the outward result of an in- — | ternal cause You see the result —not the cause He can insist that the pure hase of oil be « onsidered on | { Trouble that is apparent today was there yesterday the sound basis of its effect on production costs and A | But you couldn’t see it. Yesterday you “had no not on the fallacious basis of its price-per-gallon, yh trouble.” Today “trouble” is holding up your pro- Any executive who wishes the advice of the world’s ° ie : £ y H duction. leading specialists in lubrication is invited to get in ' E : B : . i a touch with the Vacuum Oil Company. Does ‘‘no trouble’? mean good lubrication: ; i Upon request we will send an experienced repre ' Not necessarily. Your machinery may run a long time sentative who is familiar with the production, operating 5 Wc . « » e Load _ > y y ad } with incorrect oil before “trouble” appears. But the and lubrication problems in your industry. From him you can learn what economies scientifically correct thing that finally brings “trouble” has in the mean- time been taking its toll—friction stealthily wearing lubrication could reasonably be expected to produce 1 away metal, friction slowing up operation, friction in your plant. A a addressed sotto oe n ; wasting power, friction cutting down production. In- office ad apes Ue wey re . Mec - wage! i. Py efficient operation has cost you money, but you don’t your production costs and Will not involve any OD realize it until obvious “trouble” crops up. Sean Yous Paes. it . ] Is there a proven way to prevent these Domestic Branches: *“troubles od 4 New York (Main Off Minneapolis Rochester | Bostor St. Louis Oklahoma Ciry P : ; 3 ( 7 Des Moines Peoria Yes. But only one. It is scientifically correct lubri- hiladelphia Dallas Albany cation,— that is, the use of lubricants specially manu- ~<a eP + et gaa teers ig i, | factured and correctly applied to meet accurately the Indianapolis Buffalo New Haven E Vacuum Oil Company , o NEW YORK A Broad Service to Industrial Plants ——

/' Practically every leading builder of indus- or approve Gargoyle Lubricating Oils. 1 trial machinery has at some time conferred Take the leading industries and the ten i with the Vacuum Oil Company for assis- leading manufacturers in each industry, : tance in solving his lubrication problems. and you will find that the Vacuum Oil Over 85% of the leading builders of all Company will be lubricating important : : ‘ s in 90% of them. . . * prime mover engines recommend or ap- UNIts In L b O 1 prove the use of Gargoyle Lubricating Oils, In thousands of plants in all lines of u ricatin 1 S made by the Vacuum Oil Company. The industry the Vacuum Oil Company is today for majority of Builders of the many other solving lubricating problems and bringing o . kinds of industrial machinery recommend about improved operating results. Plant Lubrication

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hree times a ‘‘Grape-Nuts is an excellent food to eat every day,” says an eminent physician who has made a special study of the diet. ‘‘A simple nourishing food that in no way overtaxes the digestion and yet supplies an abundance of working power. “The form in which the car- bohydrates occur in Grape- Nuts — dextrinized — renders their nourishment available to the weakest or most abused digestion.” Grape-Nuts has, too, this add- ed value to your health: It comes in crisp, golden grains you must chew. “Your teeth, like any other part of your body, need exer- cise to keep them healthy,” Says a distinguished dentist. “That is what I like about Grape-Nuts—it requires good, hard chewing. “When you eat Grape-Nuts for breakfast you give your mouth regular daily ‘setting up exercises.” Chewing the crisp, hard grains stimulates the teeth and gums and starts a normal flow of the protective alkaline juices of the mouth glands. This means a clean, heaithy mouth, and, inciden- tally, a proper start for the whole digestive process.” Dietary studies show that, be- cause of lack of knowledge of the nutritive value of foods, whole families are often under- fed. Food and Nourishment are two very different things. Food is what you eat. Nourishment is what your body gets out of it—what it can digest. Grape-Nuts gives you nourish- ment you need in the form your body can readily digest and turn into vigorous health and strength, FREE—Sample Offer Send today for four of the individual packages free. Enough Grape. Nuts for four nourishing breakfasts. Free offer also includes book of 101 delicicus recipes selected from 80,000 prepared by housewives who regularly serve Grape Nuts POSTUM CEREAL COMPANY, Inc Dept. 8-17, Battle Creek, Mich Picase send me free trial packages and booklet. Name Address City State Tf you live in Canada, address Canadian Postum Cereal Co., Ltd, 45 Front Street, East, Toronto Ont THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 50,1924 day you make your choice For illness, depression, failure—choose the wrong kind of food. For health, happiness, efficiency—choose the right kind of food. ... Rich and poor alike are the victims of malnutrition. For malnutrition does not mean lack of food: more often than not it means too much food—and food of the wrong kind—food that not only fails to nourish but that may Upon the carbohydrates (a great part of which comes from the grains) we depend for our power for mental of our nourishment should come from them. Yet in order that the body may be ; My and physical work. At least one-third even form poisons. able to extract from them the nourish- ment it needs, they must undergo a special kind of preparation—so that they will not fail in their mission to provide the body with power, and be- gin, instead, to manufacture actual poisons that lead to illness. Served with cream or rich milk, Grape-Nuts gives you in most di 4 — licious form the essentials of a well-balanced ration. , Ry <4 - A delicious food—easy to digest ORE than three-fourths of the content of Grape-Nuts (made of wheat and malted barley) are these precious carbohydrates, and —what is of supreme importance—in the form which your body most easily and completely turns into nourishment. In Grape-Nuts the carbohydrates have been dextrinized—scientifically broken down into the form most suitable to the needs of your digestive organs. The carbohydrates are at once thoroughly digested and absorbed into strength and vitality. Grape-Nuts gives you nourishment without forming injurious acids—dangerous poisons. No matter how much you have abused your body with difficult foods, you can digest Grape-Nuts quickly and easily. Served with milk or cream in the morning, a bowlful of Grape-Nuts gives you just the nour- ishment your body needs. Eat it every day and see how much more healthy and alive you are—mentally and physically. All grocers have Grape-Nuts. All hotels and restaurants serve it in individual packages of a single portion. The Postum Cereal Company, Inc., Battle Creek, Mich. Copyright, 1924, by the Postum Cereal Co., Ine. a <a

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team again. I loved the game. And it was nice to loaf away the winter after having had so much excite- ment during the sum- mer. We worked harder, too, than pitchers do now. I was in the box every third day and often in the outfield when not pitching. I want to tell you something about the crowds of those days, because they are the kind of people I came to know best; under- standing them has much to do with what little I know about retailing. Very few women attended base- ball games then. Mostly workingmen filled the stands. Bricklayers, carpenters, men who drove wagons, boiler makers, steam fitters, en- gineers, brakemen, policemen—those were the fellows. Not many professional men, clerks, business men or that sort attended. Those rooters were hard-working, loyal fellows; when they were for you they never went back on you; and you would have done well not to go back on them either. They took their baseball heroes seriously. If one of our players had ever thrown a game they’d have torn him limb from limb—that is, if they could have got to him before the other players turned him into jelly with baseball bats. Some of the fans of that day knew where I was playing and what my batting average was for ten years after they saw me for the last time. Somehow or other we were personal friends; as a matter of fact, we did meet more of the fans then. Cities were smaller and attend- ance very much smaller. Those were the grand old days. I’ve seen a hairy Goliath who had just struck out with men on bases come back to the bench with tears in his eyes—tears of fury. We played to win. Managers had a hard time keeping us from betting all our money on ourselves. Running a Baseball Team No man could keep from loving such a game and such fans; but each winter when I’d hear the advice of mother and others near and dear to me I’d try again to find a little business that I could buy and manage. Strangely enough, I hadn’t the remotest idea what kind of business I wanted. Off- hand, I couldn’t have said whether it was a butcher shop or a hardware store. All I knew was that it had to be all my own. I felt sure I could manage a retail store well. Like most speed artists, I found my big- league career at a close early. Next I was playing in a minor league. I kept going back to still lesser positions, and all the while I’d say to myself that I was going to get a little business of my own. I had saved some money—not nearly so much as I should have saved, but enough to buy a small business if only I could determine what sort I wanted. I never did narrow down the field to the point where I could look about me intelligently, And I had loafed away every winter. If only I had served in some capacity in any sort of estab- lishment, a clew to my talent or tastes might have been disclosed. It would have been worth thousands of dollars to me, I think, if I had worked, without pay even, as an office boy or messenger in order to see what business was like. The one thing I knew a great deal about I never consid- ered —that was farming. The town had me and it kept me. Presently an opportunity came to own and manage a baseball team. That de- lighted me, I wondered why I hadn’t thought of it long before. Nothing seemed more natural than that I should graduate to the managerial role. Here was a business I understood, the very thing for me. My team, of course, was in a minor league. I plunged into the work with all my capital and gt energy. Now baseball is, from the business stand- point, a show, an entertainment. The im- presario must be a showman, or have at least some of his qualities. I knew baseball, THE SATURDAY EVENING POST HOW I FOUND MYSELF (Continued from Page 12) “MOO I've Laughed at Them Mysetf Sometimes; They'd Look Like a Gang of Thugs or Pirates but it hadn’t occurred to me that I wasn’t a showman. I see it now clearly enough. But at that time if I had been asked I would have said that I was a showman. My teams did very well—before I was through I had managed several of them— but that mysterious quality which puts a man’s name on everyone’s lips was cer- tainly not mine. Perhaps it was because I thought of the team as a little business of my own—now that I owned it—instead of something akin to a circus or political cam- paign. I did my work and then went home, instead of being a personage to be gazed upon and admired in Nick or Tom’s bar- room. That was the correct strategy in those days. It isn’t that I’m so good and pure, but it didn’t cecur to me that I was ringmaster and should dress accordingly. I never have had the personality that makes men throw their hats in the air and cheer. In the pitcher’s box, I, looked smaller than I am; my delivery was apparently easy even when I put a tracer of blue smoke be- hind every pitched ball. I have made the hundred-yard dash in ten seconds more times than I can remember, but I never ap- peared to be going very fast. Such a man cannot emerge a national figure unless he remains a long time and piles up an im- pressive record. Few do that. When T Cobb whizzes to first he looks as thoug he’s going fast. When Babe Ruth comes to bat he looks like the home-run king. I never looked the part. My teams would do very nicely —I mean at the box office—for a season, and then if attendance fell I was broke and out. Base- ball in those days was a perilous specula- tion for the club owners. I must have been fairly good as a manager, because some- one would give me another chance—but always I was drifting away toward smaller cities, and not once did I notice it. I thought I had found my field and was doing very well. Every failure was attributed to bad weather or poor crops or rival attractions. Opportunity was only one hop ahead of me, ready to shower gold and fame. In the Role of Mine Host One winter I decided to start another little business of my own. It was a skating rink. You see, I thought of myself as an accomplished impresario. The rink paid very well at first, but failed before the original investment was recovered. The following winter I had a theater one-night stands. Virtually all those en- terprises failed regularly. Mine was no exception. I tried concessions in amuse- ment parks, which were then just beginning to spread from the larger cities over the country. They also failed eventually. At last it began to dawn upon me that I was chasing a will-o’-the-wisp. I'd meet men from time to time who had been rolling in profits six months before, but were now soliciting small loans. It occurred to me that their sort of life wasn’t what I wanted at all; I wan permanence, and I had been seeking it where it didn’t exist. A friend of mine asked me if I would like to try my hand at managing a hotel he owned. Again epporenaney Welliened, This was the very thing. A hotel would be per- manent and respond to good management with increasing profits. We drew up terms; I was to pay on the installment plan out of net earnings. An uncle of mine had owned a hotel when I was a boy. I had been through the place from kitchen to garret dozens of times. I thought I knew all about it. Moreover, I had been a guest in good hotels throughout the East; I knew just how one should be operated. Of course, we all do, and I don’t blame you for laugh- ing. I tripped myself by not realizing that there is a slight difference between knowing how a good hotel should perform and mak- ing it deliver that performance. The stand- ard I had to meet wasn’t very high and I believe I did give satisfaction, but I made no money. It was a drawn battle. One of our periodic national panics brought the struggle to a close and i was again wander- ing around looking for a little business of y own, Thank God, we don’t have any more panics. That was a terrible experience. At one time I went hungry for a day be- cause even the pawnbrokers didn’t have p= more money. I couldn’t pawn a solid gold watch as big as a slice of pie; it had diamonds in it too. My last cent was gone and I was all in. However, I have never been out. I got one of those jobs where you go through the train and say, “Trunks checked, mister. Baggage transferred.” From Cabman to Restaurateur All the while I kept saying to myself that this was funny as the dickens; I'd have a littie business of my own pretty soon. There weren't enough people traveling for me to make a living transferring baggage, so I quit that job and drove a hack. Oh, yes, there were mechanics, clerks, executives, lawyers and bankrupt business men who envied me the wages at that time no mat- ter if they did think poorly of the job. To me it was a great lark. I never could get it through my head that I was a rank failure and not far from being a bum. I was going into business for myself pretty soon. With what? I never even thought of the ques- tion. Of course, I was going into business. All my forefathers had been substantial men of affairs; there was no reason why I shouldn’t be the same. Nothing but a little streak of bad luck—panic, that was all. ‘I hadn’t caused the panic. It would be over pretty soon. Then I'd go into business for myself. In some places there were public soup kitchens. Charitable citizens began organizing municipal wood yards where a man would be fed in return for cutting wood. I actually pitied the poor fellows who were receiving charity and regretted that I didn’t have any money to donate to the worthy cause. But unfortunately, like other business men, I was having a hard time in the panic. Nevertheless I was a business man —temporarily embarrassed. Aren’t we human beings funny? During this period I encountered quite a number of eating places not previously hon- ored by my acquaintance. I didn’t like them very much. I began meditating upon the wretched quality of the fare dispensed to poor men. I’m nota dainty trencherman; a good slab of steaming boiled beef strikes me as food for Olympians. I can surround a quart of carrots, boiled whole, or a quar- tered cabbage with relish. I grow lyrical wd A ee over beef stew or liver and bacon. Sol made some computations and decided that it didn’t cost any more to give men something fit to eat than to dis- vense indigestion jith this noble idea worked out in detail, I stumbled upon a restaurant with closed doors. You see, it is fairly easy to discover opportunities when you know what you are looking for. I got the place and actually stocked it en- tirely on credit, I don't think I had as much as one dollar in my pocket, I've never been crooked, nor even doubted that I could pay, no matter how improbable the outlook, so I exuded and inspired confi- dence. Well, try as I would, I couldn't make that restaurant produce the sort of meals I had in mind when I opened it. You see, I had overlooked one trifling little de- tail—the cook had to have ideas precisely like my own, and he didn’t. Neither did the next three. Also the place seemed to become filthy in the time you'd bat an eye. Nevertheless, it wabbled along, making a little profit. But my plans were not work- ing. I decided I was not a restaurant man and sold the enterprise. Then I went back to the city that was home to me. Hypnotized by Eloquence There I met a friend of the family who said he would take me right into his busi- ness and teach it to me from the ground up. It was the coming business of this country, in his far from humble opinion, and offered a future so alluring that words could not bey describe it. I asked my mother what she thought about it and discovered that our friend had already hypnotized her with his eloquence. Fundamentally, it seemed to me his proposition was entirely sound. They were selling something tha: every man in the country might buy and you could offer it with excellent argument. he company was sound and its policies had just as good clauses as those of any other company, if not better. So I loaded up on the selling talk and went out as a solicitor. There were just two obstacles in the way. First, about 90 per cent of the male popu- lation was not yet sold on the genera! idea of life insurance and the others had policies. Second, every fifth man you tackled was an agent himself. So that enthusiasm died young. I was now back among the hero worship- ers of my earliest baseball days. On all sides men hailed me with sincere welcome. Those fellows never forget. They don’t write you letters or anything like that, but they’re for you for life. I'm no aristocrat. I like com- mon people; not as an abstract principle, but to live with them, to swap talk with them, have them on hunting trips with me and at my table. They're my gang. A little rough, you expect me to say next, but with hearts of gold. Why, most of them are not rough. Most of them are as mild-mannered as you'd wish a man to be, and a great many of them have far better educations than They are just plain people. The great ma- jority of them are doing exactly what they want to do, and are quite happy. They look at the people in the so-called upper walks of life with pity, scorn, amusement and other sentiments far removed from envy. They love to read stories in the newspapers about the doings of rich people and the socially prominent, not for the reasons rich peopie think, but to laugh. It entertains them. I hadn't been home very long until the representative of a brewer called upon me with a business offer. His company would furnish everything except the first month’s rent-—if I reeall the details correctly, and I am not absolutely certain; I would be proprietor of a well-situated saloon. | would pay for the fixtures and all other in- debtedness out of net earnings; a stipulated sum would be added to the price of each barrel of beer. In effect, I could start with a business of my own for a very smal! sum;

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38 the brewery would finance me and collect according to my sales. It seemed a most generous offer. I had lots of friends; there was an excellent prospect for success. Thus { would have a little business of my own. This was quite a long time before na- tional prohiiition. In fact at the time I don't recall ever having met a prohibition- ist. I had heard of them, but it wouldn’t have surprised me to learn that they had three legs or two noses. They ranked with the other freaks who said women would some day have the ballot. A saloon to me was a business. | was now going to have a business of my own. I had always heard that saloons paid well. Well, I think far more than half of them didn’t. The brewers and distillers profited, and so did the middlemen. They seemed to think that sales would increase in propor- tion to the number of saloons, so they fi- nanced lots of them. It was a ruinous policy for the retailer, as any man who knows the first principles of merchandising will readily see. I have no doubt that many prohibitionists still think saloons multiplied because they were profitable to their pro- prietore Far from it. Thousands of them came into being just like mine. I had never thought of a saloon until the brewery repre- sentative cailed upon me. I went to the place he described and could readily see that it was a good location for almost any sort of retail business. Within six months, however, there were so many saloons in the neighborhood that all were on the brink of foreclosure. Rival breweries would put in competing establishments whenever one succeeded— as mine did at first. Eventually quite a number of states and municipalities passed laws limiting the number of salcons on the basis of population, or so many to the block, or both. Those laws saved many a saloon keeper from bankruptcy. Before Prohibition { was in the saloon business longer than in any other, and I’! tell you I don’t believe five per cent of the former saloon keepers would go back into the business again today under: conditions as they existed at any time during the fifteen years preceding na- tional prohibition. They thought prohibi- tion would be a disaster, but for nearly all of them it has proved a blessing—I'm dis- cussing business, not thirst. They found their way into other work and I have yet to meet one who isn't better satisfied. Ev- ery one I know personally is pasion move money and feels more secure edout his fu- ture. That was an overcrowded, harassed, terribly managed business, and the retailer bore the brunt of all mistakes. Nearly everyone has had something good or bad to aay about the saloon keeper, but I've never seen or heard mentioned his most noteworthy distinction. He was the introducer of our present-day modern con- veniences. The first electric fan I ever saw was in a saloon; also the first telephone, the first cash register; and if a saloon keeper wasn't the first, then he must have been among about the first three to install electric lights. Poor, deluded dub, he was always glad-handing everybody, passing out the price of a bed or meal, laughing, cashing straagers’ checks, subscribing, do- nating, flooding the place with light far into night, giving away free lunch, putting up such a mighty show of prosperity that he kidded himself, and meanwhile going on the rocks because he couldn't pay off the brewer's mortgage on his brass rail. What a fool’s paradise that was for a man who thought he owned a business! It would have been much better for me if | had turned carpenter or something of that sort and saved my money. I had skill of a high order. No man could make a wagon that would pass my father’s inspec- tion and be honestly modest about his craftsmanship. I also knew the forge, and I was nota weak man. But the plain truth incredible as it may seem—is that I never once thought of those things. They were trades, my need of employment was tempo- rary. Behind the bar, in the kitchen or on the driver's seat of a hack, I was a business man, looking for an opportunity, waiting for something to turn up. But I am wandering away from my story. My first saloon failed, but I had made a reputation for honesty and had shown some ability, Other offers came, just like the first. The business seemed to promise a good living with a fair break of luck. You know, baseball players can't help believing in luck. “The breaks of the game,” in baseball parlance, doesn’t mean something THE SATURDAY mystic; it designates a very real thing. There’s a lot of luck in our lives, both good and bad. Anyway, I was ready to try again. I must touch only briefly on that phase of my career, and point the moral rather than adorn the tale with too much incident, for it is no longer interesting to me or anyone else, It is a net loss. I was proceeding up a blind alley, or rather up an alley toward a precipice. There was no future for a man in the saloon business even when I started. This country was soon definitely headed toward prohibition and the signs became increasingly evident as the years rolled on. New restrictions and expenses began to at- tack the business in doubtful states, while the brewers and distillers made asses of themselves in solidly wet states by sow- ing every block with barrooms. finally saw this, but I was like a man caught in a net. If I tried to turn to any other business I had to admit ignorance. Repeated failures—in my restaurant, my hotel, my amusement ventures, and others that I haven't bored you by mentioning— made me hesitate. uaawhile failure in the saloon business never affected my standing adversely when I wished to try again. Indeed, they were usually after me before I closed the doors on failure. You see, the saloon business also called for showmanship, and I was always trying to manage the thing as though it were a dry-goods store. It had nothing incommon with other retail establishments. It was a club, an amusement, or something of that sort when it succeeded. I don’t mean to say that I had no ability; I merely lacked that glamorous personality which is essen- tial to more or less permanent success, Ad- verse winds blew me away, just as they had done in baseball; I wasn’t strong enough to ride out a storm or resist a contrary current. Nevertheless, I found many pleasant asso- ciations, especially when I served working- men, the sort of fellows who would come in at noon, carrying their dinner buckets, eat lunch, drink a quart of beer and go back to work. I have no doubt many a woman has caught a glimpse of fifteen or twenty such men, unshaven, with grimy faces, sprawled out in barroom chairs, and mistaken them for the criminal element, I've laughed at them myself sometimes; they'd look like a gang of thugs or pirates. But those fel- lows are the salt of the earth. Only God knows how many acts of brotherly kindness they perform toward one another—only He could know, because such men give, or do, and forget it before the sun sets. I'll sa another thing for them-—they pay bac what they borrow. Whenever I was thrown with such men I liked them; but for years I was trying to get out of the saloon busi- ness and didn’t know how. Just a Jumble of Dry Goods Quite a while before national ees went into effect the county in which I then lived voted dry. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I read the newspaper headline next morning. It was generally believed that there was no danger of any such out- come, Within a few weeks I was penniless, but looking about as usual for an oppor- tunity to open a business of my own. There was an interim of rather severe hardship for me, a repetition of any old job in order to eat. And this time it wasn’t quite so funny as before. I had gray hair. But I don’t feel old or tired, even now. Of course, it is an absurd illusion, but if you were to ask me if I feel able to pitch for the Yankees tomorrow I would have to answer that I do. That's the way I feel. One day when I was walking down the street carrying a bundle of bills—I was now a bill collector--I stopped to look at the strangest jumble of dry goods I have ever seen. It was a general mixture of stuff sal- vaged from box cars that had caught fire in a wreck; or at least so I was told. I never confirmed the story, and since then I have heard other versions. One of the first things that caught my eyes was a well made shapely pair of shoes with soles about half an inch thick. Next I saw some woolen blankets the like of which I had not touched ‘covering on the floor. EVENING POST since I left the farm. Those were blankets, I went in and saw some trousers, made of stout cloth with a hard finish, the kind that will get shiny, but they certainly will wear. made inquiry and learned that this whole pile of stuff was offered for immediate sale at ten cents on the dollar. rane from the values named on such tags as ad been attached, the man was going to cheat himself to the extent of an additional two or three per cent. Whatever the nature of the case was, the man quite plainly was sellin these goods under a court order and po give an honest bill of sale. I didn’t waste time over details. I knew immediately what I wanted todo. I wanted to open a store for workingmen, the kind of men I know best, the kind of men who are always having badly made goods shoved at them. Among my friends was a man of sporting proclivities who made a very good living by turning his money an on just such ven- tures as this. He always had about twenty thousand dollars in cash available, and one ear remained open for propositions even when he slept. I took him to the store and he agreed at once to invest. He suggested that I go to work and try to sell the stuff on commission. ‘‘ No,”’ I said, ‘I want to open a store and sell it at retail. I want to get started in business. That way we'll make a lot more money. Let’s go fifty-fifty on the profits and ri undertake all the work as soon as you buy the asa He a to that, but wanted to know where I’d get a store. I hurried down to a part of town where there are a lot of what I call cheap- john stores and found one vacant. A shoot- ing gallery had just failed. I had had one of those, too, so I wasn’t surprised to see the man moving out. I had to hustle around pretty fast to make all my yee Ig Ng but I managed to get into that building be- fore night with the blankets—that’s all that had been delivered when work ceased for the day. With my last twenty-five dollars I put an advertisement in the morning paper and then went to bed. Specialty Shops for Workmen Next morning about dawn I went to the store and found some sawhorses— that’s what carpenters used to call them, and I ess they still do—lying around on the oor; also some loose planks. I displayed the blankets on an improvised counter of boards resting on sawhorses, trusting to rinter’s ink and the price to do the rest. he combination worked. When the agent came about noon with his lease he was as- tonished to find me in the place, bui I had already taken in enough to pay the rent in cash. The moving man was also paid out of current receipts when his work was done. The rush lasted for weeks. I worked twelve to sixteen hours a day. As soon as the store was closed each night I began writing to the makers of such goods as I wanted to keep in stock permanently. Part of my original purchase was valueless, of course. You see, the price of that original jumble was merely an immediate oppor- tunity; my real inspiration was the charac- ter of the stuff. There were workmen's blue shirts of remarkable weave, heavy and durable; shoes for men who have to stand all day in the cold and wet; trousers for men who aren’t thinking about pretty creases, but want something that a hammer can rub against, week after week, without wearing a hole. Forty years ago there used to be plenty of clothes like that. Well, there still is such clothing, but how to find and assemble a whole stock of it— that was my problem. I wanted a store that would make a plain workman feel at home; a place where he would drop in and shop around just as the women do in department stores, and not rub elbows with any other sort of people. I don’t try to make the place look like a par- lor, but it is clean and in order. I don’t own a single glass show case and there is no The place looks something like an orderly, conveniently ar- ranged quartermaster’s storeroom. I don’t mean to say that I have goods you can’t find elsewhere on earth, because you can. But my stock is complete from shoes to hats—-for the man on the job. If he is going August 50,1924 to call on his girl, he’ll have to buy his outfit farther up the street. My shirts are mostly brown, black or blue. I’ve got coats for the telephone linemen who ride motorcycles against the north wind on hurry calls. I’ve got stuff for the milkman and the iceman and the railroad brakeman. And I’ve got nothing for women. I don’t know what they wear, so I don’t fool with it. But I know what workingmen wear and what they want; I’ve heard them talk about it hundreds of times. Many of them were country boys like myself, and more of them than you’d think remember homespun. I carry sporting goods too—not the kind with which you, probably, zre acquainted. Some of the articles you use I have in stock, but I also have quite a number you don’t know. You see, I’ve gone hunting with the sort of men to whom I seil and I know how they dress and what they’d like to have. I carry supplies for the fellow who has locked his tools in the box and is taking a vacation in the old flivver. The family is along, but they don’t carry the family plate. I know about what they want and I’ve got it. Their way is my way of going for an ie so I know how to advise those ople. After this first store was stocked to my satisfaction, I wanted new worlds to con- quer. I can’t build a department store. In fact my original establishment probably will not go very far beyond its present busi- ness. But I knew that if it succeeded in one place, it would succeed wherever there was a sufficient number of the same kind of prospective customers. Just by way of try- ing out that guess I opened a second store in another city not more than two hundred miles away—an easy trip in an automobile. It also succeeded. So from time to time I put in a new one. I have to train men to manage them, and take time to be sure of the man. There’s no great hurry. After getting on for fifty years without borrowing from a bank, it didn’t occur to me that I ought to have such a connection, so I re- mained a mere depositor. I never borrow. I’m proud of my books though. One day my banker came in and looked at them. He said he’d let me have a loan any old time I wanted it just on the strength of those hooks. I like a system that makes the thing clear as day; it’s a record of the busi- ness that would testify in my absence just about as accurately as I could if I were present. Maintaining Family Standards I’ve been looking around lately for new stuff and I found a man who says he can make some underwear such as I want. I hope he does. The kind I’m looking for stops a twenty-two caliber bullet at fiity paces—it doesn’t have to be made in boys’ sizes, because the heir apparent inherits three or four suits that grandpa used to wear, and if neatly trimmed down they last him until manhood; any time they split, the man inside them will be found suffering with a badly broken leg. I never saw but one pair utterly ruined; they blew off the wash line and a street car ran over them. Not many men want such garments, but some of my customers really need them. If | were a younger man I’d push these stores along at a more rapid rate, I think. My purpose would be to increase sales to the point where I could dictate specifica- tions to manufacturers. There hasn’t been much market for the kind of stuff I want. People have about quit demanding it; but they certainly will buy it if they can get it. However, I may yet accomplish that; I ought to be good for another twenty years. It’s a mighty fine feeling to know you have found yourself., It isn’t the money; it’s the feeling that you are doing what you want to do and that the thing is beneficial and important. I wonder sometimes if my story doesn’t all hinge on mother’s little yarn about her dad and the sailcloth. It makes me wonderfully happy when I think that some day I’ll look that old Irishman in the eye and tell him I maintained the family standards in the very worthy field of mer- chandising. I think of dad, too, strutting about and looking very stern while barrels were being filled with potatoes or apples; and I see him again inspecting hams as they came out of the smokehouse. He was no slouch as a merchant, even though he did insist on calling himself afarmer. If he has ever forgiven me for letting the farm go, I’d like to tell him that I’ve got some socks in the store that I think must be woven of steel wire. They’ll go well with that new under- wear.

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Built kind of wiry, I guess; and works on his nerve. I’ve a notion to tell you about Langiey.”’ Ford made no comment; and Hebron looked toward him with a faintly sardonic deference. ‘‘You can spare the time, can you?” Ford flushed again; mildly enough, “ Yes." “It won't hurt you any to waste an hour or so.”’ Hebron commented, and stirred in his chair, seeking a more comfortable posture. Ford knocked out his pipe and settled himself to listen but he answered “You never saw him, you say,’”’ Hebron began. ‘‘So I guess I'd better try to give you some idea of the kind of look- ing man he is. Then you can bear THE SATURDAY EVENING POST VALOR (Continued from Page &) and made his night’s camp near them, so as to swap talk with the guides. Then every two weeks he made a longer trip to get su plies. The rest of the time he lived alone in this cabin of his, with the porcupines for company, and the deer that used to come down to the shore below his cabin in the late afternoon. Once or twice a bear came after the berries in the burnt-over land. You might say it was a pretty solitary proposition for a young man.” Pebren seemed to consider this assertion for a moment, then enlarged upon it. ‘‘He had some trouble with his eyes that sum- mer, I remember,”’ he explained. ‘So he couldn’t do much reading. I’ve heard him say that on rainy days, when there wasn’t saw no hope of success in it. “A bust for me, either way,” he told himself morosely. “In wrong if I hang back, in wrong if I go ahead.” But if Hebron insisted, he must, of course, go ahead. He drove his attention back to the other man’s words. He had momentarily lost the chain of the narrative; but he was not long in recovering it. Hebron was describing, in some detail, one of Dell Langley’s patrol trips. Ford knew the country only vaguely. He had seen upon the map some of the names of streams and lakes which now fell from Hebron’s tongue; but his own work had lain farther to the northeast. “Dell saw the smoke,” Hebron said, with a change of tone which indicated that August 50,1924 Hebron frowned slightly, then replied in an expressionless tone, “I guess you mi that. I told you he’d found, the day before, the phone was out of order somewhere along the line. Falling tree had broken the wire, or something. Besides that, the mountain lookouts would pick up this smoke and start men toward it right away. At least, there was a chance of that. No, Dell did the right thing. If you can catch a fire young you can choke it off sometimes. It would have taken him two days to get to a telephone; and a fire can do a lot of damage in two days. Anyway, he decided to go ahead; and within half an hour after he sighted the smoke he was pulling up the lake as hard as his paddle could dig. “Tt’s a queer thing, the way some of those fires start. This one it in mind, ‘‘ He'll stand maybe five feet six or seven, maybe more or less. You can't always tell about a thin man. He is thin too. Or looks so, with his clothes on. They tell me that he strips down pretty good, not so stringy as you'd think. You geta suggestion of that in his face. A thin man's face is usually thin; but Dell has a kind of a round face, and a round head, and sort of sandy hair bristling up on top of it, His wife tells me she tried to get him to slick it down with this vas- eline atuff; but it didn’t doa bit of good. I guess she don’t mind its being scrubby half as much as she lets on to. She kind of approves of Dell. “But it’s him I want to tell you about, not her. He looks thin, as I sail before; but he’s not so thin as he looks, Wiry and pretty well put together, and this round head ike a Swede, and a kind of a slow blue eye. Never seems to get ex- cited much; but I guess that man runs by a dynamo or something. He can walk the iegs off of me. Did it, last summer, when we went in to look over the trout in back of Megaioosuec.” He paused for a moment, con- sidering the trout; and Ford saw him move his lips as noe tast- ing a treasured memory. Then he went on once more. Dell was born in Orono,” he explained. ‘‘He was more or less born to the woods game. His father used to work for the com- pany, back in the 90's. I never nappened to run into him, but he was a camp boss, and he used to look over new ground in the sum- mer. A goed man at figuring what a township would yield Orso they say. **But I've got to atick to Dell. Dell was born in Orono, and he ate sawdust on his oatmeal and rode a log before he could walk. Then he had a sick turn when he was about ten years old, and was kind of pindling for four or five years; so they had to put him to schoo! and keep him off the river. He kind of took to studying; and he decided he'd go to college, so he did. His father didn’t think so much of that, I’ve heard; but started in a cedar swamp; and as far as we knew, there hadn’t been a man in there for weeks, camper oranythingelse. Must have been, of course; but we aim to keep retty close track of people on our and, and whoever this fellow was, we hadn’t had any word of him. We never found any trace of his camp either. But there the fire was, and the way it got started didn’t matter. Dell didn’t bother himself trying to guess. He just dug water, pushing that canoe of his up the lake. At the head he took his pole and worked up the little brook that winds through some low ground from the next pond above; and when he came out into that pond he could see where the fire was.” He shifted his position, leaned forward and picked up a pencil. “Here,” he said, “I’ll show you the layout.” And Ford came to look over his shoulder, while the older man drew the irregular out- lines of two lakes upon a sheet of paper before him. ‘‘ Dell came up from below into the foot of this “eguadloe jg--- peme capranpedbeny is pencil. “Off here to the north, there’s a big cedar swamp broken up by ridges, but mostly bog. It was cut over about twenty-five years ago, and the slash was left pretty much where it fell, and the swamp cedars had come up through it. The fire had started in there. That was a dry summer, and this stuff burned pretty well. The smoke from it lay to Dell’s left and ahead of him, as he came up the pond. “You see,”’ he pointed again. “There’s a narrow strip of land between these two ponds. It’s a kind of ridge that runs out from the higher land to the south and sticks a little way into the swamp on the north side. Of course it is pretty well petered out, pretty near down to the level of the water by the time it gets there; and at some places it’s only about two hops and a skip from one pond to the other. Well, off to the south there was a stand of spruce; fine big trees that we were planning to take out in a year or two, when we got around to it. They hadn’t been touched when the stuff to the his mother sided with Dell. Any- way, he went to college. He was well enough by that time; but his being sick made him kind of undersize; and then he grew too fast, and they thought maybe he'd got consumption. So he got a su:nmer job as a fire guard way up in the woods in a chain of lakes off the beaten track. “You've seen the layout up_ there. Dell's was just like all the others. He had a cabin on a burnt-over point all grown up with raspberries, on Chandler Lake. There was 4 trai! back of the cabin, running up the bed of a little brook for about three miles, and then up to the top of Chandler Mountain. There was a platform in an old pine there, and he could see pretty well all around. Telephone was down at the cabin. Dell was supposed to get up on the moun- tain every day or so, in good weather, any- way, and see what he could see. Then he had a kind of patrol route that he covered in his canoe about twice a week. He touched Churchill Lake on this patrol, and some- times he ran into a camping party there, _ the cabin. “He Decided to Go Ahead; and Within Half an Hour After He Sighted the Smoke He Was Palling Up the Lake as Hard as His Paddie Could Dig" anything to take him abroad, he used to spend his time practicing throwing his sheath knife at the trunk of an old tree by He told me that he got to be pretty good; but one day he threw the knife at a chipmunk, with no notion of hit- ting it, and threw better than he had ex- pected and killed it. That took the fun out of the knife throwing for him. He was kind of sensitive. You wouldn’t think it to look at him; but then, there were a lot of things about Dell that you couldn’t see at first, until you got to know him.” Young Ford had listened with what at- tention he could muster. His thoughts, inevitably, were dwelling on the proposi- tion Hebron had put before him, and which he had refused. Hebron, he knew, was dis- pleased; and the displeasure of this man was not a thing to be ignored. Ford thought he would probably have to tackle the job Hebron offered, in the end; but he he was approaching the meat of the tale. **Dell saw the smoke when he woke in the morning ‘‘His camp was at the foot of the lake; and when he rolled out and went down to the water to wash up, he saw the gray haze above the morning mists on the water. An ordinary man might have supposed that haze was just fog, rising as the sun rose; but Dell knew the difference. He knew there was a fire. Smoke like that may come from a small fire a mile or two away; or it may be from a big fire fifty miles off. It’s hard to judge the distance; but Dell decided this fire was near, within a few miles. It was right in his path, in the path he would naturally take on his patrol. He made a quick fire and boiled coffee and got a bite to eat. Then he piled his stuff into the canoe and started up the lake.” Ford asked critically, “‘Why didn’t he go back and telephone?” north of the ponds was cut off. This growth ran from the water back along the rising ground; broke off where there was a sort of rock slide a couple of hundred feet high, and then went on up the mountain, tall and fine. “The fire was on the north side of these ponds; and the spruce was on the south side. The fire didn’t do any great harm where it was; but if it crossed and got into that spruce, it would burn up money mighty fast. That was the situation; and Dell sized it up quicker than I've told you. And he figured what to do. “You don’t want to suppose that Dell just lost his head and went at it blindly. He didn’t. He's a cool sucker, that man. No, sir; he had his head about him all the time. He stopped at the foot of the pond long enough to unload his blankets and grub and stuff from the canoe, and he left them there by the brook, where he could pick them up quick if he had to get out in a hurry. The fire might come that way; (Continued on Page 42)

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The Jewett Drivers’ Column Every day sees letters coming in from enthusiastic Jewett drivers, Here's one from Mr. S. D. Hodgson of Webster Groves, Mo., who says, after a trip across the state of Missouri: “We drove four days in the rain, through newly graded roads,and at times we were dragging the car in the mud, in high gear at three miles an hour. We went through on our own power."” He adds in a post- script, “Two of our guests say they ave going to trade their cars in for Jewetts."’ Well, Mr. Hodgson, that’s the way many Jewett sales are made! i—J Now we'll jump all the way to New York state (you can do it with a Jew- ett, by the way!) and hearken to Mr D. W. Asquith of Gainesville, who loaded up his Jewett with baggage and family for a 1200 mile trip. They covered mountains and straightaway, and Mr. Asquith writes: “Our driving time from Gainesville to Philadelphia was 15 hours and none of the party felt tired upon arriving at our destination The most remarkable part of the trip was the fact we never shifted gears going or coming, except to start with.”’ He closes with, ““This is our second Jewett. We had to use a car hard and pounded that first Jewett through fifteen thousand miles of mountains,buz it stood up like a thor- oughbred.”’ And there's a hundred thousand others like you, Mr. Asquith! fe Now let's cross over the state line to Paterson, New Jersey, and hear Mr. G. L. Payne’s story: “In regard to my Jewett car purchased from you less chan six weeks ago, | have driven it over 4000 miles, over all kinds of roads and mountains. The car traveled over both sides of the Alleghany Mountains in high gear! It drives easier, has more pep and power than any other car! have owned this side of $3000. The worry-free satis- faction that comes from driving it is a good thing to know. I regret not having bought my Jewett sooner."’ And then to prove how pleased he is—he adds, “Please refer to me at any time. We have decided to purchase a second Jewett, making two in the family.’’ Well, that’s mighty kind, Mr. Payne. i A Y O need to ask will Jewett serve well—a billion miles’ service has proved it for you. Companion of the fine Paige—built by a veteran maker of fine sixes—Jewett stands the only car in its class with such history behind it. Jewett’s giant-six motor was created for a Paige that sold at $2000. Five years have been used developing its perfection. All proved prin- ciples are embodied in it. No novel, freakish, doubtful ideas about it. Long-lived Power Jewett’s motor is large—2o0 to 40% larger than usual in cars its size. At slow car speed, Jewett's motor pulls easily through mud, sand, and uphill in high. It is not strained or overtaxed, because it is of ample size. So it stands up wonderfully. With such reserve of power Jewett gets away quickly—five to twenty-five miles an hour in seven seconds, Few cars can match it. Yet its motor revolves moderately compared with the speed of the car. Another reason for long-lived power—fewer revolutions per mile. Front-end metal gears, burnished and carefully matched for extreme silence, add further to Jewett's enduring fine performance. Proved J PAIGE BU THE SATURDAY EVENING POST One Billion Miles Beyond Experiment Inbuilt Endurance Jewett is over-size in every part. It weighs 2805 pounds—200 to 400 pounds more than compa- rable cars, These extra pounds mean more finest quality steel, leather, rubber and wood—more expensive construction—long:lived satisfaction. Over-size brakes; extra-deep frame; unusually long springs, 80% of the wheelbase; heavy duty axles front and rear. All these tell why Jewett in one billion miles of service has proven superb de- pendability. Tochange suchacar just tocry “new” would be to ill-treat Jewett owners. New Colors—New Comfort Now, Lotus Blue bodies with Crimson stripings and Autumn Green bodies with Orange strip ings give Jewett a new appeal to the eye— strikingly smart beauty. And with balloon tires the always comfortable Jewett, due to its spring suspension and rugged construction, now rides more comfortably than ever. And the cushioned comfort of passengers tells you that the mechanism, too, is protected from road shocks—increasing Jewett endurance. There isa Billion Mile Jewett in its bright new dress ready for you at a nearby dealer's. (647-A) EWETT ! ‘ONE BILLION MILES BEYOND EXPERIMENT’ Balloon Tive Comfort New Color Charms

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42 Watch This Column ‘*The rollicking, reckless path of youth whick only age can dim.”’ ~AUTHOR UNKNOWN RECINALD DENNY REGINALD DENNY is stirring up the movie houses just now with “‘The Reckless Age,’’ a Universal Jewel adapted from Earl Derr Bigger’s novel, ‘‘ Love Insurance.” DENNY is in his element in this pic- ture, which is chock full of action and delightful romance. I think you will like him even better in this than in ‘Sporting Youth.’’ His support is ir- reproachable. It includes RUTH DWYER and HAYDEN STEVEN- SON, whom you will recall as the genial manager in ‘‘The Leather Pushers.’’ Take my advice and see ‘‘Wine,’’ produced by Louis Gasnier, with an exceptionally fine cast, featuring CLARA BOW, FOR- REST STANLEY, HUNTLEY GORDON, MYRTLE STEDMAN, WALTER LONG and ROBERT AGNEW. Ask the manager of your favorite theatre if he has booked this thrilling drama. And don’t overlook VIRGINIA VALLI, ROCKLIFFE FELLOWES and WALLACE BEERY in ‘‘The Signal Tower,’’ or LON CHANEY in that greatest of all picture- plays,‘ TheHunchbackofNotreDame."’ One thing you can be sure of; When you start out to see a Universal picture, you will know it is clean—-and good. You will know that the story was written by a popular author and that the cast will be excellent. You will Anow that you can take your chil- dren without fear that they will be shocked or made familiar with the world’s follies before their time. That’s a lot, isn’t it? What more could be desired? Have you seen Champion JACK DEMPSEY in Universal’s ** Fight and Win’’ pictures? I think they're great. What do you think? arl Laemmle (2 4 President To be continued next week UNIVERSAL PICTURES 1600 Broadway, New York City THE SATURDAY (Continucd from Page 40) but there wasn’t much wind, and what there was was kind of slanting out of the north, carrying the fire toward the ponds. Dell went ahead with nothing in the canoe but his ax and a hoe and his paddle. He got to the head of the lake and landed on the neck between the two ponds, and then he sunk the canoe in shoal water and put some rocks in it to hold it down out of harm’s way. Put rock on the paddle too. Didn’t take him very long, all this. But you know when vou’re going into a long fight there’s never any hurry. Time enough to hurry after you get in.’ He drop his pencil and tilted back in his chair. ‘ Well, sir,”’ he said thoughtfully, ‘maybe Dell had a chance to stop that fire. I don’t know. Men that ought to know say it could have been done with a big enough crew. The trouble was that al along between the two ponds there was a growth of young spruce and pine—a thick growth, that had choked out some trees every yer’; and these dead ones were standing in among the others, held up by the others, you might say. This growt ran clear across and out into the swamp a little ways; and then there were three good-sized trees, two firs and a hemlock, with popple around them. Then you came to the cedar growth, so thick you wouldn’t say a moose could through it, and slash underneath, and all of it pretty dry. And by the time Dei) got there, the place was pretty smoky and the fire was nning to wake up for the day, the sun getting higher all the time. “T went over that ground afterwards, to see what Dell had done. You could see the stum I counted them; but I don’t aim to tell you how many trees Dell cut down between then and dark, because it don’t seem ible in cold figures. But he started on those three trees that stood out toward the swamp. The firs and the big hemlock. He dropped the hemlock toward the swamp; and he felled the other two into the water, so that about half of them was right in one pond or the other. He didn’t waste time with the hoe, because the fire wouldn't run along the ground much where there was this popple growth. He went back and began to cut into the young stuff that was packed so close together that if you dropped a match into it, it would pretty near explode. He lit into it hard. A smallish man, and he don’t look so dog- goned strong; but he certainly did cut a swath there, in the time he had. “There were two places on that neck of land that were narrower than the rest of it. One was right at the north end; and the other was opposite a cove over toward the other side. ell told me afterward that he never figured he could stop the fire at the north end, because it was bound to work up on him from three sides, But he aimed to make some trouble for it there, and hold it long enough to do some work back at his second line. If he could have shifted some of the stuff he cut down, he might have man ; but it was too heavy for him, and the branches tangled in together. I ess swinging an ax came natural to him; ut dragging even the small stuff out was EVENING POST asking too much of his muscles. The best he could do was fall the trees away from the fire and let them lay. “He knew enough about the game to be sure, before noon, that he couldn’t stop the fire; couldn’t hope to stop it. There was more wind, for one thing; and now and then a little spark, floating over, would drop near him. irst off, these sparks were burned out before they hit the ground; but the fire was getting nearer, ing its time, eating up the cedar as it came; and the sparks got bigger all the time. He de- cided he’d done all he could, right there, so he went back across to where the ponds came closest together, and he started in all over _, Ford no longer had difficulty in keeping his attention fixed upon what Hebron was saying. The rough sketch of the locality which the other had made served to visualize the scene; his imagination did the rest. He had seen one fire in the woods, and knew what Dell Langley confronted. “Well,” said Hebron, “there was one big hemlock, about where he picked his ground; and Dell tackled it. It was a tough bird, but there was some rot at the heart of it, and he got it down. Dropped it toward the fire. It was bigger than the young stuff around it, and it busted things con- siderable when it fell. Dell told me one stub of it pretty near caught him. He was working so fast that he wasn’t as careful as he might have been, I guess. Anyway, the tree started before he was ready, and he had to scramble some. If it had been me, I think I’d have got to thinking how it would have been to be pinned down there with the fire coming right along that way; but Dell said he never thought of that at all. He lopped off some small stuff; and he scraped the ground clear, and he started a back fire there. It worked siow, and there was no way he could hurry it. He was kept busy holding it from sneaking around behind him. It wasn’t hot enough to make a big up draft, so he didn’t have to worry much about sparks for a spell. Be- tween times, he kept cutting back away from the fire, widening the gap all he could. He'd been at it by this time for as much as five or six hours. The lake was handy, and every so often he’d duck right into the water all over, so his whole body could have a drink; and he'd take a drink himself. It was getting pretty hot. The fire had worked up to the edge of the swamp along one of the ponds. It was right on the shore; and he could see the flames and the smoke swinging upward, and every so often a burning stick would go sailing on the up draft, and carry a little ways till the wind let go of it, and then come down, end over end, flaming or smoking till it hit the water. “He got into the lake once for a drink, and he heard a kind of crackling behind , him. There was an old pine by the shore there, and something had touched it off at the top. The needles were fizzing off like squibs, a few at a time, and the little flames were running along the twigs like mice. “This pine was taller than the yoning growth around it; and it kind of leane August 50,1924 over the water. But that fire was bound to creep down and start something; so Dell stuck his ax in his belt and climbed up into the tree, and he lopped off three or four of the upper branches and threw them out into the lake, and beat out the fire on the rest with his wet shirt. He couldn’t see around much, from up there, for the smoke; and it was hotter there, because he was in the upper draft. He said it was pretty near hot enough to start dry stuff burning. He got down in a hurry, knowing that things would be worse before they were any bet- ter, and when he got down he found the fire had sneaked across on him while he was busy with this other job, so he had to smash that out with some alder brush draggled in water. He got it out too. “By that time his back fire had met the other fire; and they were shaking hands and getting acquainted and settling down to work together, as you might say. His back fire had burned over about fifty yards or so of ground; but it wasn’t a real hot fire; and lots of stuff was too green for it to burn. But now when the real fire came along, pod a stuff was pretty well dried up and re: for it; and Dell saw the main fire was nging along toward him, de- liberate enough, but coming just the same. “Then he had to lay off for a little while because a tree caught, on the other pond behind him. He cut that down and dropped it into the pond, before the fire worked down into the smaller stuff. “He didn’t keep any real account of time, you understand. But it must have m an hour or two hours after that that he held the fire where it was, you might say with his bare hands. Oh, he got pretty well singed himself. Nothing dangerous; but his clothes were charred some here and there, from the heat; and he had as nice a case of sunburn as I ever saw. It was get- ting along toward sundown and the fire got kind of drowsy, the way fires are at night. But there was still a lot of heat in it; more than a man would imagine unless he’d seen one going. And of course it was only a question of time.” He was silent for a moment, hesitated, breathed deeply and slowly. ‘It jumped right over him at last,’’ he said. “Must have dropped a good-sized brand into the growth behind him, After that warmed up he heard it roar; and then there was noth- ing for him to do but back up, and the fire began to eat into the spruce, getting at the real good stuff, sort of chewing its cud, con- solidating its gains, as you might say, to get ready for the next day.” Ford said slowly, “The other lookouts must have picked it up by that time.” Hebron nodded. “They’d seen the smoke that morning,” he said. “I happened to be up there myself, catching a few trout and looking things over, The telephone being down bothered us some, but we got word around and started some men that way. I went along in old Dave Pendleton’s canoe, and I want to say I sweated some with that bow paddle blistering my hands. But we were the first ones in.. Got in along toward noon the next day. Dave was kind of won- dering about Dell, because we hadn’t had (Continued on Page 44) .F Nag > x ‘ PHOTO, OY J. FREO CPL OA Wild Mountain Sheep in Their Native Haunts Near Fernie, British Columbia

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THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 42) : any word from the boy. He said all alon he figured we'd find him somewhere aroun the middle of things. He said Dell was that kind. You understand, I didn’t know Dell myself, up till then.” - “You got there at noon?”’ Ford reminded im. “Just about. By paddling most of the night. But by that time all the spruce along the ponds was going, and the wind had picked up a bit too. When we come into the pond Dave gave one look at her, | and he said we might as well turn around and go home. ‘She'll go right to the top of the mountain now,’ he said. ‘Ain’t a chance of stopping her.’ “But we didn’t go home. Dave hadn’t meant just that. We pulled up the lake to the place where Dell had made his fight; and Dave picked up the signs here and there and showed them to me. ‘Told you he’d be at it,’ he reminded me. “I said to him, ‘Where do you figure he is now?’ And Dave said, ‘I guess he’s backing up the mountain with his face to the fire.’ So I said, ‘I want to say howdy to him. Let’s go hunt him up, Dave.’ “So we crossed over into the other pond; and the ground was hot enough then to blister through our boots, if we hadn’t soaked them first. Dave showed me Dell’s canoe in the water there. ‘He ain’t lost his head either,’ he pointed out. “From the other pond we came in on the fire from behind, you might say, the wind from us to it. And we struck in toward the mountain and began to climb.” He paused, and chuckled. “ Well, sir,” he continued, “‘vou remember I said there was a rock slide there. Nothing growing on it, That slide cut across the lower slopes of the mountain, and there was spruce be- low it, and above it too. The wind struck along there at an angle. If the fire jumped the slide it’d go right up the mountain and come pretty near making a clean-up; but if | it didn’t jump that slide it might work off to the southwest into some hardwood ridges Dave told me about this while we were climbing. You couldn't | see the lay from the ponds, for the smoke. | We worked around the eastern end of the slide and got up above it; and prety soon we came to a place where a fire had started in the leaves and been beaten out. So Dave showed it to me, and he said, ‘ Dell’s EVENING POST working up here somewhere.’ He went on ahead. “It was hot there, Ford. The draft up out of that fire seemed to hug the slope of the slide, and if you got near the edge it would scorch you. And the further west we went the hotter it got. I had enough of that; but Dave kept going ahead and I was bound I'd take as much of it as he would. We came to other places where fires had started and been stopped; and someone had been using a hoe. And the air got hotter; and you could look, it seemed to me, right down into a red pit below us, the smoke pouring up in our faces, and a glare beneath it. We had to keep low to breathe at all; and there were embers sailing up toward us, and the slide was all littered with the ash of them. Most of them burned out before they got to us; but we saw two that were still burning go over our heads and up the slope, and Dave pointed to them, and I knew what he meant. “We got out halfway or so along the slide before we found Dell. He was there, sure enough. The darned little shrimp had fallen back, the way Dave said he would, fighting all the way; and he’d seen a ehance to put up a fight above the slide, and been at it there since daylight. He said afterward that hé didn’t notice when it was night, because he was working along the front of the fire, down in the thick growth. He hadn’t remembered to take a nap, nor he hadn’t eaten anything since the morning of the day before. And here it was late in the afternoon. “When we got to him he was beating out a little blaze with a spruce bough, and that bough was pretty nearly too heavy for him. He'd heave it up mighty slow, and when it went down, it just fell. But it kept coming . and going down; and he never saw us till Dave grabbed his arm. Then he looked at Dave and then he looked at the ground; and he said to Dave, ‘That’s out!’ “Dave said to him, ‘You’re a damned fool as I ever see.’ “And the boy said, ‘There’s another one starting, just over beyond that ledge there.’ “So Dave and I took him by the arms and started back with him. We had to stop once to let him beat out another blaze. He was so tired he couldn’t do much more than lift his arms, but he was bound to do it. Then after that we got him out of there. Time we got down to the pond we began to August 30,1924 meet men coming in. They were hustling too, because it was near night, and the fire would probably quiet down pretty soon and give them a chance. But it had already jumped the slide. Those brands Dave and I saw had done that much, anyway. “Dave wanted to go back and help; but I wouldn’t let him. I said to him, ‘You come along and fix up this boy and make a bed for him first, Dave. I figure I’ll be able to use him.’” Hebron was silent for a moment; then said in a tone of finality, “So that was how I came to find out about Dell. You know where he’s got to now.” Ford nodded. “T’ve heard of him,” he said, as he had said in the beginning. “We pay him twelve thousand,’’ Hebron explained. “And we're cheating him, at that.” “Did they stop the fire?’’ the young man asked. Hebron shook his head. chance to stop that,” he replied. “ Dell knew that, and Dave knew it. No, it a out our spruce for us, clean as a new "ed “IT don’t see that he accomplished any- thing,” Ford suggested uncertainly; and Hebron flared for a moment into rage and his voice was like the roar of a bull. “Accomplished?” he repeated. “Who the blue blazes gives a hoot what he ac- complished? I don’t give a fiddle what a man accomplishes, as long as he’s got the backbone to try, and keep on trying. Dell knew he couldn’t stop that fire. But if he’d sat down and said so, and lighted his pipe and watched it burn, I'd give as much for a cord of pulp bolts as for him!” He cut off the words with a clip of his jaws, and glared at Ford; but the young man met his eyes so steadily that Hebron was somewhat —— After a moment he said more mildly, ‘‘Any time the quarter- back called your signal to hit the line, I never heard about your telling him there wasn’t any use, wasn’t any chance for you to gain. If you did, they’ve kept it dark from me.” Ford got to his feet and buttoned his coat and stood for a moment erect and silent; then he said quietly, “‘I see.” Nodded with decision. ‘‘ Well, sir, I’ve been think- ing about what you want me todo. I guess you might as well let me have the ball.” “Never was a EVERY LITTLE MOVIE “Foolish talk what you murmurs with yo’ mouf, Mistuh Jones. Ain't you sawn that pitcher with yo’ ve’y own eyes, an’ ain't it better than a heap of the pitchers what you sees at the Champion an’ the Frolic?” “Well, yes.” “ An’ didn’t they sell?’”’ “ es ” “Then why ain't this one gwine sell also?” The logic was unanswerable. Also, Mr. Jones was in a highly receptive mood. The »t-rich-quick germ was pee apes Ran- fall had paved the way for Eddie's sales onslaught by surfeiting Noble with details of enormous fortunes turned over quickly and safely in the moving-picture game. Besides, this particular ae ect was hitting very close to home. Noble Jones had a single passion in life—his daughter. And there was no — the fact that Iodinah gave promise of developing into a very com- petent actress, It was a matter of pride to own a portion of the company in which she was to act, and O had made it quite clear that should Noble Jones ever become a stockholder, Iodinah’s future would be assured, Of course, Opus had as yet done nothing so fearfully crude as to suggest that Noble buy in— rd te Eddie 4 oo bel implicitly in tue Midnight Pictures Corporation, Inc. His entire personal savings had been invested therein. His enth was communi- cated to Noble Jones, chiefly perhaps be- pared nancy Fo. gg cheep orgotten was ‘ every- thing save the glittery prospectus issued by the a ictures C tion, Ine. Their bent close un the porch light. Eddie was atremble with eagerness; a a “Ten thousan’ an , Mistuh Jones.” “Hush yo’ mouf, little man. I woul’n't inwest ten thousan’ dollars in United States mints,” (Continued from Page 7) “Ought to. Two hund’ed pussent profit annual; that’d be twen’y thousan’ dollars a year income fo’ life.” ““Woul’n’t know what to do with all that money.” “Todinah <3 “She’s got ev’ything she wants now. Boy, I wukked hahd fo’ which money I has got an’ I ain’t aimin’ to lose a big slice of it all at once.” “Take a chance, Mistuh Jones.” “T got a friend which took a chance one night when he was drivin’ an automobile, an’ he coincided with a train.” “Eight thousan’?”’ “Nope. Two thousan’, maybe.” “Shuh! Two thousan’ ain’t fitten fo’ yo’ dignity. Seven?” “ Th’ee.”’ oe Six? ” “oe Fo’.” “Tell you what Ise willin’ to do,’’ pro- claimed Eddie magnanimously. “Ise willin’ to assept an order fo’ five thousan’.” Such generosity could not fail to ap to Noble Jones. .He hesitated, and was lost. Five minutes later he had formally exe- cuted an order for five thousand dollars’ worth of stock-in the Midnight Pictures Corporation, Inc. The order was very binding, indeed: a noncancelable promissory note effective —— the delivery of one hundred shares of stock. Trembling with excitement, Eddie Quartz rose to go, and as he did so his eyes fell upon the res of Opus Randall and Iodinah. Noble saw them, too, and he laid a pleading hand on Eddie’s arm. “One favor I’asts you, Eddie.” “Yas-suh?” “Don’t breathe no word of this to no- a,’ not even to Iodinah.” “How come?” “T craves to keep it a secret. Maybe some day I gives this heah stock to Iodinah fo’ a weddin’ present,” “Hot dam! What you asts, Mistuh Jones, is a cinch. An’ I don’t know nothin’ that would make a better weddin’ present fo’ yo’ pretickeler daughter.” At the gate the departing Eddie came face to face with his magniloquent rival. “Evenin’, Mistuh Randall.” “Hello, li’l’ bit.” Opus smiled disdain- fully. “Has you been callin’ on Miss Iodinah?”’ “Nope” —genially. “N’r neither I ain’t been waitin’ on her.” Eddie strutted down the street. Miss Jones stared reflectively after him, a qualm of uncertainty tincturing hurt pride. For the first time she doubted the power of her charms over the — Mr. Quartz, and at the same moment her personal interest in Opus Randall lessened. Eddie made his way down Eighteenth Street to Bud Peaglar’s Barbecue Lunch Room & Billiard Parlor. There he found the debonair Florian Slappey engaged in the gentle art of financing himself for the following day by means of his skill at the game of Kelly pool. Eddie unracked a cue, pe two bits, accepted a pill from the elly bottle and joined in. He shot with reckless abandon and astounding luck. “Shoot yo’ ball, large man. ‘Tain’t gwine do you no good, ‘cause ev’ything comes my way tonight. Good Luck is my middle name an’ Ise a whole fambly. Yonder goes the sevum, leavin’ me presition on the eight. Eight rock, listen at yo’ daddy! Heah me, eight rock. In you goes! Boys, pay me!” hen Bud closed his place an hour later Eddie was richer by ten dollars. He and Florian absorbed two barbecue sandwiches apiece and strolled home together. Mr. Slappey was interested. “Happy, Eddie?” “Them is true words, Florian.” “*Tain’t Iodinah, is it?” “Nope. Ise done with chasin’ wimmin.” (Continued on Page 46)

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This is my big day, Florian.” “Reclzon” “that — enviously — maybe | you has got you a better job with that | pitcher company.” *‘ Any job is good with them folks. Tha’s | the money makin’est comp’ny what is.”’ “Wisht I could buy a li'l’ stock.” “Wisht you could.” Florian sighed. “Ise busted dawg gone it! Some folks has all the luck,” “Uh-huh, an’ I has even mo’.” The slumber which came to Eddie Quartz that night was deep and untroubled. He waked early, dressed, ate a sizable break- fast and trotted down to the Penny Pru- | dential Bank Building, where the Midnight Pictures Corporation, Inc., maintained its executive offices. He was bursting with the pride of achievement as he left the elevator on slammed in through the zround-glass door. Then he paused. The tableau within the room reeked of melancholy. At the desk of the absent president sat the director, Mr. J. Cesar Clump, puttied feet on the near-mahogany desk top. The light brown, bobbed-hair stenographer chewed her gum silently and sadly. ithering rays of de- pression emanated from the large person of Opus Randall, star extraordinary. Eddie Quartz frowned and the Tiaitiiins ion of his triumph with Noble Jones re- mained unspoken. “Who died?” he queried. J. Cesar Clump answered briefly, ‘Us “Says which?’ “Looka heah.” He extended a yellow slip of paper. Eddie Quartz perused the night letter; a dire message from President Orifice R. Latimer: “J. C@SaR CLUMP, MIDNIGHT PICTURES CORPORATION, INC., PENNY PRUDENTIAL BANK BUILDING, BIRMINGHAM, ALABAMA. “Black Cat Luck flopped by two biggest distributors. They insist on at least six before contracting. Only one hope left. For gosh sake sell some stock or us is busted. Or1FIce R. LATIMER.” Unversed as he was in the workings of the ogee lay industry, die Quartz eee Black Cat Luck was a bust; the dis- tributors were un- convinced and would not buy. The essential im- mediate cash re- turns were not forthcoming. He could not at once understand the de- tails, but he did know that things were not as they should be. In a second he crashed from the zenith of elation to the nadir of misery. Instinct warned him to keep silent about the binding order which reposed in his pocket; some- thing told him that it would be inad- visable from many standpoints to in- volve his hoped-for father-in-law in a transaction with a fast expiring com- pany. He returned the fateful telegram to Mr. Clump and turned away. ‘“‘Where you goin’, Eddie?” Jut.”” “C omin’ back?” “Dunno.” “Don't mention to nobody —— DRAWN BY ART YOUNS EVENING POST “T woul’n’t. Believe me, not.” He mourned down the street, fretting with his problem. In his pocket was the equivalent of five thousand dollars in cash for the company, for, though the money had not yet been paid, the order was a binding contract of sale and delivery and Noble Jones was financially substantial. That five thousand dollars might mean salvation to the company. Eddie had lost no confidence in it, albeit he had developed a vast contempt for the distributors in New York who refused to see the cash merits of Black Cat Luck, But suppose he delivered the order to the company and they collected from Noble Jones—and then the company went on the rocks. Gone then would be his last chance for the hand of the delectable lodinah, and Iodinah was quite the fondest person he was of. Of course, he could destroy the Jones order and so save that person his five thousand dollars and consequently win his undyin titude; but ogee ps by so doing he would be robbing the Midnight of its sole chance for affluent existence. “There ain’t but two things fo’ me to do,” reflected Eddie miserably, “an’ the on’y thing which is wuss than one is the other.” Pending the result of his debate with himself, Eddie Quartz went to his room, where, after prolonged thought, he decided that for the moment his best play was to do nothing whatever, whereupon he secreted the Noble Jones stock order in the tray of his trunk. ‘Maybe tell?” But if the catastrophe forecast by Orifice Latimer’s telegram had brought indecision to Eddie Quartz, it had had quite the oppo- site effect upon Opus Randall, star of the ill-fated picture company. Mr. Randall left the Penny Prudential Bank Building and started for the home of Noble Jones, his brow furrowed with vertical lines of grim determination. Trees at Night ” he thought. “Who c’n Archangel August 30,1924 Opus Randall had spent an eventful life looking out for Opus Randall. He had started his professional career as chore boy with a street carnival sixteen years before. Since then he had tried anything and every- thing with varying degrees of luck. The elevation to stardom with the Midnight organization had followed a depressing ex- perience in a colored musical comedy; until this morning, it seemed that he had landed in he soft spot which had been his life’s goal. Now, however, all had changed. The sunshine was dimming and Opus realized that he had not made sufficient hay. Opus had a plan. It did not augur well for the Midneg ht Pictures Corporation, Inc., but it did promise results for Opus Randall. The plan had to do with Miss lodinah Jones and her wealthy father. Opus had been intrusted with the task of enlisting the financial aid of Noble Jones. Ergo, Noble Jones was a wealthy man. In that campaign Opus had dazzled Miss Iodinah with his magnificence. Now that the company had crashed, what was more natural than that he should shift his objec- tive from the.company to himself—in brief, that he should marry Iodinah and win for Opus Randall the cash money which had been needed to replenish the barren coffers of the Midnight? By instinct, Opus was not much given to marrying; women interested him only in the abstract and thus far in his checkered career he had avoided matrimonial pitfalls. Now, however, he found himself in a strate- gic position to make an excellent match. lodinah was quite pleasing to the eye and appeared to have all of the quilifications which Opus felt he was entitled to demand from a wife. Besides, her dowry would be no mean sum, particularly if Mr. Randall's scheme worked. Being cautious, he sought Noble before committing himself definitely. “Evenin’, Mistuh Jones.” “Evenin’, Brother Randall. crave to see my daughter?” “Diree’ly, brother, direc’ly; aims to make talk with you.” “T is flattered. Have a cigar?” “Thanks. Smoke : it later.’’ Opus leaned forward and laid an affectionate hand on the skinny knee of his prospec- tive father-in-law. **T like you, Brother Jones.” “An’ my likin’ fo’ you, Brother Randall, is just as mutual.” “In fact,” went on the imperturba- ble Opus, “I kind of likes yo’ whole fambly.” “Tknowed that.” “T like you-all so much, Brother Jones, that I has come to do you a favor.” ‘Favors is the most thin: like to have ll fo’ Does you . © right now I e. “Good! Now this heah favor, Brother Jones, has got to remain a se- cret between I and you.” “Tha's right, Opus; it shuah do.” “Brother Jones, I has a hunch that you is prospectin’ *bout inwestin’ some money in the Midnight Pictures Corporation, Inc. Am I correc’?” Noble Jones straightened in his chair. *‘*Uh-huh. Why?” “Well, just this; an’, wind you, woul’n’t say this on’y fo’ how friendly I feels to you an’ yo’ daugh- ter. I says to you earnest, (Continued on Page 48)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 47 Hawt ALL at t \ 38 The “ four vears fllen Gurney" of Nantucket, for sixty years engaged in the coastwise trade, was bought ago by Misse Woo d and Prentice id converted into a tea room. She is anchored near Steamboat Wharf, with holes cut in her sides to keep the tide from floating her off. VA , “The Tale of the Valsparred Skipper” Riding the waters of Nantucket Harbor is tion of the very hot dishes sasmueiia to the quaintest of tea rooms—‘ The Skipper” keep food warm when served outdoors. an old sea-traveler converted into a most inviting tea room. “Our furniture ts painted, then finished with a coat of pure Valspar. This protect- ing coat of Valspar has stood every test The charming hostess of this attractive , : through four years of hard usage. summer retreat writes of her interesting ex- periences as follows: ace “The sign of the old man, cut out of wood and painted with oils, 1s also protected , by Valspar, and has needed nothing more to keep him as good as new. Che Skipper’ is a tea room on an old coastwise schooner moored alongside the dock at Nantucket. “‘We have been in existence as a tea room for four years, and during that time All three forms of Valspar—clear Valspar, have served between fifty and sixty thou- Valspar Varnish-Stains, and Valspar En sand people, most of whom have sat on the schooner's deck overlooking Nantucket’s beautiful harbor. (Signed) ““* The Skipper’.” amels—are absolutely waterproof, sunproof, and accident-proof. Repeated washing with soap and hot water will not spoil their lustre or color—oils, acids, or alkalies cannot spot or mar them. “Since the deck is open to the sun, the winds and the moisture-laden air of the seashore, it is necessary to protect the fur- niture with a finish that will stand constant exposure to the elements, as well as the ac VALENTINE Larget Manufacturers of High Grade YALE NTINE’ S boiling Varn New York Chicago Boston Tor : W. P. FULLER'& Co., Pacif: Coast The famous Valspar water test Let the money-saving coupon bring you sample cans, & COMPANY mto London P s Amsterdam I enclose de aler 8 name an j VALENTINE & COMPANY, 460 Fourth Ave., New York stamps —20c apiece for each 40c sample can checked at right. (Only one sample each of Clear Valspar, Varnish Stain and Enamel supplied per person at this special price) & Valspar Instruction Booklet with Color Charts, 1 5c extra, Print full mail address plainly. Dealer's Name sities | Clear Valspar . . () Valspar-Ename! . [} Choose 1 Color Valepar-Stain . . [J Choose 1 Color . Valspar Booklet 1 EP. &I084

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Carry it home in a Sealn Sape

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| idea ‘pere olated.

| company | large stock subscription had been turned in | by | to Sis Callie Flukers’ boardin: | he determined to make haste slowly. THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 46) | Brother Jones, don’t you go inwestin’ a nickel hy that comp’ ny. “But, Opus — “They ain't no buttin’ about this. It’s | posolute. Money what you inwests in that company is like money th’ awed away, on’y | you don’t git the same fun.” “Sufferin’ tripe! Catastrophes what you says with yo’ lips!” “This mawnin’ we gits a wire fum Orifice Latimer that Black Cat Luck has done been flopped. Nobody ain't gwine buy it.’ Noble unleashed a hollow groan. “Ts you suttin?” “Never was mo’ positiver of nothin’ in all my life. Now my adwice, Mistuh Jones, is that you should take how much money you was gwine inwest in that comp’ny, if any, an’ give it to Miss Iodinah for a ma’iage dowry, an’ -——” ‘Just a minute, Opus. You preceeds too hasty. I asts you a question: Does Eddie Quartz know that the comp’ny ain’t no g “Shuah he does. But that ain 't what I was talkin’ about. I was sayin’ ——” “Nemmin’ what you was sayin’. This Eddie Quartz —" “T ain’t studyin’ bout Mistuh Quartz.” “Well, I is, an’ if half of what I think ’bout that feller ever comes to pass they fily gwine be enough left of him to lay a ily on. us caught the tone of abject misery in ‘te voice of his friend, and slowly the He clutched Noble’s arm. “You ain 't sayin’ - “Yes, I is.’ “You has done bought stock in the Midnight?” “Uh-huh.” “Off Eddie Quartz? , “Lawd he’p me!’ “How much wuth?” The voice was sepulchral. ‘Five thousan’ dollars.” “Oof!” The men stared at each other. And then, trembling with horror, Noble Jones told the story of the signing of the five- thousand-dollar order. “But you ain't paid no money, has you?” “No; but that don’t matter. I useter study law and I know what I signed. It’s the same as gold unless I goes bankrupt.” “Oh, lawsy !’ “An’ to think of Eddie Quartz, which | has been co'tin’ my daughter Opus was doing some swift thinking; an idea struck him. If Eddie = a five- thousand-dollar stock order, w hy had it not been turned in that morning? He re- called the expression of combined con- sternation and indecision on Eddie’s face when the telegram had been shown him. | Was it possible that Eddie Quartz was | holding that order? | and dragged Noble Jones with him He leaped to his feet “Mistuh Jones, I has an idea.” “Oh, golly, my five thousan’ dollars! “T craves to marry lodinah.” “Eddie never should of done me that- ” “You never would leave him ma'y her, would you? “Not lessn she craves to be a widder time she gits to be a bride.” “Good! Now s’pose I was to git aholt of that order an’ return it back to you. Ifn I was to do that, would you he’p me ma’y lodinah?” “I ain’t forcin’ her to ma’ ‘y nobody.” “But ifn she was willin’? “Opus, does you git me that order bac k, an’ does Iodinah say she will ma’y you, I gives her five thousan’ dollars fo’ a weddin’ present.” “Hotziggity dam!” Opus Randall leaped for the door. “Watch my smoke, Noble! An’ don’t say nothin’ to nobody.” “T won't, an’ I'll repeat it frequent.” There was nothing hesitant in Opus Randall’s procedure. He zipped to the offices and discovered that no Immediately he repaired ouse, where Eddie maintained a room. He learned that Eddie was not at home and immediately »ddie Quartz. | went to Mr. Quartz’s room. He knew that Noble’s order was in one of two places; that it was either in Eddie’s pocket or in his trunk. He found a ke which opened the lock of the cheap eenk and five minutes later he catapulted through the door with the precious document in his possession. Now things were as he wanted them, _ e EVENING POST held every ace in the deck and was not minded to play them thoughtlessly; there was Opus Randall to be considered and Opus was quite important to himself. He turned southward on Eighteenth Street and made toward the ay slopes of Red Mountain, where the silent forest promised an excellent spot in which to sit and think. Should he turn the order over to Noble and trust his luck to win the fair lodinah? That idea was too fraught with uncertainty. Iodinah might not see things his way, and Noble’s gratitude might not prove suffi- ciently enthusiastic to result in a cash reward. Meanwhile Eddie Quartz completed his session of concentrated thinking. He am- bled uncertainly to the office of the Mid- night Pictures Corporation, Inc. And once again he paused in the doorway; for where that morning the atmosphere had been surch with depression, it was now electric. J. Caesar Clump had forgotten his vast dignity and was fox-trotting about the room with the sten pher, and the leading woman was executing a skirt dance. “What means it?” queried the bewildered Eddie. Caesar Clump dropped his partner " slapped the little stock salesman on the ack “Hot diggity d dawg! Eddie, us is made!” “Made w “Made up. Looka heah.” Another telegram from New York, signed by Orifice R. Latimer: “Transcontinental buys Black Cat Luck fifteen thousand cash. Contracts for five more same price, payable delivery each negative. Give orders no more stock to be sold. Returning immediately.” The shock of elation wilted Eddie’s back- bone. He collapsed weakly upon a chair and mopped a perspiring forehead with a lavender-bordered handkerchief. “Undressed goldfish!” he murmured. “Kin it be true?"’ At length he rose and returned the telegram. “‘What he means "bout not sellin’ no mo’ stock?” “He means just that, Eddie. Us has got enough money to finance along. It’s a hund’ed pussent proposition an’ we ain't aimin’ to let none of it git away. Black Cat Luck cos’ seven thousan’ dollars to projuce; we gits fifteen thousan’ fo’ it. Nex’ pitcher won't even cost that much. Us is success- ful, an’ so now you gimme them order blanks.” “All of °em?” “‘Ev’y las’ one. We don’t crave to sell no mo’ stock a-tall.” Eddie spoke uncertainly as he passed his order blanks over to the little director. “I got a stock order yestiddy, Mistuh Clump—a big one.” “Good! We accepts it. Where at that order is?” “T gits it right away.’’ Eddie exodusted abruptly and negotiated the distance be- tween the Penny Prudential Bank Building and Sis Callie Flukers’ boarding house in three seconds less than no time at all. He ea a key and ripped open the lid of is trunk. Nervous fingers quested for the order which was to win the undying grati- tude of Noble Jones and the hand of Noble’s daughter. It was not there. It was most positively and completely absent. Eddie inspected more closely and his eyes opened wide with terror. It was patent that someone had visited his trunk, appallingly obvious that Noble Jones’ order was gone. This was the third and worst shock of a shocking day. In a trice Mr. Quartz’s cosmic scheme went flooie. The order was gone; stock-subscription time at an end. nd instead of the gratitude of Noble Jones, there was the certainty that Mr. Jones would never forgive him for the carelessness which permitted the theft of the now valuable order. There was but one thing for Eddie Quartz to do, and he went about it with the same enthusiasm that a small boy exhibits to- ward visiting the dentist. Dragging one foot after the other, he turned toward the home of Noble Jones. Better to have the agony done with. No chance to get a new order from Noble and date it yesterday; J. Cesar Clump had rendered that pro- cedure impossible when he took the order blanks. Nothing to do but confess to Nobile his own terrible error. At the corner of Eighteenth Street and Avenue F he met Iodinah Jones. Her nose tiptilted at sight of him and then her ex- »yression softened as she sensed his misery. Te doffed his hat. “‘Good-by, Iodinah.” But tha’s all. August 30,1924 “Huh?” “Good-by. — you goin’, Eddie?” “But where?” “T dunno”—sadly—“but I know Ise goin’ to git there quick. Right now I aims to make talk with yo’ father.” She laid a restraining hand on his arm. “Don’t you do that, Eddie.” “T got to.” “Don’t! Please! no cawpse.”’ “That’s just it. . Say, look yonder. Ain’t that Opus Randall goin’ in yo’ house?” She grimaced with distaste. “*Tain’t nobody else.” “‘Somethin’ tells me, Iodinah sugar, I’d better be gittin’ along. I never did like Opus.” “N’r neither I. An’ he tol’ Pa ——” “T reckon. Good-by.” “Ise goin’ too, honey.” Together they entered the Jones home. In the living room they found Noble Jones and Opus Randall. Mr. Randall was in the midst of a flowery oration which had to do largely with the perfidious traits of one Eddie Quartz, “Takin’ yo’ money fo’ somethin’ like this, Mistuh Jones—tha’s what I calls a dirty trick. Now I shows you this bum stock order an’ then you tears it up, which saves you five thousan’ dollars.” Eddie stood motionless. His eyes were riveted upon the missing order. Suddenly he squealed and leaped across the room. Before either man knew he was there he had ripped the order from the hands of Opus Randall. “Gimme! Gimme that! It’s mine!" Opus fell back in amazement. Noble Jones was not so inactive. He seized a poker and made for the excited -< Quartz. “Gimme!” he demanded grimly. “Give you which?” “That order. Gimme or I busts you one. “Foolishment what you talks with yo’ mouf. I ain’t gwine give you this to tear up.’ “You better.” back. “Listen at me, Mistuh Jones; just listen one minute befo’ you extine’s me. I heard what this Opus Randall been tellin’ you, an’ I suspec’s the rest. For all I know, he has been esplainin’ that the Midnight Cor- poration is flooie, ain’t it? “Yeh, but ——” “ An’ ‘maybe he’s been astin’ you fo’ reward on account he was savin’ yu hon a bad investment, vhuh? “Yeh, but — Briefly Eddie Quartz told the story of the sale of Black Cat Luck. “And the wust of it is that Opus Randall must of knowed this all the time, Mistuh Jones. He’s in with them fellers, an’ all what he wanted to do was to git you to tear up that order yo’ ownse’f so’s you couldn’t blame it on nobody else.” Noble Jones stared from Eddie Quartz to Opus and then back to Eddie again. “Is that the troof, Eddie?” “Cross my heart an’ hope to bust.” **An’ a’ready my stock makes a hund’ed pussent?’”’ “Uh-huh.” Noble’s right hand took a firmer grip on the poker. “ Mistuh Randall ee Opus knew that the cards were stacked against him; he backed precipitately through the door. And as he vanished Eddie grasped the hand of the fair Iodinah and turned toward Noble Jones. “I gives you one last chance, Mistuh Jones; does you or does you not consent to me an’ Iodinah makin’ ma’iage with each other?” Noble Jones gazed happily upon his stock order, affectionately upon his daughter and pridefully upon the beaming Eddie Quartz. “I never used to think so awful much of you, Eddie, but I has changed my mind. Ise proud to have you as my son-in-law.” Eddie bowed. “You is welcome, Mistuh Jones. An’ some day Ise gwine esplain to you what a tough time I had fixin’ up this li'l’ deal so as you would git the best of it.” “Sugarfoot!” It was the rapturous Iodinah speaking. “You is plumb won- derful.” “Huh! You don’t know how wonderful I is,”” responded Eddie Quartz. “In fact,” he added candidly, “I don’t even know myself, yet.” I ain’t cravin’ to ma’y The poker went slowly

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‘3 _ The “FILM of PROTECTION” Ul ( thin as tissue, smooth f as silk, tough as steel. ‘ Here is the Veedol “film / of protection.” Note how ; smooth, even and un- broken it is. The fact that Veedol resists deadly heat j 5 andfriction hasbeen proved | A Fe chemically by scientists. It { has been proved practically by hundreds of thousands of motorists. i Veedol gives them more power, greater gas- 4 | oline and oil mileage, less carbon and the i greatest economy in operation. ) ( i P The picture below shows how a film of | , ordinary oil breaks, curls up and burns. : Metal to metal contact follows; destruc- | j tive friction sets up. You pay the toll—lost f power, carbon knocks, } scored cylinders and pis- , ' tons, burned-out bearings. 75% of all engine repair bills are caused by the fail- ure of the ordinary oil-film to resist heat and friction. COPYRIGHT 1924 The future of your motor depends on the ‘film of protection’ OUR motor’s future is literally poured into the crankcase! It isn’t luck that keeps a motor free from repairs year after year. It’s good care! And the best care you Can give your motor is the best motor-oil you can buy. A motor has two deadly enemies—heat and friction. They cause 75% of all motor repairs. They shorten the lives of more motors than all other causes combined. And every minute you drive your car they threaten your motor. A motor-oil’s job It is your motor-oil’s job, and a real job, to master heat and friction. It is the only way to prevent trouble. The oil does this by form- ing a thin, tenacious film over all the vital parts of the motor. This oil-film works its way between the whirling, flying surfaces and prevents dangerous metal to metal contact. But the film itself must be able to withstand the constant menace of tearing, grinding fric- tion—the lash of searing, scorching heat. Under that punishment the film of ordinary oil breaks and curls up. Through the broken film, metal chafes against metal. Insidious friction sets up; often, you don’t even know your oil has failed THE SATURDAY EVENING POST until it is too late. Your first warning is a burned-out bearing or a scored cylinder. The “film of protection” that does not fail Tide Water engineers spent years studying the characteristics of oils and oil films. Experi ment followed experiment, test followed test, until they perfected, in Veedol, an oil which offers the utmost resistance to deadly heat and friction—an oil which forms a “film of pro- tection” thin as tissue, smooth as silk, tough as steel. Why take chances with the future of your motor? Give your motor the best possible pro tection against deadly heat and friction. Put the Veedol “film of protection” on the job Wherever a dealer displays the orange and black Veedol Sign, look for” I he Veedol Motor Protection Guide,” a chart that tells which Veedol oil your car requires. Ask your dealer to drain your crankcase and refill with the correct Veedol oil. Tide Water Oil Sales Corporation, 11 Broad- way, New York; Chicago, 3433 South Racine Avenue; San Francisco, 414 Brannan Street. Motorists in the Middle Atlantic and New England States can secure ad- ditional power and protection through the use of Tydol Economy Gasoline = 2 ‘se ) Economy Oils and Greases

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST WHO invented the dotted line? Who first thought of ruling columns with thin lines of red and blue? Who was the first business man to get a letter- head printed? Statues have been erected to less worthy men. Figures and words and messages are unruly unless ordered and kept in line. Printed forms, printed ledger sheets, and printed letterheads are the ranks and files that hold messages and amounts in clear and proper relation. Color too is helpful, where paper stands for things. The color of a sheet of paper may determine whether it’s a letter,a label, an invoice, a cost sheet or a job ticket—an original or a copy—an office or ashop form, or something that is mailed out to the world. In any type of business from a cross-roads store to a steel mill, from a department store to a newsstand, the printed form is the safest line of communication. HAMMERMILL PAPER COMPANY, And from little business to big, and back again, Hammermill Bond is the paper that gives complete service for business printing. Some men buy their letterheads and business forms on price and choose Hammermill Bond because it is standard quality bond paper at a low price. Others buy on service and choose Ham- mermill because it is readily obtainable in three finishes, in twelve colors and white, and in all different weights. Stocks are carried in eighty cities. Still other men buy Hammermill Bond simply because their printers like to use it and they trust their printers’ judgment. Any of these reasons are good reasons. Taken all together, they explain why so much Hammer- mill Bond is used and why you can simplify the buying of all your business printing by standard- izing and using Hammermill Bond whenever you have a printing order to give. ERIE, PENNSYLVANIA Look for this watermark — it is our word of honor to the public MMER . 30ND ee The Utility Business Paper August 30,1924 Dotted lines, ruled columns, printed letterheads How they help you think!

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mn Se ‘That seems reasonable. But won't it kill the hoodoo if I throw it over my left shoulder or something?” “I disapprove of levity, Suzanne, as you well know,” said Madam Atwood. “I wish, my dear, that you would try to over- come the habit of crossing your limbs as you sit. It is most inelegant; and were I not fearful of ridicule, | would say immod- est. In my day no properly brought up young lady would have dreamed of assum- ing a posture so unseemly.” “If she had, I suppose she’d have woke up screaming,” said Suzanne. Madam Atwood said nothing eloquently, and with an air of hurt dignity adjusted her spectacles and took up the book that she had laid down upon the girl’s entrance. The spectacles, be it noted, she wore only in the strictest privacy of family life. She was a wonder! Suzanne put her arm round her wonder- ful relative’s neck and pressed her blooming cheek against the old lady’s withered one. “‘Suzanne’s sorry,’ she murmured. “‘She’s a bad, bad girl, and she doesn’t deserve to have the loveliest, most wonderful granny in the whole world. Please ‘scuse her, won’t you?” “TI wish, my dear, for your own sake, that you wouldn’t make light of serious matters,” said Madam Atwood, relenting. “You are no longer a child, and you will soon be in a position where muc h will be expected of you. As the mistress of a large establishment, with all the duties and re- sponsibilities that will devolve upon you as the wife of Mr. Griswold, you will find it necessary to put away childish things. I think it was Saint Paul said that.” “You are making it sound pretty awful, darling,’’ Suzanne remonstrated. “Am 1?” her grandmother answered. “IT hope not, my dear. Where have you been this afternoon? You have torn your new frock.” “Oh, I caught it on something,’ Suzanne exclaimed. “It is in the plait, though, se if I fold it over—so—you'd never notice it. I’ll have to go and change, though.” “Wait a moment; you have plenty of time. Suzanne, I trust you have not en- tered into this engagement without earnest consideration. Though Mr. Griswold is a very estimable man and has the approval of your parents, and though from the point of view of worldly advantage such a match is doubtless very desirable, it behooves you to consider your own happiness.’ ‘“‘Any time I don’t give that little thing my earnest consideration, I'll be glad to have you call my attention te it, ” said Suzanne, smiling reassuringly. “ Happi- ness means getting what you want, doesn’t it? I want lots of things and they are nearly all too expensive for the Atwood family. I have always dreamt of dwelling in marble halls with all kinds of vassals and serfs, and pearl necklaces and diamonds and things, and I’m crazy to travel. Did you know Harvey was going to take me to Europe for the honeymoon? Listen, dar- ling, if there is anybody on earth that I wish well, and whose happiness is dear to me, it is Suzanne Atwood. I'd do almost any- thing for her, make any kind of sacrifice for her.” “Il am afraid you are a little hard and cynical, my dear,” said Madam Atwood. “T suppose it’s the result of modern educa- tion. In my day, if a girl had those unde- sirable qualities, she at least did her best to conceal them. She didn’t make a parade of heartlessness. You were going to tell me what you have done this afternoon.” “‘Communing with Nature, dear. Mean- dering through the bosky lanes, culling wild flowers and all that sort of thing.” ‘Not unaccompanied?” “Notentirely unaccompanied. Bill Blake was in the party, which consisted of him and me.” “He isn’t a very well-mannered young man, as I think I have said before,’”’ re- marked Madam Atwood, after a moment’s silence. “* Yet Pf “IT have told him the same thing,” Su- zanne broke in, “only more so.” “And yet - “Exactly what I was going to say—and yet.” Madam Atwood could be wonderfully patient at times, even when Suzanne was most trying. The young woman was wear- ing her most trying expression at the mo- ment. Her grandmother could remember (Continued from Page 9) that identical smile when, as a little girl, Su- zanne had defied slipper soles and hairbrush backs. She had to be gently reasoned with when she wore that smile. “IT was going tosay when you interrupted me, my dear, that there was something very likable about young Blake in spite of liis occasional uncouthness and his unfor- tunate addiction to slang. I have not been entirely unobservant of his admiration for you, nor do I think have you been. Grant- ing that his feeling for you may be transi- tory in its nature, do you think that it is fair to him to Madam hesitated. “Yes?” queried Suzanne, still smiling. #1 to take off your e ngageme nt ring and let him take you driving? Suzanne blushed. ‘Grandmother, you are wonderful!” she exclaimed. ‘‘ But as far as that goes, I have played fair with Bill. I did let him take me driving’’—she laughed nervously—‘‘and I didn’t wear my ring, but he knows about Harvey Griswold. And now don’t let’s talk about it any more, please, darling. You aren’t playing fair with that book. I thought we were to read it and enjoy the thrills together.” “IT fear that you jest,” said Madam At- wood. “Nevertheless, I find a purity of sentiment and an elegance of diction in this author that I seek in vain in our meretri- cious moderns. You were speaking of com- munion with Nature; listen to this!” “Let's read it later,”’ pleaded Suzanne. “‘T want to take a shower before I dress. 2 “Te will occupy but a few minutes,” said her grandmot her remorselessly. She took up ‘he book, a small volume beautifully bouad in tinted and tooled vellum, and opening it at a mark of embroidered silk read as follows: *“*T was wont to rove from morn till eve on Liddall’s flowery banks. Pleasurable woodlands, delightful scenes, endearing prospects wild—ye are congenial to my soul! I will ever remember your venerated shades and your bold projecting rocks, overhung with variegated shrubbery. Here a purling, winding, luculent, then gloomy river, in which the trout and sportive fry love to glide in wanton frolic; there the hanging woods shimmer romantically, yon- der the towering mountains majestically guarding the ethereal blue expanse. Pic- ture with these the snug cottages and de- lightful vales, ye soaring minds, and taste of pleasure ineffable!’’’ “Lovely!”’ cried Suzanne. fascinating! And now “IT have not yet finished,” said Madam Atwood, and proceeded: ‘‘‘ Returning homeward with meditatory step, I was de- lightfully entertained with the sound of distant music. The hills reéchoed melodi- ously. Again the warbling notes floated in the dale, and again they sighed with the gentle zephyr. I walked toward the spot from whence this harmony proceeded and discovered a shepherd indolently reclined on the grass, his dog lying a few paces from him and his flock feeding on the odoriferous thyme. “** As I approached the reclining swain I thought me of Theocritus, of Vergil, and of the poets of our own times. “Peace to their ashes,” said I, ‘and fame to the mem- ory of those who now chant the joys of rural happiness.” ‘Peace and fame to their memory,”’ rejoined the swain. “‘You are happy, my lad?” said I, “I live in soli- tude,” said he. ‘‘ You envy no one,” said I. The shepherd looked at me mournfully. “Sure ly envy does not find a place in your heart,” said I. “Then it does in my head,’ said the she »pherd. “Why in your head ? te said I. “I love Peggy,” said the lad, “but Peggy loves not me. Or if she loves me, yet doth she bestow her favors upon Corvinus, whose flocks I tend.’’’”’ “Oh, go on,” begged Suzanne; stop.” “That is all,’”’ said Madam Atwood. “It is an incident, a picture. With true art, the author leaves the reader to form his own conclusion. You must decide for yourself whether the unhappy shepherd lad _ pre- vailed upon the mercenary young woman to share his humble lot, or whether she was espoused by the affluent Corvinus.” ‘It depends on whether Peggy had good sense,”’ said Suzanne, after a meditator moment. Then she jumped up. “ Well, I'll have to hurry. I expect that Harvey Gris- wold will be dropping in this evening.” * Perfectly “don't THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE AFFLUENT CORVINUS Mr. Harvey Worthington Griswold, what- ever his age was, could not have been ex- actly described as a young man; but it would have been more than inexact to call him old. ‘“ Middle-aged"’ would not have fitted him, for that term seems to imply a certain stolidity, an acceptance of the final | in existence—a mental ossification or at least loss of flexibility; and Mr. Griswold did not seem to have suffered that. ing reference to a biography, he might have been anything from thirty-five to fifty. When he had his hat on, for instance, he looked younger than when there was noth- ing much to conceal the top of his scalp; but then some men begin to molt earlier than others, and it was only at the very top that you noticed. His step was elastic, his carriage erect and his girth not more than properly proportionate to his good chest and shoulders; his big-nosed, lean face was unlined, except at the corner of his eyes, and these eyes were bright and clear. An outdoors man of the better sperting type, by the tan on face and hands; and his mem- bership and activities in the Yacht Club, the Saddle and Cycle and the Athletic would have supported that theory. Pend- | On the | other hand, he was a member of the Union | League in excellent standing, and his ap- pearance at his office in La Salle Street was punctual and regular. H. W. Griswold & Co. That’s enough, isn’t it? No wonder that Mr. and Mrs. Atwood were pleased. His house, where he lived with his sister, Mrs. Dupape, was the show place of the subdivision. A widower of six or seven years’ standing, but no children or compli- cations of any sort. Mrs. Dupape would return to her villa at Cap Martin after the wedding. ‘I should have thought he’d been here long before this,”’ said Mr, Atwood, refer- | ring to his prospective son-in-law. “ Didn't you say that he was coming over this eve- ning, Suzanne? Are you " He turned his head and looked about the “Where is Suzanne?” “She went upstairs.” Madeleine, Su- room. | | these zanne’s younger sister, a pretty little thing | of fourteen, standing with reluctant feet on the verge of flapperdom, gave this informa- | tion. “I told when he came.” ‘Little girls should be seen, but not heard,” reproved Madam Atwood, who, magnificent in her black silk, was en- throned in her winged chair. “I was spoken to, grandmother,”’ said Madeleine. She chanted: “Speak when you are #9 n to, Come when you're called, Shut the door after you ““What’s the rest of it?”’ “T think you are a little impertinent, my dear,’’ said Madam Atwood. “Emma, why do you let that child wear those bracelets? Jewelry is most improper at her age. Ridic- ulous! Bracelets, and those beads!” “But they all wear them, mother,”’ re- plied Mrs. Atwood, frowning at her young daughter's grimace, “I don't like it my- self.” “She hasn’t gone to bed, surely? ried Mr. Atwood uneasily. He was a neat little man, inclined to worry. Particularly, he had worried about Suzanne and her future, so that her engage- ment to Harvey Griswold had been a tre- mendous relief to him. “Suzanne!” Mrs. Atwood “Why, good gracious, father!” “Wake up, daddy, you are dreaming,” said his youngest daughter. “I hope he doesn’t forget to bring chocolates,” she continued. “I like Harvey's chocolates better than anybody’s, and he isn’t stingy with them.” “In my time, ver I'd entertain Harvey * que- laughed. flowers or a book were esteemed more delicate offerings from a gentleman to a young lady,”’ said Madam Atwood. “I remember, Joseph, that when your father first called at our house, he brought me a nosegay of heliotrope and mignonette. It was like him, modest and unassuming; but I think orchids and roses tied with expensive ribbons would not have gratified me nearly so much,” “You just think so, grandmother,’’ said Madeleine with an indulgent smile. “In my time a young fellow didn't let the grass grow under his feet when he went to see his girl,”” said Mr. Atwood, with a note of irritation in his voice. “I wanted to ask Griswold about those Consolidated | EACH STRAND OF SPECIALLY CURED RUBBER IS WRAPPED AND RE-WRAPPED WITH SOFT YARN Comfort Construction Comfort construction insures perfect garter support without a suggestion of tightness. Comfort construction keeps “the world’s most comfort able garter” at its best, long after ordinary garters have ceased to serve. Brighton comfort has its beginnings ‘a the thin strands of rubber which are given remarkable endurance by a special curing process. When strands are wrapped and re-wrapped with soft yarn, an elasticity is produced that gives double the comfort and double the wear of ordinary elastic. And the yarn also guards against the deadening effects of perspiration, Every detail of Brighton construction=-th length of the web-—the cast-off, the pad, oven the stitching—builds greater longer wear comtert and It pays to insist on Pioneer-Brighion Wide-Web Garters ‘PIONEER } WIDE-WEB GARTER Single Grip 35c and up Doutle Grip S0c and up PIONEER SUSPENDER COMPANY Philadelphia, Pa. For 47 Years Manufacturers of Pioneer Suspenders Pioneer Belts Pioneer-Brighton Garters Also Sole Makers of Kazoo Athletic Suspender Waists for Children

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THE SATURDAY Asphalts. The market’s mighty queer. I can’t make anything of it. If he would give me a tip ——— Why doesn’t that girl come down?” “You promised me you'd tell me about grandfather and you when he was rushing you,” Madeleine reminded her grand- mother, flopping at the old lady’s feet. “Rushing!” “Bringing you nosegays and things; and ou were going to show me his picture. on’t you now, please? Pretty please, grandmother!” Before Madam Atwood could answer, the purr of a motor and the crunch of tires on the gravel came through the open win- dows. adeleine scrambled to her feet. “Here’s Harvey now,” she exclaimed. It was the laggard lover sure enough. A minute later he was greeting the Atwood family with his usual pleasant ease, uncere- moniously, excepting in the case of Madam Atwood, over whose hand he bent with something of a Grandisonian gallantry. He explained that he had been kept in town by a matter of business. “ Business before pleasure,”’ said Mr. At- wood. “And talking of business, Gris- wold —— They were still talking of business when Suzanne came in. Madeleine was disap- pointed. No difference whatever in her manner or in his so far as Madeleine could see. Harvey didn’t even leap to his feet, but rose with the utmost deliberation and finished what he was saying to daddy in the very act of rising. And Suzanne— well, Suzanne might have been married to him a year or two instead of being newly engaged, for all the maidenly embarrassment she showed. They shook hands, and there wasn’t even a lingering pressure. If there had been, Madeleine would certainly have detected it. “Thought you were giving us a miss, Harvey.’ “T wasn’t sure that I wouldn’t have to,” he answered. “To begin with, there was a man in from Cleveland I had to see—just in between trains, so I couldn't put hi off; then atter dinner I was dog-tired, and on top of that I had a touch of lumbago.”” “Lumbago!” “Some sort of rheumatism. I haven’t been taking as much care of myself as I should have, I guess. It may be teeth, thou a.” ou poor dear!’’ Suzanne exclaimed. a hy didn’t you just phone and say you weren't coming? “Tf it is rheumatism, I have found but- termilk very beneficial,’"’” Madam Atwood told the sufferer. ‘I was terribly afflicted with it last year, and Mrs. Venning recom- mended buttermilk. She had been a martyr to rheumatism, and her doctors told her it was one of the things she must expect at her age, and she had almost abandoned hope, when a friend—was it Cherry Ham- mersiley, Emma? I am not sure, but I think it was Cherry, although it might have been Becky Rider; now 1 think of it, it was Becky—Becky insisted that she should try buttermilk, and it helped her wonderfully, so I thought I would see if it might help, although I confess I hadn’t much faith in it. I was really amazed at the benefit I derived. You understand, Mr. Griswold, it must be the pure buttermilk from the churn, not the manufactured but- termilk. Marks, who has a dairy farm on the Compton Road, can supply you.” “Thanks so much,” said Griswold grate- fully; “I will certainly try it. Marks, did you say? M-a-r-k-s? Thanks.” He carefully penciled the name on his cuff. Suzanne watched him as he did it, with a peculiarly thoughtful expression. Just then young Fred Atwood came in, and after a brief but friendly acknowledgment of Griswold’s presence, beckoned his mother out of the room. Mr. Atwood followed them a moment later. Madeleine whis- pered in her grandmother's ear. “It is stuffy in here,”’ Suzanne observed. “Don’t you want to sit out on the porch and get a breath of fresh tobacco, Harvey, or do you think it would be bad for your rheumatism?” “Tt may be teeth, you know,” Griswold reminded her. ‘I will take the chance.” They found chairs just outside the open French windows, and Griswold took a fat black cigar from a pigskin cigar case. “Give me the match,” said Suzanne; “I'll show you something.” She snapped the match into flame with her thumb nail. “T just learned that.” rriswold held her wrist as she applied | the light. The ring on her finger sparkled. EVENING POST “Who taught “Clever girl!” he said. you? “ Bill Blake,”’ answered Suzanne. “Clever lad!”’ said Griswold, and blew out the match. “But children shouldn’t play with fire. Likely to burn their fingers.”” “Too true!’’ Suzanne assented. burn yours, old dear?” “Scorched them once or twice,” Gris- wold admitted; ‘‘but ‘all that is chucked be’ind me long ago and fur away.’ I have arrived at years of discretion.’”” He let a thick coil of smoke roll sluggishly from his mouth. “I wonder if that buttermilk is reall going to do me good.” ut it may be teeth,”’ said Suzanne. Griswold showed a white, sound row of them. “So you were detained by business,” said Suzanne. “Saturday afternoon! Shame!” “Tt it hadn’t been Saturday afternoon, I might have let Bill Blake attend to it,” said Griswold. “There is a promising young man, Suzanne, and one I value highly.” “And pay lowly,” Suzanne suggested. “T am beginning to think so,”” Griswold acknowledged. ‘I should not much won- der if he were promoted pretty soon.” “He has an idea of promoting himself,” Suzanne informed him. “I shouldn’t much wonder if you had his resignation the first thing on Monday morning, and it would not surprise me the least in the world if he drove that little feed grinder of his to Seattie to take a job that has been offered to him there. I had that on the best au- thority, and quite recently, Harve.” “Hm-m!" Griswold flicked the ash from his cigar. ‘His friends will be sorry to have him BOs won’t they? Rather popu- lar, isn’t he? “He would be more so if he weren’t such a roughneck,” said Suzanne. “He hasn’t nice manners. Grandmother was saying so this afternoon. Slangy too. He doesn’t rove of our engagement, Harve. Did I tell you that we went to Silvern Lake to- ether this afternoon in his car—the car he is going to drive to Seattle? You don’t mind, do you? Oh, I nearly forgot. I made him kiss me good-by, Harvey.” Griswold smiled faintly. If this intelli- gence shocked him his face didn’t be- tray it. “Was it hard to make him?” he asked, after a moment’s silence. “Harder than you’ *d think. don’t mind, Harve?’ “Do you really hope so, Suzanne? Look me in the eye. “Of course I do! I can’t see your eye very plainly, but I do hope so. “‘T am pretty elderly for you, you know- quite an old fellow; and then this rheu- matism and all. You want to think before you tie yourself to me for life, my dear. Do ou want to do that? I am asking you pecause ———"’ “Not because you have been thinking it over yourself and you are afraid I amn’t sentimental enough? You know I told you I wasn’t sentimental and romantic, and it’s one of the things I specially love about you that you aren’t either. It you turned ro- mantic on me I'd —, loathe you. You aren’t sentimental and you’re square.” “T try to be,” said Griswold. “So do I,” said Suzanne. ‘Only it’s harder for a girl, you know. Supposed to be. Anyway I’ve come clean, as Bill would say, and you've forgiven me, haven’t you, Harve?” “T’d forgive you anything,” said Gris- wold. “‘But you won’t think me unreason- able or exacting if I ask you not to make other men kiss you—after we are married, at least?’’ “You are a good scout, and I promise not to try to,” said Suzanne. She leaned for- ward. “Do you think I could induce you to—er —— Madeleine’s voice called to them: “I don’t know whether you are aware that you're in plain sight, you two!” “Gee! I'm getting frightfully careless,” Suzanne murmured. ‘‘What are you doing there, you two?” she inquired, raising her voice a little. “‘Where are the rest?” “Father and mother are in the library; Fred’s gone up to his room. He’s been —— for speeding again, and father says e’s not going to pay any more fines and he can just go to jail. Grandmother’s telling me about Grandfather Atwood when he was courting her. You ought to be in on it. It’s good! Go on, gran. Excuse me.’ “Tf you aren’t sufficiently interested —— they heard Madam Atwood say. iver I hope you August 30,1924 “Why, I’m crazy about it,” said Made- leine. “But did you see Suzanne? Never mind. . . . So he did consent at last?” “Let's listen,” Suzanne whispered to Griswold. They had no difficulty in hearing. Madam Atwood spoke with remarkable distinctness. “Yes,” she replied to Madeleine’s ques- tion, “‘he consented at last, though reluc- tantly. It was a rather painful interview. I said to him, ‘ Dearest father, Mr. Hacker- ley inspires me with sentiments of the most profound respect. I esteem him highly and appreciate his sterling qualities, but I do not love him. It grieves me to the heart that you should consider me undutiful, but I cannot marry him. On the other hand, if you forbid me to marry Joseph, I must, as your daughter, obey you, but I shall be most unhappy, believe me.’”’ “Were you kidding him?” asked Made- leine. “Kidding! Do you mean joking? In- deed, I was very much in earnest. I could not, even to please my dearest father, con- tract a matrimonial alliance with a gentle- man forty years my senior. Joseph—your grandfather —contrived to send me a billet urging a clandestine meeting, but that of course I denied him.” “Why?” asked Madeleine. “T am surprised that you should ask me that question, my dear,’’ said Madam At- wood. “Such a meeting would have been highly improper.” Madeleine coughed and looked over at the window. “Still, I don’t believe that my father would have abated his determination had it not been for the intervention of Mr. Hackerley himself, who, with a chivalry and kindness that was far beyond my ex- pectation, resigned his pretensions and ac- tually pleaded Joseph’s cause.” “How perfectly sweet and lovely of him!”’ exclaimed Madeleine. “I think he was just noble, and after you had turned him down so hard! Grandmother, you won’t mind if I ask you—but did you call him Joseph when you were together, you know?” “Certainly not,” replied Madam At- wood; “‘not before we were formally affi- anced, at least. I called him Mr. Atwood.” “How funny!” remarked Madeleine. “There is nothing more to relate,”’ said Madam Atwood. ‘“‘When my dear father had given his consent and our betrothal had taken place, we were, of course, per- mitted to see each other with comparative freedom. Your grandfather was invited to dine with us every Sabbath, and on any social occasion such as a ball, or when my mother and I attended a play, he was al- lowed the privilege of escorting us.” “Gee!” exclaimed Madeleine, unguard- edly and with fervor. “Madeleine, you shock me, grandmother reprovingly. “How long were you engaged, grand- mother?” “For only a year,” replied Madam At- wood. ‘‘My parents considered that too short a period, believing that we should both have time to acquaint ourselves with each other’s dispositions before taking the irrevocable step of marriage; but Joseph, your grandfather, was impatient.” “Didn't they have divorce then?” asked Madeleine. “T presume that then, as now, there were divorces; but there was not then the laxity of opinion concerning them that unhappily prevails at this day and age,” replied Madam Atwood. ‘Furthermore, well- conducted young women would not even have mentioned such a subject.” Madeleine ignored that. “They wanted to give you a chance of knowing each other thoroughly, so they let you see each other once a week and some- times even oftener?’’ she commented. “Yes,”’ said her grandmother, seriously. “And if parents were equally wise nowa- days we should hear of fewer hasty and ill-considered unions. We were married on the eighteenth of June, 1856.” “What did you wear?” asked Madeleine with interest. Madam Atwood opened one of the square, faded, red cases that were on the table beside her. “There,” she said. “That was taken a month after our wedding, and I wore that same dress to a ball the evening of the day that I heard Mr. Lincoln make a speech in favor of Mr. Frémont. Your grandfather was very indignant at some of the argu- ments that Mr. Lincoln advanced. At that (Continued on Page 54) ” said her

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(Continued from Page 52) time he was a strong Buchanan man him- self, and ——--” “Oh, that crinoline!”’ interrupted Made- leine. ‘‘Why did you wear that funny thing across your forehead, grandmother?” “The fillet? They were worn then. I think that if your hair e “They were very becoming,” Madeleine hastened to say. “Was grandfather's coat us blue as that?” Bluer than that,” said Madam Atwood, ‘The picture is faded.” ‘Blue coat and yellow trousers!’’ Made- leine gasped. “They were nankeen, my dear. He al- ways wore nankeen in those days. That waistcoat was embroidered by hand; some of the embroidery was in gold thread pure gold; it was very handsome. And now, my dear, | think I shall retire, and you may come with me and fasten my windows.” ‘Isn't she a wonder said Suzanne when the door had closed behind her grand- mother and her sister. “Would you have believed she was so romantic, and did you notice how steadily she ignored us? Acted as if we weren't within a hundred miles, Wouldn't even say good night for fear of embarrassing us, I wish you could have seen those daguerreotypes. Funny old things!” “Quaint,”’ said Griswold absently. “*Quaint’ is eminently correct. But mother says she and grandfather hit it off 9” him learn his own lesson in his own way, Do you promise, cross your heart?” I made him the promise and felt relieved to know that [ was not entirely penniless. Mr. Jackson continued, but no longer in his manner of stern playfulness. ‘ Now listen, Bill ” he was beginning, but I did not relish this sobriquet and resolved to confide in him moderately. “T will,” I said, ‘as a mark of confidence, tell you that my Christian name is Al- gernon.” He emitted a gasp of astonishment, and said, ‘There, now, wouldn’t you know it? You couldn’t be named anything else, could you? Allright, Al, and I want to say that, for all I have existed for years, 1 never really lived until I met up with you. I ask you to believe this on my word of honor as a British officer. But meantime I again ask you to listen while I try to get some sense into that run-about bean [quick mind] of vours,”” I saw he was serious, and, although even then I doubted him to be a British officer, I prepared to listen. “Tn the first place, that central-office bird may have located us. As I came out of the hock shop with that plunder I saw him in the distance coming my way. I beat it for the corner, turned and lingered in the first hallway and, sure enough, he come by in about one minute, straining his silly head up to look into the crowd hapant him. Some day that bird is going to suffer a lot from me, but of sheiee t couldn't pull any- thing there. I let him go on, then ducked out and went the other way, quirting my- self a-plenty. And I made this dump with out sighting him again. But it looks serious, I wouldn't put it past him to be here any minute with a couple of bulls jcompanions} to make a pinch. But I’m going to stand by you, Al. I don’t know what your gunplay was about, and don’t want to know. If you knocked off a couple of guys I don’t need to be told they was needing it. I know you never pulled a trigger you wasn’t justified in pulling.” “It was wrong of me to pull that trigger in Richard’s kitchen,” I protested. “Never mind that, and don’t try to te!'l me anything. Ali I want to do is get you out of here before they nab you. So first I'm going to change that map for you.” I looked about, but could perceive no map in the apartment. ‘‘Il mean your face,”’ ex- plained Mr. Jackson. “ Just now it’s a face no one but a mother could love, but this smart plain-clothes boy saw right through it, so I’m going to make it harder for him.” Saying this She undid one of the bundles on the bed, took from it the apparatus for shaving, and was presently stropping a razor. When he had done this he took a pitcher and was gone, returning a moment later with hot water. Preparing a lather he directed me to rub it well into my stubble of beard, and this he kept me doing for a THE SATURDAY pretty well together just thesame. I never saw him. What are you thinking about, Harve?”’ He shot a keen glance at her, “Many things,” said he. “For one thing, I was wondering if that wasn’t a story with a purpose.”’ “‘Grandmother’s? I am inclined to be- lieve that it was.’’ “ And not altogether and solely for your sister’s benefit?’ Suzanne’s eyes danced as she nodded. “You had more on your mind than that, though.” “T wondered on, Suzanne.”’ “ Awkward, isn’t it, old dear? Did you wonder if it had touched my callous heart? Perhaps it did. Go on, take another plunge.” . Griswold smiled and shook his head. He was looking at her hands now. She was sliding her ring up and down her finger. “You men!” Suzanne exclaimed. ‘No nerve whatever. Well, we'll drop the sub- ject. Are you glad I’m going to marry you, Harvey?” * Tremendously.”’ “You don’t say that fervently enough. Are you glad I was honest with you and confessed about Bili?”’ “Very! Especially if you didn’t know that I drove past you and Bill this after- noon and saw what you confessed to.” “T wasn’t at allsure. It was Bill aroused my suspicion. Bill’s motto is ‘Tell ’em I think I won’t go EVENING POST nothing!’ He didn’t tell me, and | couldn’t have sworn to you or the car. Bill just said there were two guys in it, and that got me to guessing, because the one thing I could swear to was that one of the guys was a guyess. But Bill wouldn’t have considered it sporting to mention it if he recognized you, and I’m sure now that he did.” “Tt was Mrs. Erroll,” said Griswold composedly. “You met her at my house, you remember?” ‘Tl remember,” said Suzanne. “ A widow, isn’t she? She’s lovely, too. Your sister said she was an old flame of yours: You are quite sure that you wouldn’t sooner marry her than me?” “ Absolutely,”’ replied Griswold firmly. “Are you equally sure that you wouldn’t sooner marry Bill Blake?” “Brace yourself for a shock, Harvey,” said Suzanne, “Ten minutes ago I’d have lied like a lady and told you that I wouldn’t; but now, in view of your sudden attack of rheumatism and other infirmities, and your kind intention to promote William, and all the rest of it, and as you haven’t the nerve—no, I won’t say that; you’re a dear and a lamb and an angel, and I know it’s just out of consideration for me; so, as I haven’t any consideration for anybody but myself 37 She rose. “Dear Mr. Griswold, you inspire me with the highest respect and esteem, but I cannot bestow my hand where my heart can never be. Take back your ring, I beg.” PROFESSOR, HOW COULD YOU! (Continued from Page 19) “er long time, ‘The more you rub the less it'll feel like your rind was coming off,”’ he ex- nlained. When all was to his satisfaction e bade me seat myself in the chair and bend my head back, whereupon he took his razor and began to shave my face. 1 was at once glad I had rubbed in the lather so well, because even now the process was painful in the extreme. Either Mr. Jackson was not a skilled barber or his blade was im- perfect. More than once I flinched when 8 skin was cut. Mr. Jackson handsomely acknowledged his mereeee, saying, hu- morously, that his rightful place was out at the stockyards, but he at length finished the task and stanched the blood flow in the several places needing it. Then he exclaimed, “There, it makes you look at least twenty minutes younger,” and, cautioning me to remain as I was, he brought a bottle from the bed and began to apply what I believed to be a healing lotion. He was thorough in this, applying it even to the lids of my eyes after he had directed me to close them. “So far, so good,” he remarked, survey- ing me as an artist might his canvas. “‘To- morrow I'll second-coat you.” He then rummaged among his curious belongings on the bed and affixed to me something | took to be a close-fitting cap, after which he demanded that I regard myself in the mirror. I looked, and received a shock. I had known full well that the lines of my face would be unfamiliar, they having been hidden for thirty years, but I had not been prepared for the other effects my com- panion had achieved. My face was darkly stained and on my head was a raven wig of coarse hair falling in two braids before my shoulders. Needless to say, I would not have known myself; not a lineament was familiar and I seemed of another race. “Heap big Injun!” exclaimed Mr. Jack- son, as if pleased with his handiwork, and I saw that I did indeed resembie one of our aboriginal redmen with high cheekbones and a nobly jutting nose. “Chief Ugwalalla!” again exclaimed Mr. Jackson in delight, and ordered me to re- move my clothing. When I had done this he brought me other garments, trousers of fringed buckskin, a shirt of the same, pro- fusely beaded in blue and white, an elab- orately feathered headdress and moccasins, all of which he insisted that I don. To please the honest fellow — albeit a little hes- itantly-I did so, and again surveying myself in the glass 1 was compelled to ad- mit that my effect was rather tremendous, especially after I received the long-stemmed pipe which Mr. Jackson filled with tobacco and lighted for me. “Now,” my companion astonishingly said, ‘Il want you to perform for this erowd of palefaces the sacred medicine dance of the Ugwalallas.” I understood that his reference to a crowd of palefaces was more of his somewhat cheap humor, but I saw that he was serious about the dance, so I had to protest that I had made no studies of the customs of this or any other me of our Indians and could not oblige im. **Nonsense!”’ he retorted. “Lift your feet up quick like you was standing on a hot stove and go round in little circles. Wishing to please, I tried this and soon re- ceived pee for my efforts. “You'll do it!” he cheered. ‘You got the step, and now you must grunt in time with the dance—this way.” And Mr. Jackson himself proceeded to dance, ac- companying himself with guttural ejacu- lations, partly like grunts and somewhat poe the lowing utterance of our domestic yull. “Do it that way,” he urged, and now from the bed he lifted a banjo and began to beat time on its drumlike head. To this I stepped the dance and reproduced the sounds he had made as best I could. When I finished, in a profuse perspiration, he clapped me heartily on the shoulder with “Fine, Al! You’re the best Indian this side of Indianapolis. And remember you don’t know a word of English; all you can say of it is ‘Ugh, ugh! Me heap big chief!’ Go on, say it.” “Ugh, ugh,” I repeated, “I am a heap big chieftain.” “No, no—nothing like it!” My com- panion here betrayed his first reall tmoae tience with me. ‘ You said it like a d—-—d professor. Now, like this; talk it way down in your stomach, and for Pete’s sake don’t say ‘I am a big chieftain.’ Even the little tots would give you the laugh. Now then-—‘Ugh, ugh, me heap big chief!’” As best I could, then, I rendered the silly phrase, and after repeated effort and under severe correction | finally achieved the tone and diction he strove for. “That’s enough lesson for tonight,” he said at last, ‘‘so now let’s eat.”” Whereupon he placed on the dresser top some tins of sardines—fish’s pups, he quaintly termed them—a loaf of bread, some cheese, a fruit pie and a bottle of milk, and we ate as we stood there, he explaining that it would have been unwise to venture out for food, even in my present perfect disguise. He had, it seemed, formed a deep respect for the sleuthing skill of our pursuer and would take as few risks as possible until we were beyond the reach of his cunning. When we had eaten, Mr. Jackson rolled a cigarette with tobacco and paper, took up his banjo and, sitting on the bed to tune it, was presently singing in a rough but not unpleasant voice. They were songs I had not before heard; many of them seemed trivial indeed, full of meaningless exclama- tions which he delivered with painful gri- maces. After | had listened to a few of these August 30,1924 It glittered between her thumb and finger. Griswold took it and, bending, kissed the little outstretched hand. “But I don’t believe I want to take it after all,” he said, with a rueful sort of smile. As they walked together to Griswold’s car a few minutes later, the sight of them would have warmed Mr. Atwood’s anxious, fatherly heart. Suzanne was clinging to Griswold’s arm, and he had a hand over both hers; and they walked very slowly, and spoke almost in whispers. “T’ll see him tomorrow morning and plead your cause,” said Mr. Griswold, re- ferring to Mr. Atwood. “ Don’t you worry, my dear. I’ll put Bill’s prospects in a nice, rosy light, and you can tell Bill to tear up that resignation of his. Leave it to your Uncle Harvey.” “T believe I’ll reconsider after all,”’ said Suzanne, squeezing his arm. ‘‘ You’re too good to lose. Give me that ring again.” “Too late!’”’ chuckled Griswold. ‘You'll have to put up with a chest of silver.” “Sweet thing! But listen, Harvey; for- get the rosy light. It’s lovely of you, but Bill wouldn’t want it. He’s an independent idiot, and I wouldn’t let him give up Seattle even if he were willing to.” “Why?” asked Griswold, with a foot on the running board of his car. “I’m crazy to travel,’’ said Suzanne, “‘al- ways was and--well, I’m going to take that overland trip with Bill.” I commended his skill upon the instrument but said that my own preference in songs was for something a bit more serious, some- thing with perhaps more purpose than the ones he had sung. He strummed idly upon the banjo, and at first I fancied he had not heard my criticism, yet presently he glanced up, his fingers still causing twinkles of notes to sound, and remarked, “Naturally you would prefer something serious; it’s just like you. Well, how about this one?’’ And he began another song in a higher key which was quite effective and intended, | saw, to be rich with pathos, as it ran: “A young man was on trial for the stealing of a hack, He had been caught red-handed and for him it did look black. But when his dear old mother heard her son was back in jail, She hastened to the court room so white and pale.”’ she looked The recital continued rather effectively to the mother’s final appeal to the gruff judge not to make her boy a felon. I saw it must be a folk song, crudely worded and forthright, like many of the old English ballads, and my applause was sincere. Mr. Jackson acknowledged this simply, saying, ‘‘I was sure that would touch your heart, Al.’’ But he did not sing again. After idly fingering his instrument for some mo- ments he suddenly glanced up at me and said in an odd voice, “‘ Boy, you don’t know it, but you are half owner in one of the sweetest little two-man medicine shows west of Pittsburgh.” vi HE following day proved to be rich in educational values, bringing me, as it did, in closer touch with the curiously pat- terned personality of Mr. Jackson and enlarging my apprehension of the novel en- terprise in which we were about to en- gage. ‘‘A show of medicine”’ had somehow suggested merely the laden shelves of an apothecary, whereas I was to learn that it meant something vastly different in the racy vernacular of my companion. I slept soundly in a bleak chamber across the hall, adjoining one occupied by the youth called Harold, Mr. Jackson conduct- ing me to it and extracting a promise that, should this lad arouse me in the night and suggest another jolly game of shells, | would instantly scream for help, Happily I was not disturbed and came to our breakfast after a reviving rest. We ate again from the dresser, having the remains of our over- night food and a pot of coffee which Mr. Jackson had rustled [obtained| below stairs from the woman conducting the lodging house. When we had done I was second- coated with the stain, and after my wig was adjusted I felt an assurance that neither (Continued on Page 59)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Your Fire Burden Every dollar lost through fire adds to your fire burden. You pay your share of it in one way or another. You pay through higher insurance rates— for rates and losses maintain a fairly constant ratio. You pay through the loss of material—for wealth that is burned up ceases to work for its owner, for civilization, for you. You pay through your fellow men’s unem- ployment. You suffer when another continues to be a consumer, but ceases to be a producer. You pay through business friction. Every unfulfilled contract, every failure to deliver, every obstacle to turning wheels anywhere, checks and slows up and hampers to some degree the wheels that are turning everywhere else. What are you going to do about it? Insure, of course. And when you insure call on the local agent of the Hartford Fire Insurance Company for the protection of the broad liberal policies of the Hartford. But you must do more. You must co6perate whole-heartedly with the Hartford’s experts in preventing fire. 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. a om aaa s = " E ‘ Tt Bes @HFICo"24

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 30,1924 : — ~ ees ti i. Wes ta = ta H W ig 4 . 4 te | 'y ey _ i = 2? &* Seg)

m Most mc sheets of |] is all sted welded ir) Wood cq square ing lbs. to th} safety an< —the on of steel! —the on hard-bake | Steel, the

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ypted for G tor car bodies are skeletons of wood, with thin steel nailed outside—whereas the Overland body l, a frame of steel covered with steel—all steel, ito one-piece solidity. lapses at a bending stress of 5,000 lbs. to the ch—whereas steel will stand a stress of 35,000 e square inch. That’s the kind of strength and #) durability Overland gives you! y touring car under $800 with coachwork entirely Body by Budd, pioneer in steel bodies. ly touring car under $800 with a genuine finish of bd enamel! great builder and bulwark of civilization . . . Steel, Witys-Overtanp, Inc., Totepo, Onto reater Safety! the strength of mighty ships, trains, bridges, skyscrapers... Steel is the strength of Overland. Here is a car that keeps its looks with age. Its everlasting enamel finish is baked on in ovens fiery-hot. You can pour scalding water on this finish or scrub it with strong chemicals used to remove road tar—and even turn the scorching flame of a blow-torch on it without marring its gleaming beauty. And with all of this strength and permanent beauty are linked big power—great economy— dependability—and 23 big-car quality advantages unmatched at anywhere near the price. See this all-steel Overland. Drive it in traffic or over the hills. Ask the dealer to explain the easy buying terms. In an age of steel, drive an all-steel Overland! WittysOvertanp Sates Co. Lrp., Toronto, CANADA

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 50,1924 STANLEY Some think the man with the workroom is the only one who uses planes, but that is not true. The many planes made disprove the idea. Irregular wood surfaces smooth down before the Stanley Four-Square plane. It is invaluable for doors and drawers that stick; for warped, swelled or twisted wood anywhere. And if you think women don’t use such tools, guess again. 32 different Tools in this Stanley Four-Square line The plane is only one of the line of Stanley household tools which have unlimited uses around the home, garage and farm. Each tool is individually packaged, marked with a red Four-Square and price tagged. Your dealer shows his interest in your needs by displaying Four-Square. STANLEY NEW BRITAIN, CONN.USA. WHE SvANLeY Wome ~ twe

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. 1 * i (Continued from Page 54) Mrs. Copplestone nor even the repulsive but keen-eyed Meigs could take me for anything but the aboriginal I seemed to be. Mr. Jackson, too, seeming to find my disguise satisfactory, now acquainted me with our plans and mode of travel. He was the owner, it appeared, of a motor car, which he described as a tin Elizabeth, held by a neighboring garage as security for a bill of repairs. This bill he would pay and, after making some necessary purchases and getting all in readiness, we two would leave the city as soon as night had fallen. I was not in the meantime to venture from the house, lest my whereabouts be revealed to the detective. By midday, as we ate our buffet luncheon, Mr. Jackson, having made two shopping expeditions, informed me that all went well. The detective had not been encountered, to my companion’s pro- fessed annoyance, because he now meant, should the meeting occur on a side street, to soak [assail] him and thus perhaps dis- courage his officious meddling. It was at odd moments during the day, as now, when we chatted after luncheon while Mr. Jackson smoked his cigarette, that I came to a better appreciation of this strange man and the lifework that had become for him almost an obsession. He had, it seemed, many years previous while traveling among the famed Rocky Moun- tains, saved the life of an aged Indian chief, who in gratitude revealed to him the for- mula for a wonderful potion that almost miraculously cured a wide range of ail- ments. Though compounded of simple herbs and barks, the secret of its prepara- tion had been jealously guarded by the aged chief until the gallant behavior of Mr. Jackson melted his stoicism. Before imparting the priceless formula, however, the chieftain obliged my companion to swear that he would devote his remaining years to putting the remedy within reach of all white sufferers. The oath had been kept. I could not doubt this as my companion in narrating the incident became really impassioned, rising to heights of oratory that I found truly affecting, while his dark eyes glowed with the earnest, almost fanatic light of one dedicated to the relief of human mis- ery. Indeed, I now assured myself that beneath his theatrical exterior, his at times almost flippant manner, his infelicities and obseurities of speech, his ballads of an in- consequent and often frivolous type—there beat a heart of gold. As to these songs of his, to be sure, I presently learned that he condescended to them merely as a means of engaging the herd, many of whom, al- though needing his potent herbal com- pound, would yet be repelled by worthier music, and so lose the chance of a lifetime. For in a very literal way Mr. Jackson had kept his promise to the aged chieftain. Again and again urged by wealthy investors to form a company which would manu- facture and market the remedy in large quantities, he had foreseen that this step would inevitably result in a deterioration of the compound. Though the formula was simple as to ingredients, their assembling required the nicest care, and he, loyal and forthright soul, had steadfastly resolved that the standard should not be lowered— this at sacrifice of the immense fortune in- evitably his, had his conscience permitted him to sanction factory methods and quan- tity production. Now, too, I learned how my friend had become reduced to the plight in which I found him the day before. His former side- kick | business associate] had been an Indian named Rafferty, who in a near-by town had fellon from a wagon and also become intox' cated to a point where he had sought to avenge the wrongs of his people upon a crowd gathered for the purpose of listening to the songs of Mr. ladon ~for the man, it seemed, sang in public on his journeys like a troubadour of old. In his maniacal inebriety the Indian had severely wounded several bystanders before Mr. Jackson and others could overpower him, and was later, after some days in the aleoholic ward of an institution, confined for a period of six months in a hoosgow [sanitarium]. All this had entailed leg SY expuaes in order to save Mr. Rafferty from a trial for attempted homicide and perhaps " atly longer period of confinement. Before the pro- ceedings were over Mr. Jackson had not only expended all his surplus but been forced to part with many of his more inti- mate belongings. “Poor old Mike,” he said as he ended the account. ‘“‘He was as good an Indian as I THE SATURDAY ever worked with while he stayed on the wagon. But let him get a few jolts (glasses| of the wrong kind of hooch [liquor| and the wrongs of Ireland got between him and his work. The least remark from some gink [person] in the crowd would set him off. And I never did get back the tommyhawk he worked with, They took it for evidence. And they still got it. But at that, we come off lucky.” This showed the genial optimism of my friend, it being his way to look on the bright side of any calamitous happening. His money gone and his car held for a repair bill, he had cheerfully searched for another side-kick with a modest c apital, and though not a religious person he regarded his meet- ing with myself as nothing short of provi- dential. Later I asked why Mr. Rafferty, an Indian, should have been incensed by the wrongs of another people, only to learn that it was a great kindness of heart unable to brook oppression wherever found. Such being the man whose place I had to fill, I resolved to put forth my best efforts. The work was a worthy one, and its object the relief of human misery—would excuse the masquerading deception I was about to practice. Also, I did not forget, it would put me beyond the impish attentions of the detective, Meigs. The soos my of our day was a time of bustling preparation for what my companion termed our get-away. He was constantly remembering new purchases that must be made or articles to be retrieved from the loan offices where trifling sums had been advanced on them, Such was his distrac- tion, it was not until late in the afternoon that he bethought himself of his stock of the magic remedy which he must procure from a chemist who would compound it under his personal supervision. Later he in- formed me that the stuff had been obtained and loaded in the tin Elizabeth. On this trip, also, he regained possession of a port- manteau of clothing and several striking pieces of jewelry; a watch, a chain of heavy golden links to which was attached, as a charra, a huge nugget of pure gold from a mine he had once nearly owned, a scarfpin in the form of a beetle fabricated from bril- liants, and a finger ring set with a stone of great luster which must have been worth a considerable sum. These ornamental items restored to his equipment, with an effect noticeable yet not repellent, as it might have been in a creature of less vital power, Mr. Jackson was far from being the victim of melancholy I had found him when he suffered nostalgia at beholding prairie dogs. He was now uplifted, and prophesied a rosy future for us both. At six o’clock he returned from his final trip, announcing that all was ready for our start. He brought with him the materials for our supper and we ate most enjoyably. Our repast over, Mr. Jackson, having made and lighted his cigarette, informed me that at a certain period of the lecture which he delivered he would speak some words to me in the Indian tongue to which I must respond in the affirmative, after which he would announce to his crowds my willingness to address them briefly in my native language concerning the merits of the curative he offered. I failed at first to get his meaning, because he well knew that I was ignorant of the Indian language, but it seemed that all this talk would be a de- ception, though justified, indeed, by the end in view. Without difficulty i learned the few guttural syllables to signify my ac- ceptance of the invitation to speak, but he and I were for some moments at a loss for my address which was to follow. This would last not more than three minutes, said my tutor, and might be reduced to two, but I must devise a fashion of vocables for it that would be unintelligible yet seem to be in the redman’s tongue. “Can’t you fake something?” suggested Mr. Jackson at last. “You know—just some sort of gibberish —uglywugly monom- ombush kashawatskie, so on and so on; just do a spiel, but do it with real acting so the hicks |suburbanites] will think the getting thereal gazukus leathentienmuai* , Anxious to please, I tried this device, but found myself awkward at it. I could, in truth, assemble meaningless syllables, but I found their repetition would be ‘purely mechanical; I could warm them with no passion. And this rather piqued me be- cause—TI who have lectured for thirty years may say it without vainglory—I have ordi- narily an effective platform presence and my delivery is conceded to be not unimpressive. But though I tried again the meaningless EVENING POST jumble, finding it still cold, I had a flash of | inspiration. “Eureka!’’ I cried. “Why not address the hicks in a real language, yet one they | could by no possibility comprehend? By doing this, by quoting remembered vigor- ous passages, I coule infuse into them a warmth that would, with the unlearned, cause the om to pass for superb gazukus.” ‘As how?”’ demanded my friend, some- what skeptical, I could perceive. “You eouldn’t spring Dutch or Swede or Wop out in these kerosene camps {settlements of less than three thousand population] be- cause you'd get the horselaugh {be derided in a split second |immediately|.”’ I was most enjoyably thrilled by this speech. For two days I had been, not un- willingly, looking up to the man; now he must look up to me. “*My dear fellow,”’ I said, and I saw him wince under the lash of my superior man- ner, “I am surely not so green, as you would call it in your slang, as to suppose a modern language would not be understood hereabouts. What I meant was " And to his utter confusion I dashed into a Vedic hymn that I chanced to remember, inton- ing it rather well, I have no doubt, since it is a thing I have liked. Before I had half done I saw the good fellow’s eloquent face suffused with a glow of amazed admiration. Bursting into hearty applause, he le: raped up and shook my hand. “Professor,” he exclaimed joyously, ‘‘I got to hand it to you! You sound more like an Injun than any I ever heard.”” He re- garded me wonderingly. “Is it a real lan guage—-on the level?” “One of the oldest,’’ [ assured him, ‘Or perhaps you would prefer " And I did him a medley of Greek iambies, Again he was overjoyed, and assured me that this, too, was skookum /gazukus|. It might be an unworthy emotion, but I was distinctly aware of not being displeased that I had won the man’s admiration and even a certain measure of awe, It was as well, I considered, that he should suspect me to be, in my own world—the real world of intellectual affairs—a person not without weight. For some time he listened in a trance of delight, as I recited various frag- ments of verse or prose in tongues strange to him yet quite o »viously gazukus. “You know, Al,” he said impressively at last, “I can make something out of you. This is serious. You don't want to be a down-and-outer all your life, do you? All right, then; stick by your Uncle Cedric and he'll have you sitting pretty. There's a lot of ways I could put you over. Say I'm doing a hypnotic act and have you for a horse. You're just a bum [mental de- fective] I pick out of the crowd, and Pete knows you can look the part without any trouble. I put you under control and have you spouting Greek and Latin and Swiss and all them college lingos in no time, and I get a professor to keep tabs on you and tell the crowd you're on the level—-say! I can see good takings ahead once we get beyond the scene of your late crimes.’ He stopped to regard me with an approval in which I could feel a genuine liking. “Stick by me, old bean {friend | and I'll have you on your feet again.” At this I thanked him warmly, his inten- tion was so plainly benevolent. I thought, however, that to play the part of an Indian would tax my histrionic powers, I was not yet ready to masquerade as a horse, nor did I ask how any reasonable semblance to one could be achieved. “I am sure, Mr. Jackson,’’ I said, ‘that ou have my best interests at heart, and L for my part, will endeavor to succeed in any role you allot me, perhaps some day even in that of a talking quadruped.’ “Only you got to lay off the booze [al coholic liquor},”’ he insisted. “Just remem- | ber this—no booze fighter ever won a | decision.” Now I had already once or twice assured him that I was not a dipsomaniac, but as he seemed set in the contrary belief I merely promised him that I would at no time in dulge in stimulants to excess, and on this we shook hands. Even then I could see that my friend still doubted the fiber of my resolution. It showed in his look Some- what vexed, I sharply told him, ‘And, | though you remain incredulous, I reiterate | that never in my life have I been a victim of drink.” Scanning my face keenly he seemed at | last convinced, but flew to another con clusion that quite mystified me. ‘Well, maybe it is not the demon rum,” he granted; “in fact with all this talk of yours about a | TMOST flex- ibility with positive control of spring action. Scientifically correct design. Perfect shoc k- absorbing qual- ities. Supreme riding comfort. You get them all in Harvey RIDE RITE Springs, plus a year’s guarantee against break- age or sagging. HARVEY SPRING & FORGING CO, Dept. € Racine, Wis

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These new and better trunks are lined in beautiful velours, silks, cre- tonnes and washable fabrics. They are moderately priced and may be had ina wide range of sizes and styles. Wheary Trunks are sold by leading Department and Luggage Shops. Be sure to see them. Send for this book! Get this very interesting and instructive booklet on how to select and pack a trunk. It's free. | dies. WHEARY-BUR GE TRUNK CO. Racine, Wisconsin Ploeg send me your book: “Wardrobe Trunk Neat ‘timplified.”” THE SATURDAY criminal record you sound a lot more like something else, so promise me this; prom- ise me to lay off the stem or else roll them | small.” This was obscure, but I saw it would | save time, so conceded the unmeaning as- | surance, “Promise,” he went on, “not to hitch up the faithful old reindeers and drive out into a snowstorm.” “T promise even that,’’ I said again, it being plain from his serious manner that I was being asked to forgo some deleteri- ous indulgence. “Well, I got to trust you,” he allowed, “but remember also that I will be riding herd on you.”’ And with these mysterious words we ceased to discuss the supposed reasons for a man of perhaps unusual at- tainments being in my present position. I saw this simple soul could not be made to understand how one might so ardently long to escape from an environment grown intolerably irksome that he would abandon all former standards of living and seek to lose his identity in the dark purlieus of the underworld. Throughout that day, although my com- — had been much in the streets, he 1ad caught no glimpse of our detective, so it was agreed that we had at last baffled him. This being so, Mr. Jackson decided that we might safely leave at once instead of waiting until midnight as we had planned. | Accordingly at ten o’clock he set off for | the garage and a short time later bustled back with the announcement that all was read “Tne old lady is downstairs, oiled, gassed, watered and pawing the round,” he said. Twice he descended with bundles and bags for the car, and when he had gathered the remaining articles for his third trip he turned to survey me. I had an old hat of his own pulled | Fo over my wig and was quvehined in an overcoat he had provided, its collar meeting the hatbrim and leaving but a rf exposure of my dark face. “You'll do,” he ‘lared, then opening the door she sie’ me to precede him, say- ing, “And now, dangerous Dan McGrew, out into the icy night with you!” With a good dea i of trepidation I passed from the shelter of our doorway to the chugging motor car, more than halt expect- ing to be confronted by the odious Meigs who would maliciously address me as Cop- 10d and proffer me one of his cigars. So earfui was I that I went with bowed head, looking neither to left nor right, until I ber seated in the car. There, permitting m muffled glances, I perceived that my eee had been groundless. The street was de- serted save for a few pedestrians in the distance, and I sat in a great relief while Mr. Jackson bestowed his remaining bun- His car had no top and was heavily EVENING POST laden, the tonneau being piled high with luggage and both running boards having boxes stra — to them. When all was to his satisfaction my com- anion took the driver’s seat and with a ow warning to keep my map [countenance] covered we got under way. It was good to breathe the fresh air again. Our apart- ment had been ill-ventilated, and the ciga- rettes of Mr. Jackson had made the place oppressive. The night was balmy, the car ran smoothly—-‘‘Not a sour note in her,”’ said the owner—and I looked forward to a glad release from confinement. From our own street we turned without incident into another of a similar character, Mr. Jackson, although driving with care, managing con- stant side glances for such pedestrians as passed us. And then, at the very moment when I felt that our pursuer had been foiled, I be- held a figure loitering on a lighted corner we approached. It was wrapped in an ul- ster of voluminous folds, but the straw hat with the tricolored ribbon was disconcert- ingly familiar, and a light rattan stick protruded from a side pocket of the ulster. All doubt was banished when the figure suddenly did an aimless little dance step, as if it had suffered from and thus relieved a fleeting spasm. Too late I saw we had slowed to make the turn at this corner, and before I could give a warning the cordially silly face of Bertrand Meigs became alive with joy. Again he executed the dance step, laughed aloud as an idiot might have, and taking the stick from his pocket waved at us what I saw to be a pennant with Fairwater in white letters on its blue back- ground. As we turned, the loathsome crea- ture reached for an upper waistcoat pocket as if by instinct, and the familiar gesture told me that he would a moment later have been inviting me to smoke, “Hist!” I exclaimed, but Mr. Jackson had seen the detective and was already speeding his car. I did not look back, nor had I by the least sign acknowledged the impudent salutation of our enemy. But I was confident that he still danced on the corner and waved his pennant and cackled his senseless glee—probably held out his accursed cigar. Mr. Jackson was mean- while speaking in the most indescribably profane manner. Even I, who seldom use an oath, was provoked out of myself. ‘‘The deuce take the fellow!” I cried. “Now we got to look out for a pinch {arrrest],"" growled my companion. “Or maybe they haven’t got the goods [legal evidence] on you and will ef trail us.” He continued to drive at the full legal speed and perhaps a bit faster. Without confiding to the good chap more than I wished, I could not explain that I chiefly feared our enemy because of the gossip he would purvey to Fairwater. With August 30,1924 his present knowledge of my whereabouts hsp public, the Leffingwell house and my abaudened clothing would have been de- stroyed all in vain. And yet back in the ark that first day Meigs had seemed to intimate that my secret would be guarded by him. I now concluded that what I had often suspected about this person must indeed be truth; that he was simply of a weak mind, a mental defective—in short, as Mr. Jackson would put it, a bum. This would explain his impish antics at each Fairwater commencement, his offensive familiarity with faculty members, his sense- less dancing, singing of college glees, leading of yells, his incessant offering of cigars, his apparent delusion that he was the spirit of our college incarnate—in short, all those insane activities that each year made him a campus pest. But, of unsound mind, he was more to be dreaded. One would be unable to calculate him. We did not speak until we had safely reached the outskirts of the city. Here in a sparsely lighted suburb Mr. Jackson halted at the roadside and extinguished our lights, waiting to see if our tormentor would have followed. But when no car came by during the next half hour we agreed that for the time we were safe. “Furthermore,” said my companion, “IT don’t see how we can be located again, unless that bird is a mind reader; and at that he’s got his work cut out, because even I don’t know where we’re going ex- cept in a general way. But I admit he’s got my goat {caused him to feel annoyed]. I wouldn’t be surprised to see him spout out of the ground in front of the car there this minute. Next to you, Al, he’s the hot- test human surprise I ever suffered.” I now ventured to communicate my con- viction that the creature was not in full possession of his faculties. To this Mr. Jackson instantly agreed. ‘Sure, he’s a nut, [mentally unsound] but he needs crack- ing, all the same. All I ask is one fair chance to work on him.” We drove on. Being now where traffic was not heavy we went rapidly and I was soon forgetting the insufferable Meigs in my enjoyment of our progress. Again I was out in an open night of stars, care-free, the earth gliding by unregarded, and ham- pered by no petty restrictions imposed by self-appointed guardians. It was good to be off to a destination which we knew only in a general way; it gave me a sensation of pricking stimulus—enjoyed, alas! by only a superior few who dare cross the fearsome boundary of that fourth dimension. I was conscious of wishing that Jessup might hear a certain far-off brazen bell and even through the distance know the hand that clanged it. (TO BE CONTINUED) ORAWN BY WALTER Of MARIS Erratic Behavior of Blasé New Yorkers Over Two Boys Playing Marbles

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“Take off the hat,” he ordered, ‘‘ and the coat.” Carmichael took them away. ‘Bon, bon! Now I can see the body. The face is good, but if the body is bad ” His hands spoke the unutterable. Studying Carlotta, he grasped his face in one hand, resting his elbow on the other arm, spread across his chest. His brow darkened. . He made strange muttering sounds. Then he darted forward and moved her chin a quarter of a foot to the eastward. Back in his original position, he seemed leased. But a shadow came over his face. fe moved to the westward, and then rushed to Carlotta and shifted her body a littie to the east, following her chin. He felt of her hair, of her shoulders, her ankles. Carlotta blushed, but Carmichael was amused, He had seen men buy horses. Berté took another long look at Carlotta, then turned his back. One hand on his hip, the other clutching the back of his neck, raising himself on his toes, lowering himself, he stood thinking, conceiving, creating. The spark flew, Clapping his hands he turned. “T have it, mees. You are made. You shall win the prize. I have the idea.” He rang a bell, assistants rushed in, took orders, went out, sent in subassistants, turned on lights, turned them off, brought in screens. There was great scurrying. Car- michael and Becky sat on the sidelines watching, while Carlotta disappeared be- hind a sereen, where a Frenchwoman took off most of her clothes and swathed her body in white silk. And then the assistants brought all the silks and satins and bro- cades in Boston, and Berté climbed up on the platform to go to work. When it was ail over, Berté stood before her, rubbing his hands together as if to compliment him- sel “It will be an achievement,” *“Mees”--and he bowed to *mees is an inspiration,” He bowed again Carlotta blushed. “Regard her!" Berté shouted at Mrs. Gore and Carmichael, who gat ugainst the wall Berté had shouted for lights until he had what he wanted, and Carlotta stood, like a young tree in the moonlight, her body over- tid and yet revealed by draperies of clinging gold and dark shadowy chiffons. Carlotta’s white neck and arms were bare. Her dark head lifted and she made with her body one of those little wriggles with which woman perfects the set of a costume, and half turning her head, she looked at herself in the mirror. She was startled. Half turn- ing again, she looked at Carmichael, and she was more startled. He was staring at her hard, as if he hac never seen her before. She stared back. He nodded, smiled and beckoned to Berté, who ran over to speak to him, and then ran back to rearrange Carlotta’s hair. “Tight there, and away from the brow,” he said, “So.” Carmichae! shouted “ Right!” “Splendid,” applauded Mrs. Gore; “‘ per- fectly splendid. You're exquisite, my dear.” She patted Carlotta on the cheek. Carmichael smiled at her. Berté, after a few seconds of uncertainty, during which he jabbed his cheek with his pencil and exclaimed in French under his breath, promised to deliver the gown within four days. Carlotta, Mr. Carmichael ex- jlained, must rehearse in it. She must ae to walk across the stage of the Masonic Temple so that the judges would be knocked for a row of unanimous votes. “Au revoir,” said Berté, bowing them out, Having served them, now, he vowed, he could die happy. “Awful fraud,”’ said Carmichael on the street. ‘‘ But it takes an ass to fool donkeys. Where now, old stevedora?’’ he said to Becky. Carlotta was surprised. She had been awfully impressed with Berté, “He struggles over me,” Rebecca said, “long and far. Come on, we're going home to luach, [ want you to see the chil- dren before they ge to college.” The children were boys, one ten months old and the other three years, who were enshrined on the fourth floor of the Gore mansion, backing on the Charles, Carlotta had never been in such a house; she had never had her wrap taken by a manservant; she had never conceived of life on such a scale. Her dreams of a stucco house with a garage built on, and a sun parlor, shriveled into petty insignificance, The nursery took her breath away. The tall windows gave he said. Carlotta THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE QUEEN MAKER (Continued from Page 15) upon the sparkling river and the blue sky; there were gay curtains, white furniture and endless toys; so much sanitary grandeur two white- uniformed nurses sat feeding the two little Gores. Like any little poor boys, the Gores set up a howl when they saw their mother. Evidently she was a friend. She took the baby in her arms and the elder boy climbed upon her knee. For fifteen minutes there was ordinary vulgar domestic pandemo- nium. Carlotta was entranced. Money could make maternity attractive; these babies were darlings, so much nicer than babies who got dirty faces. It must be marvelous, too, to have babies, and yet be able to leave them —in expert hands—com- fortably remote on the fourth floor, She thought of the Hansons who lived next door to her, and their babies, who were always eating sugary bread in the gutter. They lunched in a great dining room whose windows looked on the river. Car- lotta was at ease; indeed, her calm before phenomena wes a natural gift. She would be calm on judgment day. The mensery- ants who laid food before her thought she was a somewhat shy debutante run over from New York by Mrs, Gore’s brother. Mrs. Gore’s brother, the butler thought, was a changeable young man, To Carlotta it was magnificent. Each time she turned her head someone was offer- ing her something on a silver platter; yet it was the same old food, elaborated, dec- orated and treated with ritualistic respect. When she faced a lamb chop on her plate she felt at home. Mrs. Gore urged them to stay overnight. “Tt’s nonsense, Joe,’’ she said. ‘ You haven't been here for years.”’ “Not since last Thanksgiving,” said Joe. ‘No, sweetie, we've got to go back. Miss Cole's mother would have the constables after me if I didn’t return her safe home tonight.” Mrs. Gore wanted to ask in seventeen or eighteen people and make a night of it. The Bummy Martins would be furious, and Dot and Sam were waiting all day for her to give them a ring. “Let them wait,”’ said Carmichael. “I don’t want to see any of those women—not today. No, Becky, you're a good little egg, but Miss Cole and me—we're going back to the big city of Springdale. The big busi- ness of promotion calls us.” They went into the library for coffee, where Dane continued to nag her brother. “Well, if you won't stay, you won't. But this child would look sweet in my red_ chiffon.” “That child,”’ said Carmichael, ‘ would look sweet in anything. But I'm here in the place of her mother.’ “Wouldn't you stay, Joe, under any con- ditions?"’ His sister gave him a mocking look. “‘Not under any conditions I could arrange?” “No,” he answered; ‘‘no. I'll be back. I've got to ring up somebody.” He strolled out, and his sister gave Car- lotta one of those looks, the eyebrows = 4 and the mouth going sideways, by whic one woman conveys to another that men are zanies. Carlotta, unaware of all that Becky knew about Mr. Carmichael, smiled. Indeed, she had smiled all through luncheon. Mrs. Gore and her brother talked so fast, so pugna- ciously, that a smile was her only pass- word. They used her as umpire for such momentcus questions as “Wasn't that stupid, Carlotta?” or “I did say so, didn’t I?” or “Isn't she a darned old cat?” and so forth. “We haven't let you say a word,” said Mrs. Gore. Carlotta smiled again. “‘T haven’t minded,” she said. “I've got so many more words left.” Mrs. Gore laughed. “It’s nice to think of, isn’t it?—all the words one has, no matter how many one uses up. I’m glad there's no daily limit like the telephone.” Joe strolled in. “Ah, so you're back? Have you arranged all with your broker?” Joe nodded. His face was screwed up, excited. Some situation had been set for him. He was impatient to be off. “Look here, can I have a car? Will you look after Carlotta? God bless you, old girl.” and in the middle of: “Ring, will you? Why don’t we meet here for tea?”’ “Right!” He rang, and walked up and down. The servant came and went, and almost imme- diately Joe was gone. As he went, Carlotta caught herself looking after him; the after- noon assumed a certain blankness. She knew now it was not Boston she was revel- ing in so much as Carmichael’s gusty pres- ence. She lifted her eyes to Mrs. Gore as if to say, “It’s much more interesting now that he is gone.”’ Yet Mrs. Gore, so clever at dissembling, was never fooled. If she re- sented that she was stranded with Joe’s candidate for provincial beauty, she did not say so. She was a lady, and a homely one, who liked pretty girls. ‘“We have two hours to waste, Carlotta,” she said. ‘Which would you rather do— Bunker Hill or help me buy a hat?” Carlotta chose the hat. ‘They had a won- derful afternoon, talking about all the things that really matter, in the discon- nected way of women who must cease ratiocinating to say, “‘That’s not bad, is it? Clever—sticking it under like that in- stead of sticking it out—uh-hum—but the color is rotten. No, I’d look awful in that,” and so on. Then they drove out to Brook- line and home by bg te the Esplanade, and Carlotta thought Boston was perfectly lovely. They had tea before the fire in the sitting room upstairs, and each tried to act as if shc didn’t notice the lateness of Mr. Carmichael. At 5:30—half an hour before his train went —he dashed in, gay, high-spirited. He grabbed a slice of toast, but refused tea. “No, had it—twice. Had a lot of things.” He made an enigmatic face at Becky. “Did you see your brokers?’’ she asked maliciously. “Oh, yes, invested highly. plunge.” She opened her mouth a little. “My brother is a dreadful speculator when he starts,” she said. “But he never starts.”’ “Too many losses.” He made her an- other face. “Well, Miss Springdale, what do you say we get on?” He stood on the hearth rug surveying her as if she gave him infinite pleasure. Car- lotta felt warm again. He raised her im- meysely in her own esteem by wirelessing to her his own high appraisal. He was a clever promotion man. He pointed his finger at Carlotta. “Don’t you think she’s a prize winner, Beck? Better looking than any of these Pilgrim babies? No Massachusetts Bay Colony frigidity about her, is there?"’ Car- lotta blushed. ‘‘Don’t blush. Your pallor is becoming. We must paint pallor on you the night of the show. What’s the formula for pallor, Beck?” “Go along! You'll miss your train,” she said. So they went. All the way home Mr. Carmichael was in a delectable mood. He was always interested, always keen, but usually egocentric; tonight it was as if he sank his ego in Carlotta. By making her talk, watching her face as she expressed her immature yet grave convictions, he could sublimate—as some people say—the uncer- tain disorder that was in him. So, all the way home, Carlotta talked as she had never talked before. She talked about her father, her mother, her friends, wrenches, even her beaus. Under analysis, Mr. Carmichael preceeded to sift them down to Steve. “Now, Steve is a good name. Dangle him, but don’t lose him. Don’t marry until re have reached the plenitude of your eauty.”” Carlotta wondered when that would be. She would like something different in her life, something more luxurious than nine to five at the Hedges-Hawley wrench works. Yet to marry Steve —— “IT don’t want to marry a poor man,” said Carlotta boldly. “Bag some wonkihe broker and extort from him the silks and perfumes that are your due.” Mr. Carmichael went on to tell about all the girls he knew who had married for money, and how awfully well everything had turned out. When she got home her mother was sit- ting up for her. She wanted to know about everything; and Carlotta, although she Took a August 30,1924 told all, knew that she was leaving out most of it. The adventure had left its ineradi- cable mark upon her; it had awakened desires, opened doors, as adventures are bound to do. But she could not tell these things to her mother. She knew she was different now. As she sat in the dining room, by the table littered with sewing and newspapers, she remembered the great mir- rored mahogany at which she and Mrs. Gore and Carmichael had sat while two strong men served them. And she looked upon the oak dining table which her mother so treasured—her wedding set—with in- effable distaste. A little moodily, she went to bed. The selection of Miss Springdale was a week away. It had been a fortnight since Carmichael had begun to think about beauty in business, yet in that time and the ensuing week he accomplished much. He left no stone unthrown, no thread unpulled; with instinctive finesse, he went about Springdale rooting for Carlotta. With the fervor of a political candidate, Carmichael joined everything—the Ki- wanis, the Lions, the Rotary, the Y. M. C. A., the local Harvard Club, the Ad Club. Each Sunday he went to a different church. He joined the Plymouth Club, the Country Club, the Antibillboard League, the Nep- tune Boat Club and the Union for Better Cities. He signed a petition for the More Parks for Springdale Committee. He allied himself against the old city charter and for a city manager. He was heard to say that the old order must go. By talking a great deal and signing everything indiscrimi- nately, he felt at the end of a fortnight like a founder of the city. “Well, I'm one of your influentia! lead- ers,”” he told Alanson. “TI thought you looked seedy,” said the eynie. “It’s a great experiment, Alanson. In each mind | leave the seed of a new thought. ‘The most beautiful woman in Springdale works in the Hedges-Hawley wrench factory’—just like that.” He snapped his fingers and slumped into his chair and put his feet in the window. ‘You should hear me, Alanson. Yesterday, Mrs. J. Weatherby Wilkes-—-that woman with the Christian-martyr eye—asked me to sign a petition for the purification of the city dump. I did. Before she left me, I said, ‘Mrs. Wilkes, are you a believer in the on- ward and upward march of American womanhood?’ She was—within limits. ‘Then,’ I said, ‘Mrs. Wilkes, I want you to know about Carlotta Cole.’”’ He paused, exhaled a cloud of smoke and grinned. ‘I shan’t bore you, Alanson. Mrs. Wilkes, I may tell you, is going about forming Car- lotta clubs. She holds her up to all her girls’ clubs as the ideal. ‘Copy Carlotta’ is her motto.” Alanson grinned. It wasn’t true, no doubt, and yet he liked to see a pious leader like Mrs. Wilkes led astray. “T’ve lost a good stenographer,” he groaned. ‘“‘Just when does the deification of Carlotta cease and the awakening begin?” “In two weeks, you Swede. Tomorrow night Carlotta wins the Springdale Derby. Then on to Westdale for the intercity trials. Then you can have your jewel back.” Alanson grunted. That night, preceding the day of the Springdale show, Mr. Carmichael! called for Carlotta and her mother at six to motor them down to Masonic Temple to rehearse. The workmen who were making the temple into a bower of beauty with bunting, electric lights, crépe flowers and palms, would have gone for the night. In a large green box Carlotta carried Berté’s gown, over which Mrs. Cole was ecstatic. Its intricate simplicity baffled her; as if, poor woman, she realized so many fancies which she could never possibly conceive. She waddled timidly from the house and with Mr. Carmichael’s grave assistance sat down in the car. Carlotta took the front seat. Mr. Carmichael and Mrs. Cole talked, and Carlotta sat very still, the fur robe wrapped around, her body warm, her face cut by the cold night air. She liked this, riding beside Carmichael in the dark, so swiftly, so surely. He rarely looked at her. Yet when he shifted his gears or turned a sharp corner his big fur-coated arm would press against hers firmly, sometimes almost roughly as they took a corner. Once he leaned across her and wrapped the robe (Continued on Page 67)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 30,1924 The correct brush wm [SS] are Seo Se AL LALUAAIA: ¥ avy, Sas il ‘ PAA Pro, Fo 7 - LAC Sy mammieiaenre GUARANTEED : } i Pre ye u p (qc-tic ORENCE mma CO. - - * cf ing 7 R DECA le ‘*™ CLEAN TOOTH TEAL Anh —— «~» FLORENCE MF THE a) LD L/ 7 of) TOOTH BRUSH PESERVES 7 TEETH. cumeane. canes — ; AQ SAG WE wr one oF THtse wenn HE LONG TUFT CLEANS THF, 4 S YOUR BRUSH HUNG OW ITS HOOK | | ANDINNER SURFACES OF DEC REG IN US. PAT. OFF. DRIES QUENT AND NWRSWETS Ow Pcs, CLEAN REG. U.S. PAT. OFF.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 85 | Eight good reasons | why the Pro-phy-tactic is the standard and has the greatest sale in the world HERE is definite purpose behind the pe- culiar shape and irregular bristle formation of the Pro-phy-lac-tic Tooth Brush. That pur- pose is to clean teeth. Because of its scientific construction, the Pro-phy-lac-tic does get be- tween the teeth and around them. It really cleans teeth, and cleans them in a scientific way. The difference between the Pro-phy-lac-tic and the ordinary tooth brush is the difference between cleaning your teeth and merely brush- ing them. Practically everything worth while in tooth brush construction was originated by the Pro-phy-lac-tic Tooth Brush. Here are eight good reasons why the Pro-phy-lac-tic is the world’s standard tooth brush, and is the largest-selling known tooth brush in the world: The largeend tuft, which reaches and cleans the backs of the back teeth as well as the inside surfaces of all teeth—originated by the Pro-phy-lac-tic Tooth Brush. Saw-tooth bristle tufts arranged to fit the “profile” of the teeth—originated by the Pro-phy-lac-tic Tooth Brush. The curved handle with the tapered and beveled end, which enables the Pro-phy- lac-tic to get behind the teeth and clean all teeth— originated by the Pro-phy-lac-tic Tooth Brush. Dependable markings on each brush, so you can rely absolutely on getting hard, medium, or soft bristles— originated by the Pro-phy-lac-tic Tooth Brush. The use of a symbol to mark each brush, so that every individual may know his 6 8 own Pro-phy-lac-tic — originated by the Pro-phy-lac-tic Tooth Brush. The hole in the handle and the hook to hang the brush upon—originated by the Pro-phy-lac-tic Tooth Brush. The sanitary yellow box that brings your tooth brush to you clean, untouched by any hands since it left the sanitary Pro- phy-lac-tic factory — originated by the Pro- phy-lac-tic Tooth Brush. Made in America by Americans—origi- nated by the Pro-phy-lac-tic Tooth Brush. Now sold all over the world. Prices in the United States are: Pro-phy-lac- tic Adult, 50c; Pro-phy-lac-tic Small, 40c; Pro-phy-lac-tic Baby, 25c. Made with hard, medium, or soft bristles. Florence Manufac- turing Co., Dep’t A-9, Florence, Mass., U.S, A. © 1924, FM. Co

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 30,1924 pes: aeRO ARN STN SCOR ACTER SRI UN LT ED SLATES BLA ES ARS..GOOD JIB £5 U. §. Royal Cord Balloon Tires provide a degree of riding comfort and security that excels the best expec- tation of balloon tire performance. The tread design and balance of these tires have been worked out with scientific precision providing excep- tional tractive and anti-skid qualities. They handle beautifully at all speeds. Built of Latex-treated cords they possess the flexibility, strength and stamina necessary to long time service in low air-pressure tire equipment. U. S. Royal Cord Balloon Tires are made for 20, 21 and 22 inch rims. U. S. Royal Cord Balloon-Type Tires to fit larger wheels and rims now in general use. Consult the U. S. Sales and Service Dealer for the proper tires for your cat. United States Rubber Company US.Royal Gord Balloon Tires Built of Latex-treated Cords

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(Continued from Page 62) tighter, and her heart beat faster. His gray eyes, searching, yet impersonal, looked into hers, and she felt her own quiver. But he noticed nothing. Carlotta held her hands clenched and was a little frightened. In a little waiting room off the stage Mrs. Cole got Carlotta into the gown. “There, dearie, that’s the way it goes; yes, that drape hangs down there. Oh, my, isn’t it lovely? You never would believe you could get that effect that way; stand still, dearie.” And so on. Dearie stood still, and finally Carmichael was called to view his candidate. He stood in the doorway, his eyes on her. Berté had sent down to Springdale in- disputable proof of his artistry. Carlotta looked very much like an Aubrey Beardsley drawing, only healthier. Her neck, like the stalk of a flower, shot up from the sheath of gold which incased her invisible but subtly suggested body. On that stalk danced her dark flower of a head, and her entrancing eyes opened to Carmichael wider and wider and wider. He was startled. “You hurt my eyes,” he said, “‘you’re so lovely.” Mrs. Cole, who knelt on the floor, spread- ing out clouds and swirls of drapery, stuck her head around. “Isn’t she just sweet?” she said. Mr. Carmichael grinned, passing his hand reflectively across the cheek. “She is. She needs a prince. I ought to ~ her a prince.” ie smiled at Carlotta and walked all around her; and wherever he went, her great eyes, like those of a happy subjected doe, followed him. He liked to play with fire, but he saw now what a little girl it was he had been igniting. Rehearsing demanded an agile foot. The scenic committee had created an effect. The candidates had to mount a platform, cross, and descend what was supposed to be the stairway in the Court of Beauty. Below them, to right and left, sat the five judges—one of them would be the mayor in a gold chair. “You're last, Carlotta,” cautioned Mr. Carmichael. ‘“‘Remember, this stage is filled with jealous women. You're better- looking than any of them. They don’t exist for you. Come on new, that’s right. Take itslowly. Don’tsway—come straight She made a superb entrance. Then made it again, and then he showed her how to stand, so that her elegant looks and ex- pensive costume might extinguish her com- petitors. Mrs. Cole thought he was marvelous. He had bribed the electrician to throw special lights when Carlotta appeared. He had ordered a black carpet laid on the floor to reveal Carlotta’s silver train. “‘Now go home and sleep,”’ he said to her as she paraded down for the third time. “T’ll be here tomorrow night. You don’t need to have another thought.” She didn’t want to anyway. The next night, when she came out of the dressin room which she had shared with an weaned girl representing herself to be the Spirit of Winter, Carmichael was waiting for her. His dinner coat gave tone to the entire venture. Ashe marshaled Carlotta and her attendant mother in a secluded corner, she imagined herself at the opera. The other girls regarded them speculatively. “Who's your swell sweetie?” their eyes suggested. Carlotta reveled in the feeling of superiority to the mob. Then he and Mr. A. L. Gourney, repre- sentative of the Associated Ad Clubs, be- gan to line up the girls—a strange and motley assortment. There were some pretty girls and some pathetic ones—pierrettes, ballet dancers, Miss Americas and Turkish haremites. There was a tall lean person in blue gauze, and a short plump one in black velvet and spangles. One young lady, dressed up as the Power and Light Com- pany, carried her own lighting system. There was the inevitable tall brown girl dressed as an Indian. Carmichael looked them all over. “They’re terrible,” he told Carlotta. “ Now remember, don’t walk like a model.” After all the others had climbed, dis- appeared and taken the applause of their relatives and beaus, he helped her up the steps and she climbed to the edge of the platform. As she stepped before the audi- ence a strange numbness came over her; a brilliant light beat on her. Below her were the great black pit, silent, devouring, and the black and white rotundities of the THE SATURDAY judges. She was conscious only of her feet, moving one ahead of the other, of the train dragging behind her, of the ease with which her body moved. She trembled a little—not with fright, but excitement—for as she climbed the steps, so that her head was level with Carmichael’s, that impulsive man leaned over and kissed her deftly but firmly on the lips. “Luck,” he had said. He had a genius for promotion. Car- lotta, lit with radiance, won the prize and became Miss Springdale. The evening was one long triumph. But she was annoyed when Mr. Fields and his bediamonded wife appeared on the stage and insisted upon driving her home. Mr. Carmichael, after an instant congratulatory handshake at the end of the exercises, had disappeared. It must be said for Mr. Carmichael that after that kiss he felt coming upon him a very bad cold and an attack of conscience — both rare events in his life. For two days he lay in bed at his hotel and repentance mingled with the pangs of his infection. He might have started something. But no, he argued, Carlotta Cole had plenty of beaus; she must have been used to casual kisses. Yet she had the eyes of innocence; he remembered the startled tremor that had gone through her a and the ac- quiescent drooping of her lids. For two cents, hazarded Carmichael, she would have kissed him back. He cursed himself for a light rogue. Yet what human man would have done otherwise? On the third day Mr. Carmichael got a telegram which raised him from his and took him, weak but a well man again, to Boston. Before he went to the train he sent Miss Cole a note. It read: My dear Miss Cole: I have been ill with a cold ever since Tuesday. The other night I succumbed to temptation. Why does tempta- tion take such delectable guises? I was bowled over by your beauty. You are beautiful, I in- sist, though you never let me speak to you again. J. C. With this equivocal apology, he sent two dozen red roses and left for Boston. Carlotta was seated at the supper table, in a kimono, when the roses came. She had been wondering where Carmichael was; yet his absence permitted her to speculate on his return. His kiss held a thousand pos- sible significances; the unpleasant ones she passed over. If he never came near her again, she was prepared to hate him. In any case, she would assume an air of remoteness. But that kiss had added to her life, and these roses added more. Mrs. Cole, unaware of the kiss, was rapturous over the roses. “It’s real nice of him,” she said. “‘ More than some of your old friends have done.” This was a rap at Steve, who had refused to go to the beauty show. Carlotta was dazed. “They're wonderful. Let's put them in a vase.’ “Run along and dress. You'll be late.” She was to sit in a box at the Exposition Palace with the rhayor while the Springdale Men’s Choral Club gave its annual winter festival. This was her third night in public and she rather liked it. Mornings, she went to the shops, where public-spirited mer- chants piled her with clothes and hats and underwear. She had new suéde ‘slip . and new cut-steel buckles—from the J. W. Whigmore Bootery; the Misses Flaherty had insisted that she wear one of their satin frocks; Mason & Murphy, the oldest department store in town, had equipped her with a white wool sport suit, which she was to wear to the Winter Carnival on Sunday; she had scarfs, sweaters, hats, silk stockings, and the use of a fur coat from the Gus Glissberg’s Fur Mart during her queenhood. It was a splendid, showy wrap of Japanese mink, and Carlotta wore it every night when she went out with the mayor. If only Carmichael would appear tonight! He didn’t though. She sat beside the mayor, a rotund, amiable soul, smiling and bowing to the audience. Everyone was there; the Men’s Choral Club was to Springdale what the volunteer fire depart- ment is to other places. Carlotta heard noises, she knew men were singing lustily on the stage, but she interpreted nothing. She was dreaming fantasticdreams. The mayor sat beside her and dreamed, too, of the time when all reformers would be shot at —. Too much, perhaps, had happened to Carlotta in a short time. Her head was not turned, but it was full of strange new fancies. She had been showered with clothes; she could be late at the office; she EVENING POST had been much in the company of a young man whose one thought had been herself; she had been transfigured for a short space to serve the purpose of a wrench company. Carlotta was human and she wanted the arty to go on forever. Besides, it might. ad not Mr. Carmichael kissed her? She was his abject slave; perhaps he might wish to be her master. Sitting there beside the mayor, she thought of Carmichael—and thought and thought. Mr. Carmichael did not appear again until Friday, almost a full week after the Springdale show. Carlotta was in the office working as hard as she could for the dis- tracted Alanson before she went to the Rotary Club to salute the flag with the mayor. The snub-nosed girl had wrecked everything. “It’s time I came back,” she said. “Tt is,” said Mr. Alanson. “But can you ever degrade yourself?” She was advertising a neat little coat | "? , eS . | Charles H, Bishop of Chicago. It confirms from Nannette’s Shop—Sporteries for the | Girl and Matron. She wore suéde shoes to | match, and her beloved buckles. Alanson | | dress—the new caramel-custard color spied them. “Say, are those those buckles?” “What buckles?” she said loftily. “The buckles ——” He stop He had heard old Whig- more growling up at the club about the nerve of that girl, taking buckles when she was only offered shoes— buckles at sixteen- fifty. She had selected them, and since a reporter was with her, what could Whig- more do? “Well,” he grinned, “it serves them right.” She was curious. At that moment Mr. Carmichael came through the door. Mr. Alanson saw her face pale and then flush as her pleasure got | the better of her surprise. Carmichael was well again, all himself, intensified. He pomeet both of Carlotta’s hands, admired er frock, cracked Alanson on the shoulder and sat down on a corner of the desk, where he lighted a cigarette. If he had kissed any- one in the room, it didn’t bother him. “Well, how are the wrenches? What do you think of my tie?’ “You're a dream,” said Alanson. “ You must be in love.” “Is that so? When do we go to West- dale?”” He shot this at Miss Cole. “‘That’s why I’m back. Fields wired me. He says I must go with you. Got out of a sick bed.” He gave Alanson a covert wink. “Tomorrow noon,” said Miss Cole, “ Mr. Fields is going, and a lot of people, in a private car.” “Right. Sybaritic style. Got your gown | pressed out? Well, you'll knock them | again. He nodded his head as if he knew all about the system. Carlotta gave him a little look. “Perhaps we won't,’ ’ she said. They didn't say anything more to her, so she went back to her desk a little dispirit- edly. Carmichael had not been looking at her as she left the room. Very unconcern- edly he had walked over to the window, and stood, his face half turned, looking out on the city. She typed away, and if she could have heard their voices, she was too proud to hear them. After fifteen minutes she heard their feet scuffing, then moving across the floor, and their voices grew louder as they approached the door. Carmichael opened the door. “Well, you’re lucky,” said Alanson, “You bet I am,” said Carmichael as he shut the door. “Tomorrow, Miss Cole.” He smiled at her and was gone. She had a distinct sense of being let down. When she went in to Mr. Alanson with his letters he looked up at her quizzically. She wore a new hat, and a topcoat—from Lasker & Lasker, Women's Wear. “Off to another banquet?” “Only the Rotary Club.” “*Only the Rotary Club’? What blas- phemy!” She was incredibly young, yet she had always had sense. He did not worry be- cause her head was turned; what girl, adu- lated, advertised, acclaimed, would not become conceited? But he did not want her heart hurt. She was, after all, his stenographer. He wished he knew what she was thinking about. “Well, enjoy yourself.” E She shrugged her shoulders airily. “Tt’s amusing.” “When does it end?” “Next week.” 67 When did you find your ideal tobacco? Sooner or later we ail choose the perfect smoke partner— Here is an interesting letter from Mr the truth of an old proverb—" better late than never.” We hope that reading it may show some | misguided pipe smoker the path to smoke | satisfaction. Chicago, fil, Larus & Bro. Co., Richmond, Va. Gentlemen: I am glad to write you that I have con- vinced a man of filty years’ smoking ex- perience that ‘‘it's never too tate to change."' The new convert to Edge- worth is my father-in-law, now approach- ing seventy. Vear after year at Christ- mas | had bought him, among other things, a large jar of tobacco; but until this year my heart was never wholly in the selection, But this Christmas I purchased Edge- worth, which he had tried after constant urging on my part-—and he's satisfied! Vours sincerely, Charles H. Bishop We are glad Mr. Bishop induced his father in-law to try Edgeworth, and we hope that the old gentleman will derive much pleas- ure and comfort from his pipe for many years to come. But it seems to us a shame that he didn’t become acquainted with Edgeworth many years ago. A man misses a lot of solid comfort in iife until he “hooks up” with the tobacco that is friendly to his pal- ate—the “old reliable” to which he invariably returns whenever he ventures forth into other fields, We try to make Dy) Edgeworth a to- bacco that most men will like re- gardiess of age, and the evidence would seem to show that we do Of course, we don't hope to suit every man's taste, but a great many smokers have found Edgeworth ‘'just reght."’ Why not let us send you a free sample of Edgeworth? Maybe it's just the smoke you've been looking for. 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-between sizes. , Your name and address en a postal to Larus & Brother Company, 1 South 2\Ist Street, Richmond, Va., will bring you generous samples of Edgeworth with our compliments. If you care to include your dealer's name and address we shall appreciate the courtesy. To Retail Tobacco Merchants: U your jobber cannot supply you with Edgeworth, Larus & Brother Company will gladly send you prepaid by parcel post a one- or two- dozen carton of any size of Edgeworth Plug Slice or Ready-Rubbed for the same | price you would pay the jobber.

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TANGLEFOOT INSECTICIDES | | Scout who was to give Carlotta a bouquet Rid the Premises of Insect Pests When vou shoot Tanglefoot Fly Spray into the air of a room you do one thing well. . . you make quick work of exterminating common household in- sect pests, Tanglefoot Fly Spray is thorough, It does its work quickly and with deadly effectiveness. Flies, mosquitoes, moths, bedbugs and fleas cannot live in an atmosphere charged with Tanglefoot Fly Spray. Here is a scientific, powerful and abso- lutely safe, non-poisonous and non- irritating household insecticide. You should demand Tanglefoot qual- ity... it costs no more. Nothing is easier to get . . . every dealer has it or can obtain it quickly. ROACH & ANT POWDER For permanently ridding premises overrun with roaches or ants, use Tanglefoot Roach and Ant Powder. Tanglefoot Fly Spray wilt kill any insect in a room at the time it is used, but the powder exterminates the crawling pests that fol- low during the day and night. The superior advantage of Tanglefoot Roach end Ant Powder is its non- irritating properties. Insects do not avoid it. . . as they do many insec- ticides, and once they touch it they are doomed. Sold by grocers. TANGLEFOOT FLY PAPER Famous the world over for two genera- tions, Tangle- foot. Fly Paper is the sanitary, inexpensive and safe means of catching flies that find their way into buildings during the day. Just place a few sheets here and there through the house or store, preferably in a strong light. When foods are ex- powed to the ho air, Tanglefoot Fly Paper is the only fly exterminator that should be used. You need it, Get your supply now. It's cheaper by the car- ton. Sold by grocers and druggists everywhere. THE QO. & W. THUM COMPANY Gaanv Raptos, MicntGan | he disapproved of. T | new suit, was thinner, better groomed; | obviously assured. | michael, THE SATURDAY “Tt will be hard for you,” he warned her. “Unless you have realized all along that all this stuff, these contacts—-yes, every one— have been so casual that”’—he hesitated — | “you can forget them before you know - are made.” e signed the letters and she took them and went out, still wondering whether he | meant what she thought he did. She was a little moody that evening, dis- contented with herself. Everything was ending within a few days. Nothing would be any different. At eight o’clock Steve ap- peeres. He had not seen her for ten days, cause she was orags doing something at night he wore a She consented to go to the movies. Never once did he mention her triumphs, but he | did tell her that he had the plans for his new | garage, over which he was ecstatic. One ecstasy, she thought, seemed to be enous! | for him. Yet it was a relief to forget herse The next afternoon she sat in a special arlor car with Mr. and Mrs. Fields, Mr. armichael, six ladies from the Springdale United Women’s Clubs, several reporters and sundry gentlemen from the chamber of commerce, the Kiwanis, the Rotary and other get-together groups; also a Boy of roses if she won. What he was to do if Carlotta shculd lose no one had planned, “Someone should think up something,” said Carlotta to Carmichael, He had grabbed the chair next hers; on the other side, Mr. Fields was asleep. Be- yond him, Mrs. Fields was sewing lace on pale-pink satin. “Why do women always make their underwear in public places?” growled Car- “Tt’s indecent. Turn your chair toward me.” “T can’t be rude.” “I’m suffering. Besides, she can see me looking at you. Would you mind telling me how you curl your eyelashes? I never can get that effect with mine.” She blushed. “You're silly.” “No, only observant. I tell you, Car- lotta, my future is made in Springdale. All the big bugs have their eye on me, I’m a fe etter. I picked you. Did you know edges-Hawley went up to 78 yesterday? That's due to you.” She gave a little shriek. ‘Seventy-eight? Why, it’s always been eighty at least! I’m sending it down.” “What a blow! So it’s gone down? Well, anyway, we've had a nice time together.” ‘Do you like Springdale?" she said. “TI shouldn’t think you would, after New York and Boston.” “New York and Boston, my dear girl, are not Utopias. In New York one is pushed; in Boston one is chilled. Spring- dale is pleasant, like a good bed. Perhaps I shall stay here and be its Henry Ford, its Roger Babson. But something tells me, Miss Carlotta Cole, that I won’t.”’ He was grinning happily. He wore one of his new five-dollar ties, which made his gray eyes almost blue, and his hair, which was more brushed than oiled, was a bit up- standing. Carlotta knew she was gone, for she wanted to smooth it flat. She restrained herself, “Carlotta -——” He hesitated. His | mouth shut, and opened. Then Carlotta could have cried. r. Al Gourney, of the Associated Ad Clubs, needing a fourth for bridge, pounced upon them. “Miss Cole, you can sit with us and eat candy.” So she did. A queen must be gracious. She never had another moment with him, At the banquet in the Hotel Seminole the | diners ‘were mixed up in a fiendish effort to | be friendly. Carlotta found herszlf stuck between a little druggist, from Worcester and a spectacled spindling young man who was intense about God's great outdoors. “It's a great thing to be out in the open,” he said to her. EVENING POST “T hate the snakes,” said Carlotta coldly. He was disappointed in her. She was disappointed in the dinner. At Mrs. Gore’s the servants had served you; here the waiters slammed cold plates of cold food before _ and then grabbed them away. It was horrible. Then Carlotta fled to the Lyceum. Car- michael was nowhere. In the dressing room, Carlotta, with Mrs. Fields’ help, got into her costume. She looked beautiful, but she needed someone to admire her. She missed her adoring mother, she missed Carmichael. Mrs. Fields was inexpressive and puffy; besides, she had to go away to her seat in the box. “Tf you don’t mind my leaving you, dear,” she said. ‘The other girls are outside.” Carlotta didn’t mind. She went outside and joined the other girls, the pick of twenty cities. She looked better than they did, but she needed to be told so. No one spoke to her. She touched the bottom of despair. Then, thank heaven, he hove in sight. His hat was at a rakish angle, and he was followed by Mr. Al Gourney, a society re- > edged and two young men: young men of is own world; young men slightly ex- hilarated by something at once synthetic and forbidden. “Oh, I’m glad you came,” she cried to them all. “Cheers!”’ cried the two young men. “Well, here we are,” said Carmichael, “to send you off. You're sixteenth. Every man’s putting his shirt on you. This is Miss Flinders of the Mudville Gazette— that’s the name, isn’t it? She wants to cast on eye over your gown. I told her about Miss Flinders embraced her. “These two young men”’’—he pointed his stick at them—‘“‘are old friends. The first one is Charles Penquin. Step up, Charles. And the second, Pat Harmon. Step up, Pat, to meet the most beautiful girl in America.” After that everything was simply won- derful. They made a great deal of noise, and laughed, and Mr. Harmon and Mr. Penquin paid her audacious compliments. Carmi- chael stood, a little more quietly, by her side. Now and then he looked at her, his eyes sleepily considering something. She adored his eyes. Suddenly it was her turn. They were all beside her, escorting her to another stair- way. They surrounded her, the reporter held up her attractive train. She climbed dizzily, a man’s hand on her wrist. As she mounted the third step she pulled her wrist gently away and turned her eyes slowly to meet the eyes close to hers. She smiled a little wanly, for she looked into the eyes of Penquin. But she won the prize. She was a little soldier. She was elected queen of twenty- one New England cities. Carmichael, who by that time was on the road to Boston in Pat Harmon’s unbreak- able racing model, read about it in the pers the next day. As he saw the little eadline he smiled. He had never worked so hard in his life. The next day Carlotta went home to at- tend the Winter Carnival in her white suit. But she didn’t enjoy it. Her feet got cold and she was oye & They stuck her in an open sleigh with the mayor and the king of the carnival, a fat man. There were areas where there was no snow and the sleigh dragged over the bare ground. When she got home she went to bed early; and when she was sure her mother couldn’t hear her, she cried. She couldn’t help it. Monday, Mr. Alanson found her at her desk at nine o'clock. “Great Scott!" he said. “ Are you incog- nito?” She shook her head. _ “No,” she said; “the real thing. Work- ing again.” e whooped, and when the snub-nosed girl came in he sent her away, r girl, with cheers. Miss Cole worked hard and doggedly all morning. August 30,1924 Mr. Alanson was overjoyed, but he was a sensitive man. She had come back to work because it offered her escape from some- thing, a failure, a hurt or a shock. When he picked up the Boston paper, later in the morning, he found something that set- tled his uncertainty. The world knew now what Carmichael had told him Friday. If he was right she should know. If he wasn’t, telling her wouldn’t matter. When she came in to him again he said casually, “What do you think?” “T can’t imagine, Mr. Alanson.” “Would you think Carmichael was a romantic soul?” “Why, no, not especially.’ She faced him bravely. “Read this.”” He handed her the paper and she read the paragraph through. If her eyes widened a little as she read, if her face took on the indefinable tinge of dis- appointment, no one but Alanson ever saw it. For Mr. Carmichael was engaged to Dagmar, only daughter of Enos Suydam, the banker, and he was to marry her in a month at her father’s country house at Dover. They were going to China on a wedding trip. Miss Cole laid down the a r. ‘I never would have thought —-—’’ she began bravely. Her eyes filled with tears, so she ran out of the room. Mr. Alanson never asked her why she cried. He gave her to understand, by working her very hard, and calling her back and forth to him all day long, that he, of all men, appreciated her for the jewel she really was. “It’s a relief,” he said thirty or forty times, ‘‘to have you back.” About five o’clock Steve rang her up. “I'm coming to get you,” he said. “I've something to show you.” This was unprecedented. Listlessly, she let him come. She might as well. There was no reason for refusing. He was waiting downstairs, outside the main entrance, and he led her out to the curb. He wore a long raccoon coat and a brown hat, and he had an indefinable air of prosperity. He was positively handsome. “Steve!” she gasped. “Where did you get that coat?” “Bought it secondhand from a guy who came in broke. Had it cleaned. I need it these nights. But this is what I’ve got to show you.” “This” was a Priceless car, a beautiful in- closed roadster, dark gray, trimmed with nickel, in the best bathroom style. “Yours?” “Mine to sell. I’ve got the agency, Car- lotta. The other guy went to Boston and he recommended me. I've got all the money for the garage. See?’’ She nodded. He was on the top of the world. “It’s wonderful,” she said. “You look like a million dollars.” “Get in,” he ordered. She got in and he after her. They drove off, a very handsome ome. ’ ey were seen by many minions pour- wrench iss Cole’s ing out of the Hedges-Hawle works, who commented upon ability to hook millionaires. But Carlotta was not thinking of million- aires. As they drove down Federal Street, out to Washington Avenue, to Lincoln Park, where the snow tractor had made the roads hard-packed broad white avenues, the cold air nipped her face and her body was warm beneath the fur robe. She liked this, riding beside Steve so swiftly. so surely. Yet he rarely looked at her. He was conscious only that when he shifted his gears or turned a corner his big fur-coated arm would press against hers gently, some- times roughly as they took.a corner. Once he leaned across her and wrapped the robe tighter, and his heart beat faster. Her gray eyes, wide open, impersonal, looked into his, and he felt his own quiver. Steve held the wheel tight and was a little frightened. “Like it, Carlotta?” he dared to say. “Marvelous,” she answered, and she meant it. Suddenly she felt his arm against her own. | An PLY PAPER ~ FLY SPRAY PLY RIDRON - OCH U ANT POWDER - TREE TANGLEFOO? |

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Postcard Brings This Book Here are illuminating facts on how to save repairs. If you want to cut your operating costs, write for it today. “‘ Vital Spots on Your Car to Watch.” It’s yours for the asking. Note This compressor with the rigid spiral valve coupling, releases lubricant only when attached to fitting. No hose necessary. Oil or Grease Alemite works well with either oil or grease. But for best results, we recommend Alemite Lubri- cant—a pure, solidified oil, espe cially adapted for our system— has all the virtues of oil, but is sufficiently solid to “stay put.” Comes in autoloading cans. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST MY ~TES by The Big Four in keeping your car out of the repair shop You keep air in your tires, water in your radiator and oil in your engine. Of course! But don’t neglect the hard-wearing chassis bearings. Here’s the repair leak in most motorists’ pocketbooks. Chassis repairs, —here’s where most motorists fail in lubrication. For 80% of all repairs can be traced to faulty or neglected lubrication. Chassis bearings should last the life of the car. Yet repair bills of $100 to $150 are com- mon after only 6,000 miles. All because chassis bearings used to be hard to reach. And because old-fashioned grease and oil cups failed to force lubri- cant to bearing surfaces. Now, however, you can lubricate your chassis as easily as your motor. Most cars now come equipped with the Alemite High Pressure Lubricating System. (Nearly 5,000,000 now in use.) With this system a hollow fitting with a cross pin is on every chassis bear- ing. A quarter turn of the bayonet coup- ling on your Alemite gun locks it to the fitting. Then an easy turn of the handle forces lubricant clear through the heart of the bearing. New Protection As the fresh lubricant goes in, all old grit-laden grease is forced out. Pressure over 20 times greater than the o!d oil or grease cup insures this. The bearing is cleaned. Just as engine bearings are cleaned when you change crank case oil. Thus Alemite not only makes lubrication easy. It also gives chassis bearings a new protection against seeping dust and dirt. Every 500 Miles If Alemite is on your car—use it—at least every 500 miles. It will cut your re pair bills in half. For it keeps chassis bear- ings free of their most insidious enemy— ag 4. ALEMITE 3. WATER seeping dust and grit. If you con't care to do it yourself, there's an official Alemite service station near you. That's another advantage of this system—nation-wide service at nominal cost. Alemite fittings are as standard as tire valves If Alemite is not on your car any gar age or service station can install it in anh hour or two. The cost is only $5 to $20 (Fords $6.25, Chevrolet $3.99, Overland $5.67; prices in Canada higher). It wil! save its cost 5 times over in a year New Book “Vital Spots to Watch" is a new book telling just where and how to lubricate every make of car. If you have lost the lubrication manual that came with your car you will find this valuable. It’s yours for the asking. Write today. Address The Bassick Manufacturing Company 2666 North Crawford Ave., Chicago, Mi. Canadian Factory: Alemite Products Co. of Cavade, Lid., Bellevisle, Ontario

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THE SATURDAY

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| built all over. | everything. | caring to o the misses any | backing outta the deal, the price of the

'I reads over the specifications, | mostly is about as clear to me as a race-

EVENING POST August 30,1924 A BOUT WITH ABOUTS (Continued from Page 11) “About nine minutes,”’ he guesses. “That's not so bad,” remarks Ritter. “A a hike in the morning’Il do you good Ho nest John takes a look at Hank, but don’t say nothing, probably figuring he’s hep to the difference between paar me time and the kind clocks keep. We > aes through the joint, honey SP a aden, walking along rafters and broad-jumping over sacks of cement and the such. As far as I can see ae ain’t nothing to see excepting a jungle of two-by-fours, but the wife and Tilly Ritter picks out the different rooms and closets without no troubles, and goes into a rave over em. “When,” I asks Gates, finished?” “In six weeks,” cally done now.” “What!"’ I gasps. “If this is practically done I’m practically the wife of the maycr of Coldcat, Arkansas.” “Three months ain’t such a long wait,” < in Hank, giving Honest John the eye, the real-estater on’t answer him back. an We sticks around among the sticks for about a hour, during the which Kate almost tears the house down and has it She wants this and those and them changed, and Gates agrees to r tenes my face shut, not “will this be says he. “It’s practi- excuse for place being a whole lot more important to me than the size of the maid’s bath or | where the laundry chute’s gonna be put. | But they ain’t no way to figure the frails. “It’s a wonder,” snaps the wife, “you wouldn’t take no interest in the house. You leave everything to me. Don’t you like it?”’ “Sure I does,” I answers hasty. “I was = waiting for you to run outta ideas fore trotting mine out.” “Lead ’em out now if you has any,” suggests Kate. “Well,” says I, “we ou hta make sure | that the kitchen is gonna be floored over. It’d be annoying to have the cook falling | into the basement all the time, and — “Sure,” cuts in Hank, “and you oughta make sure they is gonna have walls in your room.” “Serious, though,” I goes on, ‘they is one thing we should ‘oughta get in the house that I ain’t never seen nowheres, but it’ll | certainly fill a short-felt want.” Bs gprahe gh inquires the little, but | oh my, W “A A aco 7 I tells her, “to throw dis- | carded razor blades. They could build a chute in the bathroom that'd end in a hole about eight thousand feet deep out in the yard.” “I think we'll take the house,” says Kate to Gates. “Don’t you wanna hear no more of my ideas?’’ I asks. “Tf you got any,” comes back the frau, “save 'em for yesterday.” Honest John leads us right over to the office of the company that’s throwing up the shack, and in hardly no times my moniker and the dotted line is playing along together. “Let me get this straight,” says I, after which track form sheet’d be to a backward horse- fly, “‘I gets everything you got wrote down here for twenty-seven thousand five hun- dred dollars without no extras on the account of there being a strike in Siberia or high water in Scotland or something like that?” “Correct,” returns the company’s bozo. “And I can get in in three months?” I continues. “T laugh,” he answers. “In three months pe housewarming will be weeks in back of you.” “It'd better be,” I tells him, “even if I don’t have none. My lease expires on June first and if I don’t have this joint ready by that time a * ag *t have no more home than a poker ch “Well, S ** T remarks to Ritter, after we leaves, ‘you was all wrong about that forty-thousand-smacker attack on the roll, wasn’t you?” “How much you figure this house is gonna red-ink you for before you gets in?” inquires Hank. “Where does figuring come in?’’ I comes back, “I knows; twenty-seven five.” “Feller,” says Ritter, “if you stays inside of thirty-seven five you'll establish a record that'll go zooming down the zigzags of time.” “What you — about?” I yelps. “About,” replies Hank. Pees N THE next few weeks I don’t see as much of Kate as a blind Eskimo sees of five-legged kangaroos. When she ain’t up at the new house watching the bricklayers brooding over a setting of bricks, and picking bent nails outta the barrel so the earpenter won’t crook us with crooked — she’s hid away somewheres reading em magazines that tells you how to doll up a shed i into a chateau. I could ’a’ easy sued a deck of shingles or a roll of slats for alienating the frau’s affections. I ain’t been nowheres near Manor Park since that Sunday with Gates and Ritter, but finally $e a note from the building company to drop around and see ’em, the which I does, dragging Hank along with me. Spellacy, the bobo we met in the office the first time, is waiting for me with a paper in his mitt. “Here,” says he, “‘is a list of changes that Mrs. O’Day has ordered made in the house, and we want that you should sign ‘em as being O.K.” “Sure,”’ I replies, grabbing for a pen, but Ritter holds my arm. “Don’t you wanna look ’em over first?” he asks. “What for?” I comes back. ‘I’m leav- ing it all to Kate, and the real-estater said she could have ’em made.” “Yeh,” jeers Hank. “He meant they was no law agin it. A jane oncet walked into a jewelry store and asked the bimbo there if they could put a four-carat rock in her ring in place of the beer-bottle glass that was in it. He said sure, he’d be glad to do it “You mean,” I cuts in, “they is gonna charge extra for them things?”’ “If they don’t,” returns Ritter, “I’m the club-footed twin daughters of Patrick Ginsburg.” “Show me that swindle sheet,” snatching the list from Spellacy. stone chimney in place of stucco,’”’ ““What’s the tap for that, if any?” “About six hundred dollars,” answers the builder. ‘‘Maybe a little more or a little less.” “What's field stones?” [I inquires. “Them ordinary rocks laying around in lots?’ “Yep,” says he. “For crying out loud!” I yelps. “I could go out with a ash wagon any morning and get enough of ’em by noon to build a gross of chimneys.” “Try it,’ suggests Spellacy. ‘I'll pay you fifty bucks for every ash-wagon load of the right sizes you deliver.” “What about this job of making the kitchen and the back porch bigger?”’ I asks, looking at the second stunt on the list. “That gonna cost me anything extra?”’ “Practically nothing,” says he, ‘when you considers that you gotta change the foundation, tear down the whole back of the house, extend the roof and use about four carpenters for about ten days “You don’t have to move the city hall in Come Again, Kansas, to finish the job, does you?”’ I interrupts, sarcastic. ‘Or call out the militia? What do I get looted for the work?” “TI figures,” replies Spellacy, hold it in about twelve hundred.” That’ s gonna be a struggle worth seeing,”’ I remarks. “Eh?” inquires the bunslo-houss bandit. “Watching you battling to hold it in,” I explains. ‘‘What’s the chance for a ring- side seat?”’ “Want one buiit?”’ grins Ritter. “It ee 5: mentioned in the _ specifications, ut — “I suppose,” cuts in Spellacy, “if I told ou that we was losing money on your ouse, you'd be surprised.” “No,” says I, “I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised at you telling me that. In my times I’ve talked to eight hundred painters, six hundred and twenty-three plumbers, four hundred and three con- tractors, and outta that whole smear only one guy told me he expected to break as good as even on the job, and he was cnly (Continued on Page 72) I barks, *** Pield- I reads. “we can

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(Continued from Page 70) able to do that on the account of getting wonderful breaks in the weather, a carl of material for nothing through a mistake, and by having his wife and five children help him. At that, he said he’d ’a’ lost ad if he’d ‘a’ counted wages for his- se co “You don’t know nothin ec: building costs,’’ goes on the roof rob “Take that extra bathroom and dongle: porch your wife wants us to put on the second I gave her a estimate of about nine hun- dred dollars, and if I make as much as | twenty dollars may I drop dead.” Fay for that,” says I, “I hopes twenty-one dollars and ht ao nts, What ou been doing, talking uh into alla this side stuff?” Spellscy now the lady very well?” inquires pellacy “You win,’ ’ LT admits, “but you shouldn’t | oughta let her go so wild with them changes. | How much worth of stuff you got wrote | down there altogether?”’ “About forty-five hundred so far,” re- turns the builder, “but, of course, that ain’t counting ——~” “Yes, it is,’ I snaps. “If you lets her blow any more of my jack I'll put one of them fl in the papers about my wife having left my bed and me bored and not being responsible. Then you'll have to yodel for your dough.” “They is something else,” says Spellacy, “T wants to take up. You wanted to move into the new house June first, didn’t you?” “That ain’t a want, bo,” I tells him. “That's the mustiest must you ever heard “T’m sorry,” shrugs the contractor— they oughta call them fellers expanders— ‘‘but you better arrange to stay where you is until about August rst. -On account of all the changes Mrs. O’Day is having made we —— “Take me outta here quick!” I shouts to Hank. “TI feels the blood lust coming on again.” ‘‘Let’s take a look at the shack,” sa: Ritter, when we is outside. ‘“‘ Maybe it’ll no you feel better.” We passes a lotta new places that is going up but don’t come across ourn. fter muddling around for a half hour I | strikes a lad working on one of the dumps. “Know where the house is,” I inquires, “that Spellacy is throwing up for the # | O'Da at ie is her,” he answers, The joint looks just about as much like the place I seen first as a horned toad looks like a woman who's just had a cup of tea. 4 | The rooms and porches has been jazzed up | and heaved around; what was, now ain’t, | and a lotta ain’ts has become ises. I’m still puzzled when we gets through the roost. “It’s all right,’’ says Hank, looking outta window. ‘I remember that tree out there with the busted branch. Your frau’s sure turned herselfs loose here.” “Yeh,” I comes back, “and I guess she’ 8 turned me loose on the public charity.” “Cheer up,” smiles Ritter. “ You gotta remember that all the mazum you're sinking here is rt you something. Spending money on houses ain’t like calling full houses.” “How much you losing on the job?” I | asks, sardonic, of the boss plumber, who’s watching another guy watching a coupla apprentices hunt tools. “Not so much,” he answers, cheerful. | “Last week I figured I'd drop five hundred, | but the way things stack now I oughta get out only three hundred to the bad.” “ Ain’t it wonderful,” I remarks to Hank, as we is leaving the hut, “how prosperous you can get on losings? How about you?” I inquires of a laborer out in front, shovel- | ingsand. ‘ You ain’t losing nothing on your work, is you?” “The hell I ain’t!"’ he growls. ‘I’m only getting three dollars a day and I’ve only n here two days. Yesterday I busted a shovel that cost me seven bucks.” I gets home all steamed up, and starts right after Kate. I ain’t hardly got warmed up when she busts into tears. “How can you ae so cruel!” she sobs. “I’m so tired and you ——’ “Tired?” I woh ‘<n. “What you tired from?” “You'd be tired, too,” she boo-hoos, “if you’d been fightin all day with interior decorators an gardeners and —— “Decorators!” I repeats. ‘Gardeners! What are they doing in your life?” August 30,1924 “We gotta have the house furnished, don’t we?” demands the frau. - “ Ain’t we got a whole raft of junk here? I demands right back. ; “Junk, yes,” she returns. ‘I wouldn’t take a stick of it with me. 2m gonna refurnish from top to bottom “What’ll that take?” I a. “A coupla thousand?” “ Just about,” says the wife, “ per room.’ “T see,” I remarks, slamming the brakes down on myselfs. “And the gardener? What was you doing with him? Buying a few rose bushes?’ “You're hopeless,” snaps the misses. “Can you imagine that house without landscaping? It means several weeks’ work for three or four men, so they might as well start on the job at oncet, hadn't th mr suppose,”’ I mumbles, too far gone for even a feeble kick-back. “TI met Mr. Gates this afternoon,” con- tinues Kate, “and he says he’s ordered title insurance and some other funny kinds for you that’ll cost about a thousand dollars. Ain’t it terrible the way the money goes? Would you believe it, I bought a few bathroom fixtures and some doodads, and before I knew it, fifteen hundred dollars was spent. And I ain’t even started to commenze “While ‘ee dough’s going,’’ I inquires, weary, “have you done vany doping as to where it’s coming from?’ “Heavens!"’ snaps the frau. “Ain’t I got enough to do with the house without wor ring about trifles?”’ rifles!’ I laughs, hoarse. “Ah, ha. The trifles! See the pretty trifles climbing up the stairs with the gol en curls a-hang- ing down their backs.” “You gone cuckoo?” asks the wife. “Just about,” says I. Iv T WAS Christmas eve. Through the heavy snowdrifts there could be seen wending its heavy way, a large van. Suddenly - I oncet read a tragedy story that started that way; mine finishes that way. Gosh, I hope it does! Yep, we gets into the new house about the time Spellacy and Honest John said we would, June first and Christmas being in the same week as far as the about boys is concerned. I'll bet builders’ kids is learned that the Battle of Bull Run was fought about the time Columbus discovered Bimini, and that one dollar is practically the same thing as a thousand cartwheels, if the other ~— doing the digging. e ain’t no sooner watched the last of the interior decorator’s furniture being lugged over the landscaped garden into the house when the Ritters and the Magruders drops in to wish us luck over a shot of my Scotch. “Handsome place you got here, Dink,” says Hank. Wieadieeene is as handsome’s done,” I returns, “and I was done handsome.” “What you got sunk here?” he asks. “Forty-five grand?” “Tt’s so near fifty, feller,’ I tells him, “that the difference wouldn’t buy a second- hand pair of earmuffs for a snake.”’ “Are they cheap?” Lizzie thirsts to now. “I should kiss a camel,’’ answers Ritter. “Why, oncet I got the contract to fit out the reptiles in the Bronz Zoo with earmuffs, oes to the muff foundry and buys five hundved red sets made outta Arkansas blimish fur crossed with Iowa miffle-cat. I gives ‘em a ten-case note and they hands me back eleven dollars in change. “Ah,” smiles the Magruder gal, “you're joking me, ain’t you?” “Good!” I applauds. “The frill’ll develop yet.” “About when?” grins Hank. “Cut that word out,” I yelps, ‘or never darken my Gothic, English-type door again.’ “I don’t see yet,” breezes in Jim Magruder, at this juncture, “how them contractors ran twenty-seven five into fifty on you.” They. didn’t,” I tells him. “They is a bunch of berries sunk into that sunken garden, and that interior decorator dug the interior decorations outta my roll. But about eight thousand represents about items they stuck onto the shack. Re- member the day, Hank, when you and me ‘got that list of extras?” (Continued on Page 74)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST All eerselen Ste: soedite are special design -ply, high- igh-speed Chrysler Six Features That Give Results Never Before Known The Tubular Front Axle and The Four-Wheel Brakes To the uninitiated, the addition of front wheel brakes to a motor car may appear to be a simple matter. But engineers know otherwise; and Chrysler Six engineers were not satisfied merely to increase braking efficiency at the cost of To them, added brakes meant nothing less than replacing the conventional type of front axle with a type far better able to resist the terrific torsional or twisting strains of front wheel braking. So the Chrysler Six has a tubular front axle of large diameter, because such design gives something else. The much greater strength of the Chrysler Six tubular design is the important point. This type is actually 34 per cent more rigid—it has approximately 400 per cent more strength to resist the up-and-down strains—than an I- beam of the same weight. Its resistance to horizontal or fore-and-aft strains is even more remarkable, being more than five times greater; and its resistance to the twisting strains necessarily imposed by front wheel brakes is 138 per cent higher. This tubular front axle—big and amply strong for its job—is another important bit of testi- mony to the thoroughness of the engineering staff which spent three years in developing the Chrysler Six before a single car was manufactured. The four-wheel brakes—Chrysler-Lockheed hydraulic type—we believe to be the simplest and most efficient in existence today. ‘ They are automaticaliy and permanently All Chrysler Six dealers are in position to extend the convenience of time-payments. the kind of results never given before. equalized. Each individual wheel receives precisely the same braking pressure each time the brakes are applied. These brakes require no lubrication. There is not a single rod or strut to rattle. The net result of Chrysler’s four-wheel brakes is deceleration as rapid and sure and effective as the remarkable acceleration of the 68 horse- power motor. Front axle and brakes are two of the features of the advanced engineering which has made the Chrysler Six a revolutionary car from the viewpoint of mechanical design and of per- formance results. Those who know motor car practice recognize instantly that the Chrysler Six is an extraor- dinary car—that it is a product of engineer- ing genius. Anyone can build a powerful car by building a large gas-eating motor, but the Chrysler gets 68 horse-power and capacity for over 70 miles an hour out of a motor which gives better than 20 miles to the gallon of gasoline. Anyone can build a heavy car that holds the road—but the Chrysler, which can actually be driven in comfort at 60 miles an hour over rutted roads or cobbled streets, is far from being a heavy car. The Chrysler Six brings its owners entire absence of a vibration period at any speed; a crankshaft, whose seven bearings absolutely preclude whip and distortion; a new type of combustion chamber that burns all the gas; a new way of distributing the gas equally to all cylinders; an air-cleaner for the carburetor; an oil-filter which cleanses all the crankcase oil every 25 miles. These are but a few of the many new advances which won the Chrysler Six immediate accep- tance among every class of motor car owners —and which have made it impossible for Chrysler production to keep pace with Chrysler demand. Ask about Chrysler's attractive plan. The Touring, $1395; The Phaeton, $1495; The Roadster, $1625; The Sedan, $1725; The Brougham, $1895; The Imperial, $1995. CHRYSLER MOTOR CORPORATION, Division of Maxwell Motor Corporation All prices f. 0. b. Detroit; tax extra. DETROIT, MICHIGAN MAXWELL-CHRYSLER MOTOR COMPANY OF CANADA, LIMITED, WINDSOR, ONTARIO The( Shr sler Pronounced as though spelled Crysler

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ‘Che neighbors won't recognize the old car MURPHY FINISH ERE it is again—the very same car he drove 4 home so proudly from the showroom — plate- glass finish and all. The skillful hand of the professional painter has coaxed back its original beauty—restored the brilliance of its showroom days—made it once more the peer of boulevard aristocrats. He can thank the Murphy Finish, too. For Murphy priming and surfacing coats went on first followed by Murphy rubbing and finishing var- nishes. A “‘ Murphy Finish” job from first to last, you see, When your car needs refinishing, talk to the painter who specializes in the Murphy Finish. Ask him to show you the Murphy Auto Color Har- mony Chart. With its help and his, you can in- stantly decide on a color scheme for your car that will be artistically correct, and at the same time different from that of any other car in town. E ‘Spaeteai Murphy Varnish Company Newark Chicago San Francisco Montreal N.J Ill. Calif. Canada | (Continued from Page 72) “T wouldn’t even to forget it,” says he. “What about tr “T figured up Spellacy’s guesses when I | got home,” I answers, “and they run | around forty-five hundred, like he ; he | was just thirty-five off. At that, he was a | baby doll compared to that gardener and that decorator.” “T thought,” remarks Ritter, “‘Spellacy said some of them items would run more | and some less. How many run less?” | “They wasn’t Of returns, “that | even walked less. nearest that bobo | come to being right was on a stunt that he | dreamed would cost seventy-five dollars.” “ And,” encourages Jim. “Just a hundred and twenty-two,” I replies. “I made a special trip to con- gratulate Spellacy on his accurate esti- mating, and all he said was, ‘A man can’t | be in this business fifteen years without learning something.’”’ “Hardly,” discovers Lizzie. “Well,” says Hank, “your experience ain’t been no different from everybody else’s, and the way wages and building materials jump around you can’t blame the contractors much for this about stuff. August 30,1924 They is as anxious as you to get the job ee They want their dough, don’t t e “T don’t know about their dough,” I retorts. “They wanted mine, that’s a cinch.” ‘ “Wipe them weeps away,’’ snaps Ritter. “In a year or so you'll be making a pest outta yourselfs telling everybody how cheap you got this place built and talking other cuckoos into hooking theirselves for huts.” “Honey,” says the frau, after the gang beats it, “I hopes we haven’t spent more’n we oughta.” “Don’t worry, sweetie,” I comes back. “We might as well be broke as the way we is. Besides, kid, I’d rather be in the house with you than in a palace with enus and Milo.” They is a knock on the door and I opens it to a stranger. “Can you tell me how far it is to Pros- pect Hills?” he inquires. “A mile and seven-eighths,’’ I answers, prompt. “How do you know it so close?”’ asks ate. “TI barely heard of the place,”’. says I, “but I’d rather lie than pull an about.” THE PERSONABLE MR. DAVIS (Continued from Page 4) of moss. And that sometimes a white chip ' can be run up to a stack of yellows if you | play them close. And that nothing, from a bird to a national convention, is of any | utility unless it has a place to lights Where- | fore, the person who can provide the land- ing point is most important. And Clem did just that. One of the interesting phases of human nature is that nearly every man has a low opinion of his own occupation and a keen desire that his son shall not follow him in it. This is not so observable in business as it is in the professions, but, at that, there are plenty of business men who will admit, privately, that in their opinion their par- ticular line is a rotten subterfuge for useful employment and a poor opportunity for gainful endeavor. Especially is this true in the case of poli- tics. Not many politicians want their sons | to go into politics, and you really cannot blame them, which few do. John James Davis, the father of John William Davis, who is the subject of these | remarks, was by way of being a politician | in his earlier days, and, oddly enough, a delegate-at-large to the Democratic Na- tional Convention held in New York in | 1868, which, as we were so insistently in- formed during the newspaper campaign to get this year’s convention for the metrop- | olis, was the only Democratic convention | held in that imperial and Democratic city — the greatest Democratic city in the country when it isn’t the test Republican city— since the Civil War, until this one that ended recently. That, it may be noted in passing, will be the last one held in the im- perial and Democratic city of New York for some time to come—until there is another Civil War or some such remote contingency. Father's Good Advice However, the coincidence is there. John James Davis was a delegate-at-large to the | New York convention of 1868, and his son, John William Davis, is the nominee of the convention held in 1924. You can roll your own with that. Returning to the thesis advanced a paragraph or two to the rear, John James Davis, being a politician, was thus in politics: He was a member of the state legislature of Virginia in 1861, and West Virginia being sliced off Virginia for political purposes in 1863, went to the West Virginia legislature in 1870. Meantime, as noted, he had been a delegate to New York in 1868, and was a McClellan presidential elector in 1864. ogee y | his political enterprises further, he had himself elected to the Forty-second and Forty-third Con- gresses and served as a representative from March 4, 1871, until March 3, 1875. Then he quit, retired and returned to the practice of the law. John William was two years old at the time, and, although pre- cocious, not far enough advanced to give ieular heed to fatherly admonitions; ut, as he grew in years, we can fancy the elder Davis warning the son about the business. “Johnnie,” we can hear him saying, “whatever you do when you grow up, don’t go into politics. It’s a rotten game. You can take it from me. I’m sick and tired of it and I hope you will never have anything to do with it. You study law with me and we'll have a good ractice, and you'll be a respectable mem- r of the community instead of one of these darned politicians. Remember what I tell you, now, and don’t have anything to do with it.” With these fatherly precepts carefully impressed on him, and with that scrupulous attention to such parental adjurations that is most often noted in such cases, we find the younger Davis, at the age of twenty- six, elected to the West Virginia House of Delegates; we find him a candidate for Democratic national elector-at-large at twenty-seven; we find him a delegate to the Democratic National Convention in 1904, at the age of thirty-one; and we find him elected to Congress in 1911, when he was thirty-seven; all of which goes to show that there probably is something in this heredity business after all. The Intercepted Telegram However, in all other respects young John was a dutiful lad. He had gone to school, and college, and had studied law, and entered practice in Clarksburg, which was his home town. He was doing well in the law, and his father had great hopes of him, if only that passion for politics could be eliminated from his system. Along in the summer of 1911 the Democrats of the First West Virginia District came to Wheeling to hold their convention and select a candidate for Congress, and they all said that John W. Davis was the man they wanted to nominate. John James, sitting back in Clarksburg, heard this dis- tressing news, and he rose up to make his final effort to get that son of his out of politics and keep him out. He went to the Clarksburg telegraph office and burned up the wires between there and Wheeling with two m to his son John. “Don’t do it,” he wired. “Don’t accept that congressional nomination in any cir- cumstances. You are getting along fine in the law and can make a name for yourself, and a fortune. Why do you want to get mixed up in this political game? Quit it and come on home. I command you, beg you, implore you, ask you to take my advice. Quit now before it is too late. Come home and all will be forgiven. You are a respectable member of the community now, but think what you will be if you get elected: to Congress. Don’t do it. Your loving father, John J. Davis.” netentiony, thus spoke the paternal Davis across the wires from Clarksburg to Wheeling, thus he ordered and implored. And who can say what the reactions of the younger Davis would have been had he received the wires? Ah, who can say? No- body; for he didn’t get them. They came to a hotel in Wheeling where some ardent Davis men were gathered, and one of these, a friend of John W’s, took the telegrams and put them in his pocket. After the deed was done, and the nomination made, (Continued on Page 76)

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76 (Continued from Page 74) he strolled around to the nominee and said, “By the way, John, here are a couple of telegrams that came for you when the con- vention was in session. I meant to hand them to you before, but I forgot all about them. Hope it’s nothing important.” The importance of the telegrams was mitigated, ne doubt, by the fact that Davis was elected to Congress, and was so suc- cessful and abie there in his first term that he was sent back again in the election of 1912, and began his second term on March 4, 1913, when President Wilson went into office. On August thirtieth of that year President Wilson asked Davis to become solicitor-general, and he accepted and re- signed from Congress. He served for five years as solicitor-general. Toward the end of the fifth year of his service he was sent abroad at the head of a commission which was to confer at Bern, Switzerland, with a similar German commission over the ques- tion of the exchange of prisoners of war and concerning the more humane treatment of such prisoners while in confinement. His work had hardly begun when Walter H. Page. our Ambassador to England, died. President Wilson cabled Davis and offered him the ambaszadorship to England. Davis accepted, and came back at once to receive his instructions. He went to London as Ambassador on the same ship that took President Wilson to Paris on his mission as peacemaker, and remained in office until the spring of 1921, when he resigned and came back to New York to practice law. In March, 1920, the Democratic State Committee of West Vir- ginia proposed Mr. Davis as a candidate for the presidential nomination, and cabled him at London to that effect. His reply was: “When a nomination for that office represents the deliberate wish of one’s party it constitutes a call to duty that no man could or should refuse. In all sincerity, however, let me say that I do not seek the nomination and that 1 cherish no higher ambition than to perform to the best of my ability the duties of my present posi- tion so long as [ shall continue in it.” Honored in England The West Virginia Democrats decoded that message as “ Yes,"" and they made a campaign for Davis. He was formally placed in nomination at San Francisco, re- ceived twenty-eight votes on the first bal- lot and had fifty-two on the forty-fourth ballot, which culminated in the nomination of Cox. He wes a success in England, The Brit- ish liked him. He leased a fine mansion in Chesham Place, Belgravia, and was active socially as well as industrious ambassa- dorially. He was meade a bencher of the Middle Temple, and senior warden THE SATURDAY America from England, As he told it him- self in an interview published last May: “IT was in Congress three years and solicitor- general for five years. I followed this with two years and a half as Ambassador to Eng- land and at the end of that time I was broke. I used up every cent of my capital while in the government service. I got into the law business again, and I am not at all anxious to get out of it.” When the Impossible Happened He got into the law business again, as he modestly put it. He got back into the legal harness as attorney for J. P. Morgan & Co., the New York Telephone Company, the New York Coffee and Sugar Exchange, the Associated Press, the United States Rubber Company, and with a few other little legal kickshaws and knickknacks like those, including the Erie Railroad and the Guaranty Trust Company. Hence, when the Clarksburg boys, led by Clem Shaver, again proposed Davis for President this year there was loud clamor in some por- tions of the country that this very law business made Davis ineligible for the office in a political way; that his corporation and Wall Street connections were insuperable. William Jennings Bryan came tearing down the highway from the Cleveland conven- tion, which he was reporting for the news- papers, stopping here and there on the way to shout that Davis would never, never do, that no such representative of the capi- talistic classes could possibly be nominated, should be nominated or would be nomi- nated by the Democrats in convention as- sembled. As it seems, the Democrats did not take William Jennings very seriously, for they not only nominated this precise represent- ative of the capitalistic classes but they hitched up with him in the presidential team William Jennings’ brother Charles, thereby stopping William Jennings to a degree that may be set down as absolute and permanent acquiescence. Mr. Bryan hasn’t said a word about the capitalistic classes, the Wall Street demon, or the money devil since half past two o’clock of the morning of July tenth. Referring to this argument against him as a candidate, which was vigorously and viciously used when Davis began to look like a solution of the Democratic conven- tion problem, Davis himself said, in an interview, referring to his clients: “I am proud of them, They are big institutions and so long as they ask for my services for honest work I am pleased to work for them, Big business has made this country what it is. We want big business. But it must be honest.” And again, when urged, during the course of the preconvention campaign, to EVENING POST give up his corporation practice and return to the bucolic and noncorporate shades of Clarksburg, where he would establish him- self as unsullied by this taint of large affairs, he said: ‘‘I conceive it to be the duty of the lawyer, just as it is the duty of the priest or surgeon, to serve those who call upon him, unless, indeed, there is some insuperable obstacle in the way. No one in all my list of clients has ever controlled or fancied he could control my personal or political conscience. I am vain enough to think no one ever will.” Well, that was that, and though these same corporation connections may have held back some support during the first hundred ballots of the convention—the first hundred ballots always being the hardest—they were entirely forgotten, in public, when the final push came that sent Davis over and made him the nominee. Not entirely forgotten in private, it is just possible, owing to that omnipresent thought in the mind of politicians that lingers on prospective campaign contri- butions. But in public, yes. Down there on that convention floor, where the lost McAdoo and the lost Smith battalions stood with wilted collars, wilted tempers and a desire to get out of there that amounted to an obsession, yes. Forgotten and forgiven, and viewed with a considerable hope in cer- tain quarters. Entirely adaptable and with that true promptness that marks your real candidate for President, Mr. Davis’ first act, after he had recovered from the astonishment he had spent sixteen long and weary days poping would astonish him, was to resign from his law firm and thus enter the campaign contaminated only in a retro- active sense. If he isn’t elected probably he can get some of his jobs back. A Strict Constitutionalist He is a strict Constitutionalist, and looks with great horror on all progressive plans to revise the organic law, and especially is he shocked with these radical notions of tampering with the United States Supreme Court. Reconstr, when referring to the La Follette plan to give Congress the power to override the decisions of the Supreme Court, and to that other radical proposal that a two-thirds majority shall be required in the court to enforce its decision, instead of the present simple majority of one, he said: ‘These proposed amendments can have no other purpose than an entire change in our Constitutional system, for in attempting to destroy or limit the power of the Supreme Court to adjudicate upon the constitutionality of legislation we are giv- ing up at. one stroke not merely our belief in the separation of judicial and legislative August 30,1924 powers but our reliance upon the Consti- tution as the supreme law of the land. . . . When all such proposals are reduced to their simplest terms they stand forth naked and undisguised as an attack on our theory of government under a written consti- tution.” However, after the nomination had been achieved, and Mr. Davis had an oppor- tunity to establish himself nationally, he did it in these words: “There can be no compromise with reaction. Liberal princi- ples must and will prevail. This is the mandate of the hour, and I shall obey it.’’ The Selection of Brother Charley There was ground for suspicion that William Gibbs McAdoo may have had complaint that the nominee was stealing his stuff, but no such complaint was made. Rather, the statement was taken at its face value, because the past record of Davis shows that he almost always has meant what he said. Of course that adjuration of his father’s to keep away from these pesky politics did not take, and Mr. Davis is considerable of a politician. Witness his selection of Charles W. Bryan, skullcap and all, for his running mate. Bryan was not the man favored by many of the big bosses of that convention, and the con- vention itself indubitably favored Senator Walsh, of Montana, and would have nominated him had not the senator effec- tively put a stop to that enterprise by refusing to recognize the validity of the vast acclamation for him immediately after the nomination of Davis and adjourning the convention for a period of reflection, which interval the senator utilized in the preparation and presentation of a formal refusal to run. Many of the bosses thought that Gover- nor Silzer, of New Jersey, was fittingest to be the Davis consort, and this with no prejudice to Bryan, either, but Davis settled it himself. “I want Bryan,” he said simply, but not without finality, and he got Bryan. The more that simple state- ment is studied the better practical politics it will appear to be. Likewise, as this campaign progresses, it will be discovered in other and manifold ways, and especially in the Davis speech of acceptance, that so far from not having anything to do with politics, as the paternal Davis besought him, he has had a heap to do with politics, and has learned a lot of it one way and another. When Uncle Joe Cannon was a candidate for President a space back yon- der, I asked him one day what he thought of his chances. ‘Well,’ he said, “‘the con- vention can go further and do worse than nominate me, and it probably will.” Paraphrasing a bit: This convention could not have gone much further without reaching the point of total exhaustion, of the Grand Lodge of Free Masons of England, which was a unique honor, never before con- ferred on a for- eigner, The universi- ties of Glasgow and Birmingham gave him honorary degrees of LL.D, and, when he left, the London Times said that all the English loved him “because his head is right, his heart is right and because in this world over- ful! of folly and un- charity he stands out a consistent, witty, charming pleader for sanity and good will among men.” Ail this official experience, espe- cially that of solicitor - general, established nation- ally the fact that was well known in West Virginia namely, that Davis is a good lawyer; indeed. that he isa great lawyer. And but it might have done a good deal worse. Indeed, with the material at hand, it could not have done better. As we say in sporting circles, John W. Davis undoubtedly was the class of that coterie of can- didates. His record shows him to be a great lawyer. His record shows him to be an efficient and experi- enced public ser- vant. He is an effective orator, a cultivated and courteous gentle- man, a_ well-born American, and as the London barber put it, most per- sonable. If John W. Davis gets the part he will ook it. That is a feature not to be despised, because his campaign will not change his ap- pearance any, and personal impres- sions go a long way with our esteemed he was broke when he got back to COPYRIGHT BY UNDERWOOD & UNDERWOOD, N.Y & “Mattapan,” Glen Cove, Locust Valley, Long Istand, the New York Home of Hon. Joha W. Davis American prole- tariat.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 50,1924 )© you sat on your doorstep today, August jot, 1924, and watched a procession of cows go by at the rate of one per minute. Do you realize that you would have to sit every day watching from sun- -up to sun-down, until July ist, 1928— nearly four years later—to see one million cows pass you? Such a procession of cows, one million in number, would stretch over a distance of 1600 miles—a path reaching from New York to Oklahoma City or trom Boston to New Orleans. Of course, we all understand such an exhibition is physi- cally impossible, yet, if such a parade of cows could be arranged, you would personally vet an idea of what it means to own a million cows. Furthermore, you would then admire the magnificent herd of one million cows, many of them Blue Ribbon Prize- winners, owned entirely by the 70,000 farmer members of the Dairymen’s League Co-operative Association, Inc. ND the Association itse/f would impress you just as much as this immense herd of cows—for it is the largest farmer milk producing organization in the world—the organization which itself produces and sells direct to you its famous DAIRYLEA EVAPO- RATED MILK. Another interesting fact is that Dairymen’s League does an an- nual business of nearly $90,000,000.00 and because this immense business is owned and operated by the farmers themselves, you are guaranteed that your DAIRYLEA will remain always the purest and best Evaporated Milk that modern methods and science can produce. These brief facts give you an idea of the organization behind your DAIRYLEA EVAPORATED MILK. But probably you are more interested in the milk itself — Therefore, on the opposite page are facts which cannot fail to convince the intelligent mothers and housewives of America. Ask your Grocer

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ee a. 1eéV7S Who gn O a ” * e j arin ee Or * 4 you and the thousands of thinking housewives who are now buying and using DAIRYLEA EVAPORATED MILK unquestionably have the greatest confi- dence in this wonderful farmer organization which pro- i duces your evaporated milk, it is the wish of the 70,000 members of the League to impress upon every woman the reasons for their personal guarantee of the purity and quality of every can of DAIRYLEA EVAPORATED MILK. } OR the protection and safety of Public Health, the U. 8. Government has set 4 very high milk standards. But the Dairy- A men’s League Co-operative Association, in ij order to induce the public to consume more milk, have gone even above these standards in producing DAIRYLEA, i That is the reason why DAIRYLEA is richer and creamier than even the high Government Standards require, and why it contains more nutritious milk fats and solids. O when you buy DAIRYLEA, you know you are buying direct from the farmers who produce it and that each can has their guarantee of the highest quality and wholesomeness of pure milk, with only water removed. You also know that your DAIRYLEA will always remain these seventy thousand farmers’ own product, from cows they themselves own. \ for Dairylea and | Co. NC: / tien, OPrRaTive AssociATION.\,,, usd FFICES Unica, ny. “SALES Orrices ae eague

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y é |

down to it, but bookkeeping millions or credit based on prestige is easier to pledge than cash or investment holdings. But the price declined still further and things looked pretty black, so I mustered courage and telephoned to him. I tried again and again, but somebody on the other end always said Mr. Ross was out or at some conference or at some directors’ meeting and could not be reached. That did not satisfy me, and at last, with much trepidation, I went uptown. I thought we stood a good chance of losing our profitable star customer. No matter how tactfully I asked him for more margin, he was going to be peeved. On the other hand, if we were to survive the vicissitudes of our business we must conduct that busi- ness on sound principles. The soundest thing I knew was to get more margin from I got to his office. His secretary was one of those unusual women that you occasion- ally find in big capitalists’ offices. She was not as well known to the reporters and the financial writers as Mr. H. H. Rogers’ ex- traordinary secretary, but Ross’ was the kind that knew her job to the dot, said job consisting of keeping everybody from get- ting within money-asking distance of her harassed boss. I bowed to her politely and said, ‘‘My name is Wing. I am from Bronson & Barnes. I wish to see Mr. Ross.” She looked at me and I instantly per- ceived that all the wisdom of all the ages, somewhat congealed after three thousand years of cold storage, was in the lady’s eyes. She had heard every word, but she asked me with the detached air of a person who is stone-deaf but resigned to do without music: ‘* You what?” “‘I wish to see Mr. Ross,”’ I answered as distinctly as I could, and prepared to walk past the gate of the railing. “I um sorry,” she said, in utterly impeni- tent icicles; and turned wearily to her work, which consisted of reading typewritten papers placed there for the purpose of end- ing annoyances by me and my like. I noticed that the door into the inner office was open. I therefore raised my voice and said, ‘‘ Will you please go in there and tell Mr. Ross that Mr. Wing, of Bronson & Barnes, is here on important business?” She read on for at least two exasperating minutes before she raised her head. She was not adamant; that was too mushy. She simply stated a natural law for my benefit: ‘I’m sorry!” “Why are you sorry?” I asked. “Because you wish to see him.” She nodded as if to herself. Then she had an attack of common humanity. It made her explain, almost kindly: ‘‘Nobody can see him.” ““Nobody?” “Nobody!” ““Why not?’’ I persisted. And she politely vouchsafed, ‘‘He can’t see anybody.” “ What’s the trouble; cataract?” Lasked. “No. Absence!” she answered without the slightest trace of irritation. Ross and His Dare I thought it had gone far enough. So I told her, ‘‘ He’s got to see me. I’ve tried to reach him by telephone and couldn’t. T.rat’s why I came myself.” “I’m sorry,” shé sighed. “He will be much sorrier if he doesn’t see me,” I assured her. “I am sor ——” “Look here,” I interrupted in a loud voice, “I am going to see Mr. Ross, no matter what you say. He is in that office and he will have to come out when he gets hungry. I can fast as long as he can, so I am going to sit down here until I say my little speech to him. I am peepee’ to fight it out on this line if it takes all summer.” I looked about for a chair and saw a messenger-call box. So I went up to it and rang for a boy. Then I said, really speak- ing to the open door of the private office, “T’ve just rung for a messenger boy. When he comes I’ll send for enough food and drin}. to last me a week. In the meantime I’ll sit down and wait for Mr. Ross.” I drew a chair nearer to the gate of the rail- ing and sat down with my back partly turned to her, as ——— waiting for the messenger boy. I could feel her eyes on me. That is the truth. THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 17) My scheme worked, for a man’s voice said, angrily, ‘‘What do you want?” I turned. Mr. Ross stood in the doorway. “IT want fifty thousand dollars more margin on your account.” “You don’t need it.” “We do. It’s our rule. You know it,” I said politely. “Well, you can’t have it,”’ he said. “Mr. Ross, we don’t wish to add to your annoyances, but we’ve simply got to have additional margin from you.” I thought I might as well stand by my guns, once I had n firing. He waved me away with his hand as though I were an affectionate child with a sticky lollipop and said impatiently, “I am too busy just now. I can’t do anything about it.” “Mr. Ross, we'd like very much to carry your account, but it isn’t in satisfactory shape.” “T told you I couldn’t do anything about it just now. I am very busy with other matters.” And he turned to go back to his private office, “Mr. Ross,”’ I said to our star customer, “unless we have additional collateral in securities or cash we'll have to liquidate the account.” “You don’t dare do that!”’ he shouted. “Don’t we? Just watch us!” I said and started away. In order to make sure he understood, I added, ‘‘ You will have ample time in which to protect your position. If you do not choose to do so we shall sell your account!”’ He Knew He Was Wrong I wert back to the office. I figured it meant the loss of a profitable customer, but I must first of all protect the firm, in justice to all our other customers. I must stick to our rule about margins. I dictated a let- ter—the usual form—notifying Ross that unless additional margin in the shape of securities or cash was deposited in his ac- count by 10:30 a.m. on Thursday—this was on Tuesday—the stock we were carrying would be sold for Mr. Ross’ account and risk on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange. We did not hear a word from him, and so on Thursday Mr. Williamson sold out Ross’ New Hampshire Traction. The stock broke wide open. We did not lose a penny, but the price was down forty points at the close le Nanna Others had followed where we ed. Friday morning Ross called at our office. I thought he had come to raise Cain and threaten lawsuits, and all that. But what he did was to apologize for the way he had spoken to me in his office. He said I had asked him for more margin in a nice way and when he did not respond we sold him out, after giving him fair notice and ample time. He had no complaint to make. It so happened that Ross was one of the chief victims of that famous Silent Panic. He was too greatly overextended to save himself, notwithstanding his vast resources and his prestige. His complete collapse later became one of the historic crashes of the Street, and his name, through the news- papers, became rather unfavorably known throughout the entire country. His was the first big account of our New York office and that was how I got it and how I lost it. My second star cistomer I secured through a friend. My first summer in New York I spent on the Jersey coast. I commuted every day. There were two reasons why I found the particular resort where I stayed an ideal place tennis and swimming. I was very fond of both, and there the bathing was fine and the courts were very pee At one of the hotels I met a chap named Charley Carney, who played a pretty good game. I got into the habit of playing with him on Saturday afternoons. He was Pete Carney’s brother, and just then Pete was making front-page history in Wall Street. Peter Carney was a metallurgist who developed a process for treating certain zine ores which had hitherto proved re- fractory. He was wise enough first to get for a song options on a lot of mines that nobody had been able to work profitably by reason of the smelting difficulties. If Pete Carney had been nothing but a metallurgist he would have contented him- self with selling the process to the Metal Trust capitalists. But he had both vision

EVENING POST

THE MAKING OF A STOCKBROKER and valor, He saw more money and more fun fighting the trust than selling his process. And so he fought the trust in the courts and in the wey ge By a stroke of enius, instead o! hting an impersonal y like the Consolidation Zine, he brought his suits against individual members, every one of whom was an execrated monopolist and as such front-page news. One result thereof was millions of dollars of publicity that cost him nothing; and that in turn resulted in securing for him a large follow- ing without his having to lift a finger to create it. There were thousands of men who thought that ae making money was fine, making it out of those monopolis- tic fiends was heaven. Those men were ready to follow Pete to the death—the death of the monopolists, understood. He was successful in his litigation. After he won out and the highest tribunal in the land sustained him, he received an offer from the trust, and he accepted it. But before he soid out his own holdings he in- sisted on the trust buying out all his fellow stockholders. That strengthened his hold on his followers. After it was all over he found himself with several millions in cash, enormous prestige and plenty of time to play high finance in. f course he had no trouble in finding good brokers. They all offered their serv- ices, and he soon had big trading accounts with a half dozen commission houses. I did not make Charley Carney’s acquaintance with Pete’s business in view, but after I got to know him pretty well I naturally ound by of bringing to his notice the fact that I was a broker and that my firm prided itself on giving good service. Pete Carney, however, was so well provided with good brokers that my talks with his ga did not lead to any business from im. Boston, as you know, always has been partial to mining stocks. One day I heard some gossip about Pete vga intention | to invest some of his spare millions in Tri- Bullion common, which was then a tradin favorite in Boston. The moment I hear that I went over to Charley Carney’s office and told him that Boston was our home town and that when it came to a matter of execution on the Boston Stock Exchange, and the like, nobody could touch Bronson & Barnes. This could be easily proved or disproved by a trial. Therefore, if it was true that Pete was nibbling at Tri-Bullicn, I'd like to do some of his business. The Rise and Fall of Carney This was the first time I had asked Char- ley Carney to put me in touch with Pete. He was very nice about it and took me to Pete's office and introduced me. When I came out of the office I had a check in my pocket and Pete Carney was a valued customer. We did a lot of business for him in Boston and later in New York, both on the curb and on the Stock Exchange. He was the first big customer I got all by my- self and I was greatly encouraged and pleased. Pete Carney’s Wall Street career was sensational in the extreme, but it came to an end at the same time that Ross’ did, and for the same reason. Carney became over- extended. He bought a seat for Charley, who thereupon founded the Stock Exchange firm of Charles G. Carney &; Co. When the Silent Panic came Pete was in no position to weather it. He had gone into all sorts of ventures, which impaired his capital. When prices of both stocks and com- modities began to decline zine did not def the general trend. It was no time for bull pools to dream of operating on the long side, but unfortunately bull pools can’t hibernate during the bad weather. Unless prices can be kept up—and buying is the only thing that will do that—margins be- come impaired. Carney could not keep up the price of his Tri-Builion. As prices broke, the banks called for more collateral on their loans and, when it wasn’t forth- coming, sold them out. It was futile for Pete Carney to try to hold up prices, with hundreds of minor holders all over the coun- try liquidating or trying to. We were carrying quite a block of Tri- Bullion for Carney. Remembering my ex- rience a few days previously with Ross, called on Pete. I did not consult anyone, but acted on my own, &1 YP ign E 790 »: £99"5 Quai a em V9 a tee 9 Quan 0) Q.79 Pe ~~ | ~ ‘ > 9

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aA 2 are eink tte Ah OAT AD OOTY ELS TS TIT TT DYANSHINE at A touch or two of the dauber and scuffs are neatly concealed. Shoes that are old are made to lwk new again by a single application of Dyanshine. 50 Shines~50 Cents BARTON'S DYANSHINE TRADE Many rvv4 ys. PAF OFF DOUBLE SERVICE SHOE POLISH Send for Dyanshine’s Famous Dry onstrator. THE SATURDAY | “Pete,” I said, “weneed more margin on | that Tri-Bullion we are carrying for you.” “Good heavens, Jack,” he cried, “this is no time to talk that way.” “I’msorry, Pete, but I’ve got to have it.” “You know the break in all the metals we produce has made the banks ask al] my | companies for more collateral. They have | about everything I own in this world at this | moment and I am only hoping they won’t | eall for more. Don’t ask for margins at this | time. I haven’t any to give you.” And he | shook his head dolefully. I saw on his desk a big block of stock | certificates, | “What stock is this?” I asked. “Tri-Bullion common.” “T’ll accept this as collateral,” I said. | But he jumped to his feet and shouted, “No! No! They are pledged!” } “Not these,” I said, and I grabbed the ot. “Hey! Come back here!” “If I can’t have these I'll have to sell you out,” I told him. “This lot will help | me to hold the block we are carrying for you.” | And as Carney had nothing to say I walked away, carrying the certificates with me. The market became still weaker. Every- | thing went down and it looked as if the | decline had only just begun. Taking time | by the forelock I wrote a letter to Carney, | similar to the notice I had sent to Ross, warning him that I would sell him out if he didn’t send me more margin. He answered | that he couldn’t send me any more, but hoped I would carry the stock for him, even if the margins were temporarily impaired. A Stitch in Time I could not see my way clear to doing so, | and I sold the stock. It was a good thing. | I got a much better price than I could have | done had I waited three days longer. | Charles G. Carney & Co. failed later on and Pete followed suit, and then we dis- | covered how dangerous his speculative foes gpaee had been all ane The trust he | had so often defeated in his legal battles | had nothing to do with his collapse. He | brought it on himself. In selling out the | stock as we did we were not actuated by a selfish desire to avoid a loss to ourselves. Neither did we wish to lose a profitable customer. We did what we thought was | the right thing to do. He himself found no fault with us when he saw how things | turned out. He told me he wished other | houses had been as strict in the matter of margin as we had been. Of course this final chapter of Pete Carney’s career was written a couple of years after he became our customer. I ave referred to his ending here to show you that we have the same rule for bi customers as for little. Adherence to soun business principles is not ruthlessness. Brokers sometimes have to act as surgeons. Mistaken kindness may be the worst thing in the world for everybody. The next big account I obtained we still | have. I had met a young man by the | name of Freund, and we saw enough of | each other to become rather friendly. We | talked over our respective businesses and I learned that Freund was a nephew of Lawrence Aaronson, the metal exporter who had made millions pena | mining companies or tiding them over dull periods. In return for his help they made him the | exclusive sellin ent of their entire out- | put. That way he had grown to control an | enormous tonnage and he was a power in | the metal markets of the world. Mr. | Aaronson, who was one of the squarest of | men as well as a merchant of rare sagacity and vision, had willy-nilly become in- terested in the actual ownership of mines after having kept out of it for years and ears. Of course, when he finally did so, he | became interested in the market for mining shares. Boston, as I have told you before, was a great market for that class of | securities and Mr. Aaronson traded heavily there, chiefly through Robert L. Sampson | & Co,, a New York house that had a branch in Boston. I asked Freund to introduce me to his uncle, and he an gue enough to do so. I took a liking to Mr. Aaronson from the first, as most people did. He kindly asked me what he could do for me and I kindly | told him all about our firm and our facilities in both Boston and New York. He was | very nice and promised to give me some business; and, sure enough, a day or two later we got some nice orders to execute for EVENING POST him on the Boston Exchange. After these he sent us more. We must have given him good service, for the business kept up. Or else he must have wished to keep people guessing and used new brokers. In either case, we did quite a little for him and you may imagine how happy I was. I was at last bringing commissions into the office as had hoped. I had gotten a lot of small accounts, customers who traded in hun- dred-share lots. The star customers, buy- ing and selling five and ten thousand shares at a clip, were extremely pleasing. One day Mr. Aaronson sent for me and I went to his office. He told me he liked our way of doing business and that he had decided to give us more. He had just brought out the Louisville Lead Company. Instead of fetting up an underwriting syndicate, Mr. Aaronson, who was enor- — rich, brought out the company himself, acting as his own financier. It was his first venture in that field. He knew the company was good because he had been selling the mines’ product from the first shipment and he knew the business thoroughly—the mining and smelting as well as the marketing end of it. ‘ The stock was selling on the curb at a few dollars a share. He could have brought it out at a higher price because it would have been no job at all to capitalize the prestige of a lifetime of success; but he explained to me, diffidently, that he wanted the public-—-those people who believed in him and in his reputation for integrity and business sense—to make money out of that faith. That was why he proposed to make the stock go up in a legitimate = is, by reason of its earnings. e also intended that there always should be a free market in the stock, even though he had to buy back every share he had sold. The price was around ten dollars a share. His proposition was for us to buy it from him at private sale for nine dollars. Then we were to sell it to our customers at nine dollars and fifty cents, even while the stock was selling in the open market at ten dollars. When the stock went up, as it would because the earnings and the pros- pects justified it, our customers would make money, and that would make them believe in Louisville Lead, and that would strengthen their faith in Lawrence Aaron- son. Mr. Aaronson took pains to give me all the facts I needed—trade statistics, ton- nage, production costs, reserves, and so on; and I told him I would put his proposition up to my partners. I returned to my office and did so. Mr. Williamson and I discussed the matter and we talked to Boston, and the firm decided to go into it, after a careful study. We all believed in Mr. Aaronson personally; but that did not perm us from taking great pains to check up on his statements. The Wisdom of Profit Sharing Louisville Lead was a good speculation. We bought ten thousand shares at 9 and placed them, as agreed, among our cus- tomers at 914. We told our customers what they were buying and how the deal had come about. The market was then 10. Mr. Aaronson put up the price to 10% by his enter sam to buy it at that figure, and a few of our customers took their gross, but the majority of them held on. They were convinced that they had a pretty good thing and decided to stay with it. Trade conditions improved, as Aaronson had pre- dicted, and the company’s tonnage in- creased, and as the profits rose, so did the price. We bought six or eight blocks, each of ten thousand shares, of Louisville Lead on a steadily rising market and the old ntleman not only broadened his market ut i a staunch following that stuck to him in su uent ventures. Eventually Louisville Lead went to thirty- five dollars a share. It has not skipped a dividend to this day. Our customers did very well. Mr. Aaronson found both pleas- ure and profit in his new method of pro- ee Perhaps he made a slightly smaller cash rofit for himself by sharing it with the pub- ic, but he got much more satisfaction out of his deal that way. I should like to call your attention to the wisdom of profit sharing. The largest in- come in the world derived by an individual from a business managed by himself is that received by an automobile manu- facturer who has consistently reduced his price. The _— that made possible quantity production has been allowed to August 30,1924 benefit by the economies which its pur- chases helped to bring about. And I will say to your face that the greatest value given in the entire world for a nickel, five cents, is a periodical so well known that it does not have to be mentioned by name in your modest columns. It always has been profitable for a manufacturer to take the public into partnership. Profit-sharing partners are very apt to be permanent patrons. Our success with Aaronson turned our minds to other big traders in mining stocks. The Heinsheimer group were leaders in this respect. Their chief broker in New York was Mr. Edward Marcus, one of the ablest, clearest-visioned men I have ever met, as well as a delightful chap personally. Mr. Williamson knew him on the floor and I did not rest until we had convinced Marcus that we had exceptional facilities for doing the kind of business he sometimes had need to do in Boston. The result was that we got a lot of orders from Marcus in which we split commissions as usual—that is, we got six dollars and twenty-five cents per hundred, or one-half the regular twelve dollars and fifty cents which was the commission in those days. All wire houses do business on that basis. We execute orders for out-of-town houses that are members of the New York Stock Exchange for one-half the regular com- mission. The reason why the New York Stock Exchange originally made the com- mission one-eighth of one per cent, or twelve dollars and fifty cents per hundred shares, was simply that the eighth was the fluctuation. Prices changed by eighths. Making the commission the same as the minimum fluctuation prevented splitting the commission. Of course the commis- sions today are different. They may be changed again by the time this appears in print, but at present they are on a sliding scale, ranging from three to twenty dollars per hundred shares, depending upon the price of the stocks. Millions Made in Liberty Bonds We did enough business in mining stocks for the Heinsheimers through Marcus to make a very good showing. Here I shall digress because giving you the schedule of commission rates b on the prices of stocks made me think of what a very successful American banker told me one day. He said the big money in specu- lation had been made in high-grade securi- ties and not in low-priced stocks. For one man who made one hundred thousand dollars in country real estate there were hundreds who made millions dealing in Fifth Avenue properties. E. H. Harriman buying Union Pacific and George F. Baker buying Reading did mighty well. Then the banker went on to tell how right after the war a small froup of men in New York made ten million dollars out of a specu- lative deal. The purchases were made on margin, and the profit, in addition to being large, was both merited and inevitable. he men to whom he referred bought one hundred million dollars of Liberty three and half per cent bonds. To do this they borrowed from the Federal Reserve Bank ninety per cent of the value of the bonds, which had gone down over ten per cent since their issue. The speculation really consisted of betting on the credit and commercial soundness of the United States Government, on the brains and honesty of Uncle Sam. Panic conditions prevailed at the time and it took courage to buy one hundred million dollars’ worth of any bonds. Today when things are different it séems the most natural thing in the world to say that betting on the United States is always a safe proposition. But these bonds wouldn’t have gone down to below 90 if every American had bet that way. Still, there were some patriots who had enough common sense to put their money into the best investment in the world. The little group of New York men went about their business sanely. They took all the offerings around 90 until they had bought over one hundred millions par value. They argued that if buying these United States Government tax-exempt bonds at 90 or less did not make money for them it would be because the United States and the inhabitants thereof would dis- appear from the face of the earth, in which event everything would go to utter smash and no property would be worth a tinker’s dam. If such a thing came to pass they would be no worse off for having the bonds (Continued on Page 85)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Not stupid—handicapped AILED again! His parents were mortified and appear to be stupid, who fail in their school work, b worried at his frequent failures in his examina- because they need spectacles? Their constant effort ' tions. He seemed bright enough. He was not a shirk. to see properly wastes an excessive amount of their What could they do? nerve energy and will handicap them in later life. 4 / They had his eyes examined—fortunately, for the A scientific eve examination is the only wien to examination disclosed a form of defective vision assure yourself that your child’s eves are normal. | easily corrected by glasses. On the very next school And the wearing of spectacles to correct defective test the work of this apparently backward boy vision in early years may make it unnecessary for showed such progress that he was promoted with — them to be worn in later years. high honors.* : . é But the responsibility is yours. Defective eyes will | : ; ) ' hink how glasses changed this boy’s life! retard any child’s progress in school. And a scientific He was given his chance before it was too lates But eye examination is the only way to be sure that eyes } what of hundreds of thousands of other children who are normal. Have your child's eyes examined now, * Weekly Bulletin of the ‘Department of Health, City of New York, June 25th, 19 American Optical Company Southbridge Mass USA ! for Better Eyesight _ >. (| WELLSWORTH fy PRODUCTS __ See a ee © 1924. 4.0. Ce.

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, f ——- i (Continued from Page 82) If, on the other hand, things improved and Americans recovered their poise and their ability to spot bargains, the buyers of Liberty 3 )4’s at less than 90 stood to make big money. These men were multimillionaires and they had to pay the highest-bracket sur- taxes. By buying tax-exempt Liberty 3}4’s they did not have to pay any income tax on the interest they received from their hundred and odd millions. In addition to this, they deducted from their taxable income the interest they paid to the Fed- eral Reserve Bank on the eighty-odd mil- lions of dollars they borrowed to buy the bonds with. The law provided for pre- cisely such cases, the intention having been to encourage purchases of the bonds. The heavy buying by this little group of men helped everybody. It steadied the price. All holders of Liberty 3'’s benefited, and Uncle Sam was spared the humiliation of a further decline, which would have been an insult to his credit. When the price went up, the syndicate sold enough bonds to pay for the bonds they kept for permanent investment. The total profits were in excess of ten million dollars. If a man is bent on speculating he ought to buy the best. Don’t buy cats and dogs. Treat your own pocket as considerately as a wise man treats his stomach. Don’t put inferior securities in your strong box any more than you would deliberately put ptomaines into your bread basket. I remember how anxious I was, as a beginner, to make a record. I thought I had to get results and I argued that any kind of business, so long as it was honest, was good business to get. But after an experience of twenty-odd years in the stock-brokerage business I find that de- veloping any kind of business resembles in its essentials the building of your home. When you have your home in mind you know you are not building a house to sell at a profit to a careless millionaire. You are constructing a place for yourself to live in. You are going to spend years and years in it. Therefore you strive after permanence and comfort rather than easy vendibility. In your business, permanence will depend upon yourself, and comfort upon the character of your customers. Improving His Game We have always kept these principles before us. I hate to dwell so much on our virtues, but really we are prouder of our relations with our customers than we are of our capital or the size of our offices. I have at times refused business that would have increased our profits, simply because the customer wasn’t the kind we enjoyed doing business with—perfectly legitimate business, understood—or because the na- ture of the business was not to our taste. I need not say that this is the common experience of all reputable brokerage firms in this country, though the public deems them commission-hungry always. I once got an order to sell seven hundred and fifty thousand shares of stock. It came to our firm through one of our friends who had been appointed receiver of a great cor- poration. He sought us of his own accord because he had known us personally for years. And after we disposed of that block—it took us several months to do it we sold for him eighty thousand shares of another stock, as well as several million dollars of bonds. The other day one of our-customers went to Europe. He left with us five million dollars of negotiable notes made out in the name of the firm and an order to buy certain securities at certain prices. His only security was our reputation. We have not yet executed his order. You remember the late J. P. Morgan’s remark: ‘“‘I’d lend a man more money on his name than on his collateral.” Going back to my early days in Wall Street, I recall that after we got the big customers like Ross and Carney, I ran up against a scarcity of the minor variety. I went out every day, calling on my friends and on their friends, picking up a new account here and there, but not increasing as fast as in my youthful eagerness desired. I don’t suppose I should have been satisfied with my progress, no matter how rapid it might have been. Business to me has been a sort of sport. Getting cus- tomers meant getting points. It meant more than winning; it meant improving my game. THE SATURDAY I was getting a hundred and fifty dol- lars a month, I think, and the firm was not losing money on me; but I was not satisfied with the business I was getting. One afternoon an intimate friend of mine who was a bond broker came to see me in my office. Mr. Williamson had not yet come from the board and I only stopped in to see if anything had turned up that required rny attention. I always did this, dropping in several times a day unless my customer chasing took me too far uptown. This bond broker was Clarence Cramer, who had been my classmate not only at Harvard but before that at Exeter. After leaving college he had gone to work for a firm of investment brokers who made a specialty of high-grade bonds, and he be- came an expert. Another Harvard classmate, Brandon Donahue, went into business with his uncle and together they founded the stock- exchange firm of Humphreys, Donahue & Co., specializing on bonds. A couple of years before my arrival in New York, Brandon Donahue invited Clarence Cramer to join the firm as partner, which Cramer did. They had been very successful and were among the best known of the younger houses. Today they are among the most successful in the United States. Clarence came to see me because he and Brandon had decided to devote more atten- tion to the stock business. In looking about for a man to put in charge of that end of it they both thought of me. We had been together at college—Harvard again, you see —which meant that they knew all about the sort of chap I was. Of course I had seen a great deal of them at the Harvard Club, and every time we ran across each other anywhere we had the kind of chats classmates indulge in. A Flattering Offer Clarence told me that he and Brandon had talked it over and they wanted me to go with them as full partner. They were growing fast and they were sure I would do pretty well, for there was no doubt in their minds that I could develop their stock business. I would have complete charge of that end of the business. They had kept their eye on me from the day they learned what I had come to New York for. It was both a pleasing surprise and a shock to me. It thrilled and it disturbed me. It was an opportunity for me to be my own boss and thus have a free hand to do something big. At the same time it would take me away from Bronson & Barnes. I was glad to know somebody considered me a success, but I was made uncomfortable by the consciousness that I had not finished. my work where I was. The thought of a partnership and the increased income was gratifying, but leav- ing an unfinished task made me unhappy. I suppose Clarence Cramer must have seen the conflicting emotions on my face, for he said, big-brother-like, “Think it over, Jack. Take your time. We want you. You know us and we know you. It will be a family affair for us to be together in business.”’ This was just about the close of the market. Pretty soon Mr. Williamson came over from the board. He saw me talking to Clarence Cramer, to whom I had intro- duced him months before, and he nodded to us. He sat down at his desk and looked over some memoranda I had left there for him. Usually 1 went over and sat by him and talked over what I had done that day and what I hoped to do on the next. Of course I couldn’t do that while my friend was there. But pretty soon Clarence left. Still I did not go over to Mr. Williamson, because I did not know what to say to him, not yet having decided what I was going to do. I was running over the pros and cons in my mind when suddenly I heard Mr. Williamson call, ““Hey, Jack, what’s the matter? is “How do you mean?’ “Just what I said. What is the matter? “What makes you think there is any- thing the matter?’’ I asked him. “1 see it,” he answered. ““Where do you see it?” “Well, when I see you walking up and down the room with your hands in your pockets and your head bent way down, which is something you never before have done in this office, I naturally conclude there is something the matter. And such being the case, I naturally wish to know what it is. Wouldn't you, in my place?” 9” EVENING POST His voice was as kindly as my father’s would have been, but I wasn’t half listen- ing to him. I was thinking that my old classmate Clarence with the 4 in the world had flung a monkey wrench into the machinery. was being pulled this way and that. Tt made me think aloud. “I wish that damn Clarence hadn’t come to see me. “As bad as that, eh?” said Williamson. est intentions | “What did he do to you, Jack?” he asked fraternally. I had grown very fond of him and the thought of giving up that one-room office for a full-fledged partnership in a growing stock-exchange house did not give me un- alloyed happiness. My acceptance of Clarence’s offer would mean my not seeing Mr. Williamson, and giving up the talking and the listening and the mA a and the working together. ‘He has offered me a full partnership in his firm,"’ I said to Mr. Williamson, and I am sure it sounded like a personal griev- ance. ‘‘What do you think I ought to do?” Instead of answering at once Mr. William- son got up and walked over to where I stood. He fo oked at me and the light in his eyes was neither friendly nor unfriendly. When he spoke it was in a noncommittal voice, neither cold nor cordial. “Wing,” he said instead of the usual Jack, * tla & Barnes never bid against another firm for any man’s services. You will have to do your own deciding.” “Decide what?” I asked. “With whom you prefer to work,” } answered. “T will,” I said. After a pause he asked me, only mildly curious, “How long will it take you to decide?”’ “T'll let you know tomorrow,” I said, and already I felt much further away from Joe Williamson than I had felt on the day I reported for work under him. “Very well,” he said. That closed the incident for him in his capacity as resident partner of the brokerage firm of Bronson & Barnes. After a pause he said briskly, “Jack, suppose you dine with me to- morrow 5 et “No,” I said. Harvard C lub. he re, what? “Fine!” said Joe Williamson. “You dine with me at the We'll go up together from The Boston Surprise Party It so happened that I was pretty busy all the next day until late, and I didn’t say anything to Mr. Williamson, nor he to me That night we went to the Harvard Club together and | ordered the best dinner | could get there. We didn't talk business, and the longer I sat at the table the better I felt. Finally, after the coffee, he said to me, “ You are feeling pretty gay, aren't you, Jack?” “Tam!” I said. It suddenly struck me that Mr. William- son had the makings of a marvelous poker player. He had the face for it. I could not read it any more than I could read a blank wall After a long and utterly expressionless look, he asked me, ‘“‘Have you decided?” “T have,” I said, and boyishly waited for him to make the next move. He did so by asking, ‘And, pray, what have you decided?” “I’ve decided to stay with Bronson & Barnes,”’ I told him He stopped being a poker player and | have never felt so happy in my life as when I saw the change that “ame over his face It struck me for the first time that possibly he was as fond of me as I was of him He held out his hand and when 1 took it he squeezed mine with all his might. Then he said in a gruff voice, “You'll go to Boston with me tomorrow, young fellow.” He looked as though he were threatening to break my neck, but I laughed and said “I'd just as soon travel with you as with someone else.” 1 didn’t know that he had talked to both Colonel Bronson and Mr. Barnes about me. His colloquy with Mr. Barnes, as it was afterward told to me, was some thing like thi “T’'m coming over tomorrow and | want you all to wait for me at the office. Very important business!’ said Mr. Williamson ‘What business is it?’’ asked Mr. Barnes a he business of taking in anew partner.” “Who is it?’ “Jack Wing,” said Mr. Williamson. | hadn’t been in New York a year, remember Peace of Mind that rides with you NLESS it does, there is no real comfort in motoring. For comfort is more than a phys- ical thing, more than the effect of good springs, a smooth-running motor, luxurious upholstery. If a Miller Padlock rides with you, safeguarding the spare wheel or tire with all its concentrated might, your mind will be free of any concern over tire theft. Number 44CS, for instance, is a remarkable padlock, with case of heavy cast brass and brass interior parts. The shackle is of nickeled steel, its opening adjust: ible be- tween % inch and 1 inches. It fits standard tire carriers of almost all cars, including the six- teen largest selling makes. The curve in the shackle ensures a snug fit. 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You need absolutely no experience—just the willingness to try work that is easy and pleasant. ~-Mail This Coupon Today-- The Cartie Publishing Company 984 Independence Square Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Gentlemen: I’m interested, so please tell me, without obligation, all about your plan. Name Street City__ State THE SATURDAY “This is pretty sudden, isn’t it?” said Mr. Barnes in his mild way. “Yes. But he has had an offer of a a in a young and progressive ouse where all the partners are old personal friends of his. I don’t think we ought to wait to be asked for promotions. It is always wiser to anticipate such re- quests. It is suicide for any firm to let ood men go. I told Jack that he would ave to decide for himself because Bronson & Barnes wouldn’t compete for his services with anyone, and I think he is going to tell me that he'll stick. But while he will stay with us without our having to make him promises of a kind I am strongly in favor of taking him in.” “Don’t you think he ought to be with us a little longer before he becomes a partner? Say, one more year?” "No, I don’t. What shall we gain by waiting?”’’ said Mr. Williamson. “We'd better. talk it over,” said Mr. Barnes. Of course I didn’t know any of this at the time. “I'll be up tomorrow,” said Mr. Wil- liamson. Well the next day Mr. Williamson and I went to Beston. I felt quite embarrassed when I walked into the home office. I was afraid one of the partners was going to say | something nice about my deciding to stay | where I was instead of accepting Cramer’s offer, and I felt cheap in advance because my motive was simply that I liked my old position better than the new and I was merely pleasing myself. But Mr. William- son did not indulge in any rhapsodies. He simply preceded me into Colonel Bronson’s office and said, without pre- ambles, ‘‘Sam, there is no sense in having all the partners go into a conference about Jack, here. One man can do the talking for all. Suppose you do it,” Colonel Bronson nodded and Mr. Wil- liamson took himself away, leaving me alone with the head of the firm. I had no idea whatever of what was coming. I thought that possibly I might be promised a raise. Colonel Bronson, who usually smiled when he talked to me, was not smiling now. He said, very seriously, “ Jack, you've done very well in New York and we are much pleased with your work.” “It sounds mighty good to me, coming from you, colonel,” I said. “Of course I know I haven't done as well as I thought I should.” “You've done well enough to satisfy us,” said Colonel Bronson. “Now Williamson seems to think we ought to have another partner in New York to relieve him of some of the responsibility, and we have decided that you are the man we want,” Jack and Joe—Partners Well, I was flabbergasted. I didn’t know what to say. I think I thanked the colonel and promised him to do my best. At any rate when I got through saying whatever it was I said, Colonel Bronson smiled and shook hands, and he told me what my interest in the firm would be—I mean the yercentage—and also that I'd have a draw- ing account of five hundred dollars a month. These details did not interest me as much as you'd imagine. I was thinking of what I'd do, now that I'd be working for myself. I couldn’t be more keen to get business than I had been, but I’d be able to ride certain hobbies of mine with fewer mis- givings. I left the colonel’s private office. hell- bent on finding Mr. Williamson to tell him what I thought of him. [ was sure it was he who had suggested my being made a partner, Mr. Williamson was talking to Oswald Elmer, Mr. Barnes’ private secretary. I | rushed up to him and grabbed both his | hands, | “You've done it, old fellow! You've | done it, old fellow!” they tell me I yelled | at the top of my voice. I know I wanted to | hug him. And what do you think that | man Williamson, who was quite as happy as I was over it, said to me? He looked bored to death and remarked, “It’s about time we were getting back to New York, young fellow!” We took the train back that night. I don’t think I slept much; in fact, I know I did not. I was up bright and early and was shaved and waiting for Mr. Williamson in the wash room of the Pullman when he came in, “Good morning, Mr. Williamson,” I said. “TI think we’re going to ———”’ I began. But EVENING POST he checked further speech by holding up a hand like a traffic policeman. “Look here, Jack,” he said with decision, “there mustn’t be any more of that.” “Any more of what?’ I asked. I really didn’t know what he meant. “You are my partner now and we don’t mister each other in this firm. We use first names.” He was years older than I and I was used to talking to him as one does to a chief of whom one is very fond but who, for all that, is still one’s chief. “T can’t call you Joe,” I objected. “The deuce you can’t!” “It doesn’t sound right.” “Not from a fresh clerk, but it is what I expect from a partner. We'd be a fine pair, you mistering me and I mistering you. No, partner. I’m Joe from now on, see?” “T’ll have to get used to it,” I said. “You'd better. What else is on your mind?” “‘Why did you tell Colonel Bronson and Mr. Barnes to take me into partnership?” I asked. “Do you really want to know?” he asked. He looked at me and presently began to smile—that fine, little, subtle, New England, ten-reason smile of his. “Yes,” I said, and prepared to hear some jocularity. But his face took on a serious look as he answered me. Joe's Second Warning “Jack, trustworthiness is what you owe it to. I can depend on whatever you tell me. You are reliable and a hard worker, and you will accomplish a great deal if you can manage to keep from getting the swelled head. You won’t get it as long as I am in the office to watch you, but after I’m gone and there is nobody there to sit on you whenever a need it, you may develop delusions of grandeur.” That was the second time he had warned against the swelled head. “Have you noticed any signs of it in me?’ I asked him. I began to feel anxious. “I didn’t say you had it,’”’ he said, “or that you would ever get it. I am pointing out the one danger you must avoid if you wish to go far in our business, or any other business, for that matter.” “No danger,” I said. But he shook his head. “ Jack, there is always that danger where a man achieves success. He owes his suc- cesses precisely to not having the swelled head, but he sometimes forgets it and in time gets to attribute his success to his luck in being the wonderful man he is. That is fatal. Remember that, will you?” “T’ll never forget it,” I promised, and never have I forgotten the voice in which he said, ‘‘ You'd better not!” And I haven't. Neither have I ever forgotten his reply to a question of mine about investments. One of our customers asked me which stock or bonds I considered the very best investment, and I told him nobody could answer such a question off- hand, It covered too much ground, for one thing. But he persisted and he asked, “I suppose you have some of your capital in securities, haven’t you?” “Yes,” I said. “Well, ge are supposed to be experts. Now which of the securities that Bronson & Barnes have locked — their stron box do you consider the best investment? You can answer that, I suppose?”’ said the customer. “T can’t offhand because I don’t re- member all the securities we have. We have a lot of securities that have come to us — of underwriting syndicates,”’ i said. “I don’t mean those. I only want those that you won’t sell,” explained the cus- tomer. So I promised him to look over the contents of our box. That afternoon I was telling Joe Wil- liamson how the customer had stumped me and he took it so seriously that I was surprised. Joe does not often preach and he has a keen sense of humor. He can see as far as the next man, whether he is buyin old silver or bonds or paintings or rea estate. He always knows what he does and even what he says. “Jack,” he said slowly, ‘‘the best invest- ments our firm ever made are those secu- rities that we shall never sell because they were not what we thought they were goin to be when we went into them. We too our loss, and kept them, to remind us. Mighty fine investments, those. Think what we have gained by keeping them August 30,1924 instead of passing them on to somebody else! Think of what we’d have lost if we had passed them on, knowing what we did about them!” That is another speech of Joe William- son’s that I have never forgotten. Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you this story. But I wished to make plain the kind of stock- broker Joe Williamson was. Being a partner in the firm meant that I now had the power to make certain changes in the office force and in the system which I had not cared to press on the firm before. With Williamson’s approval I increased the personnel and made the changes I had wished to make. We had been too cramped in our one-room office for some time. We were doing enough business to justify larger quarters and I felt certain we should do still more after we increased our facilities. We found a fine set of offices in one of the best-known office buildings in the world. They had been occupied by Wil- liamson & Brown, who had outgrown them. They sublet them to us at a low rental. Our new offices were quite a contrast to the old. There were great columns that looked as if they were supporting all the upper stories. The ceiling was so high that the place suggested a bank rather than a stockbroker’s office. The general impression was one of greater magnificence than we were entitled to; but as a matter of fact there wasn’t any too much room. If I had been active before in my busi- ness chasing—and I had brought in more than fifty thousand dollars in commissions from the day I landed to the time I was made a partner—I became even more active now. Joe Williamson and I as usual talked over the business every day; but now we began to develop a habit of plan- ning ahead years instead of weeks. We confabulated and schemed and discussed measures; and then I’d go out and try to carry out the plans we had so enthusiasti- cally formed in our conferences. We tried incessantly to give better and better service to our customers in New York and Boston, and we steadily increased our business. We were on the list of the leading bank- ing house, but we were not known among the dealers in investment securities. In Boston, of course, we had done some busi- ness in bringing out new companies, but these ventures had not been uniformly successful and the prestige of Bronson & Barnes had suffered some severe blows. The failures were not discreditable and those of our clients who hung on as we did in the end retrieved their losses or did even better. A Lesson in Underwriting One day a banker with whom I had be- come friendly suggested to me that our firm underwrite an issue of notes of the Eastchester and Sound Traction Company. The company was doing well, but needed cash to purchase new equipment. It was no time to issue bonds on terms favorable to the company, and hence the notes. The company was doing a good business. It had paid dividends on its capital stock for years and there was no question as to its ability to pay the interest on the notes, There was ae five million dollars of them at six per cent per annum. My banking friend thought we would have no trouble in disposing of them at 98. We could buy them at 96. It looked to me‘like a quick, sure and etsy two per cent commission on five million dollars, and I was strongly in favor -of this, my first deal as a partner. I returned to the office and spoke to Joe Williamson about it and he felt as I did. We called up Boston and they were favor- ably impressed. At my partners’ request I went to Boston and talked with Colonel Bronson and Mr. Barnes. They told me to go ahead. We underwrote the issue of six per cent notes and started to sell them at 98. They went so slowly that I began to get nervous. The Boston office, which had more experi- ence as well as the larger clientele, was not selling so many as I had banked on in my enthusiasm. You see, investors there did not know the traction company as well as New Yorkers did. And as for ourselves in the New York branch, one thing is to find a man who wants to trade in stocks and another is to tie up money for a couple of years even though it may return you better than six per cent per annum. (Continued on Page 88)

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WHY EVERY MOTOR CAR NEEDS THE HIGH QUALITY OF BUNTING BUSHING - - - BEARINGS - - - Assembling and testing pistons and connecting rods in automobile factory HE car manufacturer who speci- fies BUNTING Bushing Bear- ings and the garage man who employs them for replacement, in- sures the car against the destructive effects of constant pounding by mov- ing parts working in worn bushing bearings. The bushings should be in- spected whenever a car goes into the service shop. Noises, knocks and rattles are the symp- toms of a worn bushing. It is the quality of the bronze bushing bearings in motor and chassis that makes the difference between a silent, smooth-running, easily con- trolled car and one that is noisy, in- efficient and rapidly deteriorating. BUNTING quality enables the small piston pin bushings to with- stand the intense heat of the firing chamber and the full force of explo- sions occurring hundreds of times a minute. BUNTING quality gives to spring bolt and spring eye bushings the stamina to render a long life of per- fect service at the points where road dirt, and grit, grind away at these bushings and bolts which carry the weight of both car and passengers. BUNTING quality in steering knuckle and tie rod bushings means ease and precision in steering, driv- ing comfort and safety. BUNTING Bushing Bearings cost but a few cents morz per car than unknown bushings of far inferior quality. “The good cars, like good little boys, are seen—not heard.”’ —Baby Bunting THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 87 BUNTING USHING PR BE N AUTOMOTIVE JOBBERS You, your customer, and the car owner de- serve nothing less than BUNTING quality in replacement bushings. Stock List 11 shows piston pin bushings, Stock List 102 shows spring bolt bushings and Stock List 1A shows steering knuckle and tie rod bushings, made by BUNTING for all popular automotive ve- hicles. Sent on your request. MANUFACTURERS \— Safeguard your own reputation and the interests of the owner by putting genuine BUNTING Bushing Bearings in the machine when you build it. BUNT- q ING’S Stock List 10 shows sizes of 269 completely t leet ations machined and finished BUNTING “Ready Made” = | “Ui Bushing Bearings always in stock. We will gladly » Alssociation send you this list. BEARINGS SPECIAL SIZES Get the benefit of BUNTING craftsmanship and production economy on designs and alloys by your own engineers. For years this organ- ization has specialized on difficult bushing bearings. CORED AND SOLID BARS Bars of genuine BUNTING Phosphor Bronze ania packaged in a strong wooden box with hinged top handy for service station and shop. BUNT- ING SERVICE ASSORTMENT, 6 bars for the automotive machinist; BUNTING SHOP ASSORT- MENT, 5 bars for the general machinist. Hundreds of sizes of cored and solid bars always in stock. Complete data on either assortment sent on request. Ask for Bar List 7. THE BUNTING BRASS & BRONZE COMPANY TOLEDO +» OHIO Branches and Warehouses at NEW YORK CLEVELAND CHICAGO 245 West 54th Se. 710 Se. Clair Ave., N. E. 722 S. Michigan Ave Circle 0844 Main 5991 Wabash 9153 PHILADELPHIA BOSTON 1330 Arch Se % Oliver St 198 Second St. Spruce 5296 Main 8488 Douglas 6245 SAN FRANCISCO

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Send today Ford Owners— Throw away your stick; there's an “R-K-D" especially for you; install it yourself tn a few minutes—-only DEALERSAND SALESMEN WANTED Write for terms aad literature, Wonderful opportunity! THE REITER - KING - DUGAN COMPANY Dept. P., Akron, Ohio HAY FEVER LOGIC If Polien sets your ange on fire why not keep it out? It's being dome, Tiny Nasal Filter, Comfortable, hardly noticeable. Aids breathing, Don't breathe Dust or Pollen, £1.00 postpaid, NASAL PILTER COMPANY, Saint Peter 8%, Saint Paul, Mina. THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 86) | Imet my old classmate, Clarence Cramer, at the club, and in the course of our con- versation I happened to tell him some of | my new worries. He told me that I was too impatient; that investors were a different species of animal from stock traders and therefore the brokers’ technic must be different. A day or two later I ran across him in | front of the Subtreasury and he asked me how I was making out. “About the same,” I answered. I imagine I did not look very cheerful. “Jack,” he said, “1 was telling Brandon about it. You haven’t the organization to i =©make a quick go of it. Now, if you wish, we'll take all the unsold notes off your hands at 9614.” We had only sold a little better than a million in ten days. I certainly had a case of cold feet and I was tickled to death to get rid of the rest without loss of time or money. But I told Clarence I'd let him know what my partners said. I hurried off and reported Humphreys, Donahue & Co.’s offer to Joe Williamson. “If you are going to stew and worry,” he oad, “and og want to stick to pont knitting after this, I’m willing. Anyhow, you are not taking a loss.” I called up Boston and talked to Colonel Bronson, and he said to do whatever Joe and I thought best. So I accepted Clar- ence’s offer and jobbed nearly four million dollars of the notes at 9614. It paid for the advertising and other expenses, with a few pennies left over. ell, sir, Humphreys, Donahue & Co. had the experience and the organization needed. The first thing they did was to put up the price of the notes, which we couldn’t sell at 98, to 9914. Everybody knew then that there was a big demand for those notes. Not to prolong the agony, I’ll say that in less than a week they had sold every one of the notes at an average pee of 9914. Clarence told me all about t. He did not gloat, for he was and is one of my best friends. He simply answered questions I put to him. ; Of course Joe Williamson and I discussed every phase and angle of that deal. Here was the firm of young brokers that had paid me the compliment of ging me to join them as partner, taking over from us notes we couldn’t dispose of and promptly selling them at a point and a half aee® an we had offered them to the public. The ease with which they succeeded where we failed was due to organization. That impelled both Joe and me to think how we might build up the distributing end of our busi- ness. We decided that we ought to do it. After Wire Business One way to increase your facilities for distributing securities is by getting more customers—that is, more clients to take your advice. And one ag 2 to increase the number of customers is by having more branch offices. We began to study that question. We weren't ready to open branch offices in all the big cities, but the essential was to get customers. It did not matter whether they were our customers or another broker’s. Therefore if we wanted customers and were not quite ready to open branches of our own we ought to get wire accounts. So Joe Williamson and I decided to go after the latter even while we kept on trying to develop our regular stock business. Busi- | ness was business and we wanted all.we | eould et—good, clean business, under- stood. We had the equipment now and the | will, and the wire business would help carry our overhead. If or when Joe Williamson and I heard of | some firm of out-of-town brokers that had given up its New York correspondents and was looking for someone to do its business on the New York Exchange he or I would hop aboard a train and go after the account. A Sinead who was vice presiderit of a bank we did business with and knew what we were after advised me to go to Cincinnati and see Loring & Gibson, who were looking | for a New York connection. I made four trips before I got them to put in a wire to | our office, A broker on the floor told Joe | Williamson about Robertson & Co. of Richmond, Virginia, who had done busi- ness for years with Pruyn Brothers, and | now the Pruyns were retiring from the | Street. Joe Williamson went down and | got them. He made five trips to Washing- | ton before he landed Shipman, Brown & | Co, All these firms were members of the EVENING POST New York Stock Exchange and needed a firm to execute their orders and clear for them. We worked very hard and succeeded in cneneeing quite a nice wire business. It would take too long to give you the details of how we secured all our wire accounts, but I certainly should like to tell you about two of them. The first was in Baltimore. Please don’t be annoyed if I again drag in poor old Harvard, but as I told you at the very outset of these reminiscences, my college friendships have been responsible for a great deal of my business. A chap named Dan Carrington, of Baltimore, was in my class, and we were pretty good friends. Dan was the only son of C. C. Carrington, who made a whopping big fortune in the hide-and-leather export business and later trebled it in real estate. When he died he left Dan an estate valued at over eighteen million dollars. A great deal of it was in cash by reason of Mr. Carrington’s shrewdness in disposing of large holdings of property at the top of the boom, a short time before his death. Carrington’s Heir Dan Carrington, sole heir to the Car- rington millions, was a normal healthy chap, fond of a good time and very popular with all classes. He was the first fellow in the class to get married—on the night of Commencement Day. He went abroad for his honeymoon, which lasted about a year, and then returned to Baltimore to have a good time on his stock farm somewhere in Maryland. He raised Kerry cows or Dur- ham bulls, I forget which. But he used to win lots of first prizes. He also won the class cup for the first baby. In the way of business Dan didn’t have much to do. His father handled it all because he enjoyed doing it. It seemed to consist of waiting for the price to reach a certain figure and then selling a million or two of choice real estate. When C. C. Carrington died, Dan found himself in possession of an eighteen-million- dollar estate and two sons. He thought about what he ought to do about the sons a great deal more than about the estate. It was a more important problem and more difficult to solve. As a result of his medi- tations he reached the conclusion that it was less his duty to leave his sons money to spend than to leave them a business to work at, something useful to be busy with. In picking out a business for his sons to go into twenty years later, he came to the conclusion that his hest play would be to ick out the business of investment banker. e devoted considerable time to studying it and finally Dan, who had two infant sons to provide for, founded the banking firm of D. N. Carrington & Co. He bought a membership on the New York Stock Ex- change and set about building up his busi- ness as though his bread and butter depended upon it. He made a success of it, for he had plenty of sense and plenty of dollars and his chief aim was to leave his sons a business of which they would be oroud and therefore would be glad to work in when they were old enough. I’ve often thought of Dan’s motive as being typically American in the best possible sense —to make of his sons useful members of society, good citizens, business men who would be more concerned over accomplishing some- thing worth while than over merely increas- ing a large fortune. He did not have to work; neither did his sons. But work was what he would do for their sake and what they would do after him‘for the sake of their sons—who also would not have to work unless their fathers did their duty toward society. Well, I went tose. Dan. He was mighty glad to see me and we lost no time in doin the usual thing—talking about event and living over the days in which we had a it account. Then we talked about our ife since leaving rape 4 I dined at his house that night, and the next day we motored to his stock farm with the children, and we certainly had a good time. He told me his business had been grow- ing so much that he was thinking of putting a wire into some good broker in New York and that he had written to his friend Richardson, the first vice president of the National Bank of the Metropolis, asking him to recommend a good firm. “Is that so?” I hed. 9 “Yes. I got the answer this morning.” “You didn’t have to write to Richard- son,” I told him. “I could have given you the name you wanted.” August 50,1924 “Richardson sent me three names,” he said, as impressively as though he were considering which surgeon to select. _ “Bronson & Barnes is enough,” I said. “Well, Jack,” he said unsmilingly, ‘I shouldn’t be at all surprised if you were right, because Richardson mentioned you first, and then two others.” He looked so serious that I laughed in his face. You see, everything that related to the business was of tremendous con- sequence to this man who was building for his boys. We shook hands and I got the account, and it has grown because Dan does a big business in both stocks and bonds. He is such a fine high-minded man, and so sound and sensible, that he is greatly liked and respected in his home city. On my way baek to New York I stopped over at Philadelphia because I wanted to see another classmate, another multi- millionaire’s only son—Bob Wyatt. Bob's father was so well known that Bob couldn’t go anywhere without being pointed out as Robert Wyatt, Jr.; whereupon everybody began to talk of Robert Wyatt, Sr. People would stare at Bob and even stand up in a dining room to see how a famous man’s son ate oysters. Bob’s father was a director in something like a hundred cor- orations, which made him known to ankers. He went in for chrysanthemums, which made him interesting to really in- telligent people. He had the best collection of chrysanthemums in the world. The Emperor of Japan had decorated him three times—that is, every time Mr. Wyatt sent him a collection of new and beautiful varieties. Bob did not care to go into coal or steel or railroads or gas, in which his father was interested to the extent of some thirty millions. Bob had had a fondness for figures and his analytical mind took pleas- ure in determining values. He took to the study of securities as a duck takes to water. Within a year of his father’s death, which had made him the richest young bachelor in America, Bob decided to go into the banking-and-brokerage business. He bought seats on the Philadelphia and New York Stock Exchanges and founded the firm of Robert Wyatt & Co. Not for him the idle life. A Lasting Alliance I telephoned him from the Broad Street Station and asked him if he was busy. He answered, “You are just in time for luncheon. Come rignt over.” I did, and he took me to his favorite club for a very nice luncheon. I went back to Bob’s office with him and just before I was ready to leave him I said, “‘Bob, I'd like to have you put a wire into our New York office and give us some of your business.” “Well, Jack,” he said, “I’ve got a wire with a house down there. But, you know, we don’t do a great deal of that sort of business. It doesn’t amount to much.” Bob is a fine fellow and I am very fond of him. I felt sure that he would make a great success of his business. I did not see how he could fail. He had the brains, the capital, the connections and the will to succeed. His was the constructive type, the same kind of capitalist that his father was, possessing an abundance of vision, courage and perseverance and the faculty of keeping his feet on the floor. It was good business to do business with such a man, and it is a pleasure to be associated with a a of whom you have always been very ond. So I said to him, “‘ Look here, Bob, I'll tell you what I'll do. If you will let us put in a wire we'll leave it there a year and I shan’t ever ask you for any business. If, at the end of the year, you find we do not give you good service, we'll take out the wire and on the day we do that you and I will lunch together and nobody’s feelings will be hurt.” “Jack, do you really mean that?’’ he asked me earnestly. “Absolutely! I'll put it in writing if you wish. I really mean it,” I assured him. “Very well, then. Put in the wire!” We did. Today Bob has offices in every city in Pennsylvania of 100,000 inhabitants or over. All the stock business of all those branches we do. Moreover, his firm has an office in New York which handles the bond-investment business; but the stock business we are still doing. Editor's Note—This is the eighth of a series of articles by Mr. Lefévre. The next will appear in an early issue.

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Ripon’s main business street during the Farm S Fireside exhibition was crowded with people who came to buy ‘i — os veappaea aS i ah shel to How the merchants of Ripon, Wis- consin, boosted their sales with a Farm & Fireside Exhibition—a plan that stores everywhere can use. NEW record was made recently in the de- velopment of merchandising at Ripon, Wisconsin. In three days a pe. of mer- chants did a business of $21,313.23—a real selling achievement. During the same period the week before, their sales amounted to only $16,504.17, and to but $15,379.49 last year at that time. They secured this 33°% increase in business by co-operating on a plan so simple, so prac tical, that it can be used —has been used—to similar advantage by merchants the country over. It is a plan which will work as well in your town as it did here. ( Here is the plan Ripon, you know, is in the heart of Wiscon sin’s famous dairy section. Like most smaller cities, a goodly percentage of its business comes from farm trade. Most of the prosperous farm families around Ripon, just as around your town, read Farm & Fireside—they are the farmers who represent real buying power. Month after month they look to Farm & Fireside not only for ideas on better farming and better ARM & FIRES : a National Sate Magazine Attractive window displays, featuring Farm & Fireside products, helped Ripon mer chants increase sales 334% living, but as a guide to the best merchan dise. Consistent ‘advertising makes them prefer the products it features. So we suggested to a group of Ripon mer chants that they get together and hold an exhibition featuring goods advertised in Farm & Fireside, The National Farm Magazine. We told them what merchants in other towns had done; told them how we would help. And they decided to try it. Ripon doesn’t do things by half-measures. These merchants worked together to make their Farm & Fireside exhibition a real suc cess. A special 10-page Booster published by the dealers carried the news to the whole countryside —told of the special events, the special displays. And the farmers came, in spite of almost ras ye roads. Right at home, they found, they could see the products they had been reading about. What had been national advertising became /oca/ advertising for the merchants of Ripon. The results $5,000 extra business wasn’t the only benefit, as the following letter from one of the leading merchants of Ripon indicates: “Our sales increased, of course, and we made many new customers. “Our Farm & Fireside exhibition was one THE SATURDAY EVENING POST $5,000 extra business in three days special /0-page Booster published by the dealers carried the news to the whole countryside of the best things we ever attempted, and we are all more than pleased with the results. “We would like to have your help in put ting on another Farm & Fireside exhibition here next year. [ don’t know when we have had anything to do with outsiders who gave us so much support as you did.” This plan will work for you What the Farm & Fireside plan has done for Ripon, what it has done for hundreds of towns, it can do for yours. Or it will work equally well in your store alone. A Farm & Fireside Week brought an 84°), increase in business to the Chandler Hardware Co., Sylvania, Ohio; tt doubled sales the first day for the Rogers Drug Store, Tahlequah, Okla. Let us tell you more about the plan and what it has done in towns, in stores like yours. Just write: “How may we apply the Karm & Fireside plan?”’ and give us a list of the products below which you carry. We will gladly co-operate with you. Address your letter, ple ase, To the Retail Sales Dire tor, Suite 10 \, at the address below The Crowell Publishing Company 81 Fourth Avenue, New York City Farm & Fireside, The American Magazine, Woman's Home Companior jer's Te Nati al Weebly, Vhe Mentor a eect - er Absorbine CC. B.& QO. R. R. Company Dr. Hess Poultry PAN-A-CE-A International Har Farm Operating President Suspenders Agricultural Gypeum Certo (Sureyell Edgeworth Smoking Tobac« Ka nen Remington Arma In American Chain Co. (Weed Chain Chese An vugh * Vaseline Produ Enterprise Meat Chopper { Sausa International M Truck Firearms, Ammunition & Cutlery American Fence Chevrolet Cars and Trucks Stuffers Internation ractor Reo Spee ~ Wagon American Pad & Textile Compan Chilean Nitrate Committe Essex Care jel Royal Fe American Radiator Company Clark Grave Vaults Eveready Flashlight« Kelloga’s Corn Flak Ruckete i "A xle American Saw Mill Machiner Clotheraft Clothes Eveready Radio Batteries Landers, Fr & k un semi-Solid Buttermilk American Sole & Belting Leather 5 anners, Inc Colgate’s Toilet Preparations ford Automobiles and Ford Trucks I n & Healy Musical Inetr Stark Bros. 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i + except, it may be, to remind you that it was a compromise measure. “I repeat that every move which has resulted in the high engagement of the United States, each with each other, came from the determination and wisdom— yes, the prejudices—of a strong individual. Our county, once, bred strong men, but where are they now? We have drifted into a modern and lax state comparable with the beginning of Rome's collapse. We were founded on individuals, I shall say on gen- tlemen, and if we are to continue, it must be by that means. The weight of Mr. Fan- ning’s remarks, as I took it, was against this. He didn’t, in my estimation, keep before him the fact that we were, we are, and al- ways will be, Federalists. He discourses on the need of sinking our personalities in schemes and circulars and bodies of voters; he is discontented with the conference and correspondence systems; both, I have found, efficient and admirable. “In other words, he wants us to copy Jef- ferson; and that, with the help of God, we will never do. The place, in any war, of an officer, is ahead and not back of his line. We will never put forward the mass of voters and manipulate their coat-tails from some comfortable and convenient planta- tion. We’ll never hire blackguard and vili- fying pens. Better, a thousand times, the pistol than the pen. Death is not always, universally, an occasion of mourning. I do not like bribery or the smell of corruption, either in the corporeal body or the body politic. “‘T do not like compromises. I donot wel- come servility in the face of inferiors. Nor do I endorse buying even freedom at too great a price. Too much forgetfulness is among us, traditions needed for our very breathing are in danger of being discarded.” He paused a moment, by no means at the end of what he intended to say, but a voice cut sharply in upon him, asking that the business of the meeting be resumed. Richard Bale glanced, in a growing chilled anger, from man to man through the Assem- bly. Dalney nodded in friendly encourage- ment, Beve:iey Mathews applauded him by a ‘silent gesture; but the majority, he saw, had been waiting with only a politeness of silence for him to finish. There wasn’t a comment, an expression of approbation, upon all he had so—so carefully said. His anger sank before a return of his depression. Now he was certain the Federalists were hurrying to destruction. Why, the men about him didn’t know the causes that had brought them, the business of the meeting! A sudden binding realization, a resolu- tion, really, came over him-—this was the last time he would ever speak politically and publicly. The present didn’t want to hear him; it had neither interest nor knowledge in his experience and convic- tions. He was no good, now. He smiled— the familiar twist, without gaiety, of his mouth—at the memory of past scenes, the commanding men of his generation, dead or old and weary. All that, it seemed, had gone for little: crude efforts in the early crude days of the republic. But the con- trary was true—this was the crude time. Francis Bale, clearing the river front of Balisand, was a figure of infinite fineness compared with the men of to-day. It took time, acres, leisure, servants, privilege, to make a gentleman; and only he could be wholly free from threats, fear, influence, de- pendence on mobs. What, once, had been concentrated, invaluable, a standard for conduct, was being diluted and spread out and lost for ever in the mass. Without leaders reflecting in their persons the quali- ties which alone made life acceptable, there could be no victory or peace. He was on his horse, riding slowly back to his plantation. The temper cf the meet- ing he had attended, its resolutions and ar- ranged future, were all in direct opposition to him, The gift of oratory, he told him- self, had fled. Balisand. The wooded sides of his narrow lane closed in on him. Soon he could see, between the trees, the sparkle of the North River. He passed under the spread limbs of the broad-nut tree and turned to the left; a negro took the bridle from him, He confined himself, thereafter, where public affairs were involved, to remarks and discussions in the immediate surroundings of Balisand and of his familiar close asso- ciates. The remainder of summer had, for BALISAND (Continued from Page 26) him, the aspect of a disastrous forced en- campment in the middle of hostilities. The Federalists gave the impression of activity; there were repeated meetings, legislative party councils at the capital, gatherings at the courthouse and the tavern; but the were only, he continued to think, a wea and unavailing copy of the enemy’s tactics. He was obli to admit that the Demo- cratic-Republicans pressed the last possible good from everything that was to their ad- vantage. Jefferson made a national concern the carrying of legal action from the State to the Federal courts; Monroe, a candidate for Governor of Virginia, was elected on a wave of popular sympathy following his recall from Paris. And, during these sub- versive plots and movements, the Federal- ists—owing to their futile methods—were scarcely more than holding their ground. “It will result in Virginia electing the whole twenty-one Republican electors,” Richard declared to Beverley Mathews. He replied that, against such a ibil- ity Massachusetts was solidly Federal. “And North Carolina, probably. New Jer- sey will be for Adams, and Jefferson have no sweep in Maryland. “a Lucia interrupted them to say that there would be fox hunting in another week. “I'll be thankful to hear something be- sides scandal about Mr. Burr. Richard used to talk to Flora of the war; but now it’s the election, and his language isn’t a particle more careful than it was. Flora added, “‘I like it.” They were in the south room at Balisand; the afternoon was darkening early; the glow of the soft coal burning in a grate vis- ible on the oak floor. “I’ve never known the oysters to be bet- ter,” Beverley remarked. ‘“‘There is one thing here—you’re directly at the river and you can sit on the wharf and eat them as they’re brought up. But you can’t stand in the garden and shoot partridges,” Richard said, “London broke his arm early in the spring, and, for all we've done, it won’t mend. fd almost as soon break my own.” London, Mathews recalled aloud, was Richard’s headman. “I suppose I'll have to choose another, and that will near to kill him. Beverley, even the negroes aren’t what they were. If Thomas Jefferson could, he’d have them vote.” “‘Nonsense,”” Beverley Mathews replied. “Look here, Ric hard, actually, wank? iffer- ence will it make to us in Gloucester if Jefferson is elected—I mean aside from ee hundred dollars you will have to 4 Once the Tidewater was important, coast of Virginia and New England. We were, it’s just to say, America. But hasn’t that changed? At one time we commanded the colonies, when we were young; and, now, comparatively speaking, we're old. Giles, in a way, is right—we are like England. In our lives we have seen the current of the United States set away from us, run uphill to the mountains and beyond. We are as unpopular with the body of the States as they are with us. They just let us exist, if we don’t try to interfere with their plans; that’s about the extent of it. And it won't improve. “ This will horrify you, but I don’t believe even Jefferson started the movement he’s head of; I think he was swept away by it. We had it all, Richard, and it got awa from us. Your daughters, for instance, will marry into another world. And you spoke at the tavern of Balisand staying always as it was. Impossible. When you die, let me tell you, half of it—more, will go with you. Asonwon’t help that ... bornina new era. You forget how much you have seen shift and break. Remember Morry- son; he was convinced that you and Ekkes were letting everything go to the devil. To- day, that’s your song. Fhe truth is we can’t keep up with the truth.” “Father,” Lucia objected, “it’s right enough for you to be reasonably venerable, but I won’t have you makin Richard out so old. Everyone does, and f can’t under- stand why. After all, he is only forty-six.” It wasn’t his age, Mathews replied, but his inheritance. “His cursed stubborn blood. There isn’t a shade of difference in his looks from the peeting. of Francis Bale in your dining room. He’d only have to let his hair grow and tie it with a ribbon you’d give him. I’m proud of him, really; I look on him with admiration; but i can’t expect the rab- ble at the courthouse to agree with me THE SATURDAY EVENING POST when he shoves and damns them aside. My dear Lucia, there is a pistol bullet in his remarks.” Flora Bale gazed at Richard with a specu- lative surprise. She came close to Miss Howlett. “* Does father talk pistol bullets?"’ she de- manded in a low agitated voice. “He means,” Miss Howlett explained, ‘that Mr. Bale speaks with great decision. It was only a way of putting it. When little girls talk it should be like a happy song.” Camilla, freshly dressed, came into the ‘oom “Alice Ellen is mad again,” she announced proudly. “That’ s three times . Flora observ: “The Bale temper,” Richard remarked; “we're not only getting out of fashion but out of favour—together with other things. Now dueling ——” He turned to Beverley Mathews. Lucia addressed the governess: “ Please take the children into the hall, Miss How- lett. Richard, I never get over being amazed at you.” He continued: “T don’t want to seem inhuman, but there is something to be said for it. The custom does this—under it every man is directly responsible for his acts and speech. Anyone who will back his opinions with his life, holding his name higher, can never en- tirely lose his honour. Where the protection of women is concerned, a duel is sometimes absolutely necessary. A man who slanders a woman, or has any advantage of one, should be shot. In the army, too, it can’t be escaped from, even with the greatest impropriety to discipline. It’s the one final answer, Beverley; the shot of a pistol set- tles all’ question and difficulties. I have said this before: if any man of sufficient standing to demand attention throws the shadow of a doubt on the honesty of m —s or intentions, I will, if I’m able, iil im “There,” Mathews agreed, “dueling might be defended. The trouble is that it breeds an intolerable class of professional and vain murderers continually looking for more notoriety. The affair of what they call their honour! re are times, of course, when an individual shouldn't be allowed to live, But that is what the law’s for. And this in itself makes you wrong. I know how | feel and what you are—a Bale of alisand—and there are moments, when I reflect you’re married to Lucia, that f righten me. Professional murderers. Perhaps it wasn’t the same in the past, but that’s what duelists are getting to be to-day. News- aper editors and shady political colonels.” Te couldn’ - Richard observed, be held re- sponsible for a present misapplication of the code. ‘I'll add this,” Beverley said, “if, with your family, you ever engage in a formal duel and survive I will never again, in any manner, recognize you.” “Father,” Lucia said quietly, ‘isn't that an affair of mine rather than yours? J un- derstand Richard better than you ever can, and I know exactly what you're ss to; but I married him, all of him. I hope, think, he wouldn’t - us in danger from just bad temper; but if it happens dif- ferently—we might as well be quiet. I’m sick of having Richard perpevaally blamed; I was serious about your talking as though he were a—a relic of the ark. Nobody, any more, remembers that he was a soldier; it might be regarded as disgraceful; something to be kept hidden. I asked him once, too, ~~ and once never to fight; but I think it was imperti- | nent. I’m sorry I did. As I told you, I married him. And that’s enough of that.” “Indeed, Lucia,’”’ her father returned, in a mock humility. “I regret that I spoke that way of your young man. If you could et Richard to say a word about his soldier- ing I'd be indebted to you.” The balloting for Presidential electors, at | the beginning of November, fell on a day | in which, it appeared, the sea had taken | symbolical possession of the land: a great salt fog had moved across Mockjack Bay and up the Gloucester rivers; its grey den- sity dernetaly thinned and thickened and there were diagonal gusts of rain, an erratic violent wind. The air, the fog, was per- vaded by the sound of waves: Richard Bale had a vision of the white raging water along the coast. He was riding to the (Continued on Page 93) Read Your Gas Supply On the Dash It’s so easy to forget all about your gasoline pode psn whey dit gone. With the gauge on the rear, you never know just how you stand, until you find yourself out of gas, per- haps many miles from a supply station, One sad experience like this generally costs enough to pay for the K-S Telegage, the new asoline gauge located on -~ dash, right be- fore your eyes, The K-S Telegage not only gives you at a glance the exact number of gallons in the tank, but is so minutely accu- rate that many motorists use it as 4 guide in getting the utmost mileage per gallon from their motor. It tells the whole story of your gasoline performance. The K-S Gasoline Telegage has already been adopted as standa:d equipment on seven well sng cars. 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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 30,1924 ot so simple as it looks Your telephone is made up of 201 parts, the number of separare parts in a certain every one of which had to be planned,-pro- well known automobile is 3000. duced and assembled with an unusual de- gree of accuracy. Such multiplicity of detail is unavoidable in the work of manufacturing telephones, Re | Sect ae Bint, cable, switchboards and other telephone Women whose life-work it is. This ability 1s apparatus. The number of separate parts just one of the things Western Electric has entering into all these products is 110,000; developed in fifty-five years of experience. western Electric SINCE 1869 MAKERS AND DISTRIBUTORS OR ELECTRICAL EQUIPMENT To see that each of these many parts fits into its proper place calls for constant watchfulness and skill in the men and

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(Continued from Page 91) courthouse to vote, wrapped in an aged cloak he had worn in the army, a soft black silk scarf about his throat. The rain beat squarely on him and ran in streams down the sides of his horse; eddies of fog swept through the trees and enveloped him; the trees were but insubstantial and agitated tracings. He wasn’t, except for the sharp- ened pain in his leg, troubled by this—his experience had included weather so much worse than it could ever be again—but he wondered if, in effect, the storm would drive Federal power away from the Tide- water, its peculiar and proper home. His thoughts returned to something Beverley had said, about the general world, the United States, turning regardlessly from Gloucester County, leaving it without in- terest, almost without comment, to its different past. That Richard didn’t, he couldn't, agree with; but there had been a substance, an excuse, for Mathews’ asser- tion. Yes, here was the truth—at one time, during even his memory, the Gloucester of tidal rivers and early plantations had been individual, a locality with a spirit and air of its own. It had been jealously apart from the newer my ny of the high inland counties; the men from it cherished it and their inherited lands; they upheld the Tide- water against all other regions. That he had had from preceding generations, from its first isolation; and it was gone. Locality by locality, district by district, State by State, the country was losing its separate identity; men were losing their characteristics; the land, at last, was begin- ning to assume the solidity Washington, in another sense, hoped and demanded for it. Under his hand, Richard saw, the political body of the United States had changed more utteriy than he had known. Ina way, now, he, Richard Bale, was op d to the development of the Federalistic ideal. At the beginning the men who had become Republican fought the Constitution—the Constitution had been forged as a Federal document—but to-day the Democratic- Republicans supported it in its absolute form; and he was in sympathy with the arbitrary interpretation of Hamilton. It was the devil of a humorous situation ! He recalled —how long ago it seemed —that Edmund Randolph had carried to the con- vention of 1787 the Virginia plan from which, ultimately, the Constitution had been formed; and that Randolph, per- suaded that the Federal Government was arrogating to itself a limitless privilege, had finally refused to support his own propos- als. Gawin Todd had declaimed against the Constitution at every conceivable place and time—Todd, who was now its cham- pion in the protection of the rights of the people! And those were the politics, the convictions, of the present. It was natural that such men, such measures, were in op- position to any tradition or memory what- ever. He had fought for a united country; but, God knew, not one united from the present undesirable materials. His fundamental belief, that a happy arrangement of govern- ment lay in the administration, by a few capable minds, of an obedient and indus- trious people, was now only laughed at; and yet that had always been, it must always e, the religion of his party. The conclusion of this, certainly, was that his party was vanishing; rhaps it had vanished. He had seen the Whigs and Tories go with all that once they had so passionately contended for; he had seen a small country actually brought out of war into existence by Federal effort. The re- action, after the death of Washington, had grown increasingly powerful—past motives and needs and battles forgotten—and now the colour of events had again shifted. The people, which he had regarded as an undis- ciplined mob, at which Jasper Robine had jeered through a long night of his drunken discontent, were mounting to a greater and greater magnitude. They had taken the words of the Constitution for their own. There was a wet morose crowd of men in the courthouse; the voting proceeded rap- idly and silently; the lists of twenty-one candidates, Federal or Republican—some previously signed by the voters and some hurriedly endorsed at the polls—were folded ; the County Clerk checked name after name against his register of taxed lands. Bale found himself beside James Fanning, and a short conversation followed in relation to Fanning’s daughters and the school at Balisand. : “T saw they had arrived safely,” Richard said; “and Lucia will keep them all night, THE SATURDAY certainly. Fanning, I used to know every man at an election, but there are fifty here I’m sure I’ve never seen. Or do you sup- pose their faces have changed too?” “Tt’s the opposition vote,”’ the other ex- plained; “‘Gawin Todd has them all out in spite of the weather. Do you remember the old elections, when the candidates sat in a row and you made your bow to the one you preferred?”’ Richard did. “And argue with them, too, if you were a candidate,” he added. He told Fanning a little of all that, coming to the polls, had been in his mind. “You’re right and wrong,” James Fan- ning declared. ‘“‘We won't lose the party but drop out of it the men and ideas not in keeping with the times.” Richard supposed that had happened to him, but Fanning had left him, forced away by, the movement of the crowd. The rain, Richard found, had ceased, the wind gone down, the fog sullenly settled in the hollows of the road and woods. Above, it was lighter; there was visible a diffused radiance of the sun. The booming of waves in the air had sunk to a low far murmur, soothing and reflective and melancholy. The impersonality of Richard Bale’s thoughts grew personal; his leg ached with a vin- dictive ery erg and he was impressed by the fact that, in a very short while, he would be fifty. That wasn’t exactly young. He didn’t actually feel this; at no moment had he been conscious ef a change from youth to middle age; it was only a mental realization, a thing he told himself. It had created a state of mind in keeping with the November day; one seemed appropriate to the other. Richard looked back in amaze- ment at the hardship he had, with hardly more than a curse, survived. He recalled the parties, his idiotic performances, in the past. Remarkable! The amount of drink- ing hadn’t lessened, but the manner was not the same. Why, Madeira was old- fashioned now; the habit of drinking port was vanishing, the tradition of toddy had been lowered, diluted. Dropped by the party! Yes, that was what it amounted to, with this difference— the party was no longer strong sannge to hold itself together. It would go. It would go. He wished that he might have Robine to talk to, but Jasper Robine was dead; he had died on a mission in Spain. A gentleman who had, at heart, been unable to conform to a present. It was a question with Rich- ard if a man of complete breeding could. His thoughts were never widely projected, they returned to the same few conditions and ideas; and he said to himself, very positively, that breeding in men was one of the things a universal party, the equal people, were casting away. It insulted, contradicted, their pretence of equality. This, he thought later, was the last thing Washington would listen to. It was Decem- ber, and the result of the election had been announced from Richmond: Virginia had chosen twenty-one—her entire number— Democratic-Republican electors. To that result Richard devoted a night of wine and rum varied by toddy. He sat alone, except for the portrait of Francis Bale, in the din- ing room; and the candles, one by one, flickered, sent up an evil smoke, and went out; yet they had been renewed, and it was dawn; but he was impervious to nights and days and caiamities. Definitely he was drawing back into Balisand, to Lucia and the children; there change might come, but not until he had followed Morryson Bale to the walled en- closure by the garden. His days became what, in the past, the life on his pla.tation had been: the school bell was rung in its regular rotation, it marked the school hours, controlled the movements of the negroes, called the house to the dining room. An- other headman was appointed in the place of London—who became an unofficial but increasingly tyrannical power—and the new man, Jacob, stood at the foot of the portico steps to drink the glass of whisky which was the public recognition of his new importance. very day, practically, he fox-hunted with Lucia and the neighbours. They rose early in the cold dark of their room—a servant had started the scarcely perceptible fire in the grate—dressed hur- riedly, had a breakfast with rum, and rode with their hounds and an informal kennel man, through the brightening morning, to join the day’s hunt. There were hounds from Balisand and Welfield, from plantations on the Severn and York Rivers, with Bradlock Wiatt and the Fannings, partly merged in a pack that, EVENING POST Lucia constantly protested, could not be properly handled. She had very ded, and revolutionary, ideas about fox hunting. For eg she disliked the competitive progres adie hounds; that mad chase, she spoiled oe Her dogs were trained to hold together. In the Tidewater such yee | was ey an affair of the fastest houn ematee ; and Lucia was so contrary, Richard declared, that she was actually relieved when the fox escaped. “Of course I am,” she acknowledged. ¢ Le not just ge dog farms i ol ey were trotting Roarin toward the Cow Creek Pond and Balisand after a long hunt. Lucia was ahead, with an easy looseness of seat but a ready hand for the holes in the way. “I'll say this, too,” she added: “I wouldn't allow any cur dogs in the circle. But a lot of the riders are no better. They go yelling through the woods by every possible path as though | they were chasing negroes. Half the horses aren't fit for what they make them do. I positively ordered one back to-day.” She was, Richard Bale said, more dicta- torial than himself. Fox hunting was for everyone, high and low, but principally for the low. She paid no attention to this. In their hall they sat for a minute, weary but keen from excitement and the rush of cold air. that light and in a waving disorder. It was stronger than a memory, an emotion, dark | pain. | with regret, longing, and touched b Nothing like that had happened to him for years, and, after drifting into its mood of agreeable sorrow, he led himself bru- tally. Lucia was gazing at her hands, ab- stracted and content. A feeling of anger took possession of him; he was infuriated at a weakness which, he silently asserted, he had az well as invited, His wife rose mained sitting; his anger turning into what, almost, was panic. He had conquered La- Lucia had taken off her hat: her | hair lay always in a flat black sweep, he | thought. It was lustrous and orderly, and | rought to him the memory, the soft- | ness and perfume, of hair very different, | went upstairs, but he re- | vinia’s swift invasion of his life; but an | echo of it, like the falling vibration of a clear bell, lingered within him. Nothing now was as desirable. That, of course, was absurd, a sentimental delusion. now—so sweet. “Absurd!” he spoke vig- orously aloud. But, against his decided manner, fear again brushed him—fear and a sense of guilt. Abruptly he followed Lucia and changed his clothes. It was still the middle of day, and, explaining that he must see Thomas kkes, he mounted a horse at the rack. He wanted to be alone, not even—not most of all—with a mere memory, a shadow. At any rate, he told himself, what had hap- ned to him wasn’t as full, as strong, as it ad been when such seizures were more frequent. It had gone, retreated, almost at once. Probably it would never come again. Yet, for the briefness of its duration, he had been filled with rapture. To recall it brought back the insistent vibrations of his joy. The trouble was he didn’t under- stand what had happened to him—his mind wasn’t yet at rest about Lavinia. The whole thing had been so fantastic, and— sixteen years ago. Where Lucia and he were concerned he had no doubts—he was hers, his body and | Yet, sitting | his spirit and his thoughts. before her, while she gazed idly at her hands, he had been filled with—with love for another woman. The word love came independently to him. It wasn’t that, however. He loved only Lucia. But merely to say that didn’t help him. If it was something else, then what was it? He had nv will to deny his old passion for Lavinia; that he had put away, not dis- claimed. It came over him that he was needlessly exaggerating the importance of his feeling. No one could perfectly control his mind, his thoughts, put out of memory all that had passed. Yes, that was a rea- sonable attitude, a just conclusion. Pur- posely he thought of Lavinia as a yellow rose that, once, fad made lovely a minute of his existence. His emotion, consequently, was one of gratitude. With this he should be satisfied; but he wasn’t. He could argue as long as he pleased, but the fact, the thrilling reality, remained: Lavinia, who was , had iven him a moment of ecstatic ee. ut what, particularly, shook his confidence in life’s safety and proprieties, was not the t, not even the troubled present, but the uture. What if Lavinia—that, for con- venience, was the way he put it—came back Nothing | 93 MILITARY BINOCULARS FRENCH AND GERMAN 8 POWER $19.50 Postpaid Case and Carrying Straps Included Finest Military Prismatic Binoc- ulars. All new or practically new, Many of these binoculars were received di- rect from the ALLIED REPARA- TIONS COMMISSION. Ail are guaranteed perfect. Glaeses of this type usually sell at $40.00 to $56.00. These glasses are of the wide angle type day and night lenses with pu- pillary adjustment, All are prismatic with achromatic objective lenses. Produced by the leading French and German firms, the world's best bin- ocular manufacturers. 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z THE SATURDAY + ‘ The Newest, Daintiest + * ° Lighting Fixture It's Maze-Lite, the latest creation of those celebrated designers who produced the world famous Brascolite. Maze-Lite is intended especially for places where an atmosphere of dainty coziness is desired—the boudoir, the sun parlor, hotel bedrooms, tea rooms, clubs, The beautiful ceiling plate, 124 inches in diameter, is finished in ivory and gold, harmonizing perfectly with any style of decora- tion. The ivory covered bow] diffuses a soft “comfy” light, with- out glare or shadows, It’s a better light to read by. installed anywhere $11.85 in the United States Write for booklet Special Trial Offer. Your fixture dealer is authorized to install one Maze-Lite on twenty days’ trial. If the luminaire is not thoroughly satisfactory, he will remove it at our expense and make no charge. The EDWIN F. GUTH CO. - ST. LOUIS, U. S. A. Representation in every city in the United States Canadian Distributors: Northern Electric Co. MAZE- LITE ers of Brascolite made by the mak EVENING POST still again? It was evident that his logan trust in the preserving attachment of his marriage had been destroyed. Even Lucia hadn't been able to control, to banish, the charm of an old June. There she had been, peaceful and intent on her capable hands! This much, however, was certain—the past.might overtake him in flashes, but, at the end, he’d put it out, extinguish its fra- grant flame; not entirely because he wanted to, but because it was his — duty. And in this he was assisted by what Lucia, su- premely, was. His duty and his happiness were pi tre th one. Richard didn’t find .Ekkes, he hadn’t looked for him; and, since it was the hour for dinner, he rode back to the house. “You look tired,”’ Lucia told him; ‘‘the run this morning wasn’t long or hard. Richard, are you quite truthful about your leg, are you certain it doesn’t hurt more than you say?” “I’m not,” he assured her; “and my leg is all right when the weather’s reasonable. It was fine to-day.” But she wasn’t satisfied; he was con- scious of her gaze upon him in moments when he seemed to be occupied. The fol- lowing morning Lucia wouldn’t let him hunt. “I’m not certain you're honest,” she said; ‘there is no use in your objecting. I won't have you ng, But be careful what you say to Flora. iss Howlett com- — to me that Flora insisted you told er that her history lesson was a lot of lies and nonsense, and you had decided to teach her things that were useful and true.” Some of that, he was forced to admit, he had said. “T wanted her to understand what was going on now, and about France and Eng- land in the United States.” He was, Lucia answered with a light despair, incurable. She was at the front door, and, suddenly, he was reluctant to have her go—to leave him alone. But al- ready she would be late. A breath of fear—yet which might have been the cold from the opened door touched him. He couldn’t go on like this; probably he was sick—fever accounted for so much. Really, he was inclined to laugh at himself: Richard Bale afraid of a memory, | of a lovely and fragile shape dead sixteen years. That was all he had to do—repeat the bare facts of what concerned him. His confidence in himself and in his cir- cumstances slowly returned; now that Lavinia’s invasion of his contentment was over, he again felt that it hadn’t been as strong and unsettling as, at the time, he had thought. Anyhow, it was ridiculous to magnify it into a voluntary or involun- tary infidelity. It had nothing, nothing at all, to do with his life. Richard asserted this silently, but emphasizing each word. At last he was convinced that what had happened was merely trivial: he had walked to the wharf, and, indifferent to the cold, was looking out over the dull tide to where his oyster beds lay. A marking pole, he thought, had been dragged from its | mooring; it pd almost parallel with the e water, a possible danger to his canoes. It | must be replaced. There was a flash from | the surface of the river that utterly blinded him; and, dazed, grasping at the support of the wharf covering, the winter was swept away in an illusion of full summer, a garden of flowers and trees with mocking birds singing in their leafy branches. It was the perfection of the year, with Nature bright in the tender promise of fertility; the sky and river were a distant idyllic blue; the sun a gold veil thrown over the earth. His happiness, his joy, grew more and niore complete; it seemed to be advancing — toward him; as it drew nearer e thought he must choke with rapture. The impersonality of his emotion gave way to the realization that this was Lavinia. Not, certainly, Lavinia herself; nothing to hold in his arms, to kiss; and yet that, in sensation, exactly. Richard sank down on the bench fortunately beside him, his eyes open, but seeing no winter, his hands tightly clasped. He thought he said her name, again and again, Lavinia; his lips moved; but no sound came from them. Waves of triumphant delight passed over him; he was submerged in a sense of utter fulfilment. It left him slowly, no less entrancing in retreat than when it had overcome him. Richard Bale sat bowed forward, cold and empty and shaken. He must go back to the house, he recognized; and he rose, moving with a stumbling tread and the uncertain dragging assistance of his cane. Hefounda August 50,1924 fire—where it didn’t matter—and huddled over it, trying to set in order the confusion of his shccked mind. What, specially, he combated was the impulse, the temptation, to return to and dwell on the passionate loveliness of his experience. It had created an immense desire in him; yes, a hunger for his defrauded love; he wanted to take it up from the interruption by death and fol- low it to the end. This struck him—the monty of his vision, if it might be called that, was like whatever he had known of Lavinia, preliminary, a mi- raculous beginning. Just as their summer was unfolding it had been halted, sus- a it hadn’t, after all, been killed. lowers, it appeared, could escape death. His thoughts, then, turned outward, to the room about him and Balisand, to Lucia. He was appalled at the knowledge that, for a space however short, her reality had been less a substance than the texture of mem- ory. He couldn’t help himself by denying it. No, what had happened to him was too serious to be disposed of in empty conven- tional phrases. His situation was pre- carious. A hatred for what he had participated in began to rise; but it didn’t include Lavinia. How could it? The weak- ness was his alone, a secret fault being made increasingly clear to him. This, as well, was plain—for all his thought, his logical conclusions, he knew nothing about his emotions where the two women of his life were implicated. He might as well give up his speculations; he’d be forced to, Richard saw, since the sheer struggle before him would require deter- mination and not argument. The gathering peace around him had been suddenly shat- tered. There was no question of what he must do, of what, at bottom, he desired: nothing could destroy his attachment to Lucia. That took the form of a chal- lenge . . . but addressed to what? The room where he sat was familiar, reassuring, actual with the materials of his existence; a horse was stamping on the lawn; a sudden barking came from the hounds left at the kennels. Lavinia wasn’t present in any of this; she had never had a part in it; noth- ing here was. hers. Even now he still couldn’t imagine Lavinia at Balisand. Yet she had been here, on the wharf, wrapped in tender love and June. But to think of her in such terms was an act of faithlessness; it was, in effect, to pray her to return, to stay with him always. Damn him! He deliberately, in turn, re-created the images of his family: Lucia, splendid and strong and dark; Flora, so curiously, in a totally different mold, like himself; the candid and sturdy Camilla; Alice Ellen, flaming with the impatient temper of the Bales. How engaging, how warm and su- perior, they were; how fortunately his. Every aspect of his life was favourable to him, to what he regarded as the success of hishonour. His problem had grown simpler, direct, at that second when he had ceased trying to solve it. The obligations of duty he fully understood. This was what con- fron him: He must disentangle himself from the memory of the past, keep his mind rigidly on the need, the happiness, of what he had, so that Lavinia could not intrude her loveliness into his whole commitment of be- ing. Richard felt relieved at once. For seven years Lavinia hadn’t dominated him, and, now that he was so armed against her, it was probable that she would fade back into the past. Now that he was armed against her! Against Lavinia. A cruel phrase in con- nection with her. He didn’t, exactly, mean that; it was only her measureless charm, her perfection, which he was forced to com- bat. Her very beauty made it imperative for him to guard himself. This, his explana- tory thought, his silent apology, took the form of a remark addressed to her. Almost he was begging her to forgive him. He was asking for a release, a peace, like that of death—imploring Lavinia to accept the fate which had overtaken them. He would have to cultivate a sounder mind, Richard determined; he wasn’t suf- ficiently normal; but neither was there any trace of insanity in him; no Bale had ever been threatened by that. A race of sol- diers, a supporting fact. Born to fight, he would continue, with necessity, to the end. He was grimly entertained by the ironic humour in that: now, in the serenity of Balisand, the apparent tranquillity of his middle age, he was, perhaps, entering into a struggle more desperate than any in the celebrated warfare of his youth. If La- vinia came back! With this, when he (Continued on Page 97)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 95 | Good Teethkeeping YE teeth—how about them? How long since you have had them carefully examined? Do you ever go to the dentist except when riotous pain sends you? Science has learned many startling things about the direct influence that bad teeth have upon our health. Bad teeth may cause any one of a dozen or more serious ailments— rheumatism, joint trouble, neuritis, neuralgia, and heart disease. And it doesn’t take a mouth full of dis- eased teeth to cause acute trouble. One single cavity—if neglected—may be sufhcient. This is what happens: A bit of food lodges in atooth. Decay begins. As the cavity grows larger, the millions of germs which are always present in the mouth go trooping into the tooth where they settle down comfortably and have large families. Before long the breaking down and decay of the inside structure of the tooth permit the germs to reach the pulp which is filled with blood vessels and nerves. This is what the germs have been waiting for. They are picked up by the blood and given a tour of the body. Some of them debark in the heart. Others get off in the joints. Still others call out their station in the lungs or kidneys. Many times the result is years of pain. Some- times a crippled body. Sometimes—death. All may come from a neglected tooth cavity! Real trouble is often hidden There is another source of trouble that is nearly always unsuspected— infection at the roots. This may happen to a tooth that never has been filled. You may think that your teeth are in good condition—you may have spent hundreds of dollars on them—they may be beautifully white and shiny—but you can’t be sure about them from ap- pearances. Devitalized teeth—teeth from which the me has been removed—and teeth which have been improperly filled frequently develop abscessed roots which pour virulent PLAN NOW poison into the system. This often goes on quietly without causing the slightest local pain, although intense agony may be felt in other parts of the bod 7 from the effects of the poison. If you have any golden architecture—bridges or crowns— in your mouth, it is well to suspect the foundation and have these teeth X-rayed. In your case—and in the case of most of us who are grown-ups—the best we can do is to have the damage repaired so far as is possible. Now what about the children? Half of the total number of the school- children in United States and Canada have badly diseased teeth which are a definite menace to their health. Nine out of every ten children at school have _one or more unfilled tooth cavities. We can save such children from the suffer- ing and illnesses that we have had, if we all work together for them. How? By teaching children to have clean mouths, and by clean mouth is meant not only clean teeth but clean gums. Above all things we must teach them to brush their teeth regularly for two minutes at least twice a day—after every meal if possible. And we must see that they eat Milk, eggs, whole wheat bread, fresh proper food. vegetables and green foods of all kinds contain the lime needed to build strong, healthy teeth. to-be will eat plenty of the foods which contain lime, their children will have better teeth. Your dentist—if he has studied modern methods —will know what to do about teeth which are_ diseased. Have him put your mouth and your = children’s mouths in a healthy condition. ‘* Then visit him regularly every six months. It is cheaper and less painful to have a little work done twice a year than to wait until neglect has developed a serious condition. If mothers Preventive dentistry—oral prophylaxis—is still new to many people. It is a great step in the work being done for public health. Every year taxpayers are assessed hundreds of thousands of dollars for the re-instruc- tion of children who have failed to be promoted because physical disabilities— frequently caused by the teeth—held them we Teaching mouth hygiene in the pe neo hat = tooth-brush drills and regu- lar twice-yearly examinations and repara- tive work—will remove much of the dis- ability and save the taxpayers’ money. Oral hygienists are trained to clean the teeth of school children and to teach them to take proper care of their mouths. Twelve states in the U. S. so far have per- mitted oral hygienists to practice in the schools. In 36 states no concentrated effort has been made to save the teeth of their future citizens. What is your particular community doing to promote oral prophylaxis for the school children? Local clubs and organiza- tions are helping school boards to intro- duce oral hygiene into the public schools. This rapidly growing interest is making for a better iaieal, healthier, happier people. The Metropolitan Life Insur- ance Company will be glad to mail, free, a copy of a booklet, “Care of the Teeth” to anyone who requests it. HALEY FISKE, President. Published by 4 Js fr METROPOLITAN LIFE INSURANCE COMPANY ~- NEW YORK Biggest in the World, More Assets, More Policyholders, More Insurance in force, More new Insurance each year

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 4. st | { Assurance! } HROUGHOUT the history of this institution, extending back almost a hundred years, its products have been known all over the civilized world for their excellence, their .dependability and the service behind them. Prob- ably no other institution has contrib- uted more to the development of every country of the globe. So when twenty years ago the Har- vester Company introduced to this world market a motor truck to bear its name—that truck had to be worthy. It was—it is—it always will be. Few organizations use as many trucks or have reason to know as much about truck transportation as the Harvester organization. During the past five years more than 7000 Internationals have been hard at work in the service of this company, its branches and its dealers. This very experience with these trucks has developed marked improvements and tested most severely the stamina of International construction. Experi- ence and skill build these trucks—we know they should be good. We use them—we know they are. International Heavy-Duty Trucks are built in 3000, 4000, 6000 and 10,000 pound maximum capacities with bodies to meet every requirement. There is also a sturdy Speed Truck for loads up to 2000 pounds Motor Coaches are supplied to meet every passenger transportation need. Upon request we will gladly supply you with names of International owners in your own line of business and the address of the nearest showroom where the full line of new models son display INTERNATIONAL HARVESTER COMPANY OF AMERICA 606 So. Micuiaan Ave. (INCORPORATED) CHICAGO, ILL. \ August 30,1924 Three great fac- tories are devoted exclusively to the manufacture of International Trucks. A corps of factory-trained Road-Engineers inspect regularly and without charge all Internationals in service. These engineers travel out of our 103 direct company branches located in the following cities: Aberdeen, S. D. Akron, Ohio Albany, N. Y. Amarillo, Tex. Atlanta, Ga. Auburn, N. Y. Aurora, Ill. Baltimore, Md. Billings, Mont. Birmingham, Ala. Bismarck, N. D. Boston, Mass. Buffalo, N. Y. Cedar Falls, lowa Cedar Rapids, lowa Charlotte, N.C. Chattanooga, Tenn. Cheyenne, Wyo. Chicago, Il. (3) Cincinnati, Ohio Cleveland, Ohio Columbia, 8. C. Columbus, Ohio Council Bluffs, lowa Dallas, Tex. Davenport, lowa Denver, Colo. Des Moines, lowa Detroit, Mich. Dubuque, lowa Duluth, Minn. Fast St. Louis, Ill, Eau Claire, Wis. Elmira, N. Y. El Paso, Tex. Evansville, Ind. Fargo, N. D. Fort Dodge, lowa Fort Wayne, Ind. Fort Worth, Tex. Grand Forks, N. D. Grand Rapids, Mich. Green Bay, Wis. Harrisburg, Pa. Helena, Mont. Houston, Tex. Hutchinson, Kan. Indianapolis, Ind. Jackson, Mich. Jacksonville, Fla. Kankakee, Ill. Kansas City, Mo. Knoxville, Tenn. Lincoln, Neb. Little Rock, Ark. Los Angeles, Calif. Louisville, Ky. Madison, Wis. Mankato, Minn. Mason City, lowa Memphis, Tenn. Milwaukee, Wis. Minneapolis, Minn. Minot, N. D. Nashville, Tenn. New Orleans, La. New York, N. Y. Spsabars, N., Y. Oklahoma City,Okla. Omaha, Neb. Parkersburg, W. Va. Parsons, Kan. Peoria, Il. Philade!phia, Pa. Pittsburgh, Pa. Portland, Ore. Quincy, Ill. Richmond, Ind. Richmond, Va. Rochester, N. Y. Rockford, Ill. Sag.naw, Mich. St. Cloud, Minn. St. Joseph, Mo. St. Louis, Mo. Salina, Kan. Salt Lake City, Utah San Antonio, Tex. San Francisco, Calif. Sioux City, lowa Sioux Falls, S. D. South Bend, Ind. Spokane, Wash. Springfield, Ill. Springfield, Mo. erre Haute, Ind. Toledo, Ohio Topeka, Kan. Watertown, S. D. Wichita, Kan. Winona, Minn. The largest com- pany-owned motor truck service organi- zation in the world. In addition to these company branches more than 1500 dealers, in as many communities from one end of the country to the other are ready to serve International owners.

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J } fi} = — (Continued from Page 94) thought of his wife, he was conscious of an increasing dislike for himself, for his body and thoughts. It seemed to him, somehow, that he had been—well, contaminated. A little of his arrogance in the face of the world, his severity of judgment, had gone. He was allowing for pressures, temptations, in men that formerly he had dismissed with contempt. He was getting soft! That, with the loud clangour of a warning, sent him upright on his feet. If this grew impossible, he told himself, if he couldn’t conquer it on the land, he would sink it, cooled for ever, with all that it included, in the North River. Better that than a slow corruption. He'd give Lucia no half alle- giance, he wouldn’t live with her and fall into shuddering delights at the vision of Lavinia. Richard went into the dining room, to the long high table that held the decan- ters, and drank a glass of brandy. There later Lucia found him. “That was full when I left this morning,” she observed, of the decanter. ‘‘Only part of a half cask is left. You will have to send to Norfolk or Welfield for more.” At supper Richard Bale, sombrely dressed, was seif-contained, silent. “Miss Howlett, have you told the chil- dren what to-day is?’”’ he asked. His demand was so uncompromising, he had addressed her so severely, that she was wholly confused. “T’m afraid not, Mr. Bale. If I should have remembered I am sorry.” He replied that it was the first anniver- sary of General Washington's death. “‘Never again, in my house, let that be forgotten by anyone.” Lucia objected to his peremptory tone. “But, Richard, you said nothing about it sooner.” He had been preoccupied with something else, he explained briefly. A sudden appre- ciation of the simplicity of his years in the Continental Army, the Virginia Line, pos- sessed him. The difficulties, the abject pri- vation, seemed to have been immeasurably less than the reward, the reward not of recognition or public applause or payment, but the sense of victory over the body, of accomplishment with no thought of price. That time had been best suited to him of any in the degenerate present. And how various it was, how many different scenes and countrysides and services he had passed through. The war with England was an affair of scattered engagements, long re- treats, forced marches, North and South. Only a little group of men, about Wash- ington, knew how many times their cause had been potentially lost; how many times from defeat, imminent ruin, they had at least preserved a few troops with which to fall back. Winter and summer and winter again; they had stopped keeping track of seasons, of years, except to remark that January al- ways overtook them when most they lacked clothes. It was in the fall of 1776 that, with a captain’s commission, he had recruited a company in the Tidewater. They had joined the Sixth Virginia Regulars at Wil- liamsburg, and drilled there through the winter. Even then there were objections, muttering in the line, against an indispen- sable discipline. What training his men had had, in addition to ornamental and really disorganizing muster days, had been in open marches, through the woods, against Indians. Each held stubbornly, ignorantly, to his individual freedom. Yet, when they marched North into Pennsylvania they formed able if unimpressive troops. They crossed the Delaware above Trenton. There was a town—what was it? Perth—Perth Amboy! And, almost at once, they went into action, under General Lee, covering Washington’s retreat. They began that way! His men had held a bridge across the Raritan River while Washington withdrew his army and stores beyond the Delaware. He, Richard Bale, was particularly for- tunate, since he had been with the force that, hurried across the river, had beaten the Hessians at Trenton. Then, for a while, he was attached to the staff at Princeton—his company already had been decimated, left, for the most part on a bank of the Raritan. However, what he had ex- perienced was nothing to the bloody and often single-handed fighting at Middle Post. Forays at night, outposts surprised, quiet slaughter. That had lasted well into June, and then he joined the main army under Wayne. At the Brandywine he was in Wayne's division, with the Third Vir- ginia Regiment on the left of the American line. Across their front meandered a nar- row creek, and beyond that slight interrup- tion Knyphausen had had seven thousand men. All day the German assaulted, but without success. How many times, Rich- ard wondered, had he closed in the gaps in his company. But, at sunset, with the right of the army turned, Wayne had been forced to fall back. With Colonel Marshall, he, Richard Bale, had removed to Chester. Again over the Schuylkill they had tried, without avail, to save Philadelphia from the British; but not because Philadelphia had shown any great desire to be saved. That city had the appearance of a cheerful reconciliation to its occupation and fate. The echoed violins of its balls, the genial sounds, almost the savours, of its dinners in- cessantly reached those who were en to be its defenders. Then came the disaster at Paoli, when, at the Warren Tavern, the were surprised by the British rear guard. He had fought in the dark, trampling through the guy ropes of his marquee, with—his sword lost—a detached bayonet he had been lucky enough to catch up. This finished, Wayne had demanded the vindication of his conduct by court-martial, and Richard had testified, with a repri- mand for his contemptuous bearing toward the ignorant malice of the charges. When was it Washington had held the general conference of his officers for the | purpose of considering a proposed attack | on Germantown? Toward the end of Sep- tember, for the engagement took place the first week in October. The discussion, any- | how, had been at the White Marsh en- | campment, and Wayne recommended the action. A dark morning of fog, through which the noise of the gunfire was less no- | ticeable than its red streams of fire. The left wing, with Greene— Richard paused to damn him for faithlessness—never came up, and Wayne and Sullivan, on the right, took the whole stunning weight of the Eng- lish attack. Yet, mainly with the bayonet, they had pushed them back—a full three miles, when they had mistaken Greene for British reénforcements and retreated. And then winter; with no shoes; he had had no baggage since the rye bese winter with cursed little to eat and less to | burn. Disconnected memories came back to him: a fife and drum corps on a a day, a hard, brilliant, glittering day, wit their bodies more naked than clothed in | rags that had never even been uniforms; his company too weak to drill or bear muskets; details through the New Jersey ines in desperate search for cattle not sent in to the English, to Philadelphia. But, for | encouragement, Von Steuben, the incom- parable drillmaster, had arrived at Valley Forge, and worked the miracle of his energy and military science. Richard could hear him now, shouting in a German that men without German yet contrived to under- stand. But, if Valley Forge had been cold, Mon- mouth was fought on the hottest day he had ever experienced. That, too, had opened with defeat, with General Lee's failing to obey his order. June, that was. Richard had been with the advance post, in the famous Monmouth orchard—famous, | that was, once—and engaged the English | guards under Monckton. The best blood, the best troop, in England! He had fought body to body with radiant English youths, beautiful boys with fair hair, in a welter of stabbing and tripping and strangling; splendid boys from the green serenity of England, the fashionab!e drawing-rooms of London. He remembered their desperate efforts to recover Monckton’s body. In the end they had broken and killed them, left them, impressive in uniform, at the trunks of the apple trees. Lucia, he saw, had gone from the dining room; Mrs. Patton and Miss Howlett, with the children, had withdrawn. For the moment they seemed immaterial, like a dream in the profound weariness after battle. Lucia, Lavinia, were figures far away; it was as though, in place of gaz- ing into the past, he had been enabled to see the future. Lavinia was like an in- finitely small cloud on the horizon; it wasn’t conceivable that he would get himself in- volved in a net of women and sentiment. Not he, a Bale of Balisand, not Richard Bale of the Virginia Line! Yet the war was long over; this was an anniversary of Gen- eral Washington’s death. He drank with- out rising, with no show or form, to his commander. He had, once, directed Gawin Todd never to disparage Washington to him, but that had been only an act of bravado, a drunken mood at dinner. Now THE SATURDAY EVENING POST John Harvard knows good note books Not only at Harvard, but at Yale, Princeton, Columbia, University of Illinois, and schools and colleges all over the country, there are note books that students natu- rally select. For good records, in graded school and through col- lege, students have learned to rely on National Note Books. In grammar and high school they begin to keep their compositions and problems in good-looking, long-wear- ing National ‘Simplex’? Loose Leaf Covers. When stenography and science are taken up, National “‘ Uni- versity’’ note books, neat and substantial, preserve their notes and experiments in useful form. In college, lecture notes are taken in fine leather covered flexible loose leaf books or in ‘‘Emerald’’ ring books of durable texhide. ‘ The many National loose leaf and bound books made for students’ use are made to give big value and long service. Good, strong bindings—pen-perfect sheets, some in the famous Hammermill papers—convenient and quick-acting rings—handy sizes, rulings, styles— prices that fit young pocketbooks—these are some of the reasons why Nationals are so popular. Ask your stationer or book store for Nationals. If they cannot supply you, write us. NATIONAL BLANK BOOK CoO., 123 Riverside, Holyoke, Mass. New York, 54 Duane St Chicago, 620 W. 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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (rawford Shoes FOR MEN Young men like Crawford Shoes. Crawford styles are smart and up to the minute. Crawford Shoes are comfortable and give utmost mile- age per dollar invested. Mo st Styles A Few Nine a Ten CHARLES A. EATON COMPANY BROCKTON, MASS. MAKERS OF MEN'S FINE SHOES SINCE 1883 | couldn’t, he saw, have | march—and, though it was evening, re- | miles distant. he disowned any such conduct. He re- called the vileness of the Republican prints, Jefferson's papers. The death at Mount Vernon had silenced even them, made un- necessary the continuation of such abhor- rent political expedience. What followed those celebrated engage- ments was very different. He was a major—this dated from the fall of 1778, but he hadn’t been able to secure his new ranking until a year later, when his cap- tain’s commission was rubbed to a paper shred in his pocket—yet he performed the duties of every grade and separate service, almost, in the Army. Richard had returned to Virginia—it was now 1780—where he was aide-de-camp, for a number of months, to General Nelson. Indeed, his employ- ments had been so various that he couldn’t recall them in proper order. He had had charge of the magazine and laboratory at Westham, above Richmond, but how long had that been after Monmouth? When was it, exactly, that from the heights at Rocket’s below Richmond, he had can- nonaded General Phillips? Then, cer- tainly, he was attached to artillery. Such guns as had been available! Every possible military resource Virginia commanded had been ordered South for the support of Gen- eral Greene. After that he moved the Westham mag- azine across the James River by Brittan’s Ferry, and a devil of an undertaking it was; | yet, no sooner, hardly, had he succeeded than it must all be brought back. He had | sunk his cannon in a creek and left his stores at Point of Fork. Colonel Tarleton, about then, crossed the James near Char- lottesville and drove away the Legislature. Richard had watched the dragoons gallop- ing over the mountain side, looking for Jefferson. Thomas escaped, he told him- self; yes, he got away; the country, Amer- ica, the United States, might have lost him! Again his mind, his memories, were | confused. He had marched a uniformed de- tachment over the mountains with colours flying and beating drums, and, everywhere, they were mistaken for the British—the only Virginia troops the countryside knew wore hunting shirts. He rather thought it was on that occasion his men had mutinied. No pay! Anyhow, they had appeared at the general beat without knapsacks, and | he had been forced to run a sergeant through the body with his sword. Upon that he had set the barracks on fire—they been on forced moved the command to a situation eight He had fought a duel, in addition to all the rest, with a relation of A ridiculous affair: he had been late to roll call, and, not wholly sober, had explained that he preferred lateness to ap- pearing in a dressing gown and slippers. Slippers and a dressing gown had, on that occasion, adorned the general’s relative, and the duel followed. Neither had tried to hit the other. He had reached the sum- mer of 1781. Early in June, Wayne, with some eight hundred men, had—in place of roceeding to South Carolina—joined La- ayette at Fredericksburg. Two battalions were formed, and to them was added a third, Virginians under Colonel Gaskin, with Richard bringing seventy-five sol- diers. He was quartered with General Lawton’s brigade; they had one cannon, a six- pounder; and he rernembered a small op- eration with a vidette corps of dragoons under Larkin Smith. Somehow he was in a skirmish at Hot Water, with Butler and the rebellious Pennsylvania Line. But the pur- pose of this campaign was to harass and check the English raids sent out from the headquarters of Cornwallis at Portsmouth, which the British had made into a fortified magazine for the supplies of the fleet. To- ther with this, too, the meagre American orce had to keep Cornwallis from moving into North Carolina. The English, mostly, operated through the region between the James and York; and Richard, with an in- superable amount of marching, was inter- — engaged with the enemy’s rear a | Nelson’s. guard. He had fallen into the habit of attacking at dawn, when resistance was lowest. They would sleep at brief moments, in the close- ness of the woods, or on dignified lawns by a river; and, in a weariness too deep for cursing, again move on their inconsequen- tial and important purpose. He had spent, that way, informal nights in formal, stately drawing-rooms, eaten hurried suppers past August 30,1924 midnight on tables of old magnificence and renown—a figure of shadowy passage, of muted orders, indefinite men, constantly, needfully, alert. He must have been a haggard night visitor to those historic plan- tations; haggard but welcome; and how strong, how young, he had been; how little sleep he had required. No thicket of forest, of wild grapevines and brush, or treacher- ous marsh, was too difficult for his course, no stream too swift to ford, no river so wide but that he crossed it somehow. Yes, that time was best, better than the present, even with Lucia and their children, at Balisand. Then he had thought with longing of the peace of his plantation by the North River; all he wanted was to return there; and now he was envious of such a desperate past. Yet, not that—he was re- gretting himself, what he had been, and his supreme privilege. Such years, he felt, would never come again; there would be other wars, of course—probably they’d never cease—but not quite the same. Not such a pure incentive; and never a second Washington. It was in July that Cornwallis, moving along the James, had sent a small detach- ment across the river, and the report carried to Wayne that the British force was cut in half. Richard Bale, himself, had seen the negro who brought them that false intelli- fpr. just before Green Spring was fought. e was with the advance—an insignificant number that had passed over the causeway of a swamp—which had suddenly found itself opposed to the greater part of the English army drawn up in battle array. But they escaped, orderly they withdrew across the swamp; and then, to avoid the ruin of panic, Wayne had charged the over- gen forces threatening to surround im. Soon after, Cornwallis was driven back into Yorktown, where he was fortified; the French fleet under De Barras, the French ships from the West Indies with Saint- Simon’s troops, arrived; and the finish drew near. They were a different French from those who, under the States-General, had been their successors—-the republic had ac- tually thrown Lafayette into jail—and Richard recalled them with affection and gratitude. Together they had sung a song, in French from an opera then in great favour. Lucille, it was called, and the name of the composer came back to him, Grétry. Some words, as well, returned to memory; and, uncertain in air, with no ossible reference to their part in a strange anguage, he half sang: “Ov a-t-on plus de bonheur Qu’au sein de sa famille ” He had had no active part in the final at- tack on the Yorktown redoubts; in the main an affair of siege-guns; and on the seven- teenth October the enemy blew the chamade. That call, proclaiming the end of English dominion in the American colonies, had, as well, sounded his, Richard Bale’s, discharge from war. Or had it been from peace? He couldn’t determine which. Cramped from long sitting, he rose, still enveloped in the heroics of the past, and, forgetting the weakness of his leg, he nearly fell. Where had he laid Morryson’s cane? As he went around the table, limping from the room, he met the painted supercilious gaze of Francis Bale, the Cavalier; but not even he had seen amore desperate or honourableservice. And Charles had been beheaded, the first Charles; and then the second-—the revolution that had freed America beginning in Great Britain! ‘‘——— on plus de bonheur,” he hummed, slowly mounting the stairs. The candle he bore cast a pale and isolated light around him; there was a flicker of shadow, Richard Bale, on the wall; he nodded to it and it nodded vaguely back, a dark insub- stantial confirmation of their joint approval. The immediate result of his extended and special memories was that, with a refreshed energy, he applied the precepts of a more than civil discipline to Balisand and him- self. It seemed to Richard that he had fallen into a disorganized indolence in itself dangerous. And, obstinate to the shrinking of negroes from the cold, he undertook im- provements to the plantation long ago de- signed and put off. He had the marshland back of his informal race track drained and filled and the trees cut out. Once before he had begun this, but he had been forced to stop after a particularly heavy loss of money at hazard, in the tavern cellar, to William Newsome. He supervised the la- bour from his horse, closely wrapped in the (Continued on Page 101)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 30,1924

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(Continued from Page 98) worn cape with a martial history. He must be occupied, Richard told himself; employed, when he wasn’t fox-hunting, throughout the day. A part of his con- scious strategy against the invasion of his security by Lavinia, The political situation, was, very temporarily, completely quiet: the vote of the electoral college wouldn’t be opened until February; but there was a general conviction that the choice would lie between Jefferson and Aaron Burr. Adams, though the general acrimony of the late contest had died, was submerged in a petty and vindictive quarreling with his cabinet. Gawin Todd, it was reported to Richard, in the probable event of a Jeffer- sonian victory, would be very suitably and publicly recognized. His life, it appeared very clearly to Richard, had been divided into two wre | different periods: formerly it was vivid, concerned with events, and later it had grown contemplative. The second part be- gan with Lucia—or had it been with Zena Gainge?—and Lavinia belonged to neither; she inhabited a sphere of her own, unreal and compelling, disembodied and enchant- ingly present. There, he felt, his panic had shifted to a arg tape willingness to accept the evil with the good in what yet awaited him. A single reflection troubled this—the realization that when-he wasn’t overcome with his strange late passion for Lavinia he couldn’t credit its potency. Free from it, and in the warm presence of Lucia, it seemed fantastic, no weakness of a Bale. But, in connection with that, he recalled what Morryson had told him about his mother: a small, quiet, oversensitive girl, Morryson had said, who had written a poem about love and eternity. And when, within a year, she had died, his father had never married again. Richard Bale vainly wished that he had asked Morryson more about that—it might have a bearing on his own experience. vinia, for example, was like a poem. Poets, he gathered, chose just such subjects for their lines. There was his mother! He, Richard Bale, since the forced pages of his early instruction, had read nothing; he wholly distrusted ex- travagant books and sentiments. In that, he now recognized, he had been right. The habit of indiscriminate reading was responsible for a great deal of harm; among other undesirable things, the Democratic-Republican Party: Jefferson was an agp oy friend of literature. The people got hold of printed subversive promises and lies, and, as a consequence, lost their grasp on the = indispensable facts of existence. The Bible was, for such reading, sufficient; and it was well to have it chained, written in Latin. This he re- peated, at length, to Lacia. Miss Howlett, with Camilla, was in the room, and she became so patently distressed that, against her painful reluctance to being noticed, she finally spoke: “Mr. Bale, I have such trouble with the children now, making them listen when I read, and if they hear you I might as well go away.” Lucia laughed. “T have just been arranging for music lessons,”” she told Richard; ‘for the first time in the children’s lives it’s possible; and what will you say to that?” Music, he asserted sharply, was as dan- gerous as poetry. She grew serious. “Richard, you’ve never talked this way before. What is it? And Miss Howlett is right; we can’t let you interfere with her. It would be decidedly better if you went back to explaining Federal politics to Flora, even with the cursing. Actually, yousound like the people at camp meetings.” He wasn’t, Richard replied, to be taken so literally, He had only tried to say that he wanted his children taught the solid and undeniable facts of life. “Tt isn’t religion at all, but as far from that as possible. They must be like you, Lucia.” For that—she was standing—Lucia gave him one of her rare public kisses. She pressed it, cool and reassuring, on his fore- head, “Then send them out to the stable, since ou and Beverley insist that’s where I earned whatever I know.” He wasn’t, unfortunately, able to de- scribe his feeling. The truth was that he didn’t want his girls to inherit or be en- couraged in any of the nonsense that had upset him. It had occurred to him that a measure of it might have come from his mother; for, if the habits, the very ap- pearance, of the Bales descended from THE SATURDAY generation to generation, why wasn't it possible, as well, that he bore within him | the influence of the other? Entirely a poetic affair. Poets, he con- | tinued, were individuals who got along notoriously ill with actual events. In that they resembled unhappy women. He was alone, Lucia was at Welfield, the children were with their governess, and he proceeded to the case of books standing in the hall by the door to the east room. They had been there since the time of Francis Bale, not later than 1680; one or two volumes, at least, had undoubtedly come with Richard from the disaster to a Stuart England; yet a number of them, he rigidly decided, no longer should havea place in his house. Hakluyt’s Travels he ignored, Wisdom in Three Books he left undisturbed, but a romance concerned with Cleopatra he un- hesitatingly condemned. He passed b Aristotle’s Problems, a religious book by Diodati, another called Boanerges and Barnabas, An Observation on the Turk’s Government, a Jure Maritimo, and then came on a slender volume of Virgil’s Poems, which he removed. The Cure of Gunshot Wounds he approved, as he did Directions | for Planting Mulberry Trees. A Discourse Concerning Comets and what seemed to be | a medical work, The Birth of Mankind, | could demoralize no one; but Homer's Iliad, a book by Ben Jonson and Donne’s Poems he added to those he had condemned. pneng women and poetry! That | chance phrase stayed in his mind. Music and trouble—he heard, from the garden at Todd Hundred, the low singing of the vio- lins. Lucia might mock him as she pleased, but he’d be damned if the Methodists weren't justified in their opinion of—of such traps for the heart. Poetry and women who were dissatisfied, cut off from their desire. He elaborated this into the tenta- tive and highly unpleasant theory that what he chose to call beauty rotted like apples when they were left on the tree. It might be that the whole loveliness of a woman kept from its purpose, the simplic- ity of birth and its attending business, grew into a poison. This wasn’t a new thought; somewhere, long ago, he had been familiar with it. If he could convince himself of the truth | of that, all his indefinite dread, persisting, he found, hiding, at the back of his logic, would be vanquished. But merely to an- nounce it wasn’t enough: he knew this, that his problem was not of the head. Men- tally he disposed of it a score of times in a day. Lavinia had never appeared to him in a sensible light. She had come to him, as a matter of fact, through the dark, a voice—with pauses. Almost at once, after | a moment, a flash of sun, she returned to darkness, and there, really, she ought to stay. With, privately, the destruction of such | volumes of poetry and imagination as he | could locate, Richard made no further ef- forts or comment in that direction. Lucia would have been very decided in her objec- tion to such an apparently arbitrary inter- | ference in her plans for the children. Her | placidity there wasn’t indifference. And, as it was, Miss Howlett, he saw, had grown | frightened of him. His natural severity was a but with it his affectionate in- terest in Flora and Camilla and Alice Ellen | had expanded. He asked for them more | frequently: he was specially tender with | Flora; Camilla impressed him by her early ability to look out for herself; and he was, very rauch in secret, amused by Alice Ellen’s bad tempers. At the slightest provocation she would screech—he always | : returned to Flora’s word for that—as en- | ergetically as Yon Steuben at drill. She | required more attention than anyone else at Balisand. Camilla largely went her own way, a way almost as satisfactory to others as it was to her. She got her lessons more easily, remembered them better, than did Flora, but her curiosity never extended beyond them; she never, Miss Howlett re- parte read a line other than necessary. | ora, however, overtaken by eagerness, | would a the studies set her for the | infinity of possibilities they suggested. She | had to be restrained, her history lesson shortened, for more than once it had made her ill with excitement. Lucia, he thought, was inclined to be impatient with her; impatient, that was, for Lucia; in another, probably, her bearing would have been a model of consideration. “T don’t understand Flora at all,” she admitted. “She hasn’t a single Mathews | trait, and try my best I can't see you in | EVENING POST 101 A bottle of milk is a bottle of health ' "5, o'clock! Now for my bottle of health” Cool and refreshing—pure and healthful, a bottle of milk at three in the office day brings back that nine o'clock urge. and business put off fo? the morrow is done to-day! 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FP ALE eR ENR G OSU LAE NST ih ALTE 8 PRIA TART UN EAE ARIA ETE PARE NADIE OO An 2. The Hame of (Whi PeououcTS nents seamed spare THE SATURDAY EVENING POST her—unless I don’t know you. All the Tuckers I’ve met are different, too. | don’t want to be unjust, but, unless she changes, I’m afraid she’s going to be un- happy. ‘Flora is too intense. But then you are that. Sometimes I think you’re beyond me, Richard; I didn’t use to, but I do now. ’ | Could you be a little different, do you sup- O you get the most out of it—the most in appearance-—the most in performance— the most in low-cost operation? (/Asz Automotive Products are made for the thrifty car—who wants long, dependable service from it. Hundreds of thousands of car owners use some | pose? It’s not your leg; I’ve given that | up. Are you worried, Richard? You would ' tell me if you were, wouldn’t you?” He wasn’t worried, he replied, justified in what was, at times, very much a lie. “What is there to bother me?” he demanded. She didn’t know, she couldn’t put a finger on it. Beverley, Lucia continued, had spoken of this, as well. “He thinks you seem thin.” Richard managed to laugh at the mere suggestion of a fat Bale. “Richard, I haven't disappointed you?” Here he was free for the expression of all he felt. “How could you do that, Lucia? You are so perfect that at times I forget to men- | tion it. I don’t notice—Balisand is like a heaven with you.” She nodded. “That's all right, then.” Thank God, | she hated sentimentality as much as he did. | Welfield over Sunday, all of us, “You haven’t known it, but we’re going to Christo- pher and Amalie will be there, and maybe Garland.” That, he said at once, would be pleasant; - . Y | a change of scene do him good; perhaps it owner who takes pride in the appearance of his | |; seemed to have would shake him out of the mood she noticed. Christopher | Mathews was Lucia’s brother. 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A rumour spread that the New York Republicans might refuse him their vote. Jefferson, it was asserted, to combat this, had offered a cabinet position to one of the Livingstons. At the tavern a Republican celebration was held, where the liquor consumed, the proprietor assured Richard, would have almost done credit to a gathering of Federal gentlemen. Gawin Todd made an impas- sionate address of confidence in the future and ridicule for Adams and the reigning families of the past. About this Richard Bale was cold, but he heatedly denounced the efforts of his own party entirely to de- feat an election by the forced choice of a temporary president. He came to the con- clusion that, in the old, the correct, mean- ing, he no longer had a party. He had denied this to Beverley Mathews, but it was true. Yet it was, at the same time, equally true of Jefferson and James Madi- son: those iron constructionists of the Constitution now, dismayed by the growing strength of Burr, proposed that the two candidates for President join in summoning August 30,1924 a new national Congress. situation. December had gone in that way, and January, and—waiting for the carryail to bear them to Welfield—it was February. The balloting at Washington was under way. The entire Bale family, however, were, just then, indifferent to the political crisis. Alice Ellen was absorbing all their attention. She didn’t want to leave Bali- sand, and, in her usual manner, she was making her objection clear. “Let her stay on the floor and kick,” Richard advised them; “‘she’ll have to get tired.” “Perhaps, then,” Flora added, “‘we will be here, just like this, for a week.” Camilla thought not. Mrs. Patton was solicitous, Miss Howlett declared that her nerves could not last at this rate; but Lucia unceremoniously picked Alice Ellen up, turned her over, and applied a succession of loud firm spanks to her youngest daughter. “She can’t make any more noise,”’ she observed. Flora was transfixed in an agony of attention. “She is, though,” she announced; “twice as much.” Richard agreed with her. “TI don’t know why you take her,” le protested; “in the future if she goes any- where I won't.” He was thoroughly exasperated. Miss Howlett’s attitude fitted him exactly. Lucia begged him to remain calm, since none of the trouble actually rested on him. But he was in no mood for calmness or his ordi- nary—concealed—entertainment at Alice Ellen’s outbursts. He called for a servant, ordered a horse saddled, and expressed sur- prise that he should have considered driving with a cursed nursery and mob of women. “Indeed,” Lucia retorted, ‘I'd far rather not have you. It was your own suggestion to go in the carryall. And I'd be glad if you weren’t so unreasonable before the whole house. You have been too strange lately.” A vision of Balisand with only Morryson and himself there, except for the tactful Mrs. Patton, returned to him, and he viewed it regretfully. He had no talent, it appeared, for living with women, none for a family. “If you would take care of your children, instead of riding all over the county behind a pack of hounds, you might be able to manage them,’’ he incautiously asserted. Lucia gave Alice Ellen to a servant. “T don’t like quarreling in private,”’ she said evenly, ‘‘and I certainly won’t descend to it here. If you think I oughtn’t to fox- hunt I'll stop, of course.” He was, now, infuriated at himself. All that his temper had betrayed him into was the precise reverse of what he felt. How handsome Lucia was! He was degenerating intoa woman. Flora’s eyes were filled with tears and Camilla’s mouth was open, Alice Ellen silent in the negro’s arms. “If I am going to ride,” he spoke lamely, “T shall have to make a change. Go on, Lucia, and I’ll catch up with you.” How handsome she was, how correct in manner! He mustn’t subject her to another open scene; Richard recognized proudly she wouldn’t have it. Not Lucia! His cape settled about him with a familiar comfort. Bradlock Wiatt owned a horse she admired; and if he happened to be at the Mathews, and would sell . . . the perfume of a June garden illusively enveloped him. A humiliating (TO BE CONCLUDED) The Rugged Maine Coast

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4 j / f AGNAVOX Radio Vacuum Tube Type A Be fi a storage battery tube for use both as audio frequency and radio frequency amplifier in all standard circuits. Highly recommended also for detector use. No grid leak necessary, but its use will not affect results. Not critical of adjustment eitheras to plate or filament. Fila- mentconsumption is one quarter of an ampere. This is a six volt tube with standard base, and requires no circuit changes. Each tube packed in strongly mortised wooden box, to be tested and re-sealed by dealer at time of sale. SATURDAY EVENING POST OW QA MAGNAVOX Tube g for your receiving set HE engineers who developed the famous Magnavox line of radio reproducing and am- plifying equipment have now produced vacuum tube equally distinctive and success- ful in its own field. Into the design of the Magnavox Tube have gone over two years’ research and experiment along original lines, culminating in discov- eries which made possible an entirely new principle of tube design. The most notable feature of the new Magnavox Tube consists in its elim- ination of the grid type of control electrode. Unlike the ordinary storage battery tube, the Magnavox allows the electrons an un- obstructed passage between filament and plate, with the result that Magnavox Tubes have less than one half the internal ca- pacity of other tubes of similar type. One trial convinces the most exacting user that the Magnavox will replace ordinary tubes to great advantage in any receiving set. Magnavox Products Reproducers of electro-dynamic and semi- dynamic type $25.00 to $50,00 Combination Sets combining a Repro- ducer and Power Amplifier in one unit; $59.00, $85.00 Power Amplifiers for audio frequency am- plification, one, two, and three-stage; $27.50 to $60.00 Vacuum Tubes: A storage battery tube of new and improved design for all stand- ard circuits . ; ; ‘ $5.00 Magnavox Radio Products are sold by reliable dealers every where If unacquainted with the Magnavox store in your vicinity, write us for information THE MAGNAVOX CO., OAKLAND, CALIF, NEW YORK SAN FRANCISCO Canadian Distributors: Perkins Electric Limited, Toronto, Montreal, Winnipeg

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST BAK Bakelite Panel and ial, Radio Corp'n of America Connecticut Ele Bakelite Socket Pipe “Realite’’ Pencils with Bakelite Barre!s “ Ever-Ready”’ Razor Rox, Bakelite Moulded for American Safety Razor Cerporation “ Roval Rochester” ( offee Urn with Rakelite Handles Rakeitie Sheets, Rods and Tubes ERIAL O - A TRADE MARK REG, U.S, PAT. OFF, ' to Industry N a little over a decade this new mate- rial—a chemical substance made from carbolic acid and formaldehyde—has established for itself an enviable position in the industrial world. Known chemically as phenol resin, and sold under the trade-mark “Bakelite,” it is made in many different forms, such as molding material, varnish, cement, lac- quer, enamel; in sheets, rods and tubes and in transparent form. In innumerable places, it has super-’° seded wood, rubber, porcelain, fibre and other substances, and raised higher stand- ards of quality in the industries in which it is employed. Thus, Bakelite is being successfully used for varying applications such as radio panels and dials, coffee-pot handles, elec- tric light sockets, pipe stems, pencil barrels, razor boxes, electric irons, grinding wheels, armature coils, jewelry, telephone receivers, and many others. Bakelite is a heat-resisting, high dielec- tric material, impervious to oils, moisture and all common solvents. It has unusual mechanical strength and does not deteri- orate with age. F The possibilities of Bakelite are almost unlimited. Perhaps there is a use for it in your product. Our Research Labora- tories will be glad to co-operate with you. Send for illustrated booklet OO BAKELITE CORPORATION 247 Park Avenue, New York, N. Y. Chicago Office: 636 West 22nd Street August 30,1924 THOUSAND | Chemistry’s Gift “Delco” Starter Armature, Bakelite Impregnated Kellogg Telephone Receiver, Bakelite Molded Norton Grinding Wheel, Bonded with Bakelite Bakelite Basing Cement for General Electric Mazda Lamp Transparent Bakelite N ec klace “ Simplex” Tron vith Rakelite Handle Bakelite Raw Materials

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ee THE SATURDAY SHORT TURNS AND ENCORES (Continued from Page 22) While Mrs. Bell’s an equal flair For mayonnaise or an éclair. They have the self-same baggy skin, Though Mrs. Bell has one more chin. They have the selfsame trick of wheezing, And devastating way of sneezing. But there’s one difference we note It gives the Elephant our vote! Though he and Mrs. Bell both eat Till they're, to say the least, replete, Unlike her he won't try to bluff While we sit by and watch him stuff His food with greed disquieting, By telling us he’s dieting! Mr. Willoughby De Witt—The Puffer Fish HE Puffer Fish, when in a state Of panic, will at once inflate And then, as quickly as a wink, Instead of turning pale, turn pink. Precisely similar to it Is Mr. Willoughby De Witt. He's always viewing with alarm! The country’s sure to come to harm These radicals all make him sick 1 lamp-post for each Bolshevik Is what he'd do if he'd his way! You'll see him almost any day, 1s in the club's best chair he sits Indulging in conniption fits, And registering indignation By pinkness, puffing and inflation. Harold Whinnick—The Mole HE Mole and Harold may not strike Us just at first as much alike. It seems so silly to confuse The Mole’s brown fur and varied hues Of Harold’s golfing suit of tweed. For Joseph's coat was dull indeed Compared with that which Harold thinks The Well-Dressed Man upon the links Should wear. Please note the stocking chaste In which his shapely calf’s ineased! But here’s where Harold’s like the Mole— He dearly loves to make a hole! The Mole, we know, is not a shirker, And Harold, also, is a worker. =~ Though “work's” a word that’s far too tame. He'd rather call his golf his “game.” He swings and pirouettes and pivots, Replacing painfully the divots, For hours beneath the broiling sun In order to reduce by one His record for a single hole. Could we demand more of the Mole? We must admire such rare devotion, Although it seems a bit Beotian. As for his skill—we do not doubt it, But wish he wouldn’t taik about it, We do not give a—well, do you? If he got on the green in two. It only makes us numb and logy To hear of holes he makes in bogey. It’s here that on the Mole he’s scoring— He’s much superior at boring. —Katharine Dayton. Bulky Biilionaire Sued Mr. Beroot Again in Court ANY charming gowns were seen Thurs- day last at the trial of Hardfist Beroot, who is being sued by Miss Aintsche Knut- tye for ten million dollars’ damages for breach of etiquette. The plaintiff was smartly appareled ina one-piece frock of poitrine de souris crépe, silver-fox scarf, saucy black hat, a necklace of graduated black pearls, a white bandage over her left eye, and was holding to her nose an adorable smelling-saits bottle of the latest model. Miss Knuttye was attended by three nurses, four physicians and two specialists. She wore the new potato-blossom shade of hose with gray pumps, and it was easy to see from the worried expression on the faces of the defendant’s lawyers that they feared the jury might be unduly influenced by the fact that it took the combined efforts of the three nurses and one specialist to cross the petite plaintiff’s knees at the cus- tomary angle. It was then observed that her platinum garter buckles bore a dazzling monogram of | blue diamonds. The huge Mr. Beroot wore the latest- style haircut, a suit of the new fishcake brown, cut along the lines of the one in | which he made sucha striking appearance in | his third divorce complication, caterpillar- | green socks and brown oxfords. His right hand was incased in adhesive tape. The nurses wore the conventional uni- forms, the specialists the correct afternoon frock coats and gray trousers, and the physi- cians wore simple but perfectly cut suits of brown, gray, Sine and tan with socks and ties to harmonize. A judge and several legal persons were among those present. When placed on the stand Mr. Beroot | explained that Miss Knuttye fell down his apartment stairs after accidentally bump- ing her face against a bunch of forget-me- nots tied with silver ribbon which he was presenting to her with an affectionate ges- ture. Mrs. M. T. Dome, in a fascinating frock, was hostess of one of the smartest parties attending the court function. Lack of space prevents a description of the be- witching frocks worn by the debutantes. May Philo, The Rising Tide VENING prayer of the ethnologist’s little boy: “‘God bless mamma and papa, and please maintain the Nordic su- premacy !”’ Analytical Geometry YHE baby's nose tilts at a sky-angle ; His mouth’s an isosceles triangle That is, when he’s glad; But when he is mad He alters the shape to a cry-angle. Arthur Guiterman, ORAWN BY WYNCIE KING And He Had Been Bragging for Two Weeks That His Aunt Was Going to Bring Him a “Dawg” e EVENING SEE DIXON SCHOOL PENCILS For every age and every grade For more than fifty years, Dixon pencils have been specified and ordered by teachers and school boards and selected by far-seeing fathers and mothers who realize that the right pencils do have an influence in shaping handwriting and in making lessons easier and more pleasant. Remember the name Dixon, therefore, when you outfit your children for the coming school year. There are many different kinds of pencils, erasers and other school supplies in the Dixon line —each one made especially for the work it is intended to do—each one an exceptionally good value for the money. Here are four leading styles: For the First Grade Dixon's Beginner's Specially designed for chubby litthe hands and eyes that must not be strained For Grammar and High School Dixon's “Ti- con- der-oga’’ A fine pencil at a medium price. Makes writ- ing and figuring easier Fer the Drawing Lesson Dixon's “Best"’ Colored Pencils — Made in assortments of 7, 12, 24. Used by famous artists, yet not expensive. For the Years in College Dixon's “Eldorado” superlatively fine pencil for writ ing, figuring and drawing. Made in 17 degrees Make it a point to see the nearest Dixon dealer. He will be glad to assist you in selecting the right pencils, crayons, erasers and other school supplies for your children, You will find his advice very helpful. Joseph Dixon Crucible Company, Pencil Dept. 8-J, Jersey City, N. J.

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THE SATURDAY In the test of long endurance—the scuff of many miles—FtorsHem Sxoes give loyal service—value for what you pay. THE VARSITY—STYLE oC 147 MOST sTyLEs $10 Booklet, *’ Styles of the Gimes’’ on “Requesi Tue Firorsuermm SHor Company eManufacturers ~ CHICAGO Es MAGIC There’s white magic in every tube of Mennen Shaving Cream...Is the water hard or alka- line? Mennen’s lathers with it in a twinkling. Is your beard obstinate? Presto! in the path of the razor. Is your skin blem- ished or unhealthy? A marvelous emollient in Mennen’s works wonders...Scientists call the Mennen beard softening process **dermutation.”’ You'll call it white magic. ed ( M ennen Salesman) MEANSN SHAVING CREAM | would be | protest | lishes a cable EVENING POST August 30,1924 UNCLE SAM AND THE TUB THUMPERS (Continued from Page 21) so did Rumania; half a dozen countries pointed out how their remittance revenues hurt, and warned the United States of serious consequences; British news- | papers began to play up harrowing stories | of the hardships the new regulations would | work; and Japan sent a warning through | its ambassador. Why? What inspired hopes of successful ainst what they all do themselves, unless they were persuaded Uncle Sam | would knuckle under to clamor? At this writing a London newspaper pub- rom Tokio, date of June twenty-seventh: ‘“‘The Japanese Foreign Office has decided not to appeal to the League of Nations against the United States excluding Japanese immigrants. This decision is not because the Japanese Government considers its case at all weak, but because the League appears to be im- potent.” This hint of the uses to which the League might be put will scarcely help its advo- cates in the United States. It is on a par with the proposal broached at one of the League’s first sessions to pool the raw materials of member countries. To illustrate a typical European attitude toward the og gpen law, I need quote It melts | only a couple of sentences frem a very | temperate item a ring in a newspaper of June tenth: ‘‘The new laws confer al- | most inquisitorial powers on American consuls, They are empowered to ask all kinds of personal questions and then use their discretion as to whether the visa shall be granted.” e have been all along cherishing the notion that we were a self-governing na- tion, yet a purely domestic law like pro- hibition has brought down on us an avalanche of denunciation. It seems to be taken as a mortal affront abroad. Why? It is easy to understand the howls of dis- tillers and brewers and wine growers, but the malevolence displayed by the masses of some foreign countries toward this domes- tic legislation appears extraordinary. And | although Americans themselves are sharply divided on the question, they cannot but speculate wonderingly over such attacks | and the conception of Uncle Sam which | prompts them, They cannot help asking themselves, “‘ What business is it of theirs?’ Our Duty to Everybody | They make many of our problems their | business, however. Day by day, month in | and month out, foreign statesmen and pub- | licists and writers and lecturers have been instructing the American people in their duty until our ears and souls have wearied. What has induced this attitude toward us? I was in Berlin a few months after the Armistice, while the Peace Conference was sitting at Paris. German efforts to soften the terms took the form of threats and huge demonstrations. _And whom did they threaten? Against whom did they demon- strate? They soon learned better than to try such tactics on the French or British, so all their fury was directed against America. The explanation is simple enough—they were persuaded the United States Govern- ment could be bluffed into an effort to ex- tract a more favorable settlement from its allies for them. Everybody remembers their campaign throughout the Uhited | States for this purpose. What led them to think this? The efforts to induce the United States to cancel war debts are fresh in memory; also the appeals from every quarter of Europe and the Near East and Asia for additional financial aid. Importunities for help finally reached such proportions and | were b on grounds so fantastic that a halt was called. Uncle Sam began to draw in his horns, even in his humanitarian ex- | penditures, but not without bitter opposi- tion from organizations which this orgy of | spending had called into being. | Why was it that people and governments without the shadow of a claim on us should have supposed their demands for money | would meet with success? The policy of the British Foreign Office launched the Greeks on a disastrous ad- venture against the Turks when Turkey lay prostrate. France backed the Turks, and the Sick Man of Europe startled the world by an amazing rally under the stimulus of aggression. The English people repudiated this sordid political gamble with honest indignation and refused to support another war. More than half a million refugees fled from Asia after this disaster. Where were they to live? From the standpoint of west- ern civilization they were undesirables, a considerable portion drawn from the scum of eastern bazaars and parasitic occupa- tions. At once the cry went up that the United States ought to receive them. This seemed to the Greeks and many Europeans a good way out. Of course it was absurd, et even in the United States many were ound who exhorted America to open her ates to these “‘victims of Mohammedan yarbarity”’ and tried to raise the Cross against the Crescent, ignorantly exalting a shameful political tragedy into a species of holy war. Just recently a resolution was drafted at the Democratic National Con- vention which, in denouncing the treaty with Turkey, bleats about a “betrayal of America’s duty to Armenia.” Uncle Sam’s Sacrifices Now France had Syria to offer as an asylum to these starving hordes, with mil- lions of virgin acres crying out for cultiva- tion—soil as rich as good old Texas prairie land. It had Morocco. There were vast British dependencies and dominions with sparse population. Did a voice in Europe have the effrontery to suggest that Syria or Canada or Australia should take these exiles in? Then what do they think of America? Since the treaty of peace was signed in- vitations have poured in on Uncle Sam to join conferences. Sometimes a direct pro- posal is made; sometimes the indirect ap- proach is employed, and we have a sudden scurry by a group in one of the two political parties in the United States to “lend a hand to stricken Europe.” In every conference which Uncle Sam attended as a member he has had to make sacrifices. The disarmament agreement is a ease in point, and subsequent proposals contemplate further surrenders by the United States in order to compose French and English rivalries. The réle of peace- maker may prove hazardous. Why these expectations of generosity from us? Everybody agrees that the appointment of American representatives to what came to be called the Dawes committee was a fine gesture, an admirable political expedi- ent, and a much-needed move. Yet if the French did not entertain high hopes of the United States they would not have counte- nanced the proposal for a moment, and it remains to be seen what will be asked of Uncle Sam when the time comes to apply the Dawes plan. Already the Allied press is gleefully pointing out that this project be- ing Uncle Sam’s own child, he ought cer- tainly to be willing to do handsomely by it. All those encomiums and all that gratitude for showing them how to do it will cost America money. I predict our people will experience some bewilderment when they discover just what is expected of them before the settlement can be put into operation. We are constantly hearing from our senti- mentalists of thé shameful manner in which the United States has abandoned Europe. These pecple don’t know anything about Europe, of course. They haven’t an inkling of the stream of private capital going from America into investment there. The truth is, that continent has made amazing recov- ery from the war. How could Uncle Sam allay that rivalry by interfering? If he were to back either of these powers against the other it would rovoke a crisis compared to which present irritations are mere pin pricks. Whenever Europe urges the United States to come to her relief it is because each power hopes to find in Uncle Sam a useful ally. The mo- ment he lined up with one the other would rail at America to stay at home and mind its own business. France did that very thing when American protests were heard against the occupation of the Ruhr. Now what I’ve said is not intended as a plea for isolation. It is not an attack against the League of Nations idea. The world (Continued on Page 109)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 107 TON y | THE NEW VELIE Now on Exhibition in Velie Salesrooms Excess Value is written all over this big, impressive, luxurious Velie— The Velie lines are new and distinctive—reminding one of the finest foreign cars—the finish is rich and beautiful— The famous Velie-built, airplane type six cylinder motor—with its valve in-the-head construction, its force feed lubrication and its over-size bearings provides power and dependability out of all proportion to Velie prices. The full size balloon tires and famous Lockheed hydraulic four-wheel brakes afford riding comfort and safety equalled only in most expensive cars. It is a car that you must see to appreciate—You must ride in it and drive it for yourself—Compare it point by point with cars costing half again as much. Five wonderful body types—Phaeton, Five Pas- senger Sedan, Club Phaeton, Royal Sedan and Coach Sedan—A Car to Meet Every Motoring Need—At An Amazingly Low Price. Write today for the New Velie book. VELIE MOTORS CORPORATION MOLINE, ILi. OO —_— are eet Tt FIVE PASSENGER SEDAN

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 30,1924 KNAPP-FELT HATS fo MEN _ Knapp- -Felt Hats made by the Cavanagh €dge Process are notable for their loné wear and permanence of style. They are featured byi the best dealers in various qualities from 38> to $40 each. Other Knapp-Felt drades -may be obtained for as little as $0°" éach. (rite for The‘Hatman | THE CROFUT & KNAPP COMPANY John Cavanagh, President 620 Fifth Avenue,New York

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(Contineed from Page 106) must come to a genuine league of nations, with the United States one of the strongest members. If it doesn’t it is faced with the alternative of one great power winning to domination by a series of wars or a throw- back to numerous small and constantly warring groups, which spells chaos. Then what is the argument? Simply that Americans should approach foreign affairs with their eyes open. The Government fre- qaseay comes in for attack on account of lack of foreign policy, but I submit that any government is apt to hesitate when it is expected to negotiate as an agent for senti- mentalists. Until it can count for support on an informed public opinion which will bring to international problems the same sanity and common sense it would apply to business, the Government is bound to hold back. The new immigration bill is the most hopeful sign in years. Crities assert that its passage involved a serious breach of good manners. Stressing good manners is a favorite de- vice of those who deal with Uncle Sam. They can warn and lecture us—that is quite all right. But when we take any de- fensive action to protect ourselves, that is bad taste and bad manners. Right here I would like to point out that in ail the rail- ing against the United States, not one nation has ever been able to charge an ag- gressive offense—their only grounds of complaint are that we don’t leave the coun- try wide open to their emigrants and don’t throw its wealth and strength wide open to Euro exploitation. They have never been able to accuse us of trying to grab what belongs to other peoples. This is an important difference. Moreen: if vital interests are to be sac- rificed to good manners Uncle Sam is cer- tainly unprepared to do business with any- body. And if we are to forgo our rights for fear of the risks incurred in offending the sensibilities of other peoples, the American democracy is finished. The outstanding fact, aside from the tremendous need of the immigration act, is that its passage demonstrates Uncle Sam is at last rousing to maintain his rights. A Badly Needed Law The outcry against its ya in our own country was revealing. rge numbers of citizens whose parent race quotas the bill cut down met ther in halls and mass meetings here and there to pass resolutions and berate the United States as a land of liberty or justice or anything else worth while. It may be that these people had good grounds for grievance-too. In fact, the probability is that the American sense of fair play would concede all of them justi- fied in leaving the United States flat on its back and returning to their countries of origin. The demonstrations achieved one result: They convinced the American pub- lic that this law ought to have been passed a generation ago. - The tendency to split up into tub- thumping minorities and discard tried American institutions in favor of panaceas which have failed dismally in every prac- tical test in Europe can be traced to the influence of our undigested aliens and not to the rebellion of youth that some writers like to acclaim. These people have succeeded in superimposing on the native viewpoint an attitude toward the social structure which is the product of ancient wrongs and oppression. They are unconsciously ap- plying to altogether new conditions and opportunities the hang-over spirit of the downtrodden. The tendency shows clearly in tecent lit- erature. It has become almost a vogue to depict American life and ideals from the pessimistic Russian standpoint. When did all this start? During the war, of course. Up to then Americans thought as Americans, and the Government was ac- customed to insist upon American rights being respected. With the outbreak of the European struggle that state of mind dis- appeared. Some of us became pro-British, some pro-French, some pro-German. In THE SATURDAY our efforts to maintain neutrality and pre- , serve a correct attitude toward the com- batants it became necessary to let much go | unquestioned. Also, we had to put up with a series of | affronts. That we suffered them so long convinced the outside world Uncle Sam | could be bluffed and cowed. Our entry | into the war demonstrated to these peoples | the spirit of the American nation, but it did | not greatly change their estimate of the | American Government. They still pro- | ceeded on the theory that Washington | could be moved by sentimental appeal, | and their judgment turned out to be sound. | Considering the contribution he was making to the defeat of Germany, Uncle Sam soaed a distinctly junior-partner rdle in the control of wartime activities. And always the soft pedal had to be put on the assertion of any American view. It was | “Sh-h! Sh-h! You mustn’t say that. It will hurt their feelings.” We faithfully ad- | f hered to this notion. We obeyed not only | an official censorship but a self-imposed | censorship far more rigid. Perhaps this was right enough under the circumstances, | although I would like to point out that | some of our associates observed no such nice regard for ,other nations’ interests as op- | posed to their own. But what was the result? The experience | broke down the habit of thinking as Amer- icans and almost destroyed our national | consciousness. It accustomed us to ac- cepting tutelage. It split our people into camps. Foreign agencies largely controlled American thought and opinion. Any purely American viewpoint was certain to raise howls of anguished protest. The Sop to America The war ended. Men of experience said, ““Now comes the scrapping; each country will play its own game.” They did, with the single exception of the United States. We started in to play Big Brother to All the World—‘‘Come and help yourselves, chil- dren.” For by this time the professional sob sisters and brothers had gained com- plete control of the situation; day and night they vociferated tearful concern for our gallant allies. The few who tried to break the news that the Armistice had shattered wartime solidarity and each of the European powers was now following selfish national aims were denounced as anti-British, anti-French, anti-American, anti-God, and pro-German. With all our late associates diligently thinking and remaking the map of the world as Britishers or French- men or Italians, the vast bulk of the Amer- ican people stil! clung to the war hysteria. It was prodigious. Never in history had a nation surrendered so abjectly to foreign control of its thinking. And the conference at Paris proceeded to make a peace settlement —a — set- tlement with scarcely a vestige of the prin- ciples for which America had fought, but with a make-believe League of Nations thrown in as a scp to the sentimentalists. Then Uncle Sam woke up—too late, as usual. That they’ve been trying ever since | | es is svffi- | to undo the mischief of Versai cient comment on the treaty. The French have still a lot to learn. Idealism being foreign to their natures, it is seldom brought out for public appeal at | home and they employ it awkwardly when | driven to employ it for foreign consumption. [Impatient of hypocrisy, quick to detect | buncombe and claptrap, they assume the | same capacity in others, and zenerally place reliance on a statement of their position from the standpoint of their safety and necessities, taking it for granted] sane peo- ple must know that every nation acts in a desperate aoe wr from self-interest. | Consequently their chagrin knows no bounds when a people to whom they look for intelligent recognition of facts furiously espouses an equally selfish policy dressed up as a cause. It is curious how the mere mention of idealism among Americans is supposed to settle any argument over the merits of an international dispute and to flatten the EVENING OtHa MURD ‘AGO ABUSHED ass QUALITY for 7o years When wagon trails led hardy pioneers across the continent, the Monarch Label signified —as it does today —the highest quality obtainable @ REID, MurRvDOCH & Co. CMICAGO + poste OR Cd [B33 ox, * NEW YORK Speed Axle in the World Installed in the rear housing; becomes an inte- gral part of the car or truck. Not an “accessory.” Planetary in principle and opera- tion; no welding, no cutting, no brazing. The drive shaft is not cut or altered. No added weight on parts not intended to carry added strain. your nearest dealer in light cars and trucks for Free Demonstration, or write nearest office AT ONCE. Ruckstell Sales &@ Mfg. Co. : iaies See ® Berkeley, Cal., 819 Snyder Ave Ruckestell Axle Co., Ltd Toronto and Montreal European Office, Amsterdam, Holland You can transform your light car or truck inte a “Power” or “Speed” car or truck at will, by merely shifting the handy RUCKSTELL AXLE. Now, for the first time in the history of automotive engineering, it is possible to combine POWER and SPEED in ONE. Gives your light car or truck 60% GC Power No hill too steep; no road too rough or muddy. The Ruckstell equipped car or truck goes through roads impassable for heavy, high priced trucks; climbs practically all hills on “high.” If speed is a factor, you can have from 20% to 00% MORE. Get t POWER lever controlling the C] a @ Make of Car This coupon good for Free Dem- onstration at nearest dealer's, or J FREE

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST When Time's Forgotten” hr ime g ArELLOWw is apt to forget the time when he’s getting a lot of fun out of good tools. For instance, a Simonds Saw sings its way across a board with so little effort. There are many reasons why, mostly due to Simonds over ninety years’ ex- ence making tempered steel cut- ting Ask your dealer about SIMONDS Hand Saws, Hack Saws, Files, Circular and Cross- Cut Saws. SIMONDS SAW AND STEEL CO. “The Saw Makers” Established 1832 Fitchburg, Mass. Branch Offices in Principal Cities BIG BUSINESS OPPORTUNITY $1,000 to $4,000 investment required. Keaponsible company offers cacheeive advertiaiag propowtion haying uolimited possibilities, Pro- tevted territory Experience cnnecewary. In 6 months, Ilinois man built mm 49 towns, $80,000 gross income, Business yousually high | standard, Kakee Xompaay, 329° 19th Ot, #8. Louis, Mo. | Representative in Every County Can carn up to $100.00 weekly handling nationally | known Xmas Speciality in universal demand among professional, business and society people, Process Engraving Co., 1812 So. Crawiord Ave., Chicago | | | MOHABTINGS-> REAL GLASS WINDOWS | Keep Your Ford Looking New Change dim, tattered, broken cella- joid tor wtylish, real glass windows you can see chrous: Keep out wind, rain, dust. Easily put on, wear forever and may be had from dealers who sell high aueiey } equipment. A million in use, Loo! for the name on the frame. $1.00 for the set of two $1.15 for the set of three | FRANK C, CLARK, Times Building, Clark's Around the World and Mediterranean Cruises fa 20 and Jan. 31, 1925; 122 days $1250 up; 62 days 600 up. Chartered steamers; ask for either program, New York UL. D. ‘44-inch Drill is a sturdy tool yet weighs only 12 Ibe. A glutton for w and stands up Seder hours of hole drilling on any kind of a job. Equipped with &-foot cord and screw plug. Fits anv lamp socket. Specify voltage when ordering. Send for booklet describing the | ractical thinker like a pancake. Why? hat is an idealist? The sentimentalist thinks he is one, and he recognizes no other. There is no more scathing denunciation in his vocabulary than “‘a man of no ideals.” Now probably no man above the level of the brute ever- | went through life without ideals; but a thinking person learns discrimination. He finds out that many youthful theories are | demoralizing in practice. His early con- | ception of the human race as man is demol- ished. He realizes there is no such animal, but that governmental and social systems must be adapted to fit multitudes of men of varying and fiercely clashing characteristics, and what would be meat for one kind would be the other’s poison. Gradually his idealism becomes tempered with the sound common sense of practical experience. He no longer has confidence in the effectiveness of vague soul urgings to right the world en masse, and tearful yearn- ings over the plight of distant pop give place to active concern for the family in distress around the corner. And so the | practical man of honest intent ends up with a sturdy faith in fair play as the most serv- | iceable and enduring form of idealism. That marks his graduation ‘from the ranks of the sentimentalists. A sentimen- talist is merely a person of humane impulses in a lower stage of development. He hasn’t yet learned to distinguish between facts | and bedtime stories. Then why is it he wields such influence in the United States? It seems to me his strength consists chiefly of vociferousness, and that multitudes of clear-thinking citi- zens defer to his viewpoint rather than in- cur the stigma of lack of feeling. The sentimentalist has most of us cowed. The | result is that the American people swallow | more mush than any other five nations com- bined. We can see it in every field of activity. It invades political arenas to the absolute obfuscation of the issues involved. Pro- vided a candidate can make a sentimental appeal, other shortcomings are largely over- looked, so it is inevitable that sentimen- talism should become the refuge of the scoundrel. Those who rebel against its shams are held up to opprobrium. Up to the time of postwar readjustment, cleav in public fog soe usually occurred over clearly defined issues, but with the August 30,1924 American people in such a timorous state of mind it was inevitable that groups should try to profit from it. And so we saw the rapid growth of organizations under various guises, but with one real erp: we were treated to the spectacle of Congress yield- ing to minority intimidation; we saw raids on the Treasury, and the phenomenon of blocs forming in both Houses and threat- ening to swing the balance of power. Dis- covering that noise could stampede the politicians and a lot of good folk, the tub thumpers waxed powerful and ever bolder. Labor split up into factions—factions whose aims ranged from the legitimate aspirations of the movement to the red-ruin ambitions of the communists. And we beheld the curi- ous anomaly of the advocates of force for the imposition of a new order denouncing the application of force to suppress their activities, The cry was for a short cut to the mil- lennium. Every quack nostrum put forward had as objective the betterment of one group at another’s expense—a . panacea stood no chance without that. Now al- though everybody longs for Utopia, when it is proposed to establish it by the sacrifice of himself and all his family and friends, even the most idealistic of men must neces- sarily fight it to the death. And so, what one group championed, others tightened their belts to battle, and a lot of us ran hither and yon, emitting shrill piping cries, and getting nowhere. Meanwhile a solid, inarticulate body of Americans stuck to the job and carried on the work of the nation. For no matter what party or what governmental system rules in Washington, no matter what type of men run our industries and banks, the daily work must be done or we shall all starve to death, including our lustiest Uto- pians and communists. So eminent a So- cialist thinker as Bernard Shaw declares: “Liberty is an excellent thing; but it can- not begin until society has paid its daily debt to Nature by first earning its living.” We are still moiling and milling about, getting excited over trifles and stampeding to tub-thumping hysteria. People prone to squander their strength in fuming seldom have the moral stamina for a great test Splitting up into numerous groups is always the forerunner of disintegration. How far down that road do we intend to go? never authorized. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (More Than Two Million and a Quarter Weekly) IS fully protected by copyright and nothing that appears in it may be reprinted, either wholly or in part, without special permission. The use of our articles or quotations from them for advertising promotions and stock-selling schemes is Table of Contents Speed Way line of Grinders, Hammers and Accessories ELECT RO-MAGNETIC TOOLCO. So. 52nd Ave.,Cicero (adjoining Chicago), fil August 30, 1924 Cover Design by Norman Rockwell SHORT STORIES Valor—Ben Ames Williams . : a5 Every Little Movie—Octavus Roy Cohen The Affluent Corvinus—Kennett Harris A Bout With Abouts—Sam Hellman The Queen Maker—Agnes Burke Hale Brothers Under the Skin— May Edginton HASTINGS MFG. CO., Box 16, Hastings, Mich, | ¥ Suppose You Wanted Extra Money To Pay For An Automobile Pryor or if you'd hi had 1 The Curtis you need money for the “upkeep” of your old car Bigg ll If you'd like to have tine nq Penaiibveints some extra spending monsy—-Or if it’s just a Gentlemen: Without obliga- case of wanting more cash tion to me, send along details of to meet your daily ex- your spare-time money making penses, here's your answer: plan. Without previous ex- i ARTICLES | ! ! ! ! perience, without invest- 1 ! | I ! ! The Personable Mr. Davis—Samuel/ G. Blythe vA rae How I Found Myself—The Retailer’s Story —— Reported by Chester T. Crowell The Making of a Stockbroker— Edwin Lefévre Rigas ‘ Uncle Sam and the Tub Thumpers— George Pattullo $3.25 in 2 Hours With that record at the start, Howard Baker of New York SERIALS Professor, How Could You! (Third part)—Harry Leon Balisand (Sixth part)—Joseph Hergesheimer ... . MISCELLANY won't be long paying for the new car he has just bought. Wilson ing a cent, and in whatever sea wie 24 time you can spare from your regular work, you can earn easy, extra dollars in # pleasant way. Hundreds of men and women are making from $5 to $25 extra a week in ti.eir free hours ie acting as subscription representatives for The Saturday Evening Post, The Ladies’ Home Four- nal and The Country Gentleman. The coupon will bring you the same offer they had. Do you say, “Send it along”? Then Mail This Coupon Today! Name 20 22 Editorials RS Short Turns and Encores Street 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. City State

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THE SATURDAY All Members of Mt. Everest Expedition Officially Equipped with Ingersolls ACH member of the Mt. Everest Expedition was officially equipped with an Ingersoll. The Ingersoll was adopted as official after severe tests of many watches. The watches were sub- jected to one week’s exposure at 140° of heat and one week’s exposure at 40° below zero. EVENING POST FW INGERSOLL Improved YANKEE $14 EFORE the year is up a half million American boys will be owners of the New Incersout YANKEE. Boys want a dependable watch, but they want style, too, They get both in the New Yanker—and at a price that puts a watch within the reach of every boy in America. The New Yankee has the dependability and the sturdiness that every one expects in an Ingersoll. But, in addition, it has striking new features of grace and beauty. It has the antique bow and crown, new hands, new dial, specially damaskeened back plate, it is more closely cased and in general it has the appearance of a higher priced watch. Every boy and every father and mother is invited to see this watch, The New YANKEE comes also with a Radiolite dial that tells time in the dark—at $2.75. Incersoit Watcu Co., Inc., New York, Chicago, San Francisco

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST DECORATIV VE LIGHTING F ITMENTS kus ik eee 2 4 Die Me VO New TREE 94 (er sere Halse RPA ORE MO) 90 wee ees Om) RB URRY OREN) August 30,1924 CT into your new home has gone much of yourself. Hours of thought and planning. Days and eve- nings devoted to estimates and specifications. Your money has gone into it, too; it has cost a good deal, in many ways; but it is worth all it cost, and more, for it is your home, to live in and Riddle Fitments have come to be widely recognized as the standard of modem goers lighting to $62.50) afford a wide range of selection. Riddle can home. The various styles, and the prices (from P|: P:| L4H B):| |: bal B:| ei: Fi: S|: 4h 8: ° : e): Fi: Lan ? ¢ ) He z|: 5: g: 2S: ? 45 e: e. ®: 2: >: B 2): z). > = 2: >: 2: 2: e: HE 2): 2\: >. 2: .: e: P) s enjoy In such a home is it well to leave the lighting equipment to shift for itself? Almost of itself the lighting can make or mar the final appearance. Hence the value of well-chosen fitments, such as will add a truly decorative note and be a source of pride and constant enjoyment. They are marae desi “pnd ior the modern Ameri- Fitments are so! through Authorized who can be relied on for competent advice and suggestions. Illustrated folder of styles and details of the Riddle Planning : Service sent on request. THe Epwarpod N. RippbDtus ors oe Company, Totrevdo, Onto LQDLO DA ARE EO DN AIO DLO MO Me Ke 0D. 0 LOVE ARO 08 OO Sd ~~

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rmstrong’s Linoleum for Every Floor in the House \d al, #4, ’ maf wi J The floor of this attrac \ fad he bedroom ts Printed Linoleum, Pattern Na, tive atty iS Armstrong's cat if i; ‘ S247 ROOM or ATTIC? THE FLOOR DECIDES NCE she had thought of an attic as merely a storeroom for junk, with a rough, splintery floor. It only when Junior wanted a room of his own that her imagination started to work —-and turned to the neglected attic! There was a fearful array of odds and ends in it, but her imagination was game. was She said to herself: “I'll give away some of this truck. I'll keep the bureau. I'll paint the old wooden table a nice rich brown. That old bed I'll “have refinished—but the floor, the floor!” Then she thought of a floor of Armstrong’s Linoleum and followed her thought through. The attic becomes a room And when the man came and laid the new linoleum floor in the attic, it was hard to tell who was the more pleased with the new room's look-— Junior or herself. Here was an attic bedroom—an additional room secured at slight expense; for the lino leum floor was Armstrong’s Printed Linoleum selected to match its walls and window cur- ARMSTRONG CORK COMPANY, L! tains; a practical floor for a boy to romp on, easily swept, easily kept in condition, “What is linoleum?” asked Junior. “Linoleum is made of powdered cork, oxi dized linseed oil, and burlap,” she replied. She had read “ Floors, Furniture, and Color,” by Agnes Foster Wright, a book issued by the Armstrong Cork Company. Why linoleum floors are so durable Cork comes from a tree in Spain, and 1s springy, and waterproof, and sound-deaden- ing. So is this floor. Linseed oil is pressed from flaxseed, grown in the Argentine. The oxidized linseed oil binds the cork together and makes this the durable floor if 1S. The burlap is made from jute, grown in India. Jute is used to make heavy rope. The burlap woven from jute forms the back of linoleum. So linoleum 1s hard to tear. These are the facts. It is for you to insist that your merchant»show you genuine lino leum made of cork, linseed oil, and burlap. So look for the Circle ““A”’ trademark on the burlap back when you purchase linoleum. NOLEUM DIVISION, 827 LIBERTY STREET If there is no burlap back, the material is not genuine linoleum. If the Circle “A” isn’t there, it is not Armstrong's Linoleum. If vou want to learn for yourself the color possibilities of floors of Armstrong's Linoleum Look over his you will find a good merchant. samples. Ask him questions him interested. “FLOORS, FURNITURE, and COLOR” By Agnes Foster Wright vo to see Mrs. Wright was formerly President of the Interior Decorators’ League of New York. Her book contains colorplates and sugges tions for color schemes in home decoration and furnishing. It will help you choose lino- leum floors suitable for any room in your house. It will be sent on receipt of twenty-five cents, stamps o1 (In Canada, Look for the coin, sixty cents.) If you will describe Cipete “a your rooms, our Bureau of Interior — trademark.on Decoration will send you color * «lap back scheme suggestions with actual samples, for floors, wall coverings, and draperies. No charge. LANCASTER, PENNSYLVANIA

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A little Old Dutch Va It is not onl ' inne in le jone in iess a Tere! up, Go] a Ot 1 Qld Dutch cleans hygienically. Everything Wweet and sanitary 2) resnt scratch > han © bidallG Be sure you use Old Dutch —there’s noth For Greater’ and Better Results Use Old Dutch © 1924, The C. P. Co,