The Saturday Evening Post 1924-11-01: Vol 197 Iss 18

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“ Aah. ‘THE SATURDAY _ EVENING POST - Fa I llw in ric. © ca NOVEMBER 1, 1924 (i ial | | Scts. THE COPY ‘ ' a a ee y os : f " | i mie Richard Washburn Child —Samuel G. Blythe — Horatio Winslow—Robert S. Winsmore Clarence Budington Kelland— Ben Ames Williams— Elizabeth Frazer— George Pattullo 4

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¥ ay 5 All the clothing world acknowledges the supremacy of Kuppenheimer Overcoats. They are recognized everywhere fam as the finest and foremost specimens of tailoring style and skill.

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SATURDAY EVENING POST 7 inch 7 $3.9 Canada, $4.50—$6.00. \ HEN you are asleep } vou lose all your eyes in inky blackness. No tell- sense of time. You w rake and open ing whether it is two o'clock or five. You'd like to know. With a luminous dial Westclox at your bedside you can roll a sleepy eye in its direction, know the time at a glance, shut your eyes on the dark, and be back in dreamland without fully waking. WESTERN CLOCK COMPANY, When you wake in the night LA SALLE, The hands and hour numerals of every Westclox luminous are coated by hand with a radium luminous com- pound that glows constantly in the dark, and glows for years. It adds sev- enty-five cents or more to the cost of a Westclox, but doubles its conven- iences and usefulness. To look for the trade mark West- clox on the dial of the clock you buy stamps you as a judge of clocks. ILLINOIS, U. S. A. Factory: Peru, Mlinois. Jn Canada: Western Clock Co., Limited, Peterborough, Ont. Westclox Westclox Westclox Westclox Westclox Westclox Westclox Big Ben Baby Ben America Sleep-Meter Jack o' Lantern Pocka Ben Glo- Ben es tall. Runs 32 hours 334 inches tall. Steady and 6% inches tall. 4-inch dial. 5 inches tall. Nickeled case 5 — estall. La pap dial A nickel plated watch. Stem Nickel plated watch, Stem and repeat alarn repeat alarm. $3.25. Lumi- Nickel case. Runs 32 hours. inch dial. Back bell alart ar ado, : k be rita wind and set. Neat hands wind and set. Black face, Luminous, $4.50. In nous, $4.50 In Canada Top bell alarm, $1.50. In ans 32 hours, $2.00. In Ru ins 32 hours can, ix und dial. Dependable, $1.50 luminous dial and hands, i ' $4.50— $6.00. Canada, $2.00 Canada $3.00 j £4.00 In Canada, $2.00 $2.25. In Canada, $3.00.

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November i, 1924 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST tn AL wUtytiii A TIT eel TO UME WH it ul i ui th 4 MUNITY PLATE Six Dinner Forxs—87-20 Grosvenor ‘Design Ilustrated all”? a with ™ t {iS Fs, eal eo eal “The most desired silverware of & * egeceamnetgepmm meee COM ~ V

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Published Weekly The Curtis Publishing Company Cyrus H. K. Curtis, President Cc.H banding ton, Vice-President and Trearurer PS ailins, General Business Manager Walter D. Fuller, Secretary William Boyd. Advertising Director Independence Squere, Philadelphia London: 6, Henrietta Street Covent Garden, Founded A°D' 1728 Sy Benj. Franklin Copyright, 1924, by The Curtis Publishing Company in the United States and Great Britain Title Registered in U.S. Patent Office and in Foreign Countries George Horace Lorimer THE SATURDAY ox00.F5 0" Thomas L. Masson, EVEN. I N G P O ST enereengene ct Socehtn Associate Editors Merch 3.1879. Additional Entry at Columbus, O., St. Louis. Moe, Chicage. IL, Indianapolis, Ine. Seginew, Mich. Des Moiner, le., Portland, Ore Milweuhee, Wis, and St. Paul, Mian Entered as Second-Class Matter at the Post-Office Department, Ouewa, Canade Volume 197 Sc. THE copy PHILADELPHIA, PA., NOVEMBER 1, 1924 Number i8 THE YEAR $2.00 by Subscription NCE Elihu Root seid to me that called ‘Your Ex- cellency’ and then it is all over but if the peo- ples of the world rather than gov- ernments and dip- lomats were to determine foreign policies, it was time for the peo- ples of the world to have education about foreign af- fairs. The bare truth is that we are still lacking in good ed- ucation of this kind. We have plenty of discus- sion clubs and con- ferences and pub- lications, but too many of these wear the mask of search- ing for the truth, when in reality they are tying up the opinions of the gullible with the leading strings of some sentimental crusade or with some special for- eign or domestic selfish interest which can afford propaganda and goose-stuffing. Unvarnished fact is what we need and want. Almost every day I am as- tounded by the dark ignorance, even of educated men and women, as to American diplomacy, as to the methods of handling international business, as to the difference between foreign affairs as they are presented in utterly mean- ingless though noble phrases by impractical dreamers and sentimentalists, and foreign affairs as they are presented by cold, hard facts mixed with workable idealism. Misconceptions as to American diplomacy buzz around like troublesome gnats in the mists of sentimental slogans and mushy thinking, and most Americans who are stung by the common species, Benevolent Ignoramus, are stung merely because they are in the dark. PHOTO. BY EWING GALLOWAY, N. ¥. C. of Septimius Severus, Rome Ignorance in High Places GNORANCE of American diplomacy perches in high places. When the President gave me a choice of three foreign posts and I chose to go as ambassador to Italy, there was rejoicing among certain old-guard senators who, suspecting that I represented Roosevelt liberalism, were glad to see the ocean between us. Senator Penrose, however, a man of fine education, abilities and bluntness, could not restrain these words: “All right. So far as anything of consequence is con- cerned there is nothing in it. The Senate will confirm the appointment, the boat will sail, the credentials will be handed to the king, another ambassadcr will be Upper End of the Forum and Arch Amaifi, Deen the Capuchin Con: the shouting.’’ The fact is that Penrose was utter- ing rubbish; I found that the job of an American diplomat is a seri- ous, eight-hour and sometimes eighteen-hour a day job, more use- ful and construc- tive than some senators’ labors, and if a diplomat does not find the task like thet he can always make it large enough. For the man who takes the job as a job and not as something pinned on his chest, there is hard work enough, The next man who advised me was a journalist whose name is known to every reader of politica! subjects. He turned on the fol- lowing old disk record: “In the past, before the cable and the radio Deceased coueen and fast ocean ATLEFT: PHOTO Servet or Seiten WELaES, FRC ou EWING GALL OW mails, a diplomat had to use his own judgment and act on his own initia- tive; today, however, he is only a messenger boy who receives his instructions by code message and carries out these instructions to the letter.” vent Garden Are Ambassadors Messenger Boys? N MY experience I often thought of this miscon- ception of the facts, and I have seen occasions when so much was left to me to handle that I found myself wishing that I had more instructions rather than less. Of course if an emissary sent abroad by the United States knows it all and feels that he is a preach ing missionary who has the function of reforming the world, if he gallops over to his post ready to teach everybody and everything and is bored by the process of learning, if he wants to make a personal record and have his name and face in the papers, ‘f he wants to spring trick plays—then, of course, he may be irritated by commands from the President or the Secretary of State. If, on the other hand, he can see that the for- eign affairs of his country are a big and humane busi- ness, founded upon broad world-wide policy, conducted by wise organization more efficiently than it could be conducted by the personal whimseys of individual diplomats, he will be delighted that no matter how much he may be called Your Excellency and honored by foreigners as if he were a generalissimo, so far as the State Department and his country are concerned

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST November i, '924 Genoa, for instance, I went, not as a member of the We are against the others who steal from others. conference either officially or unofficially but merely as The average citizen knows that this policy is sincere, ambassador to Italy interested in the international that as a people and as a government we mean it, that if it conference attended by more nations than any other _ is carried out in action rather than in lithographed crusades in history. It was my duty to report progress just as or by meaningless molly-talk or by worthless documents I would report any other large political event in Italy; signed with a flourish, it will do more for peace than all the it was my duty to disclose in a friendly spirit, when emotional claptrap on the whole junk pile. asked to do so, the attitude of my Government. I So I saw no reason why I should not say so, and I said so. found myself in the delicate but advantageous position This startled some of my newspaper friends. They were of unselfish detachment. Every bit of our power to help _ still more startled when within twenty-four hours the rep- would have been lost by taking membership. As it resentative of Great Britain felt moved to declare that was, official representatives of the conference, even Great Britain was also in favor of the open-door policy. those of the large European powers, came constantly Some of these correspondents feed newspapers at home to our hotel rooms for informal discussion and sug- which are siding with a foreign policy the slogan for which gestions. By having the confidence of various parti- is, apparently, ‘More sentiment and less sense.” Any sans, the American representative was often able to reader of THE Post will know the kind of shelved politi- soften suspicions and avert useless conflicts of short- cian or organization or newspaper that is always saying sighted selfishness. Looking back on that conference that our foreign policy should be free from political parti- I am doubly assured that the United States was prop- sanship. Unfortunately these are often the very office- erly out of an affair which appeared to us futile and, hungry, blubbery ‘or scheming vehicles whose partisanship in any case, none of our business. All the good offices is directed at undermining the structure of our national and helpfulness we could render were rendered in an foreign policy, discrediting what they can and often open and friendly spirit, and no small part of that re- grossly misrepresenting facts. sult was due to the fact that President Harding and Secretary Hughes felt that their representative might At the Lausanne Conference have a loose rein. When a tight place came on one occasion my code clerk, who had just untangled a code S AN example: I went tothe Lausanne Conference as the message from Secretary Hughes, threw it onto my chief delegate of the United States. I and my associates desk with a grin. sat next to the inviting powers. Our names were printed “The Secretary certainly understands the signals,’’ on the official réle with the others. All I had to say went said he, forgetting diplomatic plush phrases in his into the official record and can be found there. One of the purposes of the con- ference was to make a treaty of peace with Turkey, but since the by ; ar “ aw Wilson Administra- Sales Gn ametantenaee, Gua Pa gs it ony Peer eS aaa tion had refused to ey pti ce ees Baia declare war on Tur- key it would be diffi- cult to see how the Harding Administra- tion could sign a treaty of peace with Turkey. One of the chief delegates of the allied powers com- plained to me rather Wilson the messer bitterly that the gerboy fashion voice of the United reached its top. The States attracted oe oe Se, Rorpigiiosi: Palace, the Residence of the U. J. Ambassador he will be 2 good go!l- dier, and a genera! only when general- ship is called for Of course in the days of Presiden 1 White House seugh Secretaries of State whowould supply ur more attention than his. The United States delegation did not vote; neither did questioning obed ence first and thei any other delegation, fter There is almost never : any such thing as voting in modern in- ternational confer- ences, but when it came to keeping the Black Sea open to the representative : world it was the abroad were checkex PE ae (Continued on ot) . Page 118) own judgment : ward In a genera way this system o organi ation wa passed down to am bassadors and minis tera. Worse yet,som up as to their epu ions by informa! ir vestigators. Wh the Administratio . » was fearful that Pag - = ae in London was leat er pao ae "4 ng with Conserva ee e thought in Eng _* Bringing Alabaster From the Mountain Quarries at Volterra. At the Right—Ambassador and an Americar Child, Mrs. Child and Their Daughters, Constance and Anne mirnaiat turned uy to get the Laborites’ viewpoint. [went to China and Japa enthusiasm. “He’s thrown to you at second, and that in those days before we entered the war, and no small part meansa put-out for the foxiest base runner on the whole f my mission was te report outside the usual channels the European team. If 1 may say so, Charley can certainly political attitude of the Far East, the loyalty of various play ball!” nations to the Alli au ‘ trength of our ow On the whole, the notion that the modern diplomat position in Asia is a messenger boy is nonsense, but it persists even among foreign correspondents of the Ameri¢an press, The Long Rope of Discretion some of whom I discovered know a great deal. Some of them even know inside information which has not TRUST | performed a useful service, but I have s the slightest foundation. When I endeavored by plain had doubt as to the fairness or wisdom of the State words at the Conference of Lausanne to procure the Department, directly or indirectly, doing investigating « extension of recognition for our universal open-door playing politics around its representatives or behind their principle of international dealing, when I asked that backs. Secretary Hughes does not engage in organization the recognition given the Hay doctrine in the Far East methods of this type. If the representative a fo should be applied to the Near East, I did it not by eign country is unable to make accurs vb ons and specific instructions from Washington. I did it because report them and 4f his negotiating facul hort weight the open door is United States policy. The people of the square remedy is to get a! : the United States, furthermore, believe that no strong A wise Secretary of State, ir making a « i nations by force or intrigue should endeavor to monop- able ambassador or minister messenger boy, will olize the resources of smaller nations. As I have said, realize that often the man who is on the playing field the foreign policy of the United States as restored in knows more about the game than the manager of the team the last few years, is this—a simple statement: who is sitting in the home office, and he will give his repr We will steal nothing from others; sentative a lo ope of discret At the Confers of We will allow no others to steal from us;

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST By Clarence Budington Kelland E oe: & Pet 2A. Ee: ee BY oe ha T WAS an incredible I room, and gruesome, this in which* Col. Amadeo Perna preserved for his fu- ture satisfaction plastic rec- ords of his miracles. Tables, shelves, cabinets supported plaster-of-Paris life masks, always in pairs; and it was much more wholesome to study the cast which stood upon the right than that which stood upon the left, because that one recorded the completed miracle, whereas the one to the left presented the horror upon which the miracle had been performed. When a shell fragment tears away a hu- man face the result is not to be contemplated with equa- nimity. Nevertheless, one can imagine the young men who bore the right-hand faces giving thanks to the Virgin for the genius and the peculiar art of the great colonel-surgeon. The room was on the ground floor of that edifice in the city of Rome to which popular tongue had given the name of the Hospital for Monsters. Its official title contained the word sto- matoiatrico, sighifying those who are wounded in the mouths. It was reached through a huge graveled courtyard, high-walled, in which wandered aimlessly scores of young men in stiff blue-gray garments resem- bling pajamas. The half of these young men presented faces to the sun—where a month agohad been nofaces. It is true their mothers would not have known them, for these were not the coun- tenances with which they had been born, nor which had grown with them since —— developing with he developments of their it to bronze. This trans- parent ivory only made more perfect the modeling of the features, which the man himse!f scrutinized daily in. his mirror. He scrutinized his features and strove to visualize the face which had once iden tified him, and he knew knew that no living being could look upon him and say, Thisman is that man.” At this certainty he did not smile with satisfaction or frown with disappointment Indeed, no emotion showed upon his face, no thought of his mind wrought a changé of feature. Whatever | might have known inter- nally of agony or of joy, of love or hatred, of fear or hope, his face remained the same, lofty, detached, se- rene. For though the colo- nel was able to give form, he had not been supreme to give life. One thing he could not restore, and that was play of feature. He could create a face, but forever it must remain a face of one expres- sion, unchangeable, invari- able, still, Upon the day of his dis charge Colonel Perna sent for him, and standing over the man regarded him with a feeling of unease. “My man,” he said, “! have your name from the records. You are of the Sixth Battery of Mountain Artillery.” “Yes, excellency.” “By your tongue yor of Naples.” “Yes, excellency.”’ “Before the war you were— what?” “A man, excellency; a man.” “Ah!’’ The colonel frowned. “God has made me his instrument to give iare only several characters. But they were good, serviceable,work- ing faces, fit to walk the streets and to be looked upon by children. The other half of the wanderers in the courtyard hid behind masks and gauze and bandages that with which they might not walk the public thoroughfares or exhibit to the public gaze, while they awaited their turns in that operating room where Colonel Perna exercised his genius for sculpture in the clay of Adam. At that hour, if one had asked the sister at the door if it were possible to see the colonel, she would have replied, “It may not be, sir; the doctor works a miracle.”” And her voice would have been low, reverent, as befits one who speaks of a holy thing. It was true, sleeping under an anesthetic, there lay upon the table one who from his heels to his chin was a man. When one says that there were eyes it is best to pause and wait and forgo description. Over him the colonel bent, austere, calm, studying with the artist’s eye. Presently he set about his work, deftly, surely, and in due course the thing was accomplished—upon that man’s body a man’s face was made to appear. Then the surgeon, having finished, would have withdrawn but for an exclamation by the sister who had seconded his labors. “Oh, sir,” she said in the Italian tongue, “look, behold!” In her voice was such a note of awe, of wonder, almost of fright, that the colonel arrested his departure to turn and peer down upon his handiwork; and there he, too, stood amazed, startled by the thing he saw, the face he had created. Though the face was blotched, discolored; though there remained visible unhealed seams and junctures and the needlework of surgery, yet the shape and character of the nance were revealed; and the colonel marveled if counter “I See You Free, Signorina—Free, at Peace, Swept Clean of Resentments and of Hatreds"* chance or heaven or hell had guided his hand in the fash- ioning of it. First he was impressed by the potential beauty of it; but this was only momentary—might have been gratifying to the artist, nothing more. There suc- ceeded the perception that here was not mere comeliness, but something more, something greater, a thing to marvel at. It was as if he had sculptured a soul, lofty, serene. It was the face of one who dwelt upon mountain tops, pure, detached from life, the face of a thinker of lofty thoughts, of one who had sought and found purity in contemplation. It was the face of one selected by mysterious forces to mas- ter and to propound some high esoteric philosophy, to answer some cosmic riddle. Purity and serenity were the founda- tion notes of it. So might have looked Gautama or Mani or one of ancient Egypt who had mastered the mysteries of life and death and dwelt in thought with Osiris and Isis and Horus. The colonel withdrew a step. “Sister,” he asked, “what manner of man was this before Ps “That, sir, is unknown to me,” she said in a whisper. ““When’’—the colonel hesitated— “when he has healed, when Nature has completed my feeble efforts, see that he is brought to me.” “‘T understand,” said the sister. In good time this man with the new face walked the graveled courtyard with the other convalescents; but he was not one of them, for the countenance he wore set him apart; they withdrew from him and whispered, peasants that they were, and exhibited a curious fear. The processes of the colonel’s miracle were being erased rapidly from his face by healing, so that it was smooth, oval, and of an ar- resting pallor. The Italian sun was without power to turn you a new face. My ease would be greater did | know what manner of man wears that face. It is such a face, my man, as it may be a great good for the world to have loosed upon it—or a great evil.” “It contents me, excellency.” “ How shall you make use of it?” “As other men make use of their faces, excellency.”’ ‘No, my man, because the faces of other men are such as their lives and their thoughts and their actions have made them. Each face tells its story, my man, gives ‘ts assurance or its warning. But your face is not your face it is a mask of flesh. It betrays nothing. Because it what it is, it may mislead.” “That, excellency, is not my doing.” “No, and therefore I am troubled. I would know if you are a man whose self entitles him to wear such “Nothing, excellency, save my conduct can an that.” “True, true. You are dismissed.” On that day the man was discharged from the Hospital for Monsters, no longer a monster, carrying out into the world a face which was not his face. He vanished into the mass of that great city which had known its Ahenobarbus and its Marcus Antoninus; its Maximianus, the swineherd emperor, and its Saint Peter; its gods of Olympus °nd its God of Nazareth. He vanished. a face wer au HE old lady stared down into the bowl of blackness where the village lived. It was a lake, to her fancy, for she was an imaginative old lady, and waves of darkness rolled in lazily and broke at her feet; it was a darkness with substance and movement, and it seemed to breathe Out toward the middle where the lake was given to homely similes—it breathed was deepest — she like f a pot of!

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Saddenty Faith Screamed and thrank® Ageinet the Resented Yeung Man. “Theret** She Said a @ Whtsper. “There!’ She could see great bubbles arise, burst, leaving craters which filled l ; not a fancy affair of lace and hitfon, but substantial and of linen, down over the ears nd tied covered an imagination which wventy years of experience had supplied with marvelous corte Tre al } wridge slowiy, deiiherately, and “ hy t)) ) ner nighteay under the chin ruw material She knew ail about nights. She had married a husband, married off a son, and welcomed a grand- ild know all about nights. Sleepless Nights of anxiety, nights of disillusion, nights of he lights of disappointment, nights of waiting! She ew all the sounds that ought to belong to nights, and and the varying shades of the con- sistency of it was a connoisseur of nights. Sleepless nights of waiting for her menfolks to come, or for her men- for them to sueceed or for them to fail! The f seventy w 10t know all about nights has a wom) lamented and made mothered a son, daughter, so she wi nights! the length of night She folks to do vyoman 0 does not been n camplete, or whole by love and by grief ‘ ; that belonged to night, and that her nightcap looking down i: imming with its fluid blackness, and ye settied at the bottom like tea grounds 1 a sownd that did not belong to the g 4 sound that had no right in the night, and that had disturbed her ear by but its irrelevance } sliet ce impenetrability! Then there stealthiness, slithering, creeping, light touches as of a han iz door or window. The old nd her to lift something from a chair, and, From the and then, as Noth ng and moved on the air a fumbli lady reached beh from both hands leaning forward, dreoped it brick walk beneat! sulted a start x ash, thie d lady work r arm i ’ town, a clanging and to a frightened the mast prepared himself t i sound t prowier W id ave r there Was something humorous and jeering about for hali a minute. Then it jangles occurred as the old lady ceased, and ntermiuttent ver the sili an assortment of i> Sed a on " e ‘ “TI ecale’late we won’t be murdered in our beds this night,” she said, and forthwith retired to the comfort of her feather tick—the one possession from which nothing but the final summons could part her. Presently the listening room was soothed as to its startled nerves by gentle nasal quavers such as any gentlewoman might offer as an earnest of untroubled sleep. In such manner, utilizing an invention of her own, did Mrs. Malachi Newton maintain the sanctity of her dwell- ing—or, more accurately, of her granddaughter’s dwell- ing—against whoever or whatever was abroad in the night. As had been her custom these fifty years, Grandma Newton was up and doing before the cow was milked. She aired her bed, went to the window and looked down again upon the bowl of a valley which tipped up on all sides with the evident intention of keeping the village of Westminster from running out of it, and considered how reassuring was the daylight. There was no lake of ink now with waves breaking at her feet, or distant lazy bubbles breaking its surface. On the contrary, it glowed. It was as if a dam had burst, inundating the nestling place with radiance—a freshet of sunlight out of the east. White houses extraordinarily neat and clean. They straggled about aimlessly like Holsteins pasturing in a meadow. White churches with twinkling spires. Gracious mountain slopes foaming with green. The span of the bridge, and off to the right of it a long, squat ugliness crawling down the river bank. This was the Red Mill. One could not be ap- prehensive and look at all that. The subject of the paint- ing framed by Mrs. Newton's window was Contentment. Nothing could happen there that had not been accustomed to happen; such a scene would tolerate no innovation. Grandma Newton, having arranged the mass of her white hair, gathered softly her lethal tinware and bore it surreptitiously to the kitchen. Then she aroused the hired girl, whose name was Huldy, and breakfast commenced to have itself prepared. Not. until then did grandma climb the broad staircase from the great entrance hall to intro- duce her granddaughter to a new day. Faith Newton awoke resentfully; she had awakened resentfully on a number of hundreds of past mornings . in fact, the splendid mansion on the lip of the r since evel November 1,1924 ro. pet co ay valley had ceased to teem with servants and to rollic with guests. Marks of it showed faintly now at the corners of a mouth which it was a sin so to blemish, and in eyes of a peculiar, almost startling liquid blackness. Breakfast in bed, served on one of those short-legged trays, was a thing well remembered, but only remembered. A saddle horse and a runabout! She looked in her mirror, taking inven- tory of her stock. It was fresh and, properly offered, should find the right sort of purchaser—one who could pay in breakfast trays and saddle horses and runatouts. She was twenty, and all her toys had been snatched away from her when she was eighteen—an age not apt at philosophy or sure in its judgment of values. Two years of resentment! She felt resentment against Amassa New- ton, her father, who had built this ostentatious house and an ostentatious fortune. Against Carl Phillips she directed a bitter, burning hatred. Phillips, it is true, rather de- served the hatred. But Amassa was dead and beyond reach of her reproaches; Carl Phillips had evaded pursuit and was in an unreachable somewhere in the enjoyment oi his booty. . Faith completed the clothing of her slender, lovely figure and went down to breakfast. Grandma Newton made no mention of the sound she had heard in the night, or of the sounds she had heard on preceding nights, but stepped directly into the argument where it had been left off at the last sitting. “I’m goin’ to do it,” she said. “Tt’s nonsense, and I won’t be laughed at.” Grandma's pert cameo face was determined. “Tt’s all we got-the Red Mill and eight thousand dol- lars. We can’t set and live up the money.” “The idea!”’ said Faith. “The’s money-makin’ in the Newton blood.” **Money-losing,”’ said Faith. “T eale’late to be as capable as any man ever lived,” grandma said, clipping her words as was her way, “and so be you. You're a Newton, spite of falderals. Want to take in summer boarders?” “T'll starve first.” ““Mebt _». Pride works cur’ous wonders. But my foot’s set down. I’m your guardeen, when it comes to that, and my mind’s made up.”

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“You shan’t! I won’t be made to look like a fool— ruining my chances!” ““What chances?” grandma asked grimly. Then, ““Um— millionaires in a marryin’ frame of mind ain’t plentiful in Westminster, seems as though. You kin like it or lump it. The minute this white elephant of a house is rid up I’m a-goin’ down to the Red Mill to see what’s there and what ain’t.”” She snapped her small head from right to left. “I’m as capable to make wooden spoons and butter molds and potato mashers and drumsticks as any- body else.” “Grandma Newton, else!’ ““Mebby,” said grandma; “but if ’tis I’m consid’able of a precocious child.” “T’ll be ashamed to show my face. “Git you a veil then,”’ grandma said; and rising from the table, commenced to harry the hired girl as competency must always harry lumpishness. Grandma Newton was forever in flight before the minute hand of a clock which, so far, had never overtaken her. Consequently, at nine o’clock she completed all her will had demanded should be done before 9:30, and she was free to make a fresh start in life. She took the plunge in a jet bonnet and a black Venetian shawl, holding in her hand a key fastened to a block of wood with binder twine. This was to unlock the padlock which had kept secure the door of the Red Mill for a matter of years. She stepped off pertly down the driveway and between the pillars of cob- blestones gathered from the surrounding farm, but here she paused and peered sharply downward as a wren might peer at an unexpected bug. “Ah’m!” said grandma. The young man who sat slouched with his back taking comfort from the right-hand pillar became aware of her and scrambled to his feet, lifting something that must have been a hat, because he wore it on his head. “Good morning, ma’am,” he said. ““Were you snoopin’ around here last night?” she asked in her direct way. “No’m.” “Or the night before, or the night before that “No’m.” it’s second childhood, nothing ” 9 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST * Be you keepin’ a watch on this house?” ““No’m.” “What be you doin’ then?” “T am trying,” he said, “to convince myself that this scene’’—he waved his hand—‘“‘is practical rather than beautiful.” “It’s a sightly spot,”’ said Grandma Newton. “‘Now’’— she fixed him with her bright eyes—‘‘I want you should give an account of yourself—and mind, no finninglin’.” “Has someone been prowling around?” he asked with interest. “The’ has.” “And watching the house?” “T hain’t seen anybody, but I felt eyes,” she said. “Why should anybody do that?” “T’'d admire to know,” she said thoughtfully. “ But you hain’t givin’ no account of you.” “I’m a young man,” he said, “‘in search of a destination.’ She considered this answer. “That don’t make sense,” kind of a destination?” **One that will let me settle in it. The end of the road, you know—a combination of a place to be and a thing to do.” “You talk words clear enough, but the sense of them is dim,” said grandma. ‘ What’s your business?” “TI was raised,”’ said the young man, “‘a poet.” “Um—that accounts forit. You’re just out moonin’-like. I’ve heard poets was vague and not so very knowin’ about practical things.” “That’s the trouble,” the young man said. I was, as the storybooks call it, disinherited.”’ “Folks cast you off, eh? Couldn’t abide a son fiddlin’ with rimes?”’ “‘On the contrary, they couldn’t abide a son who rimed ‘drove’ with ‘love.’ I disappointed my parents and broke their hearts because I was efficient and practical and mixed metaphors and had ideas instead of ideals.” “The sun,” said grandma speculatively, “‘hain’t so very hot this mornin’, but it was yestiddy.”’ “Probably it does sound absurd; but, you see, I was brought up with it, and it seems quite normal. My father is a composer of musi¢e—not tunes, mind you—and my mother is a sculptor. She doesn’t chisel out statues that look like people or animals or anything, but shapes that stand for emotions—er—like an exclamation point stands for an exclamation, if you follow me. She cut out stone ’ she said presently. “‘What “Tt’s why “Now How Ever,’’ Grandma Said to Herself, ‘‘be I asGoin’ to Git Him Into Bed? And We Don't Want No Gossipin’ Doctor Neither" things that stood for rage and jealousy and affection and love and all that, and then the shades of them—-like, for instance, the Hatred of a Young Boy for a Poisonous Snake. That was the name of one of her pieces.”’ **Ane the’ wan’t no boy and no snake?” “No, just a kind of a shape in marble that stood for how he felt.” “And did it?” “A great many people said so,” he answered with proper eaution, “though father confused that one with a Maiden Awakening to Love on a March Morning, and there was a rather dreadful time in the studio. He was showing them to a visitor.” “T've heard about sich doin’s. So that’s how you was raised. Brought up to write poems. Ever write any?” “I was rather good at limericks,"’ he admitted modestly, “and once when I had a fever I wrote down something that raised hopes for me. I remember it. It went like this: “It is. Yes. Not until. A hat. A black hat. Hat on Hat off. Never, never, never. Bilge , Grandma interrupted. “That'll do, young man.” He paused awkwardly and rather pathetically “T couldn’t get it through my head,” he said. “I tried; but I just couldn’t see; and I couldn’t even write ordinary poetry with rhythm to it and rimes at the ends of the lines I was terribly ashamed when I was a kid. It wouldn't have been so bad if I'd just been dumb; but I was practical, and couldn’t help doing things that—ah—made money. | used to sneak around and do it—like a small boy smoking cigarettes, you know. But I always got caught.” It was obvious to grandma that he was sincere and regretful and rather bewildered. ‘‘ And so,”’ he went on, “they stood the disgrace of it as long as they could—and sent me away.” “It beats all,”’ grandma said, ‘‘ how many different kinds of things the’ is in the world.” “Yes,” he said; “and so I’m looking for a place where I can be practical and efficient and make money be called an atavism.” “How do you know you can make money?” “T always have—I can’t help it. My mind works that way. Like this: They gave me three hundred doilars when they—asked me to go some place else, and the first city I got to I made some more. It’s a habit,’’ he said gravely, “like—er—drink. In this town they were opening up a subdivision—some real-estate people—and it was right on my way. I stopped and looked around, and then I bought twelve corner lots. Anybedy could see they were bargains. Paid (Continued on Page &8&) and not

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST November 1, 1924 THE NEW ALIGNMENT servatism in the present campaign is doubly represented in the persons of President Cool- idge, the Republican candidate, and Mr. John W. Davis, the Democratic candidate, and that the radical- iam of it is typified by the candidacy of Senator La Follette. Mr. Coolidye is a conservative. So is Mr. Davis. And Senater La Follette is a radical and entitled to that distinction in the full political application of the term. However, when we come to analyze the beginnings of the campaign i S PERFICIALLY it would seem that the con- and the political motives and causes behind the candidacy of each, we find that the differentiations are wider than superficially appears. The real appeal of these men to the voters of the United States lies in an understanding of what they are trying to do. Of course, all three are trying to be elected, but back of that is a why that is interesting and important. It was plainiy enough shown at the Cleveland convention that nominated Mr. Coolidge that he has it in mind to attempt a liberalization of the Republican Party, a liberalization that shall bring about a reorganization of that party and the identification with it of policies more in keeping with the spirit of the times President Coolidge found the Republican Party, when he became its titular leader, more of a historical remnant than a going cencern. He was exactly in the position of a man who has taken over a business organization that formerly did a big trade and had a fair repute, but had falien into obsolete methods, had too large a stock of old and useless goods, an inefficient and not wholly honest personnel, a lot of old retainers whose usefulness was past, and was living too much on the glories of the past. What happened at the Cleveland convention was evi- dence of the determination of the President to install new men and, so far as possible, to get new machinery. He took tock at the Cleveland convention, just as a man taking over a busines takes stock, and he tried, so far as he was ible, to write off the liabilities and to gather and conserve the assets, That policy accounts for many things that hap- pened at that Cieveland convention, widely commented on at the time. Naturally, as the President was in charge of this institution, and the head of it, and as he had his plans well in mind, he took no chances of being superseded in the to it efficiently that he remained as That w ontrol and saw 8 sense nvention himself, took the nominatien and of reorganization under way after a fashion. job was a difficult one. Nothing is so traditional as Nothing is so precedented as political practice. Having thu: his intention, he went into the cam- paign with the intention of establishing himself firmly in is position at the election, if possible, and with the idea of making effective during his four years of office the changes indicated at his convention. titular head He ran his ce gor his work The politics shown and reforms that he The Position of Mr. Davis \ HAT the President has in mind is not the radicaliza- tion of the Republican Party or of the country, but the liberalization of the Republican Party —a liberalization that will put that party in accord with the spirit and the tend- encies of our times, but that will never disregard the funda- mental principles on which this country was built. His idea to hold inviolate the basic things, to conserve the consti- tutional guaranties, but to bring the Republican Party up to the moment as the medium for the political accomplish- He realizes, as was plainly shown at Cleveland, and has been indicated since, that the Repub- an Party needs pruning, reorganization, new adminis- new policies and new blood. He realizes also that changes must come somewhat slowly; and, most of all, he undoubtedly realizes that unless these changes do ome che Republican Party will become merely a figure in history, along with the Whigs, the Federalists and the rest. \ conservatism that. is Tory will not attract any save a mited class; but a conservatism that is sanely and ade- juately consonant with the end of the first quarter of the twentieth century instead of merely reminiscent of the atter half of the nineteenth century is a logical and a rea- senable political alignment for those of the voters of the i'nited States who are not of the usual radical thought that panaceas for existing economic, governmental and social ills ean be obtained by the legislative application of theories to the body poiitic. There will always be thou- sands of these in a nation with as many people in it as ours. They should have a party, but it should not be a camou- flaged party. !t should be definitely and truly a radical and the probabilities are that one will come pres- ment of these policies trutors Lhe party ‘ ntly The position of Mr. Davis in this campaign was anoma- ious at the start and increased in irregularity as the cam- find him almost paign progressed until, at the end, we By Samuel G. Blythe outdoing La Follette in his demands for the change of existing conditions. Mr. Davis, a brilliant orator and an able lawyer, is essentially a conservative, if political history, environment and lifelong association count for anything. He was nominated, after an unprecedented con- vention struggle, by a party that was so disorganized and demoralized that he was seized upon as the respectable medium for termination of the bedlam prevailing in Mad- ison Square Garden. There had been no intention of nominating Davis in the minds of 3 per cent of the dele- gates to that convention when they began their sessions; but as it became necessary to nominate somebody after all those days and nights of fruitless struggle, they took him, and he took them Handicapped with this start, Mr. Davis made as vigor- ous a campaign as he was able, and departed farther and farther from his inherent conservatism as election day approached. He was respectfully received everywhere, but he never did succeed in divesting himself of the conserva- tive brand, even if that desire was more than a political expedient with him. Before the first of September it was apparent that the real fight in this campaign was between President Coolidge and Senator La Follette, with Mr. Davis holding his votes from the solid South and hoping to be the residuary legatee in various states where La Follette might cut down the Coolidge vote. A Practical Test of Strength \ HATEVER his fate may be— and his chances will be discussed in this article—it is probabie that if the Democratic Party lives he will be the last conservative nominated by that organization. The future of the Democracy, in the event of the defeat of Davis, probably lies in radicalism. It must compete with La Follette. Four years from now the Democrats may pose as the radi- cal party of America, and, subject to the ministrations of La Follette and his followers, will try to work out a new destiny along those lines. Personally, Mr. Davis is an irreproachable candidate. Politically, he is a last chance. The Democrats are mak- ing a final conservative try with him. Although, as the campaign progressed, the La Follette supporters put out claims of the senator's election, it is not likely that La Follette himself ever had a real conviction that he could be elected. There is no doubt that, along in the first two weeks of September, there were evidences of La Follette strength that might have set even so experi- enced a politician to dreaming dreams; but, whether or not, the real objective of La Follette was not the White House when he began his campaign, and was the forma- tion of a new party. La Follette’s plan was to go before the people with a platform advocating sufficient radicalisms to hold the avowed radicals, but without enough radicalisms to frighten away the timid among the discontented and the panacea seekers. In reality what La Follette had in mind was to make a test vote, with himself and his discreetly modified theories as the test, and, after tabulating results, determine whether it is worth while to try for the organiza- tion of a new party in this country—a new party that shall express as an organization what La Follette expresses as an individual. Incidentally, of course, he figured on main- taining his strangle hold on Congress by the election of enough followers in the House to give him the balance of power there, and by such solidifying of his lines in the Senate as he could bring about. Starting with his Socialist vote, he is seeking for as many votes additional as he can collect. It is not yet apparent how many votes he thinks will justify his summoning his friends along next January or February for the purpose of formally organizing his apparent strength. Perhaps he will think three or four million enough. Perhaps he will want seven or eight. It may be that whatever he gets will be enough, and it must never be forgotten that he has the support of the Socialists this time and that they cast about a million votes—-919,799 to be exact—in 1920. He should get that many as his nucleus, at any rate, and he will get a lot more. La Follette realizes, no doubt, that his natural point of attack this year is the Democratic Party. What he wants to do is to disrupt the Democrats and make apparent that the day of that party as an active political force is ended. With the Republican Party the normally conservative party, and the Democratic Party the opportunist party it has been ever since it nominated Bryan for the first time 1896, La Follette has in the Democrats an organization that is everywhere, outside the South, a rather poor thing as political parties go, and if he can, for example, get a greater popular vote than Davis, regardless of how many electoral votes he can get, La Follette will be in a position to say to the once-again dissi- pated Democracy that they can find peace and political coherency under his banner. The Democrats had no place to go after their cata- strophic defeat in 1920. There was no La Follette in the field, with a few, or many, million votes behind him, to invite them to join with him. All the Democrats could do was to nurse their wounds, bewail their fate and gather to- gether their fragments for such a showing as they might make in 1924. If, say, they run third this year in the pop- ular vote, or third north of the Mason and Dixon's Line— if La Follette gets more votes than Davis does outside of Davis’ hidebound territory—if that should happen, then it will be up to the Democrats to take stock and determine where they are going in the future, or where they can go. As I have said, what they undoubtedly will do will be to forswear conservatism for all time to come, and that will not be difficult for them to do. The Democrats have had their flings at radicalism before now and understand the processes of it. To make this easier, there will be La Follette beckoning them to come on over and be radical with him, with some ingratiating millions of votes behind him, and the promise of a new party as a repository for the remainder of the Demecracy. With odd obtuseness the Democrats have been playing into the hands of La Follette in this campaign by fostering his vote in various communities where they figured La Follette would draw most of his strength from the Repub- licans. This rather desperate expedient originated in the conclusion, after the Democratic managers had surveyed the field and after their candidate had made his prelimi- nary appeals, that the chance of electing Mr. Davis was at best a long chance, and that their strongest opportunity for getting a presidency for the party was via the vice- presidential route by the‘involved process of an election without determination in the electoral college, a deadlock on the election of President in the House of Representa- tives, and the election of a Vice President by the Senate —a Vice President who would become President. They may have counted on the gratitude of La Follette for their enhancement of his vote being shown by the voting of his personally conducted senators for their man for Vice President. They may have overestimated the element of gratitude that abides in the radical bosom of La Follette. One of his main objectives is the destruction of the Democratic Party, or its demoralization, and it is just possible he will not help perpetuate that party by giving it a President even in so delectable a shape as Brother Charley Bryan—just pos- sible. Indeed, those who know La Follette best say he may prefer Dawes in this contingency, provided La Follette has his control of Congress well assured— Dawes and a continuing Republican Party as a future opponent rather than a continuing Republican Party for a time, and Bryan and a revived Democracy. Hopes of a Split HERE is another angle to it also, a little less unkind to Mr. Davis. That is based on this hypothesis: The states where La Follette is likely to do the most damage to Coolidge are the West, in the Mississippi Valley and on out to the Pacific Coast. By doing ail they can for La Follette in these states the Democrats figure they are thereby giving themselves the chance to garner a few electoral votes for Davis. A reasonable theory. If La Follette and Coolidge split the Republican vote in a state where there is a fair supply of Democratic votes, and the Democrats stand steady by Davis, the chances are that Davis will get the electoral vote of that state. Wherefore there has been observed in some sections of the country a tender regard for La Follette among the Democrats. They have spoken no harsh word of him. They have not criticized his platform. They have helped him shove his petitions. In certain places they have even supplied candidates for him. They have been very kind, either with or without the consent of Senator La Follette himself. They consider La Follette as a sort of an auxiliary Democratic candidate, and they have been helping him along. The Republicans, on the other hand, after things had crystallized into.a definite situation about September first, discarded Davis from their calculations entirely. They fig- ured him not as a real contender in the fight, but as a sort of spectator who had a right to a front seat by virtue of his solid-South support. They were early satisfied that Davis would not seriously interfere with Coolidge in any of the states where Coolidge had a chance for the electoral

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votes, and, much to their dismay, they were later dissatis- fied with the realization, hammered into them from many sources and by many circumstances, that the man Coolidge really has to beat is La Follette. Not that La Follette can definitely defeat Coolidge by getting more electoral votes than Coolidge, but reports indicated that La Follette has a potential following that may prevent Coolidge from getting the required two hundred and sixty-six electoral votes. It is quite idle to deny that all through this campaign there has been a wide and deep La Follette undercurrent discernible in various sections of the country, particularly in the Mississippi Valley, the Northwest and on the Pacific Coast. It is equally idle to assert that there is not a sub- stantial support for President Coolidge in this territory, because there is. The problem has been, and will continue to be until election day, to discover just what portion of this La Follette undercurrent will develop into votes on election day, and whether those votes will be in sufficient quantity and of wide enough distribution to defeat the President, either by the direct method of splitting the Republican Party in these states and allowing Davis to gather the electoral votes, or by the indirect method of de- priving all three of the candidates of a majority in the electoral college and throwing the election into the Congress. Early Indications OR reasons set forth in this article, the campaign, up until thelast few weeks of it, was slow, stupid and almost entirely professional. The various managers did manage to breathe some breath of life into it during October; but, at that, it did not compare in intensity, in excitement or in expressed conviction with many previous presidential campaigns. It all centered about the disaffection La Follette was able to engineer, and that disaffection, in turn, centered in the masses of the people. There was very little of the usual prominent Republican shifting to Davis, and the prominent and lifelong Democrat turning to Coolidge. There were not many of the THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ordinary political demonstrations as we have experienced them in the past. The Republicans fought La Follette, the Democrats fought the Republicans and aided La Follette, and La Follette took what was offered and fought everybody on both sides. The spectacular was largely lacking; also the obvious. The impressions gained by traveling about the country were contradictory. It was easy enough for a trained ob- server to come in and say and be convinced of it, that the country is satisfied with Coolidge and is determined to reélect him. It was just as easy and just as logical for the trained observer to conclude that there is a La Follette undercurrent that will wreak havoc on both Coolidge and Davis. It all depended on the interpretation placed on a few signs, a few symbols, and on such a translation of the distrust the people have for the existing parties into terms of direct action at the polls. Owing to editorial and mechanical exigencies I am writ- ing this article early in October, with the campaign some weeks yet to go, and shall state the concrete situation as it exists now, subject to whatever happens during the process of printing and publication of those statements. On October first, then, the indications are in favor of the election of President Coolidge. He is popular with the people. He has been favored in the agrarian states with good crops and with good prices. He is held to be an honest man, doing his duty as he sees it honestly and courageously. He is strong enough to maintain to himself a large proportion of the scattering strength of the Repub- lican Party and his organization has functioned expertly. In normal circumstances the Republican Party is the ma- jority party of this country. The President has gained popular approval by his insistent demand for the preservation of the fundamentals and by the fact that neither Davis nor La Follette offers anything that makes so forceful or so wide an “a j Govt: All the Old Ghosts ~— Oe My ste appeal to the people. He is in the White House. The people know him and respect him. That is his strength. This attitude of the people toward the President is exact proof of the statement that the voters of this country, in this election, will vote for men and not for parties. There has been until this writing, and will be until election, a desperate effort to tie the numerous scandals of the Repub- lican Party to Coolidge, but the people do not look at him in the light either of a participant or a partisan in that re- gard. He is a Republican, of course, and the party te which he belongs was in power when these things hap- pened; but the people view him as Calvin Coolidge, the individual, reserved, cautious and safe. The people rather like his staying in Washington and attending to business. They applaud his attitude on the basic problems. They admire his calm and reasoned state- ments. They look on him as a man of common sense, safe and sane in his great position. He has a strong standing with the great mass of the voters because of these intrinsic qualities they see in him. The fellow who originated the slogan Keep Cool With Coolidge hit upon a iine with a national appeal. All the Tricks of the Trade HE fact that Senator La Follette has for many years been a radical crusader has withheld from wide consider ation the further fact that Senator La Follette is an old, experienced and capable politician. He is just that, There are no tricks of the politician's trade that La Follette does not know and no tricks of that trade that he does not prac tice. He is no visionary putting forth his theories and ex- pecting some miracle to establish them. He may be altruistically hypothetical in his demands and his measures for reform, but he is intensely practical in the getting of his advantages and the seeking for them He is an idealist who works with political machinery and organization instead of de- pending on the ultimate triumph of the good, the beautiful and the true. (Continued on Page i83)

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THE SATURDAY | a EVENING POST 5, TRA TFT EE D — 2 w. P. c November 1, 1924 By BEN AMES WILLIAMS INES | a oe ee THE southwestern shore of the pond which lies about a mile north of Frate there { some fifteen acres on which nity viliage sa tract still ‘rable number of trees of noble girth fished pond till stand a consi firat-growth pir and stature Whe ‘ you have of the up} er reacne ind come eward in canoe or the lofty topes « OT f these trees serve navigation mart silhouetted against the e ng skies to show you the way t r lane ing place at their feet All t hill umberes and valleys were but this the Ruffing ham Meadow, escaped the ax and saw t, and anoth The number of these great trees is There ar lred and fifty of leas evenly tantiy decreasir now adays about a hur them, scattered more or R70 there Chet wer the fifteen acres Ir were than twe hundred MeAusiand old. remember more who past sixty years when he was a | and as t is probable had torn thes re ned as ta ago Uney ne, that was ng gale of wind ir tha mar four hur across its pond ittee tewn was writte ed hereabout Ip tne 1 named Var ippened here Vai rd house Dbullt in the Warner's cab of logs tow! n, lailen from Mis Dire! bark pecame enta the stems the shoal water offshore and was drowned, the tough grass cutting his limbs till they gied i! which grow in ol grasses before sunrise in the morning, full of the fishing fever. He shared their scorn of the bass, agreed with them in putting the white-fleshed perch above all other fishes. When they came home with three or four score of fish in the bottom of the boat he helped clean the perch and either stayed to eat supper with the two men or took home a dozen or so to his father. Dale’s mother died in 1897. He had no brothers or sisters, so that there- after he and his father lived alone, in the disorderly fashion into which men fall under such circumstances Their house was on the road toward the vil- lage, half a mile nearer the village than the old Warner place which had burned years before. Their farm included low meadow lands running down to the outlet of the pond; included also some of the ridge beyond the road, where there were apple trees and a sufficient growth of birch and beech and oak and maple to supply them with firewood for the winter. Dale’s father had never been particularly successful as a farmer. He was chronically in need of money; and again and again he sold parcels of land to meet this need. It was on one such occasion that the pines were sold; but the elder Warner seemed always thereafter to feel that he had in some fashion betrayed the great trees, so that he avoided the tract on which they stood and went there only when occasion compelled it. He tilled his farm in more and more desultory fashion, content in his later years if it supplied him with the necessities of life. The contagion of his indolence in- fected Dale. The boy still deceived himself with his boyhood dream of some day buying back the pines; but the accomplishment of this dream lay far in the future, vague and unsub- stantial. Dale’s father died about 1905, a dozen years after he soid the pines. Dale was at that time almost twenty years old, a tall, stout youth enough. His father’s sister came to bled. The last besr killed in the towr » killed here. Van Warner's grand- passing this way ip the deeps of iter, saw recurrent puffs of vapor rising from a stained ked over the roots of a fallen and he and his bear out of its winter eat and killed it with an old musket heavily charged with lugs and pebbles and rusty nails. The largest pickerel ever taken in the pond was caught in the edge of the just off the landing. I: aman named Webb Early fetled three of the great pines and was caught under the eath 1874, which end of the pond and swept down stopped by the united ¢ fforts of the reached the road was cut through from Fra- ran this and Van yeside the road, a quarter mile burned many years ago; the old cellar hole surrounded by apple trees alone marks and the road is for most of its lengt! fallen inte disuse and grown up in alder and popple. Now there are no farms that way; there are only two or three or cottager occu pied for week-ends in the summer b) There is such a camp beside the landing in the f the pines themselves in the enow that was ba tree; ather dug the grasses 1863 third and crushed to [he forest fire of began near the uppe toward the village, wa bodied met ~ tye towr before it When North Fr Warner's son built a house elple just pines the first ternity to ternity it way; from the pond. But the hous« the spot today; amps fahermen hace Chis land was held by Warners until the early 90's Chen two men from East Harbor bought the tract and built a eottage there beside the pond, where old Van Warner's log cabin once stood. Dale Warner was a boy at but even then he was miserable be- cause his father sold these pines. The great trees had al- ways an abiding charm for him. He liked to be among them; liked to lie on his back at the foot of one of them ind look up through the branches to the blue of the sky, his eyes haif shut, his thoughts dreamy. He flew into such a passion of protest when his father announced his purpose the time of the sale to sell the dozen or fifteen acres on which the trees stood W ariet thrashed that the elder to ease his vn tormenting be boy into acquiescence Dale was ac lence Date Feit His Ears Burn. Was No Spinster From Choice silenced by his punishment; but he was not convinced, and he avowed to himself that when he was become a man he would buy back the tract and keep the trees inviolate forever. He knew each one; he could almost have identi- fied each tree in the blackest night by the irregularities of its bark under his caressing hands. When, at rare inter- vals, one of them succumbed to the encroachments of age or to the accidents of the weather, he grieved as though he had lost a personal friend. Even after his father sold them, he still thought of the pines as a part of his possessions; he meant so surely to buy them back again some day. But they were in no immediate peril. Lumbering in the region had practically ceased. There was, roughly speaking, no more lumber to be cut. The forests had been ravaged; and the farms which had replaced them were only beginning to decay and fall into abandonment. Across the meadows sapling growths of birch were stealing here and there; but the town was still a farming community, with cleared land everywhere. There was nothing to tempt the ax or the sawmill; and the men who had bought the pines held for them an affection which was almost equal to Dale’s. Dale came to like these men, Will Dent and Charlie Broad. Broad was the older of the two; but they were cronies, and they used to come to fish for white perch, scorning the bass and pickerel; and in the evening they would sit upon the porch or on the shore, slapping at mosquitoes, smoking their humming pipes, telling and re- telling old tales or new ones. Dale liked to join them at such times; they permitted him to go fishing with them, and he rowed the boat to the chosen anchorage, and shared the delirious exhilaration which possessed the older men when perch were biting. As he grew older they trusted him to let them know when the fishing signs were right. Again and again he sent word to East Harbor: “ Perch are biting.” And the message never failed to bring them within a matter of hours, jogging out the ten miles or so behind Will's old horse, arriving sometimes late at night or He Kaew, as He Had Known for Years, That Jane keep house for him and lived ten years more, while Dale went through the me- chanical routine of the year, planting his garden in the spring, making hay in the appointed sea- son, picking a few apples in the fall. There was no one to reproach him with wasted opportunities; lassitude was the rule of life among his neighbors. They were like weary housewives, doing each day the tasks which had to be done, planning no further ahead than was necessary to cut and stow wood, to fill the mow with hay and the cellar with potatoes and salt pork, in preparation for the approach of winter. Dale had few interests in life. He liked to take a gun and try for a partridge in the fall; he occasionally tramped the brookside, fishing for trout. But the keenest pleasures he had were to fish for white perch with Will Dent and Charlie Broad or to wander idly among the great pines which he had loved since he was old enough to walk. These ancient trees acquired in his eyes a certain spirit- ual significance. Old Van Warner, dwelling among them, must have loved them well; his grandson saved them from the lumbermen, and that grandson was Dale’s grandfather. Thus the trees were more to Dale than merely trees. They were in some sort a heritage; they were quite definitely a link between him and the past. He was one of those men who like to live in the past; who find pleasure in casting backward and tasting the lives of those who have lived before. He knew every tradition of the countryside, and particularly those tales which dealt with happenings about the lower end of the pond or among the pines themselves. The name of Webb Early, that man who had wished to steal some of the great trees and who had been crushed to death by one of them, was anathema to him. Webb Early’s grandchildren still lived in the town, and Dale knew them all, and avoided them religiously, feeling toward them a distaste almost equal to the abhorrence in which he held their grandfather. Dale was a solitary man; he had lived much in his own thoughts. He always blamed his father for selling the pines, so that there was never any intimate communion

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between father and son; and his aunt, who came to live with him upon his father’s death, had an austere solemnity about her, disapproving of Dale’s indolent ways and care- less habits about the house. So for many years Dale had no intimates except, in the summer, Will Dent and Charlie 3road. His closest friends were for many years the pines. He saw in them not just so many board feet of lumber, but rather they were to him very old and very wise men, who had seen generations come and go, who had held their ground against the currents of life and who still lifted proud and noble heads against the sky. When after a day’s fishing he rowed down the pond at duskeand saw the mass of their tops in silhouette, his heart warmed to them with a deep and tender affection. This was for years the great passion in a lonely life. One day in early summer, having eaten for his midday meal two doughnuts and a bit of cheese, and drunk a glass of milk, Dale went to the barn to clean out the tie-up. But the afternoon was warm, and idleness welled up in him and overflowed. He went out through the pasture lane, telling himself that he would go down to the lower meadow so that he might judge whether the hay was ready to be cut. But as he followed the stone wall that bounded the pasture the sight of some ripe berries on the other side attracted him and he climbed the wall and moved here and there in haphazard fashion, picking the berries and eating them. By long habit his steps tended more and more away from the meadow and toward the wooded lands where the pines seemed to wait to welcome him. Will Dent was dead these eight years, and Charlie Broad was an old man now, and the perch were almost gone from the pond; so Charlie had sold the camp three or four years before to another East Harbor man, and he in turn had sold again. The cottage was in disorder, beginning to decay; the spriag was filled with leaves except when Dale himself cleaned it out and permitted the clear water to be seen. But though the two men who had loved the spot almost as much as Dale himself no longer came there, Dale had no particular sense of loss in their going. It had always been the trees which held him. As he approached their shades now he felt the quickening of his blood and the pleasant satisfaction which he always had in their still company. He climbed a second wall and stopped to look up at the first of them, which stood here on the border of the wood and so was somewhat misshapen, its branches on one side choked by other growth. Then he went on, picking his way among the hardwood growth and the younger pines which were lifting their heads in brave emulation of the old trees. Halfway through the wood he turned aside to stop by one of the trees which had a hollow in its butt, in which a raccoon lived; and he noticed the droppings about the entrance to the hole there, and his nostrils caught the familiar odor of the place. But he lifted his eyes to the lower branches of the tree itself, thirty feet above the ground, and assured himself they were as vigorous as ever. There was still strength here; the mature strength of seasoned age. Barring accidents, this would be the next of the big trees to go; but it might well stand beyond his own span of life. It had always been as it was now; had already outlived others whose destruction he had seen and mourned. He passed the spot where one of these had stood. The jagged stub still lifted itself twenty feet in the air; the great trunk lay along the earth, half buried in drifted leaves, slowly yielding to the inevitable processes of decay. Dale took his knife and probed through the soft outer wood and found that inside there was still sound stuff. He had sometimes thought of seeking permission to cut up this trunk and have it milled into lumber for use about his home farm; but consideration for the tree as much as his own diffidence restrained him. The tree had a right, he thought, to rest here where it had lived so long; there was about its dignified surrender to the forces of destruction something grave and courteous and fine. The spring lay in his path; he came to it while the cot- tage by the shore was still hidden by the intervening growth. The surface of its waters was coated with fallen leaves, and he scooped them away, startling a small green frog which lived here. One of the flat stones which walled the barrel-like pool had fallen, and he replaced it. Then he sat for a few moments watching the frog, which had taken refuge in the silt on the bottom, its head thrust out of sight, its sprawling hind legs exposed. Through the clear water he could see fine grains of sand and pin gravel danc- ing in the light current that welled up through the bottom. He lay at length and dipped his face to drink, and then drew back again and watched till the need for air forced the frog to come slowly to the surface. Dale sat so still that the frog was not alarmed, but ficated, eyes and nostrils exposed, arms and legs limp, watching him stead- ily. At his least movement it dived again and once more poked its head into the silt. There had been plenty of rain this summer; and Dale thought with satisfaction that the spring would not go dry as it did in more arid years. He went on to the cottage. The shutters were in place, the spot was deserted. Pine needles littered the porch; and THE SATURDAY EVENING POST il a squirrel had torn a cone apart upon the front steps, to de vour the seeds hidden within. A porcupine had gnawed at the end of a box, thrown aside by the kitchen door, The in side of an empty corned-beef can, discarded there, had been licked clean by the tongue of some forager. A red squirrel perhaps the same which had ravished the cone, chattered at him from a branch forty feet above his head. Between the cottage and the water there stood three of the great pines. Nowhere else were there three so close together. He lay down against the base of one of them, in a cradle be tween two of the great roots, soft turf beneath him; and he folded his arms under his head and looked upward through half-closed eyes. He scrutinized lovingly every inch of the firm round trunk above him. Someone had driven a nai! five or six feet from the ground; and he got up and twisted this nail out almost angrily, and flung it away from him be fore he lay down again. Twenty feet higher he could see the broken stub where one of the lower branches had died and fallen. Lower still there were scars where other branches once had been; higher he could see that others were dying from the trunk outward, the twigs near est the tree bare of needles, only a fringe of green remaining at the outer end that caught the sun. But he knew that this death was really a part of the life of the tree; that the spreading branches which it at first put ou sunshine became useless as higher branches grew, and were discarded as one discards the lower rungs of a ladder that is to be climbed but once. Three hundred years ago, he thought, this lower branch now dying must have been the topmost on the tree, brave in new greenery like the bride of some Oriental monarch, discarded now as that bride is dis carded when a succession of others has usurped her place Each year the great tree took to itself new wives; each year the old fell lower in its favor. They were not thrown aside; they simply became useless, and knowing their use lessness, withered and died and fell humbly away. Dale was as inarticulate as most men; he thought many things which he could not put into words. The great tree awakened in him a pleasant play of the imagination; he was not ashamed to let his fancy run. He wondered now whether these lower branches of the tree resented their abandonment; the old sears, healed and covered years be fore, assumed a wistful pathos in his eyes Far above him a little breeze stirred and brushed one against the other with a sound like whispering; and he wondered whether one tree could talk to another These three pines were neighbors here; their branches in tertwined. They must, he decided, find pleasure in this con atill to catch the ilways and the needles \ hundred years tact; must share ago, he thought, the common sor the great pines row when the must have stood feathery top of one shoulder to shoul- of their brother: der; and the in the surrounding thought of the cool, still, vaulted arches beneath them made his eyes wistful with longing. In those days a thick car- pet of fallen nee- dles must have eovered the ground; now his feet rustled in old leaves of oak and maple, and twigs cracked beneath his weight discord- antly. The relent- years had struck down first one and then an- other of the old trees till now there were scarce two of them whose branches inter- mingled. They must be lonely, Dale thought; must sometimes long to touch fin- gers with one of their own kind. He felt a faint sorrow for their sakes. But they would still outlive him, perhaps by a hundred years; less and remembering this, Dale had that peace and fullness which come from acres disappeared The estate of the other tary and isolated, was inexpressibls lonely, he thought These three, grow- ing old together, had the easier lot. The faintest whisper of ' wind enabled them to exchange whispers and gen tle caresses, boug} rubbing bough It was only when a stronger breeze blew that one more distant from its fellows could hear their song He liked to think that the trees looked forward to # day of more vigorou airs, so that. they might, even from a distance, talk to gether. He knew so weil the sweet and singing note of their needles on such a day. Dale was in this trees, soli low hour 80 com- pletely at peace with the world that he did not for a long time perceive the fact contact with eter- nity. that there was a Memories Ran Through Him. From the Water There Seemed to Come the Voice of Old Charlie Broad. (Continued on “Perch are Biting, Date!” Page 92)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST November 1, 1924 Horatio Winslow ILLUSTRATED BY ROBERT W. STEWART T WAS Milwaukee the first time | noticed something ] wrong Bat ain't in the way, is he, Ed? You know n the hall if you say so. Sit down, Ed, you got a pitcher-book for ‘alendar over there, Bat. It’s got a Well, as I was telling you, Ed, it Milwaukee Bat was slumping—slumping bad And ws challengin’ any boy in the world at a fifteen pounds ringside bar none. | see Bat down in the parlor, eyes open, shut, a flower on his coat, and listening to the talking machine on the table play a platter of sobby violin stuff “What's aw,” he - | can chase him out Hat; rest Bat? Look pitener on it your fa at that hegun in No kiek funert ar Well mouth one nigh biting you, Bat,” I said, “sick?” “I'm listening to the music.” ie for?” I ast him. sahil ‘What do you want to listen te mx Aw,” Bat said, “it sounds purty That ought to have give me the 4unch then and there, You wouldn't think it, Ed, but ! didn’t even open my eyes when I noticed Bat allatime shutting himself up in his room by the hour toget he Bat, what you shutting yourself up in your room for?” I'd say ‘Aw,” he'd say What's y Aw.” he'd se tut no, | was too dumb 1 was too dumb li “I'm reading my book.” Bat?” ‘it's a magazine book.” And like a flathead I never suspected nothing, nor n wearing out the pen writing letters. i'd say, “ Bat, what you doing?” ‘Aw,” he'd sa i'm writing to my brother.” Well, who was you writing to yesterday?” Aw,” Bat'd say, “ yesterday I was writing to my little eousin yur book likewise when I see I it wasn't till practically three days later that I got the big idea. That was the night we fought Packy Percento, the Dancing Wop hunert an’ eighteen pounds three n the afternoon; in and out—one-two— allatime— bing-bing--uppercut him, boy— wham—wow, baby “Bat,” I said after it was over, “what's the matter of Why didn’t yeu get him in the seventh when you had him’ “Aw Bat said *Why didn’t you Aw.” Bat said feit sorry He felt “Well,” i says to better do a Burn So tik "* t ore Beaal Oo CLOCK | . you i didn’t wanta knock him out.” vanta knock him out, Bat?” didn't wanta knock him out because for him orry for him, Ed myself he felt sorry for him. I says, “supp’n wrong. I t I sneaked begun iim She Just Sat There Fingering the Clippings and Looking Across the Room at a Boket of Fiowers The first thing I saw on the table was a book. Well, Ed, I’m that simple I hadn't thought the boy was boobing me about his book. I'd just took for granted that Bat’s book was what he said—-a magazine book—something fluffy with pitchers of actresses. Ed, do you know what Bat’s book was’? A correspondence course in plumbing! Right then and there I knew the worst. Why, Ed, I'd trusted Battling Pal with almost.everything except money, and here he was double-crossing me. Mechanical, just like a man doped, I opened his satchel, and in that satchel I found what I suspicioned I was gonna find. I'd allus knew that there’s nothing so treacherous as a bantam, but I'd never had it brought home to me before. And here we was practically matched with Blink Balou, the Fighting Frenchman, a hunert an’ sixteen pounds ringside. Well, I read ‘em all over and when I finished I see there was just one way out: that was to do something and do it quick. “Bat,” I said the next morning, “pack up, because we're taking the first train to K.C.” Ed, you ought to have slanted the expression on Bat’s face. It showed me I hadn't acted fifteen minutes too soon. au GUESS you know, Ed, how I feel about good women. I got a mother, Ed, and I never hear one of them mother songs without my eyes filling up. That’s the kind of a heart I got. There’s nothing better in the world than a good woman; hut in her place, Ed, in her place. When I finished reading the letters Bat’s little girl had written him I knew right off Bat was getting ready to make the mistake of his life. I’m admittin’ there’s more’n one ease where a boy has met the right little girl at the right time and where she’s helped him in his career. Take Monk McGee, the Gorilla Kid, a hunert an’ forty pounds and a fifth-rater up to the time he met the little girl in the Gay Widows Company. When that little girl gave Monk the gate, which she done a month later after Monk had broke himself buying her an automobile, Monk comes back into the ring like a tiger with a sore tooth and he’s been knocking ‘em cold ever since. But Bat’s little girl wasn’t any Gay Widow chorene— not in the least. She lived out on the South Side and her name was Hazel Nelson. She worked in an insurance office but she was a home girl; you could tell that before » ¢ you got to the middle of the first letter. ‘‘I have just baked some whole-wheat bread, the kind that you like so much. I saw an automobile truck stuck in the mud. Oh, how sorry I felt for the chauffeur. I went to the movies last night, but the bull fight was so terrible I could not sit it through.’’ That was the way them letters ran, Ed. No wonder, after mushing around with a girl like that, Bat felt sorry for Packy Percento. But that wasn’t the worst. About the third letter she said out and out she didn’t have no use for boxers; thought they was brutal and no account. And then it become clear as mud what Bat’d done. Ed, Bat had been deceiving this little girl; instead of stating frank and open we was ready to meet. any boy in the world at a hunert an’ fifteen pounds ringside bar none, he’d been passing himself off as a plumber. A box fighter calling himself a plumber! Ain’t it enough to make a man wonder what the world’s coming to? Ain’t it, Ed, ain’t it? But even that wasn’t the worst. After reading her fifth letter I could see Bat was just stalling around with me until he got a wad of money and then he was going to marry the little girl, quit the game, and go back to the plumbing trade where he started. Well, I had to get on the job right off, and I done so. All the way to Kansas City I kept slippin’ Bat little hints. “T wunner where Spike McWade is,”’ I'd say. “ Aw,” Bat’d say, “who’s Spike McWade?” “Who is he? Listen. Three years ago Spike was practically at the top of the lightweight division. Then he had that accident.” “Aw, what accident?” “He met a girl and she married him and made him quit the ring, and where is he now?” “ Aw, where is he now?”’ “Well,” I'd say, “I dunno where he is now, but anyhow he ain’t fighting.” “Aw,” Bat’d say, “maybe he likes what he’s doing better.” You-ean see, Ed, it was serious. Well, there ain’t much to say about our little flyer out to K.C. The on’y good thing I know about the town is this

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yellow vest with red stripes, and I brought that back with me. Neat, eh? You'd be surprised if I was to tell you the number of ladies that have give me compliments on ac- count of this vest. And being around K.C. with Battling Pal was about as much fun as sitting up with a sick race horse. When Bat wasn’t writing new letters he was reading old ones or popping his eyes for the mailman. And when he wasn’t doing that he was reading his book. I tried to get him interested in a little game of African golf and I hauled him out to Under the Lemon Tree, where there was a classy bunch of chorenes. But Bat wouldn’t get interested in nothing. And instead of making his fight with Rough- house MeNutt, the Ottumwa Cyclone a hunert an’ seven- teen pounds at three o’clock, the way I told him—in and out—one-two—allatime—bing-bing—uppercut him, boy— wham—wow, baby—Bat just fought hard enough so as not to get disqualified. And afterward, Ed, believe me or not, when I bawled out the referee I couldn’t put my heart into it. “Well,”’ I says to myself that night, I says, “we'll go back to Milwaukee and beat this little girl in her own home town. We ain’t licked yet.” mi HINGS were shading our way. We hadn’t no sooner’n got back before we was signed up with Blink Balou, and that meant a crack at Young Kid Angelo. So I saw I better get busy right off and pull my stuff on Bat’s little girl. So Saturday afternoon, Bat being hitched to a couple of special sparring partners, I dressed all up and went out on the South Side. Understand, Ed, I wasn’t trying to show off none or bust the little girl’s heart with this vest, but I figgered that as long as she was going to have the news broke she might as well get the office from somebody showing class. Well, they let me into the parlor and I set there looking mysterious. Pretty soon the little girl come in at about a hunert an’ twenny pounds and just the way I'd sized her up—good-looking, but with an apron on and her face all red from the stove. Domestic-like. Soon as I saw her I knew I had a fight ahead if I was going to save Bat for his career. “Afternoon, Miss Nelson,” I said. Agent Bryzinski of the P.O.T.H.S.” “‘What’s the P.O.T.H.S.?” she ast, looking admiring at my vest. “This is Special “Them initials,” I said, covering it up so she could get her mind off it, “stand for the Preservation of the Home Society. It’s our dooty to pertect young girls from parties who go around introducing themselves under false pretenses.” She got kind of white and sat down all of a sudden. “Mr. Bryzinski,” she said, “I don’t understand what this has to do with me.”’ “You will in a minute,”’ I teld her. ‘Now lemme ask you a question. How long have you known this pug that calls himself Battling Pal?” She smoothed out her apron and looked down at it. You could see she was worried. ‘“‘Mr. Bryzinski,’’ she said, “I don’t know anybody by that name. If you mean by a pug a pugilist—I never met any such person and I never will. I have too much self-respect.” “Just a minute,” I said. “At present you got a young man calling on you and writing you letters that just come back from Kansas City.” She looked up at me and said, but muffled, “I don’t see why it’s your business, but I’m keeping company with a young man by the name of James Quinn, a plumber that’s just come back from Kansas City, where he’s been buying supplies.” I give her a long silent laugh. “A plumber,” I said. “Yes, that’s what he likes to call himself. But if he was a plumber once he ain’t a plumber now—not no more. For the last three years he’s been fighting in the ring under the name of Battling Pal meeting any boy in the world at a hunert an’ fifteen pounds ringside bar none.” “You’re just coming here to make trouble,”’ she said. “You know it’s not true.” “Oh, it ain’t, ain’t it?”’ Isaid. ‘‘Then how about these?”’ And I shoved her a handful of photograph clippings which give Bat with his regular name and his ring name both. I felt sorry for that little girl, Ed. I cert’ly felt sorry for her. You know that quiet kind; when they’re hit they’re hit. She just sat there fingering the clippings and looking across the room at a boket of flowers. “Well,” I said, getting up, “Special Agent Bryzinski has done his dooty and the society hopes you'll do yours in this case where you been lied to under false pretenses.”’ “Oh, yes,” she said very quiet. Then she whispered, “But he told me he worked at the plumbing trade.” “Sure,” I said. “‘That’s what he tells all of 'em.”’ Then I walked out light as air because everything was fixed. Bat would get the gate; then he’d kick out like a THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 13 sore-backed mule, same as Monk McGee; and then—in and out—one-two—allatime—bing-bing—uppercut him, boy —wham—wow, baby — you're out— champion--seventy five per cent of the gate—wrap it up and take it away. I cert’ly felt good. That evening I offered to ride Bat to Racine where Young Kid Angelo was boxing a four-round exhibition, but Bat said no. So I left him alone, knowing he had his date, and waited around to see what would happen Well, it happened, all right Listen, Bat, sit quiet. Nobody's talking to you. Go and look outta the winda and count all them chimneys cr something. ; Well, as I was telling you, Ed, it happened. About half- past nine Bat come back to the house like a shot and went up to his room. He dove out at ten and come dragging back at twelve. Afterward, at three o’clock in the morning when I woke up I could hear him walking up and down in his room and talking to the pitchers on the wall. “Good,” I says to myself, I says, “good. Monday when he starts in I'll have to get out the ten-ounce gloves or he’ll hurt somebody sure.” I was waiting the next morning when Bat come down to breakfast. I didn’t know whether he’d smash the dishes or not, but if he did I was more’n willing to pay for ’em. The door opened and Bat come in. Ed, I took one look at his face and then I begun te have a sick feeling around the top of my stomach. Ever see a dog that’s had a can tied to his tail and been chased till he ain’t got a leg under him? Well, that was Bat. He wasn’t no challenge champion bantam; he was a candidate for the Old Men’s Home “Bat,” I said, “take a look at the Sentinel. pitcher in the sporting section.” “Aw,” Bat said without turning his head, ‘that's all right. Lemme alone.” “Bat,” I said, “do you feel sick? for you?” “* Aw, yes,” he said, “cut out the noise.” “Bat,’”’ I said, “you act like somebody's done you dirt.” ‘“* Aw,” Bat said, “shut up.” If he’d only said it the way he ought to have said it— fine; but with that voice he was using he might have been asking a swell blonde to pass the tomattus. It was a bum start, but having been right on the spot when Monk McGee got turned down by his little chorene (Continued on Page 81) I got your Can't I do nothing SF EE EIT IT PAILS me re ST ere ee * od the Bat Done Just the Same as I Trained Him —in and Out ~ One-Two — Alliatime — Bing: bing — Uppercut Him, Boy — Wham - Wow, Baby!

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST S ALL who dwell in Wail Street know well enough, jobnny Henderson Hartley Scudder are rather leas friendly than and of unacquainted if you rPame one to the other, Hender- nort or Scudder will anarl, each following such A pai bull terriers mowll his natural bent im Tradition insists they the spoils of Henderson's fa mattei quarreied over campaign uw ‘on- hat whereby mous over Chemica ame campaign ifted out of to become the Scudder was ybscurity somewhat ccnspicuous ; i- dot on the finanmal map } lradition, 3 however, is far from the ; Strile betweer tne he is now truth iwo bhegar hefore there = ¢ were poils, and it aucn did not come to full blo ea omunti long aft when tne mystenous Kitehie Aniline ived them bot treet never was able ‘ understand that Rit perf it happened by accident rmance, nor to r by design The beginning of the and of the great Conover thing Chemical Cor; was back in the time when excited Europe, marching emthusiastically to war, halted her first singing er to America, ** You'll hav« to make things for yourself for a while now, and you car make some ior me Berause of that the old Conover Works presently found all its seams aud joints burst- Ciamerously imperative demands would hear no denials; wherefore three generations of Conovers took counsel together and went into the matter deeply. One outlander sat among them—Scudder, the works manager; but he, having been errand boy and lackey to most of them there, andi having come but lately to this title of his own levising, quietly held his aceustomed place below the salt and listened while Conovers talked “It's plain enough,” broke out old David Conover at last, mpatient with the chatter that led nowhere. ‘ We either pread out or sell out We don't sel!; we sprend!" declared young David, his grandson, striving to make enthusiasm seem sober and sure intent Aye, spread! manded, “It for that. or it isn’t worth doing at all or partners. We've never had either.” said young David incautiously. “It oratior long enough bo call on ton Lye ing Spread! But how?” the old man de- can t be done Conover fashion. It's too big It means mortgages ‘We had was Conover & Ritchie in the beginning, wasn't it?” At that one or two. of the others gasped a little, and old David cried wrathfully, “If you know that much you know, too, why the first David stood with a loaded musket while Andrew Ritchie, with the whole town locking, painted his own name out of the sign. And you know none’s been put there since ‘Times change, father,"’ said Thomas Conover, with his This is war now—a great war. Make no mistake, it won't end soon.” There was brooding silence for a time. Then Hartley Seudder suddenly leaned across the table, his clenched hand thrust out before him, and spoke with tight lips the originals—all of them!” he urged aggressively. “Give me the last balance and the I'll take them to New York tonight and I'll bring you back what money you need—and more.” Red-faced Henry Conover squashed a fat fist heavily upon the arm of his chair. “That's it!’ he approved. “Go to New York for it. It's to be had there. We'd be wasting time to try around here." Old David fingered his beard and studied the works manager. “Who'll ge with you?” he demanded suspi- clously “One's enough,” returned Hartley Scudder, meeting his glare. “I'll go-——-or someone else can.” He settled back in hm seat “What will Henry said with impatience Why not? Let Hartley once, troubled frown ‘Give me our orders lust statements Thomas asked doubtfully; but “Let him go. Let him go you do”” go ” By ROBERT S. WINSMORE TLLEVUSETRATE DO RALPH LESTER “Den't Play With Me, Scudder," Said Johany Henderson, “You'll go ther go, but you'll make no promises, d'ye hear? You'll bring back an offer—terms—no more. to the rest here. This is Conover business.” Hartley Scudder roused himself energetically and leaned forward again. Unsmiling—but his voice carried a new he told them what he would do. In the end, even old David was silent, impressed. With that began what is now the far-flung Conover Chemical Corporation. Arrow-straight to the awesome Titanic Trust Company in Wall Street the works manager went; and there he would talk to none less than Morris Randolph, who was its president. To that dignitary, ult+ mately, he unfolded successively his prim records, which counted for little, his piled orders, which counted for more, and his rounded project, which counted for most. And Morris Randolph, knowing what he did and foreseeing what he could from his height, quickly sensed far greater possi- bilities than were recited to him. He sensed, too, the possibilities of Hartley Scudder himself. “You speak of ‘my plan’ and ‘my idea,’”’’ he said, look- ing steadily at his visitor. “I notice you don’t say ‘our plan’ or ‘our idea.’ Do you mean that as it sounds?” “I do,’ answered the works manager, with unwavering cold eyes; and Randolph nodded gravely, understanding. “And there will be no opposition?” he asked. “None that can last if I have your support and a free hand,” Scudder declared with convincing assurance. There was importance in that. Moreover, the Conover name was worth while, unquestionably. And the war in Europe was developing wonderfully. So the first financing was quickly done; and thereafter it was the brain of Morris Randolph, working with the resources of the Titanic Trust Company, working through the daring and energy of Hartley Scudder, whereby the little old-fashioned Conover Dye Works became what the Conover Chemicai Corpora- thon is now. There was leaping, bounding progress from the first. Rapidly other properties, other plants were absorbed little slim-waisted ones that could be bought cheaply with borrowed cash and valued high when the Conover Jabel was ready to be pasted on them. Within two years—two feverish years—Conover Chemical was exciting Wall Street with its astonishing contracts, its daring expansion schemes, its merrily dancing shares. In two years more— two delirious years—it had become high fashion, had taken high place among the fabulous war babies of the stock market. Naturally, the egg from which all this was hatched dis- appeared and was no more. The development brought vast new plants, strange new processes and products, amazing !" suddenly decided old David. ‘ You'll Mind that! We'll tend note and His Voice Was Like Thin Metat November 1, 1924 new accomplishments with money borrowed, money earned, money spent. The old name was there in its new form and Conover shareholdings were huge; but beyond that, little of what was Conover remained. There was, to be sure, a title for old David chairman of the board. He sat under that and blasphemed regularly and unsoftly as the advice he so persistently declaimed was no less persistently ignored. There was a vice president’s place for Thomas, with duties held down to the occasional signing of what he had not written. One or two directors’ chairs were for other Conovers, from which they might vote yes or no, as they fancied, upon questions already decided. But in the seat of high- est authority there was no Conover at all. The omnipotent president of the Conover Chemical Corporation was that brilliant meteor in the industrial sky, Hartley Scudder, whose keen fea- tures were so frequently pictured between maga- zine covers, surrounded by printed declarations that honesty and hard work and perseverance and pluck will surely lift a lad from stinking dye vats to a fine clean desk of dull walnut, bearing green bronze inkwells and a framed copy of Mr. Kipling’s ego- anointing If so stationed as to be visible to all and sundry. And the highly efficient spear of President Hartley Scudder knew no Conover brother, nor any, indeed, Save Morris Randolph, who stood dominant at the head of the Titanic Trust Company. Rapidly the Conover Chemical Corporation multiplied all things that were necessary to its progress—plants, products, contracts, profits, stock certificates. In time, of course, the stock certificates were brought to make their collective debut in Wall Street, that being an ordered, scheduled, essential step in the long settled program. Fora while this fledgling Conover moved forward quite decor- ously in the junior market which Wall Street calls the Curb. Presently, however, it came to full stature on the Stock Exchange, and there, with no great delay, it began the spectacular climb that made it famous. The climbing was directed by Johnny Henderson. Wall Street will tell you that what he did with Conover Chemical was the most brilliant and successful of all Hen- derson’s stock-market exploits. Perhaps it was not so difficult in that roaring bull market where war-profiting shares like this were the best beloveds of a furiously gambling public. Then, too, he had from the syndicate which Morris Randolph had formed what money he needed to do what he would. But the results were what counted, and they were vast. When they had been gathered and weighed, Johnny Henderson was richer in renown and friendships and money than he had ever been. Whereupon, as a further result, he fell straightway into trouble. From the beginning he had seen how, among those who had to do with Conover Chemical, the Conover men stood a little apart from the rest, resentful, somewhat sullen, even antagonistic in spirit now and then. And he could see why. They had been toppled over, set aside, shelved by this sharp-eyed, strong-nosed Scudder who once was trash among their workmen and had grown up at their heels, where he belonged. Now their heritage of command was in other hands—his stained hands. Their birthright was gone from them—to him. Yet they could not com- plain that they had been paid mere pottage for it. They had become moneyed far beyond their dreams, and the Conover name was exalted; and Hartley Scudder had done that too. But he stood there facing them, so un- humble, pointing out to them how they must stand back somewhat; and now and again he grinned upon these Conovers whom he had made so rich—and so impotent. Perhaps if he had not grinned it would have been different. Br

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In that case Henderson might not have waited so long to reach friendship with the men of the Conover clan. Their part in the making of Conover Chemical’s stock- market career was no small one, but neither was it greater than their extensive interest in the shares forced upon them, nor was it an active part. Accordingly their early appreciation of this Johnny Henderson, this Wall Street manipulator or plunger or whatever he might be, was wholly a matter of the dollars growing where he cultivated. Randolph and Scudder and the others had picked him to do what was to be done. By inference he was their man, their hired man. But ultimately a time came when Hart- ley Scudder, finding his desires ignored, raised an angry voice to Johnny Henderson and made demands. What followed changed the Conover theory. The stock had come to a standstill in the market and all Scudder’s irritated prodding had not stirred Henderson to move it forward again. Finally, when a press-applauded showing of amazing profits passed with no more than momentary effect on Conover Chemical’s price, Scudder’s anger blazed. “This is altogether unsatisfactory, Henderson,” he declared aggressively, with the usual forward thrust of chin and fist. “I tell you so flatly. I am dissatisfied. We want action and we get indifference. Mr. Randolph will be back again in a day or two and he’ll be more indignant than I am.” Henderson studied him gravely. “You seem annoyed,” he said at last. Scudder exploded. ‘‘Annoyed! I want some explana- tion.”” His heat so blurred things for him that he did not see how the other’s eyes were mere slits for an instant. “You've deliberately neglected opportunities that I’ve pointed out to you, and the stock’s lower than it was three weeks ago. You took no advantage at all of that state- ment yesterday. Why?” ‘But you’re mistaken,’’ Henderson said with unpleas- ant softness. “I took full advantage of the statement. I’ve slipped out of nearly thirty thousand shares of Con- over in the past few days.”’ “Sold it!’”’ cried Scudder. ‘‘You’ve sold thirty thou- sand shares? Do you mean to tell me it was your selling of our own stock that kept it from going up on that statement yesterday?” “IT mean just that,’’ Henderson replied coldly. ‘And I mean to remind you that this thing is in my hands. As long as it stays there I'll run it and you will be wasting time giving or- ders.” thereafter peace reigned once more. Later, when unsettle- ment came to the whole stock market for a while, the advantages of Henderson’s preparation for it were made plain; but Hartley Scudder and some of the others seemed unable to find pleasure in that Old David Conover held a grave face through the syndi- cate meeting, but he rode uptown in glee. He went over it all as he sat at dinner that night with Henry in the latter’s bachelor home. “I’m going to get closer to that Johnny Henderson,” he told Henry. ‘He'll be useful, maybe. What d’you sup- pose made Hartley so bitter today?” Henry cleared his palate and sluiced it before he spoke. “‘Scudder’s been making a plunge in the stock, expecting Henderson to shove it up,”’ he said. ‘‘ Henderson didn’t do it, and our dear Hartley’s sore.”’ “How do you know that?”’ The old man showed lively interest. “‘T know a lot about Hartley,” answered Henry, atten- tive to his food. “‘He’s got the bad habit of talking to women, and I have the useful habit of listening to them.” “Tt’s the only useful one you've got,” snapped old David Conover. “You learn a lot,”” Henry said. “For instance, I know that Scudder has been making money out of these plants the Conover company’s been buying. He’s been in syndi- cates with some of the rest of his sweet crowd. They've been buying the little properties and turning them in to us at higher prices.” “But that’s crooked! That’s swindling!” old David cried. “Oh, no,” said Henry easily. ‘They do it properly, you know; all under cover and legally.” “They’re thieves!’’ declared the old man. “I'll stop that. There are jails for that kind of stealing.” “You won't doanything,”’ Henrysaid placidly. “‘There’s nothing you can prove. And don’t talk aboutit. Sit back for a while and we'll see what else Hartley tells his lady friends.” Next morning David Conover struck hands with Johnny Henderson. “I heard so much talk about you yesterday that I thought I'd like to know you better,”’ he said. “That pleases me a lot, Mr. Conover,’”’ Henderson replied heartily. “‘I’ve never known you or your sons as well as I’d like to. Who made you think I was worth coming to see?”’ “Scudder,” answered old David promptly, and Johnny Henderson smiled, with quick understanding. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST is “T see,”’ he said; then gravely, “Hartley Scudder’s a remarkable man, Mr. Conover. He’s a big man in many ways. He has force and courage and certainly ability In some matters, however, he—well, he lacks experienze."’ “I’ve known him since before he wore shoes,"’ declared David. ‘‘ He grew up in the Conover works under my eyes He's able—don’t doubt that. And smart—in most things. In others he’s a fool.” ‘He'll learn,’’ Henderson said. ‘But I'd rather talk to you about Conover Chemical. I've never been interested in anything as I am in that.” “Then come to dinner tonight with my son Henry and me. We're the only Conovers on hand these days. The Government's using the rest of the family. Will you take dinner with us?” “T will, and gladly,”” Henderson agreed; and that night he cemented friendship with the Conovers that speedily became intimate and has grown stronger untii now. From these Conover men Johnny Henderson learned much, not only of their own property but of the great in- dustry of which it had become the leader. He learned much of the other corporations engaged therein, of their plants and territories, of their sizes and strength and weak- nesses. And some of these he marked to be remembered later, when wartime would be gone. Trouble would come then, he knew, and only the fittest would survive. Particularty he marked the Ritchie Aniline Company for disaster then; but, strangely, that was the one concern about which he could not induce David Conover to talk. Garrulous when others were mentioned, the old man went tomonosyllables when Ritchie Aniline wasnamed. “’Tain't worth a damn. Never was and never will be,’’ he would say, and nothing more. Finally Henderson asked Henry Conover why. “You've opened the door on the family skeleton,” said Henry. “Originally we were Conover & Ritchie. That was my father’s grandfather. They were two close friends and they started the business together. But Andrew Ritchie, who had no wife, was a more interesting lover than David Conover, who had one. So one day Andrew looked up to find David poking a gun in his ribs. David handed him a paint-pot and marched him out in front of the works, and there he made him paint his own name off the firm's big sign. Then he marched him the !ength of Front Street and out of town.” Henry told the story gravely, and Henderson could find nothing more fitting than to ask politely, “And what about the lady?” “Tt won’t stay there,’’ Scudder threatened, springing to his feet. ‘*Further- more,”’ Henderson went on, “it isn’t wise, Scudder, for you to use your bullying method withme. It might—ah—it might interrupt our acquaint- ance,” In his anger Hartley Scudder called the syndi- cate members to- gether and demanded imme- diate change that would eliminate Johnny Hender- son from the Con- over Chemical situation. Butthe wiser Morris Ran- dolph, skillfully diplomatic, kept the ship trimmed and pointed out the unwisdom of changing skippers in a storm. He showed them how it might be best to let the stock rest in the market for a while, and also to have the syndi- cate’s holdings re- duced so there would be buying power ready again Gag & “Oh, she stayed on,’’ said Henry indifferently. “Too much trou ble to break in a new wife, I sup- pose. She was my great grandmother, and when we were kids we had to treat her with great respect. But anything named Ritchie has been hated in the family ever since We drank that in with our milk and learned it with our prayers. It’s our feud.” “Then Ritchie started his own business?’’ Hen derson asked. ‘*He did; and that’s the Ritchic Aniline Company of today. The Ritchiefamily con- trol it. They’ve never been as big as we’ ve been, and, of course, they’re comparatively small today, al- though they've grown too. Be tween youand me, they’ve needed a Hartley Scudder.” **Ritchie Ani- line’s in poor shape,’’ Hender- son declared “T’ve been locking when it might be needed. He pla- cated Scudder,and “This is Nonsense,” He Asserted Loudly. “It’s Insulting, and I Won't Stand it. These are Mere Cheap Suspicions That Can't be Supported. I Ask for a Vote" into it. Above 40, (Continued on Page 8&2)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST November 11,1924 heories and Thanksgiving rTVHEORIES are queer things. Out in stirring By Charles Moreau Harger were abandoned. Yields of eight and ten bushels were rather fair har- yhrase, they seem to account for all vexing of past problems present and future—espe- cialiy the future Then along come the precession of the equinoxes and other of the phenomena changing and sud- denly they develop missing cylinders loose connections ‘ and flat tires Take the vol- umes of essays and the hours of or- atory that last winter laid down propositions to the effect that the pro ducers of America were hopelessly depressed; that old familiar law of supply and demand was de- funet; that noth ing bring relief except some newfangled esubsi fixing creation the could diea, price the of various high commis- which ne prophets were perfectly willing to serve at a good and priced sions on t vests—and the farm price was eighty-five cents. This season the high plains of the Southwest had the thirty-bushel yields and a dollar a bushel; in North Dakota, the farm price was $1.22 and the state raised more than twice as much grain as in 1923. The wheat produc- tion as a whole was not exceptional, but the large yields came where had been greatest need. Tens of thousands of acres of West- ern Kansas were seeded through a wheat fund raised by millers and manufacturers to help poor farmers. The subscribers were to receive one-fifth the yield, if any—they made 300 per cent on their charity. Dis- tribution made the real benefit from the wheat crop as a factor in finan- cial rehabilitation, because its largest liberal salary. The financier who de- elared conditions overstated; that where a section had gone into its troubles by the gate of extravagance it must come out by the way of economy; that application of ordinary business methods, with such assistance as was possible from the strong to the weak, would in the end bring relief and tide over until things righted themselves, was hooted as a tool of Wall Street and minion of the money power. When Mother Nature Took a Hand ype GHOUT the producing section were self- sacrificing patriots traveling in flivvers and in Pullman cars, spreading the doctrine of unrest. In schoolhouses, halls and commercial clubrooms they declared that some- thing must be done--and the way to start was to organize u league, union or lodge, dues payable in advance—half going into the organizer’s pocket. They did not realize that old supply and éemand worked even here. The Non- partisan League, the parent due-collecting system, used to charge sixteen dollars a member and gathered in some 50,000 joiners first and last. But competition cut the rate to $7.50, and then came another organization that would do something for the farmer for four dollars. So bathed was the interior farm country in the pulsating haze of glit- tering generalities, and so eager were organizers for the quick profits, that seemed likely dues would soon be payable in potatoes, onions or old clothes It all centered in the theory that the economic conditions 4% foodstuffs could be remedied only by sinews of war—meaning fat salaries for representatives at the state and national capitals needed to obtain this legislation and without this m the part of the various organiza- ahead. his sort of propaganda and dues-collection existed from the Alleghanies to the Pacific Coast; it affected every sort f production from pecans to peaches, from wheat to water- The country banker was scared even more than his the business man was afraid to buy goods lest they molder on bis shelves; the entire financial! structure ned, despite any courageous words hard-headed authorities might say, counseling faith and neement that had actually made f the deflation per f the producer passing laws, that thr were heneficent procedure « tions greater chaos *a melons condition warranted was weak pointing to adva been The Baby Beef Class, at the Iowa City Fair, 1924 Along in the spring things came to their worst. Some 600 rural banks and severa! larger institutions had failed in the area west of the Mississippi. Many more were hang- ing on by their teeth through the grace of the banking de- partments, the intermediate credit banks and the War Finance Corporation. Congress hurriedly extended the operations of the last, which were to have expired March first, until November thirtieth. Unquestionably distress existed. It was of darkest hue on the high plains of Okla- homa, Kansas and Nebraska, and up in the spring-wheat country of the Dakotas and Montana, where land specula- tion, single-crop methods, unfavorable harvests and defla- tion of prices for products had combined to harass the settlers. Congress adjourned. Before it had been many bills for direct relief of the farmer, some of strange vintage. Few had material support from the soil tillers themselves, but politicians backed them with great gusto. None of the proposed legislation passed; it was evident that enough laws already existed. Arose a tremendous wail that de- struction was upon us, that now was the time to come to the aid of the league with more dues. Then Mother Nature took a hand and things commenced to happen. A curious fallacy has existed that the improvement in agriculture has come from great crops. Usually this is so. It was the case in the prewar days when the country went along with its regular foreign demand and fairly steady in- dustrial activity, calling for a normal amount of foodstuffs frem home producers. But this year had no record- breaking crops. Take wheat. Last year we produced 786,000,000 bushels; this year (September estimate) 837,000,000; but the five-year average before 1923 was 881,000,000 bushels. What did happen was, first, that wheat surprised the experts. In July the Government estimated the crop at 740,000,000 bushels, 100,000,000 less than finally was gathered. Furthermore the quality was probably the best in history. The more the threshers pushed into the fields the greater became the return per acre. Thirty and forty bushel yields were too common to get mention. But that was not what changed conditions in the wheat belt—the crop was distributed helpfully. Out on the high plains of Oklahoma, Kansas and Nebraska had been three years of small crops. Last year more than 4,000,000 acres bounty was given where conditions had been worst. Along with the yield came the rising price. That, too, had little to do with this country’s yield alone. We raised more than 50,000,000 bushels over last year; normally it should have lowered the price to a new level. But there is Canada, our rival wheat country on this continent. We keep Canada wheat from our mills by a high tariff, but that does not prevent its competing with the foreign market. The High-Priced Corn Crop AST year Canada harvested 453,000,000 bushels; it ex- ported some 340,000,000 bushels. This year it became evident about July that wheat was poor in the great fields of Saskatchewan, Manitoba and Alberta. By September, Canada's crop was estimated at 267,000,000 bushels, little more than half that of last season. It would have little to export, and Europe, gaining steadily in its financial condi- tion, would have to buy wheat from the United States. Wheat went soaring to a dollar and upward at primary markets and producers admitted that old General Supply- and-Demand might have something to do with things after all. Take corn. That is an entirely different story, but still a chapter in the supply-and-demand document. About the time wheat is being harvested, corn begins to show its promise. This year a late cold spring made its growth slow, except out under the sunny skies of the Southwest. All at once the country woke up to the probability that we should have a shortage of corn—and away went the prices! For the first time since the war that cereal brought a dollar a bushel. Again came favorable distribution. Old settled states like Illinois or Wisconsin, with diversified interests, could get along with a moderate yield; but Kansas and Nebraska needed it—they got it. Kansas raised the largest crop in nine years; Oklahoma and Nebraska had high- average yields. Probably the shortage of corn helped the price of wheat, because both cereals go into the feeding of nations. But corn has a limited area; wheat can be grown in many countries. The nation’s yield is 2,513,000,000 bushels compared with 3,046,000,000 bushels in 1923 and an av- erage of 2,899,000,000 for the preceding half decade. So we are short of corn. Continued on Page 114)

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political parties and three presidential candi- dates from which to pick a winner. Two of the parties are old friends—or old enemies, if you prefer. But the third suitor for their approval is something of a stranger, though not entirely so. To be sure, the title he wears so boldly is a good one, though it is not an exact fit and its ownership is somewhat in doubt. His speech, and his sentiments, too, have a hauntingly familiar ring, as of confused voices speaking out of the past. But as a whole he is a stranger, and as such he has the attraction of novelty. There is an exciting uncertainty as to what he is, what he thinks and what he will actually de. Now there is none of this romantic uncertainty about the two old parties. The women know them through and through, having lived with them in the bonds of political wedlock four long, experienceful years. You can’t tell the women anything about the Republicans or the Democrats which they don’t already know. They have learned it in the hard school of practical politics in city, state and nation. For this reason the new third-party suitor who comes seeking woman’s hand and vote does not need, as a pre- amble, to point out to her the sins of omission and com- mission of the Republicans and Democrats. She knows them full well. All that is, so to speak, old stuff. But that which she does not know, and upon which she desires earnestly to be informed, is what better substitute the stranger has to offer in their place. It is the constructive end of his program, his remedy for the present ills, which she would like to investigate rather carefully before she takes him on as partner for the next four years. She may not, and indeed she does not, approve of all the goings on in the households of the existing parties; but neither does she intend to jump out of the frying pan without first looking to see whether she will land in the fire. [ent year the women have the choice of three A Look at the Plans ND so to the third-party candidate with the vaguely familiar yet baffling personality the women say frankly: “We're from Missouri; show us. What is your remedy? What are your constructive plans? Will they work? Have they already been tried out? Where? With what percent- age of success? What have you got to offer that the old parties haven’t got? Forgive us if we ask you to chuck the THE SATURDAY EVENING POST By Elizabeth Frazer bunk and hand us the hard facts. Save your emotionalism for the men voters; we are the practical race. Above all, permit us to take home and examine thoroughly at our leisure these blue prints of your new plans before we hire you as the head architect of the nation.” It is this sober sanity, this practical, clear-headed vision, running to neither extreme, but holding steadfastly to the safe middle of the road, which is the outstanding charac- teristic of the women leaders, as well as the common rank and file, in politics today. Sheer emotional sob stuff does not get by; they can’t be stampeded by it; they demand, not wabbly theories and vague generalizations, but hard- and-fast proved facts. They are using, not so much their hearts—there’s not a great deal of heart interest in the practical politics of today—as their heads. It is the sober judgment of several shrewd, nonpartisan spectators of the political scene that the women leaders are revealing more downright intelligence, common-sense and comprehension of fundamental issues in the present situation than the men. And it is to this intelligence, to this clear-headed practical common sense that this article is addressed. The Progressive candidate urges the women to move out of their present more or less conservative quarters and to move into his new third-party house. But first let us ex- amine the blue prints, look over the locale and see what manner of residents are already installed. Let us study his plans and designs. In short, before we are off with the old love and on with the new, let us take the major proposi- tions and policies, as outlined in the third-party candi- date’s platform and printed speeches, analyze them and see how they stack up with what we already possess. After which it is up to the women whether they will stick to their present quarters and spend some money on improvements, or whether they will scrap the old family mansion. If they decide to move they vote for the third-party candidate. If, however, they don’t like the blue prints they are at liberty to turn the architect down. House planning is fascinating to women, even more so than tomen. But women don’t always like a man-planned house; it is often devilish inconvenient for the mistress who must live her life therein—shallow closets, bad plumbing, back-breaking sinks, windows and doors that stick, cheap unweathered green wood which shrinks and settles and creaks. Women, in their houses, like solid substance, strong, stable founda- tions and seasoned timbers which will withstand the wear and tear of time. It is therefore worth while to scan these plans of the third-party edifice with a practical eye. On the outside cover of the plans stand the words Statement and Platform of Robert La Follette, Independ ent Progressive Candidate for President of the United States, and above, across the top of the cover, runs the significant legend: A New Declaration of Independence A new one! Well, as a beginning, that is not so good. For the original Declaration of Independence which forms the corner stone of the old edifice is peculiarly dear to us all it is the last thing we would wish to scrap. As a statement of human rights it is a world beater, magnificent, unsur passed, and staunch as the hulls of those early sailing vessels in which our forefathers conquered the trade of the world. You know how it runs: “When, in the Course of human events " And mounting to those lines of sub lime optimism: ‘We hold these truths to be seif-evident that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”’ Who can better that? The ‘‘*New”’ Declaration i SHOULD be marked that the third-party candidate does not say his statement is a reaffirmation of old prin- ciples; he asserts positively that he has a new proposition to offer, a substitute which, as the advertisements say, is just as good. It may be, of course, that he does not mean what he says, that he is using terms loosely and negligently; but if this be true, that is the kind of shifty building which will not stand; and, moreover, we are bound to give him the benefit of the doubt, to believe that he chooses his words advisedly and actually has a new Declaration of Independ ence to offer the people. What it consists of we shall see later on. Turning the leaf, we come upon the candidate's official statement. It begins as follows: “In the most momentous crisis which has confronted the nation in our time, you have called upon me to accept (Continued on Page 145) eae — - 7 , + Ai uw , 4 rie @ Gur ae ~ ya, ™ ’% 288 ‘\ 1GHT BY UNDERW & UNDEF The Anniversary of the Birth of Baron Von Steuben Was Celebrated Recently at the Yankee Stadium, New York City. One of the Features of the Celebration Was a Speech by the Progressive Presidential Aspirant, Senator Robert M. La Follette

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST S TL TLLUSTRATED November 1,1924 By George Pattullo GRANT REYNARD Tt Transpired That the Uncie and Auat Heid Jacques in Peculiar Affection and Considered Him a Future Asset VERYBODY called them the Tweeties because that , was Andy's pet name for Camilla, who reciprocated —4 with Heneybun and Toodledums and Daddy Wait, Keep your seats! This is not going ory at all. But I want to protest earnestly, aguinst ary of levity either. The John- mply a good, honest, average American couple forever bragging about the other, and Camilla jueted her husband so often that “Il wonder what Andy would think of this” became a stock joke among her friends Well, as I waa t mar call his way’? No, air, he did: wail Dumplin to be a coming st right here spirit “Ons Were 4} bach was why shouldn't feels that t keep an undulating blond stenogra he didn’t do any such athing! And she called him Dumplin. No, no, madam, they did not fight in private. The Johnsons had lived together ter ears without once engaging in a quarrel, and with hardly At this juncture a lot of scarred veter- “Oh, what a big lie! How can you?” truth, vouched for by a long Andy called her anyhow, if he saying, wife Tweetie, tpleeer Dacidy you're wrong i serious dispute. ans are going to howl Nevertheless, it ie the Johnsen cooks Che miracle was due to an unusual combination of per- with, Andy was an extraordinarily patient man; but that isn’t half the tally that. No, most of the credit belonged to Camilla because she had a legal hold om Andy, she never once tried to convert it inte a strangle hold. Of course she was a freak; I'm not denying it After ten years of wedded bliss Andy retained a sub- lime conviction that he possessed the most beautiful and woman on God's green earth. Lest many d and true should be embarrassed by having up to him, let me rush the explanation: He of those rare, shy, retiring bachelors who put 1 because Camilla had about alo 1g, she prized his illusions life objective to preserve them gospe ine of onalities. To begin a lot of us are Just best-dispusitioned a stout husbar this thrown had been one all women on a given up hope when } pedestal, an e came so highly that it became her Do you begin to see now? A faithfu all ne mepaper literature bearing on the art of retaining a husbar d s love, particularly eae g the reader « langerou tt cream. Countless monuments have been reared to saints for heroic perseverance. Nor was that her finest achievement. She resolutely curbed a mean and _ hair- trigger temper where her husband was concerned. Her parents still spoke with awe of the tantrums that made Camilla’s girlhood a cyclonic nightmare, yet Andy had never witnessed a single flash. Naturally it could not have been done unless she took it out on somebody, but Camilla figured it is easier to get a new iceman or cook than a new husband So she always contrived to show herself in a cooing mood when he came home from the office, no matter what her irritations during the day. Even with forty years staring her coldly in the eye, Camilla would talk baby talk to him because he had deemed it adorable in the throbbing courtship time. Perhaps it made Andy slightly weary now and again, but he never walked out on her, nor betrayed a quiver. All honor to Andy Johnson! In fact, sometimes it even induced added tenderness through recalling cherished memories, especially after a good pot- roast dinner, as he sat with buttons loosed, a-smoking his seegar He was immensely proud of his wife. Her thrift had contributed to make him one of the solid men of the city; she combined a scientific knowledge of food values and balanced diet with an epicurean taste; and although they didn't belong to the smart set, Camilla had built up an enviable position. She was president of the Thursday Reading Club and an active member of the organization which was striving, with heads bloody but unbowed, to instill a taste for art among the crass commercials, On the more human side, also, she enjoyed a certain popularity. After the Thursday Reading Club had taken a fall out of the Blue Bird for an hour, it was their custom to set up card tables and settle down to business. Camilla played an accurate and tense game and her friends were always eager to secure her for partner. Then she could be counted on to lend a hand at those numerous semichari- table, semifashionable affairs that furnish an outlet during the winter for the restless energies of women who haven't sufficient home duties to occupy them, and the still larger who would rather spend ten dollars for an oppor- work to exhaustion on the chance of netting a less class ty ¢ dollar and sixty cents for charity than donate that amount outright. “That wife of mine, giving to old Judge Maillot, “ any two women in this town. isn’t in.” “I believe you're right,’ said the judge. “I don’t be- lieve I've picked up the paper in a year without seeing her name in it, or her picture.” Andy replied, with a pleased smile, “They out of her.”’ Often he marveled that a woman of Camilla’s accomplish- ments should have stooped to marry a man like himself, who was only good for plugging along and making shrewd trades. For there was hardly any branch of culture in which she could not hold her own. She had a nice taste in literature and could talk as glibly as anybody at the club meetings about the Irish poets, and before they arrived, it had been Browning and Maeterlinck. The very names awed Andy. And the technical patter Camilla had at her tongue’s end persuaded both him and her acquaint- ances that she had a profound knowledge of the literature of all countries. She did not spend much time on the works that came up for discussion at the Thursday Reading Club—not more than enough to enable her to contribute what sounded like informed comment. For amusement she went to the idyllic school of American fiction. She loved sweet and tender things. Curled up in a chaise longue, with a box of chocolates beside her, she would read Harold Bell Wright and Gene Stratton Porter by the hour, gulping chocolates and happy tears. Once or twice she took a flyer into other fields, but Andy never knew it, nor did she incline toward such reading. I refer to The Desert Bride and The Drums of Love, to which she was impelled by what the other girls had told her at a bridge party. She devoured each of these novels at a single sitting, until] her eyes popped and her head ached. Then she threw the books away before Andy came home. “What's the matter, Tweetie?”’ “Reading too much, I guess.” ” declared Andy in pious thanks- does more for the poor than There just ain’t a thing she pester the life he inquired.

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“What do you want to overdo it for? You know more right now with one hand tied behind your back than any of the other women we know.” “There’s so much to read, if one wants to keep up. These Russian writers have a style we can never hope to attain. They’re so—so true to life,’’ she replied, with a sigh. It confirmed his conviction that Camilla dwelt on a higher spiritual plane. One night they went to see a moving picture wherein an innocent slip of a bobbed-haired thing in a one-piece bathing suit let a city slicker give her swimming lessons. And all the time the scoundrel had a wife and family! How could she know that? She trusted him implicitly— trusted him, alas, too well. That devil went on about his business, and when she couldn’t even get a settlement, her parents gave her the bounce, her former friends looked the other way, and there was Stella trying all alone to earn an honest living for herself and child. It looked as though everybody went out of the way to be dirty toward the young mother, and Camilla cried all over the aisle. She was so worked up that Andy became embarrassed and feared it might make her ill. “Tt ain’t real, you know, Tweetie,’’ he whispered. “It didn’t actually happen. I've seen pictures of the house where Stella lives in Hollywood and it’s a swell place.” “‘ Maybe it isn’t real in this particular case,’’ sobbed his wife; “‘but you know as well as I do there are things like that going on every day.” This incident made a profound impression on Johnson. He gave thanks to his Maker that he had been blessed with a wife of such heart. ““Women’ve got finer sensibilities than men—that’s all there is to it,’’ he declared at lunch next day to old Judge Maillot in the club. “‘ We aren’t fit to wipe their shoes.” “No?” replied the judge absently, rather depressed from a week of divorce cases. “Last night we went to see that fillum, Cast Out by the World, and my wife cried so hard I thought she’d have to leave.” The judge waited; Andy appeared to regard this as preving something. “Well, what of it?’’ “Why,” said Andy, taken aback, “‘it just goes to show what I just said.” Because she had a tender heart it must not be supposed that Camilla always dwelt in the clouds. In many respects she was more practical than her husband. She could weep over the sorrows of unrequited love and self- sacrifice misunderstood, but that didn’t deter her from weighing the meat and the ice, and any time the cook got away with a bow! of scraps she certainly earned it. And she and Sarah Scott didn’t speak because she publicly dunned Sarah for sixty cents lost at bridge the previous winter. Sarah claimed to have forgotten, but Mrs. Johnson refused to swallow any such nonsense. Sometimes she had even to act as a brake on Andy's impulses. The average successful business man is a hard trader between eight in the morning and six at night, be- cause otherwise he could not survive; but it’s amazing how some of them loosen up in the cool of the evening. Johnson was a fair average specimen. Nobody ever bragged about taking anything away from Andy in a trade. In fact, his chief competitor always referred to him as Old Frozen-Face. Yet where his trading instincts did not come into play he was inclined to be generous. Not one of his employes but owed him money for advances to build homes or tide over periods of sickness and hard luck, and as for relatives, he went down into his pocket periodically. “Why can’t they take care of themselves?’’ Camilla demanded. ‘You had to make every cent you've got.” “Oh, well, they’ve had bad luck, Tweetie, and as “Yes, and they always will, too, so long as you help them. They won’t get down and hustle, that’s their trouble,” she asserted. ‘‘How did we get where we are? By doing without. But I'd like to see one of that bunch do without anything. That nephew of yours—why, the very automobile he runs around in you paid for.” “No, no, I didn’t. I lent Aleck a little money, but “It’s the same thing.” “There, there,’’ said Andy, with a sheepish smile, pat- ting her shoulder. This was a subject he dreaded, because it seemed always to stir his wife’s resentment. “I think you’re foolish, Honeybun, to let people impose on you the way they do.” “They don’t impose on me. “You're always helping somebody.” “Pshaw, no, Tweetie! Now and again I have to come across, but what can I do?”’ * Just say no, that’s all.” “Sometimes a man’s just got to help. Humans are divided into two classes, Tweetie—the props and the leans.” “And the more you prop, the more they’ll lean.” “Well, I’m lucky to be a prop.” ” ” THE SATURDAY EVENING POST i9 Camilla mastered her rage by a superhuman effort. Couldn't he see how shamelessly they were imposing on him? “Are you going to let that Granger boy have that two hundred dollars?” she asked quietly. “IT guess I'll have to,’’ said Andy, having already given him a check. “Well, I can tell you right now you may as well kiss that money good-by.” “It won’t break me. And if he didn’t get it they would be put out of their house.” A withering retort trembled on her tongue, but she choked it back; and perceiving that he was growing un- easy and sullen, she changed her manner “What a dear old foolish Daddy Dumplin I've got, haven’t I?"’ she cooed, giving him a peck of a kiss on the cheek. “But promise me you won't do anything like that again without telling me.” “All right,”” he agreed. About a week later Johnson received a tempting offer for his flour-and-feed business. “I don’t know whether to take it or not,’’ he told his wife. “A man of my age has got no right to retire.” “But we'll have more than we need,” she protested, her mind busy with the figures; ‘‘and we can travel. You know I've always wanted to travel.”’ “That’s true too. And if we're ever going to see the world, now's the time—while we’re young enough to enjoy it. Besides, it won't be retiring exactly. I'll have enough to do looking after my real estate and keeping this money working.” So he sold out, and Camilla packed everything in moth balls and tobacco leaf and closed the house. They had no children to consider. This was the only sorrow of their lives, but its effect was to draw them closer together. A daughter had died at birth but, as though it had been agreed upon, they never spoke of the baby. When they went every Saturday to the cemetery with flowers they performed the ceremony without any reference to their loss, but there was always added tenderness in Johnson's manner toward his wife. During the first fortnight of their European trip Andy was so busy sending back picture post cards to the folks at home that he had no time to be lonely; but finally he couldn’t think of any other names, and then he began to mope and complain of the food and to draw disparaging (Continued on Page 129) ee a ° yy Fs 3. P's, Na: \. AY at Now She Feit She Could Afford to Shop Without Skimping. Andy Was Willing — Told Her to ‘‘Fiy at it, the Sky's the Limit’’

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST HALF hour after dawn Long John Larkin, the engineer, and Philip Lee, the negro deck hand, saw an ugly hing. They had fought a good fight until then—an almost hopeless fight against a furious southwest gale which long ago had smashed the Sea Swallow's rudder and was now driving the thirty-foot launch toward breakers which would annihilate her. Capt. Mat Norman had directed that fight with the coolness and kill which Larkin and Lee had learned to expect of him n all emergencies. Then, as though some nerve within him had snapped, he seemed to gosuddenly insane with fear. He shouted something to Larkin, but his voice was racked from much yelling against the gale, and the wind vhirled his words away unheard. Then he tried to throw Long John was the bigger man and Next he made for Lee, and the negro, his heavy bar of iron and Larkin overboard hook him off face the color of ashes, seized a warned him hach Keeping his footing with difficulty, Norman staggered roms the cockpit anc In a moment he re- sppeared, bringing with him Rusty, the little into the cabin. ed trish terrier that for four years had been of the Sea Swallow’s crew He the black, raging sea, then his arms hop- engineer i member fl dog ints Larkin, videnti the ing the prang at yutatretched, « ng to push iver the side Long John ducked, lalling forward the cockpit, Norman, unahe te his into and heck headlong into the ocean So thirty Larkin and onset, plunged minutes later, went with the Sea into the white inferno of the breakers, believing that. Mat Norman, ither Lee Swallow the coolest man that {f them knew, had gore with terror in the torm Kusty, the little irish ter ier, would have told them { he eould that they mad were nistaken, for he knew the who Wa better man tek god han either Lee r Larkin m tusty vould have told what knew them that 4 Great Mitk- Waite Bird, Haif at Tati a: @ Tati Men, Startied Him as tt Rese With Labeored Wing Beats Not More Than Half a Dozen Feet in Front of Him ILLUSTRATED By Herbert Ravenel Sass er CHARLES LIVINGSTON Norman did was the right thing to do—that if they had jumped when Norman tried to make them jump, they might have escaped death even as Rusty himself escaped it. The launch was driving toward the shoals and sand bars of Buck Bay. There she must inevitably be smashed to matchwood and every man in her would be pounded to a pulp. To stay with her was certain death. To jump and swim for it before she entered the bay’s shallow mouth was the only chance, and Norman alone had been cool enough to recognize it. Rusty might not been able to explain all this in detail; but if he had the huge ocean surges into which nave perished in his master had hurled him, he wouid have gone down knowing that Norman had done for him all that any man could Of this sort was Rusty’s love and Rusty’s faith. The sun was two hours high when the little red dog came \ great white-maned comber tossed him on the upper beach and left him there, to all outward seeming, A long while he lay where the wave had left m, sprawled on his side, limp and motionless. With that wave the storm tide reached its crest; and, magically, when had turned and the ebb had set in, the wind, which had slackened to a stiff breeze, died away altogether, the gray blanket vanished from the face of the sky and the warm May sunshine fell like a blessing upon beach and Of all this Rusty, inert on the white sand, the flame of life flickering feebly in his brine-soaked body, knew nothing. Nor did he know that the grim storm scavengers of the aérial patrol were abroad and that already their scouts had spied him from the upper air From all directions they came, hurrying on wide somber wings to the feast—first one, then another, then a third, then five more arriving all at once. They were black vultures, all of them, cowardly car- rion feeders, yet bold enough to pick the eyes from helpless living victims; but not until twelve of them stood on the sands around the spot where Rusty lay did the boldest make a forward move. His first awkward hop was the signal for a general onset. Long hooked beaks backed by hideous naked heads were reaching for Rusty's eyes; scaly, sharp-clawed feet were trampling his body, when with an angry snarl a lithe tawny beast charged into the midst of For a moment there was a mad confusion of wildly beating black pinions to the accompaniment do. ashore stone dead the tide ocear the mob November 1, 1924 of hisses and growls. Then, as the vultures scattered in all directions and, running awk- wardly to get a start, rose with swift, power- ful wing beats, the big wildcat turned to examine his find. What he saw amazed him. He had expected nothing like this. A dead fish was what he had hoped for, or, failing that, a dead sea bird—titbits which were much to his liking and for which he was accustomed to search the beaches after storrns. Generally, these beach hunts of his were conducted by night; but this storm had not ended until well after dawn, and he knew that if he waited until the following evening the vultures and buzzards, marvelously efficient watchers of the sands, would forestall him and take for themselves what- ever savory morsels the gale had brought to his island. So the old lynx had compromised with caution, the caution which forbade him to patrol the open beach by day. All morning he had been slinking like a ghost along the fringe of the jungle, keeping carefully under cover, pausing often to peer out from his leafy shelter and search the bare white strand above high water mark. The wind had driven the tide much higher than usual, though by no means as high as in the great hurri- canes that came now and then in late summer and fall. It was scarcely ten yards from the jungle’s margin to the strip of soft sand where the waves had deposited whatever storm victims they had brought; and three times the lynx, after making sure that no foeman was in sight, had made a quick dash out into the open, picked up something in his jaws and slunk back to the green covert of the thicket’s edge. His first find was a least tern, a bird so small that it had merely whetted his appetite. Next, the sharply contrast- ing black-and-white plumage and crimson bill of a dead oyster catcher caught his eye. This was a more satisfying meal; and after he had also found and devoured a turn- stone and a black-bellied plover, which he discovered lying side by side on the slope of a low dune, his hunger was temporarily appeased. Nevertheless, curiosity led him to wander a half mile farther along the jungle edge; and when, just after rounding a little myrtle-grown hillock, he saw the vultures grouped about a reddish object on the upper beach, he jumped to the conclusion that here at last was the delicacy for which he had been looking—a freshly killed fish, probably a small surf bass. A quick glance showed him that the coast was clear and he charged the vultures instantly. The discovery that the object which had attracted the scouts of the air patrol was not a bass, but a sma!l red dog, worked a sudden and startling change in the big wildcat. He jumped five feet to the right and crouched close to the sand, tawny body quivering, pale eyes glinting, white fangs gleaming in snarling jaws. Into his brain like specters out of the dim past rushed a host of hateful memories: mem- ories of a day of terror when, as a half-grown cub, he had seen his mother torn to pieces by a pack of dogs and he himself had escaped by a miracle to nurse a long gash on his Hank which had tortured him for days. Since then he had hated and feared dogs above all other enemies, hating them almost as much as he feared them. They seldom came to his lonely barrier island, separated from the mainland by a waste of marsh through which wound many deep tidal creeks; but when they did come, BULL His Muscles Were Taut for the First of the

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ttt - = | | | to trail the deer through the dense island thickets and set the green jungle ringing with wild, terrible, fierce music, the lynx always sought his safest refuge and lay there trembling and growling, living again that day of terror long ago and the days of agony that followed it. Those memories gripped him now. As he crouched on the sand six feet from Rusty’s motionless form, the fear which shook his yellow-brown striped and spotted body struggled with the hate glaring out of his savage eyes. He knew instantly that the dog was alive. His first impulse bade him flee; but though his nostrils reeked with the dog scent and his heart was cold with the fear which that scent inspired, his eyes told another story and stirred another emotion. They told him that this dog was small, little more than half his own size and weight, that it was weak to the point of impotence, utterly powerless to defend itself, unconscious of the lynx’s pres- ence, insensible or asleep. Little by little, as he watched, hate triumphed over fear; and little by little, as the minutes passed, the glare of those round unwinking eyes grew more savage and more sinister. Here was an easy vic- tory, a safe and swift revenge. One long leap, one deep thrust of needle teeth meeting point to point in the throat, and the thing was done. Suddenly all sense of fear vanished. Ears flattened, fangs gleaming, the lynx bunched his sinewy body for the spring. Rusty, the red Irish terrier, was dreaming—dreaming of old days on the Sea Swallow with Mat Norman, of quiet voyages along the winding marsh creeks behind the bar- rier islands, of venturesome trips on the open ocean when fair weather tempted the Sea Swallow’s skipper to save time and distance by passing from inlet to inlet outside the island chain. On a sudden the dream ended. Rusty stirred restlessly and opened his eyes. Slowly and feebly he raised his head and looked about him. Around the arc of a half-circle his gaze swept a peaceful panorama of sea and sky and sloping, clean-swept strand. Then the movement of his head ceased, his body quivered, the short wiry hair of his nape and back stiffened and stood erect. Wide, round, pale yellow eyes, stern and cruel as death, glared into his; eyes aglow with fierce fires of hate, yet hard and cold as jewels; eyes set in a broad, bearded face of implacable ferocity. As if by some compelling hypnotic power, they held Rusty spellbound and motionless; and, sudden and swift as the stab of a sword, fear entered Rusty’s heart. For a fraction of time his life hung by a thread. The big lynx, poised and tense for the spring, would have launched himself forward. instantly at the slightest sign of weakness, and the dog, faint and sick after his battle with the sea, must have perished almost without a struggle. But Rusty Roustabout II was Irish terrier to the core. He was the son of kings. To Champion Breda Mixer his pedigree went back, and the blood in his veins was the pure blood of those little red dogs of North Ireland which long ago were dubbed dare-devils by men who counted cour- age the cardinal virtue in dog or man. Only for a moment did cold terror chili his heart and paralyze his faculties. In an instant he threw it off and was himself again—the heed- less, reckless, headlong little bravo whose delight in picking fights with dogs too big and heavy for him to handle was a constant source of pride and anxiety to his master when- ever the Sea Swallow tied up at the city wharves to dis- charge or take on freight. Perhaps it was the habit, characteristic of his breed, of striking first and considering consequences afterward which made him do what he now did. Perhaps some deep- seated instinct guided him; or possibly, in some mys- terious way, he read a secret in those glassy savage eyes and knew on the instant that one thing and one thing only Series of Bounds Which Would Bring Him to Grips With His Foe THE SATURDAY EVENING POST i} could save him. Be that as it may,hedid that .« thing. Summoning all his strength for the effort, he rose to his feet and with every hair abristle, short stubby tail erect as a flag- pole, white teeth gleaming in long strong jaws, he stalked stiffly forward, then charged. The wildcat, crouched for the leap, his brain on fire with the hate which for the moment had conquered his fear, shot forward and upward as though propelled by a catapult. Set on hair-trigger as he was, nothing could have stopped him; for an infinitesimal frac- tion of a second it seemed that Rusty's des- perate attack had been launched too late. It had, indeed, come too late to forestall the cat’s assault; but the terrier’s swift and sudden ad- vance cut in half the distance between the two antagonists, and the lynx’s muscles had been keyed to drive his body forward that distance and not an inch less. So when he leaped he leaped too high and too far; and at the very instant when the terrier’s legs gave way under him and he crumpled on the sand, the long tawny body of the cat flashed over him, one hind claw raking his head. Slowly the dog, his forehead streaming with blood, struggled to his feet and faced about on tottering legs to meet the furious charge which he expected. Ten yards away across the sands he saw his foe racing with long bounds toward the green wall of jungle be- yond the low sand hills of the upper beach. Once and once only the lynx looked back; and Rusty, sitting on his haunches because once more his hind legs had given way, sent after him a bark of triumph and defiance. This was the first meeting of Rusty, the little red Irish terrier, sometime member of the launch Sea Swallow’s crew, and Longclaw, the big bay lynx, who for ten years or more had been king of all the preying beasts of the long narrow barrier island to which Rusty came by the grace of Providence when the Sea Swallow met her end. It was a strange whim of fate which brought the two together, for there was only one man who knew Longclaw the lynx and that one was Mat Norman, Rusty’s master and god. It was Norman who had given Longclaw his name. Woodsman as well as boatman, the Sea Swallow's skipper sometimes stopped at this island between the marshes and sea to spend a half day looking for sea-turtle nests in the sands, if the season was the season of turtles, or to wander in the dense woods of palmetto and pine, gnarled, stunted live oak and evergreen cassena, which covered the island’s interior and in which many wild things had their homes. Several times on these trips Norman had noted the tracks of an unusually large wildcat, the largest wildcat tracks that he had ever seen. Be- cause he delighted in studying the wild things, he always left Rusty on the launch when he landed on the island, for the terrier was of too restless and lively a temperament for patient watching in the woods; and because he had a habit of giv- ing names to all the wild creatures with which he became acquainted, - Rusty Not Only Saw the Lynx Again, But Actually Treed Him in a Smalti Isotated Cedar and Kept Him There for an Hour Norman dubbed the big bay lynx Longclaw and wove romantic fancies about the velvet-footed mysterious haunter of the jungle glooms. A creature of mystery he was, in truth; a ghostly, sin ister, uncanny presence; a dim, elusive shape, seeming scarcely more tangible than the darkness through which he moved on feet that made no sound. To Norman he was the very spirit of the wild uncouth island forest, grotesque and inhospitable, bristling with needle-pointed yuccas and long-spined cactuses—a dense, almost impenetrable, palm-shadowed jungle, utterly unlike the beautiful woods of the Low Country mainland, yet alluring with an out- landish tropical enchantment of its own. Norman, on his visits to this fastness, searched often for the big lynx, but not in order to harm him. His tracks in the sand gave the man a thrill of joy whenever he came upon them; and the island wilderness was all the more fascinating, all the more alluring, because somewhere in its hidden depths lurked this secretive spectral follower of the night trails. In spite of all his seeking and watching, Norman saw t he lynx but once, and then only for an instant. But a time (Continued on Page 50)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST November 1,1924 TORMENTED MEN —ByJames Stevens loaded approximately 2,700,000 feet of green lumber. In the first ix months of 1924 I wrote approxi- 100,000 words of stories and For fifteen years I made my living as a common laborer, working mostiy with large crews of men. For six months I have made my liv- ing as a writer, werking alone at a desk. Of course I write about labor- ers. I do not think of them as a class, as a large political or social group. They are the only people I have really known well, and I think of the i [: THE first six months of 1923 I mately articies. men | have worked with as of individuals. There ere classes, groups and types of laborers, to be sure, but I aiways see them in the characteris- tics of some individual I have known There waa Chris Ansen, for example Chris is typical of a large group of common laborers, the group which is kept always in a turmoil and fever of mind by the apostles of unrest Chris, and group itsell will tell under which | met (hris Ansen and his family. er | dit not prosper materially or ontentedly until my last two years of work in the sawmills and logging camps of the North- 1 pleased, however; and it the country. It pleased me to dream of not always being a laborer and to plan and study for a change; and this was not so difficult, either, as I remember it, except that my longings to get out with the crowd and eek pleasure often got the better of my purpose But I usually thought I lived a hard life; and everywhere said the same thing: we declared that we were unlucky, that the world was unfeir to us, and that fortunate people victimized us instead of helping us. Now the men who complained the most were the men who read the most; who read serious studies of industria! and social relations and political articles particularly. We read mostly that which was designed to appeal to us, articles more evils, persecutions and miseries in our life than we had thought about ourselves. The sympa- thetic writers rs and politicians were regarded by us as heroes, martyrs who sacrificed themselves for the uplift of oppressed men Then I tired of wandering and began to work longer i i saved money, of course. At last I found ar exceptionally good place to work in. I settled there and worked steadily. I made friends of men who were steady, contented laborers, who owned automobiles and their ow: homes, and who prowided a good living and opportunities for their families. They did not complain often, though they worked harder than the rovers I had known, and did not have such exciting adventures. Few of them read about wciology, industrial problems or politics; they read mostly story magazines and publications which appealed to their in home mechanics, gardening and outdoor life and seme of them read books about their line of work and the trade publications of their industry. I liked these men und I liked their life when I was not troubled with wander 1 decided finally that I could work steadily at hard labor and be as comfortable at it as any other man. So 1 bought a car and began to save money for a home Know you can understand the ane it first of the tormentors I circumstances As a lal live west I lived as pleased me to rove and see many other laborer which showed us mary teach each plac e interest beast The independence of Chris Ansen HAD plenty of tme for study and reading, and my dream of writing about the life I had known got the out- lines of a real plan. Here, I thought, were the very kind of people | wanted most to write about—workers who truly represented the great body of prosperous, contented Amer- ican labor. There was no drama of adventure in their days nor any romance of exceptional achievement, nor was there anything pathetic, terrible or oppressive in their lives to inapire emotional or explosive writing. But I knew ther that people were not unwilling to read plain unadorned facts of everyday life if they were facts about real people And i have since proved this Now in handling green lumber I was doing the hardest kind of physical laber. But having been accustomed to very hard work all my life I took this as a matter of course; I made big wages from my job; and I always had plenty of energy left for whatever I wanted to do when my time was my own. The first friends i made in this place were men Chris is Typicat of a Large Group of Common Laborers, the Group Which is Kept Always in a Tarmoil and Fever of Mind by the Aposties of Unrest who were on the job with me, who worked hard also, and made better wages from their harder work. All of them were prospering and as contented as human nature allows But as I worked longer there I became ac- quainted with men on other jobs, and some of them were not prospering; despite the chances they had to improve their living they did not work at the harder jobs and get the bigger wages; they were not contented, and many of them were tormented men. I heard from them the same queries that I had heard the reading laborers ask in harvest fields, in logging and con- structioa camps: “What's the use? Ain't the world against us? Ain’t the country run by grafters, and indus- try by tyrants? Ain't we slaves? Show us different.” ‘Come over to my place,’’ said Chris Ansen one day. ‘**Come over tonight, and I'll prove it to you.” Chris was helper on the transfer; his job was to ease the loaded lumber trucks from the green-chain platform to the transfer and to run in empty trucks in their place. This was one of the best common-labor jobs around the saw- mill, and Chris had it because he was an old hand. He was a husky, and he had a family to support; so the green- chain contractors couldn't understand why he would not get on the chain and earn big money. Chris always said that he would not break himself down for any cursed lumber company that ever was; the company might make a slave of him, he said, but it couldn't coax him into giving up his health for a few lousy dollars extra a week. The chainmen said among themselves that Chris was a nut; but he was a good transfer helper anyhow; so they only joked about him and called him the slave when he was not busy with the transfer and came along the platform to talk with them Chris got more sympathy out in the yards, where there were many steady, lower-waged laborers like himself, and where there were always many short-stake lumber handlers also. Sometimes we would see Chris join a group of yard- men who were waiting for the yard boss to come around and lay out a new job for them; soon we would see the heads begin to shake, then hands would wave. ‘The slaves are planning another uprising against their hell,’’ we of the green chain would say. But Chris was always back on his job before the yard boss caught him. At bottom he had carefulness and common sense, and he was reasonable enough to talk with when the subject did not concern the literature he constantly read. I liked him, and I went to see him when he asked me to come. men to be Chris was done with supper when I came over. He was reading in the front room, and his wife was mending the new washing, darning stockings and socks and patching shirts which had just been brought in from the line. “Meet my wife, Emma,”’ said Chris, standing up, but still holding a magazine in his hand. “I’ve just been read- ing her about this oil scandal. I get the whole truth of it here; the newspapers are full of lies; a man can’t go anything on them.” Mrs. Ansen shook hands and said she was glad Chris had found someone to talk to. ‘He reads an awful lot to me, but, goodness! I can’t understand politics.” Then she heard something in the kitchen, and she went out. Mrs. Ansen did not come back for sometime. I could hear her voice and two youthful voices now and then, and I caught words once ina while: ‘‘ Dorothy, can’t you learn not to splash dishwater on the floor, dear?” “Elbert, don’t you go over to Gilkerson’s till you’ve got your morning wood.’’ The back part of the house had a busy sound as Chris showed me his evidences. A wide old-fashioned cupboard reached tothe ceiling in one corner, and its shelves were loaded with books, perhaps two hundred in number. Many of them were schoolbooks, some were old novels by E. P. Roe, Charles Garvice and Mrs. Southworth; and there was a big family-doctor book, a Bible, and a thick photograph album bound in faded green plush on one shelf; but most of the books were weighty volumes in dark bindings, having long fearsome titles — dreadful-seeming books indeed for a laborer to possess. “I've read all of them,’’ said Chris proudly. ‘But of course I haven't the education to understand all they say. Here is where I get the real practical stuff.” He opened a door at the bottom of the cupboard and dis- played piles of magazines. All of them were openly revo- lutionary publications or of the so-called liberal type which prowls and smells in every dark place in life until it finds something rotten to howl over. Literature and Luxury ““ DEAD these weeklies and you'll get the real truth about evils and wrongs which the newspapers cover up,”’ said Chris. “‘I get more good from them than from the books. Maybe you’ ve tried reading some of these books yourself.’’ I said that | had read Marx’s Capital, Kropotkin’s His- tory of the French Revolution and Mill's Principles of Political Economy, but that their theories muddled the simple things I could see in life with my own eyes. “Thomas Carlyle excused me from reading them,” | said, ‘““‘when I saw his description of political economy as ‘the dismal science.’”’ “T have Carlyle’s books on Cromwell and the French Revolution,” said Chris; ‘‘and they are not easy reading either. I have read Shaw and Wells and the Webbs. And here are Democracy and Education and The Theory of the Leisure Class. They say Dewey and Veblen are the two greatest thinkers in America. I try to read such books so I can have something solid to stand on when I fight the terrible evils of our society, told about in these magazines. You can’t realize what is going on in the country until you read the truth.” Chris picked out some of the magazines and brought them over to the library table. It was getting dark now, and he snapped on the reading lamp. “‘No wonder you like to read so much, Chris,”’ I ven- tured. ‘You have a cheerful little room to rest in.” “Yes; Em’s good at fixing things up,”’ said Chris. “‘No need to tell you I’m not buying the good furniture I'd like to have, with my wages. I did manage to pay for a piano though; for Em is bound to have Dorothy learn to play.”’ And it was a comfortable, well-filled room. In one corner was the big cupboard of books. Between it and the piano was a window draped with blue-and-tan curtains. A double window was in the next wall, and several potted plants bloomed in its light. The third wall had a large (Continued on Page 54)

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is to think of some new scheme to make easy money and try to put it into operation. This is especially true when the scheme promises romance as well as profit, such as hunting buried treasure, going into the show business or buying an orange grove in some sunny clime. During the past few years an entirely new and extra fascinating field has opened up in Paris. The French are a nation of wonderful manufacturers. French goods are prized throughout the world. The frane is priced at around five cents, while its par value is nearly twenty cents. French goods are small in bulk and easily shipped to foreign lands. What wonder then that foreign- ers, going about Paris and seeing how cheaply things are priced in the shop windows of Rue de Rivoli or Rue St.-Honoré, should be seized with the idea of making easy money? With Americans, to see is to act. The retired merchant from the Middle West who has been dragged around Europe by his energetic wife and daughter is tired of look- ing at churches, chateaux and scenery. He feels a little more interest in oil paintings and statues because the guide tells just how much they would be worth in American dol- lars; but even these stories of big money pall after a while when one’s feet are sore and one is wondering how the Kiwanis Club back home is making out with the drive for a new Y. M. C. A. building on Elm Street. The retired merchant is glad when he finds himself back in Paris for two good solid weeks of human recreation before taking the boat for home. He can go to the American Express every morning and read the newspapers, ten days old, to be sure, but at least newspapers that one can understand, and with headlines of satisfying size. He can sit on the sidewalk in front of the Café de la Paix. This is Paris, the heart of the world. \ BOUT the most fascinating amusement in the world A Flyer in Beaded Bags HEN one day the opportunity to make big and easy money presents itself. The wife and daughter want to take home a few presents, and the retired merchant accom- panies them listlessly along the Rue de Rivoli arcade, waiting more or less impatiently while they stop to look in the show windows. It seems extravagant to spend money on pres- ents when the trip has already cost too much, but women are women, and one must bear his burdens manfully. His wife summons him excitedly toa curio mental figuring. Curio dealers, he says to himself, do not sell goods for nothing in a tourist place like Paris. No less than a hundred per cent profit, no doubt, on Rue de Rivoli. Wow! The merchants back home sell bags not a bit better for six or seven do!lars apiece. Here, surely, is the chance for a live man to inake some money! He restrains his womenfolks from going into the curio shop at the moment, and in the afternoon hunts up a man he met on the boat coming over who is a wholesale buyer. From this man he learns that the beaded bags he has seen are actually made in Paris, and he gets the address of the factory. But a visit to the factory gets him no farther because no one there speaks English and he himself speaks no French. After an embarrassing scene he learns that if he wishes to buy bags at wholesale he must do it through a commissionaire. He gets the address of a commissionaire at the American Chamber of Commerce. The commissionaire is an Amer- ican and speaks a civilized language, but his attitude is that of a sophisticated and hard-boiled person who expects the worst of his fellow men. The retired merchant states that he is thinking of taking a little flyer in the beaded-bag business and wou!d like to be introduced to some good firm which makes that sort of merchandise. The commissionaire replies that this can possibly be arranged, but before going any farther he would like to know how much money the retired merchant has with him. The latter answers with some asperity that it is no one’s business how much money he may happen to have with him, but if there are any doubts as to his respon- sibility any credit agency with United States connections can be consulted and it will be found he is responsible for any contract he may enter into. The commissionaire responds to this reasonable declaration by stating cynically that if the angel Gabriel should come to Paris for the pur- pose of buying merchandise at wholesale, he, the commis- sionaire, would not place a single order until the cash had been deposited in a Paris bank. Had such a reply been made to him in any office in the United States the retired merchant would have marched out without further parley; but he reflects that he is in Paris, reputed to be the wickedest city in the world, and THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 23 ure of the Paris Label By J. R. SPRAGUE for the time he will swallow his pride and allow himself to be classed along with the other crooks. Besides, the profits he is to make on his beaded bags will go a long way toward healing his wounded pride. He tells the commissionaire that he has a couple of thousand dollars left over from the expenses of his European trip, and he will place that amount in a Paris bank as a guaranty of his good faith. “All right,”” says the commissionaire; “‘you do that today, and tomorrow I will call at the bank to see that the money is tied up so it can only be drawn out for the sole purpose of paying for the merchandise you buy. My charges will be fifty dollars, besides 7 per cent on whatever purchases you make.” Again the retired merchant has an uneasy feeling that he is embarking on unknown waters, but having gone thus far he cannot back out with dignity. Anyhow, he is going to make a nice little chunk of money, besides saving alrnost half on the six bags his wife and daughter want to take home for presents. His Troubles Begin HE next day he presents himself at the office of the commissionaire and is conducted by one of the latter's interpreters to the factory where the beaded bags are made. There the soundness of his enterprise appears to be proved because the factory prices on bags are indeed only half those charged by the curio dealer on Ruede Rivoli. Knowing how shady European business people are reputed to be, he tries to beat the prices down a little from the marked fig ures, but with no success. Through the interpreter the manufacturer says smilingly but firmly that he should be desolated if the American monsieur declined to purchase, but the policy of the house is strictly one price, The retired merchant actually does hold off for a couple of days, thinking the manufacturer will recede from this stiff necked attitude, but as this does not happen he goes back again and places his order. Then he pays the commia- sionaire his fee of fifty dollars as well as the 7 per cent commission, and shortly thereafter sails for home. His beaded bags are promised for shipment in sixty days. The most satisfying part of the entire transaction is the ride home on the boat, where he looks around at the other male passengers and reflects that he is probably the only man there with acumen enough to take a nice trip to Europe and make his expenses by a shop display where row after row of fancy beaded bags is hanging close to the glass, each one adorned with a price ticket, and where a sign in the corner states that One Speaks Eng- § lish Here. ae “Just look at - this, Henry,”’ says his wife, pointing to one of the beaded bags, a creation in blue and lavender. ‘*Only forty frances. Just about two dollars. Why not buy half a dozen bags like thatand takethem home for presents? It would save run- ning around, and besides, the man will probably let us have them for less if we buy that many!” Here at last is something the re- tired merchant knows something about. He used to have a fancy- goods department in his old store, and the sense for values still re- shrewd business deal. Arrived in the home town, too, there is an added pieasure in casually telling his intimates at the luncheon club that he is taking a little fiyer in some stuff he picked up on the other side and it is likely he may run over to Europe every year from now on to harvest alittleeasy money. It is lucky for him that he is able to derive some sat- isfaction from these things, cause very shortly clouds gather over his horizon. His beaded bags ar- rive in bond, cus- toms charges to be settled. Not being familiar with cus- toms regulations he has to engage an expert to at- tend the matter, the expert's charge being 5 per cent The customs chargés themselves are the big blow. He had neglected to ask the Paris commissionaire (Continued on be- mains with him. He does a little When the Department Manager Returned From His European Trip His American and French Goods Began to Arrive Page 137)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST IDE INFLAMM. OLOSSAL misery triumphed over glad- (Crime nim and te pare BY Octavus Roy Cohen J. Je He ninutive apartment of J. d Potts was one of abjectness tumbled inte the di Welfor oe i (waar Clump, flung himself aslightly moth- eaten divan and bert a worried gaze upon the dynamic director of the Midmght Pictures Corporation, Inc. Cesar.”’ he mourned fram above a silken shirt of sal- non pink, © Ise th’o« Mr. ¢ ‘ Foolishment and gestured you talks, ump rope Welford. What you which mean—th’oo?”’ “1 is finished an‘ done fo’. My days as star fo’ Midnight pitchers is numbered an’ the number ain’t mary. Presi- ient Latimer has got the idea that my new pants is on’y meant io be kicked in.” J, Cwsar bent a critical gaze upon the trousers in ques- tion: elegant things of creamy flannel constructed with if bell cuffs “T ain't suttin he yo’ pants got t« me to the extremest neither, Welford s wrong But what do with yo’ job of actin’? ~akin’ figurable. When I was leavin’ the ’, Orifice Latimer inwited me to come § just p tudjo this ever nto en I got there he stahted in tellin’ me that he wan't sliefried with how | his office, an’ wi was actin’ an’ likely woul'n’t need me no mo’ ished Now, I you is my di wr ain't it so mos ifter this piteher is fi ‘wear--al that fair wste you, ¢ rertor 1S waiked across to the wir stared reflectively tle was t of flamingly dressed was different 1. Caesar Clump was a motion- director and he didn’t care The habiliments of directoral authority sat becomingly white shirt with turned- back aport collar, flowing blue neck- rimmed goggles, and long-toed shoes. His brow deep and in- which there was ( @sar where he Avenue t his dow, down abo a size with visitor, but hia zart pieture who knew it ipon him tie horn anee breeches, gioss; putties enor- mously was furrowed with tensive thought, u more than a trifle of worr; The problem of Welford Potts immediate and disconcerting Welford had hia shortcomings, true; but then Welford was an excellent comedian, and comedians were the immediate crying need of the Mid- night Pictures Corporation, In That Orifive RK. Latimer, ponder- ous president of the highly successful Was negre picture company, was actually planning to discharge Welford, Mr Clump had not the slightest doubt; ind he knew also that this abrupt termination of business relations was treassaned ’s personal He worried chiefly on Latimer for the upstage actor inapected the ountenance of Mr. Potts “Welford,” he confesaed l you fired.” I makes You Ciriice, listaste turned and uttinly would hate to see that uns sin’t se populous with the folks heah imme includin’ ood actor an’ I craves to keep you.” Yeh. but if Orifice iben they aint thin’ fo’ but you wa says git How- an’ discern cain't you to do but git see Brother Latimer mind.” threatened to wmever, Lae gwine | do somethin’ to el ge his Tears of gratitu disturb Welford’s Vision friend.” r back me up, ‘cause what I is gwine is a-plenty. Ise aimin’ to talk com- ommon sense ain't the most- Now vou just stick aroun’ ‘Cwsar, you suttinly Yeh, an’ way to Orifice is my you bett Latime mon sense to that feller, a eat thing he heal til I gits back “ Boy, I luck,”’ apprecia’es ain't gwit lo nothin’ else, an’ I shuah wishes his private office at the Penny He smiled a greeting as the g & Orifice Latimer was ir Prudential Bank Buiiding dapper litth ‘An’ what e’n * Plenty promising *Suttinly. Only | just heard fum New York that directer entered i do you fo’ this evenin’, Mistuh Clump?” Cwsar's manner was brusque and uncom- has to ask an’ I consents. I has our new pitcher, Sake and a s& £ Ff ke B BY “) Tell You Right Now, Mistuh Clamp, Does I Have to Git a Double fo’ Wetford Potts in This Pitcher, There Ain't Gwine be No Wetford in No Other Pitcher We Turns Out, an’ Tha's Finat"’ Forsake, is makin’ the biggest hit we has yet done an’ the exhibitors are askin’ fo’ mo’.” “Good! Who made that pitcher?” *Well’’--the president was inclined to be liberal he Iped “ “I whiched?” “You helped.” “You is dog-gone tootin’ I helped. I directed that pitcher, an’ Ise gwine direct a heap mo’ fo’ you folks. But one thing I ain’t gwine stan’, Orifice, is anybody but- tin’ into my work. Git that?” It was quite obvious that Orifice got; also that he was not particularly pleased. His feet came down flatly on the floor, his complexion shaded off from mahogany to purple. He hoisted his enormous frame upward and glowered upon this mutinous subordinate. “Who at you is flingin’ them words, Mistuh Clump?” “You, tha’s who.” *An’ how come?” “"Cause Ise mad. Ise plumb peeved. it out with you right heah an’ now.” “Boy, you is suttinly gwine git yo’ wish. Now s’posin’ you clam down an’ tell me what gotten you all riled up.” Cwsar became slightly more calm. His initial outburst had been carefully staged to impress the portly chief exec- utive; it had been calculated to shake him from his pedes- tal of smug self-esteem. Now that the object had been “you I craves to have covet D November 1, 1924 TION definitely accomplished, Mr. Clump was quite willing to confer calmly. “What's this I heah you has been tellin’ Wel- ford Potts?” Orifice grimaced with distaste. “So tha’s who you is sore about, eh?” “ Yep.” “Well, ise a li'l’ angry ‘bout that feller ownse’f. What I has had of him is enough.” “You ain’t aimin’ to fire him, is you?” ‘* Ain’t plannin’ to do nothin’ else.” “Why?” “T ain’t got no use fo’ that man. All he’s good fo’ is to wear fancy clothes an’ insult other folks. Always tellin’ peoples what to do an’ never doin’ nothin’ his own- se’f.”’ **He’s a swell actor.’ ““Maybe so; but he don’t do enough actin’. He’s got a yaller streak. Ev’y dawg-gone time us puts him in a pitcher where he’s gwine git knocked aroun’ a bit, he yells that he’s got to have a double. Now Ise tellin’ you, Cesar, doubles cost money, an’ spendin’ money ain’t the fondest thing I is of.”’ “Yeh,” retorted Cesar, not with- out sarcasm, “‘I has heard rumors of that.” “There ain’t nobody else likes Welford, neither.” “Aroun’ Bumminham maybe there ain't, but the pitcher fans like him an’ they is the folks which we aims to please. Ise tellin’ you, Orifice, Welford is a good actor. When he gits in front of the cam’ra he cuts up somethin’ foolish, an’ foolishment is what makes money fo’ us.” “Comic get.” “Thunder they ain’t. Now I tell you that I knows Welford better’n what you does, an’ he ain’t half bad.” “No; he’s all bad.” “*An’ we'd have a hahd time git- tin’ somebody else to do his wuk.”’ “Tha’s just what Ise kickin’ about. Ever sence he come to wuk fo’ the Midnight we has been gittin’ somebody else to do his work. Ise sick an’ tired of hirin’ doubles fo’ that man, an’ tha’s where all the trouble stahted today. He come to me an’ got suggestive that I should hiah somebody to double fo’ him in that wrastlin’ scene he has got with Opus Randall in this new pitcher.” J. Cesar Clump frowned. He was quite willing to be honest, and this fact com- manded an admission that Mr. Potts was going rather strong. He shook his goggled head. “Welford shuah ought to be willin’ to fight Opus Ran- dall. Of course Opus is a heap bigger’n him.”’ “Itain’t a real fight, is it? Just a movin’-pitcher scrap?” “Yeh, but them fights which you see in pitchers ain’t as gentle as maybe you think. When I was wukkin’ as a ‘lectrician’s assistant on one of the big Hollywood lots I seen some fine actors put in the horspital fum movie fights, an’ I guess Welford figures that Opus is libel to git too en- thusiastic and bust him one.” “Yeh, an’ I hope Opus does. "Cause I tell you right now, Mistuh Clump, does I have to git a double fo’ Wel- ford Potts in this pitcher, there ain’t gwine be no Welford in no other pitcher we turns out, an’ tha’s final.” Cesar rose. “You won't,”’ he sighed. “I promises that Brothe: Potts will act that fight with Opus.” “All right’—grimly. ‘“‘An’ be shuah you esplain to Welford that I is gwine be there to see the fight lives up to its title, an’ the title is Rough and Tumble.” The attenuated actor listened impatiently to the report of his director friend, and at its conclusion he sighed hope- lessly. ““Cain’t be did,”’ said Welford Potts. “What cain't?" my ’ actors ain’t hahd to

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‘Me fightin’ rough an’ tumble with Opus Randall.” “How come?” “Boy, you ain’t reflectin’ on what you asks me. Don’t you know that I don’t weigh on’y a hund’ed an’ twelve pounds an’ Opus weighs pretty nigh two hund’ed?”’ “*He’s soft.”’ “‘An’ Ise softer. If I acts that fight it ain’t gwine be no good fight, an’ that ruins the pitcher, ’cause it’s the main scene in the whole business; an’ if the pitcher ain’t no good, then Ise out of luck anyway. So if I has just nach- elly got to go lose my job, I prefers to lose it without gittin’ all beat up.” Cesar Clump spread his arms wide in a helpless, hope- less gesture. “All right, Welford. It’s yo’ own fumral an’ you can furnish the flowers an’ sof’ music. But Ise tellin’ you heah an’ now: Ise been yo’ friend an’ I has stood by you con- stant, but if you refuses to go th’oo with that fight against Opus Randall, then I fires you my ownse’f.”’ “Aw, Cesar ——” “‘T means it!” “ Positivel?”’ “Uh-huh.” Welford Potts paced the room. He knew when J. Cesar Clump was in earnest and recognized that this was one of those occasions, and Welford Potts valued his job. Prospect of the future, should he be forced to sever con- nections with the Midnight Pictures Corporation, Inc., was not roseate; there loomed before him a drab promise of fifth-rate vaudeville and perhaps even the degradation of occasional janitoring when the theatrical business should prove bad. His engagement with the Midnight, with a consequent elevation to featuredom when the pictures were once solidly established in more than a hundred first-run thea- ters throughout the country, had marked an epoch in a checkered life. Here in Birmingham, Welford had been a great, if unpopular, social lion, and he shrank from the prospect of losing the job which made all this possible. Nor was the loss of a highly sizable weekly pay envelope the least of his considerations. Yet Welford cringed at the mere thought of physical combat, even before the eye of the camera. He knew all too well that worth-while fights are not screened without considerable damage to combat- ants; far more than the two-bit paying public realizes. And Opus was a large man. “*Twoul’n’t be so bad,” he wailed, “if Opus didn't have it in fo’ me, anyway.” “Job or no job.” Mr. Potts weakened. “T’ll fight.” “Good.” “No, it ain’t good; it’s rotten. Ise skeered.” “‘Skeered ain’t gwine git you nowheres. Orifice Latimer is gwine be there hisse’f in person, an’ does you fight soft an’ easy he’s gwine fire you immedjit. What you got to do is go into Opus like a tagger.” “Yeh, but he ain’t gwine suspect that Ise a tagger.” “’Splain it to him. Bust him one an’ give him a clew. Our whole pitcher depen’s on this fight. It’s got to be a humdinger.” Actor Potts groaned loudly. “‘An’ Ise gwine be the pusson which gits humdinged.” “But you'll do it?” “Yeh, I got to.” Eventually Welford left, after repeating his decision to go through with the battle called for in the scenario. But after the little man had departed, J. Cesar Clump stared long and thoughtfully at the door. Mr. Clump was not at all satisfied. He was a believer in the doctrine that an equine can be conducted to water but cannot be made to quench a thirst which does not exist. And he understood quite clearly that Mr. Potts possessed an innate repug- nance to physical combat. It was a condition which did not please the dapper little director. Left to his own devices, he would have engaged a fire-eating double willy-nilly and let it go at that, using Welford only for the comedy close-ups. But the sudden development of presidential antipathy to Welford’s tem- perament had made that impossible. And J. Cesar was violently opposed to letting Mr. Potts leave the company. There were several reasons for that, not the least of which was that Welford was an exceedingly good come- dian; and Clump, as a practical picture man, knew that he could not be replaced without considerable difficulty. Too, Cwsar liked Welford Potts personally, in which he was THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 25 sadly alone. At length the director clenched his fists and battered the table. “IT got to make him put it over!” he muttered. “I just nachelly got to!”’ But developments the following day did not augur well for J. Cesar. For one thing, Orifice R. Latimer waylaid the timid actor and conversed with him. Cmsar glimpsed the pair, scented trouble and joined them. Mr. Latimer wasted no time in explaining matters to Mr. Clump. “T has just been tellin’ him that ain’t his fight with Opus Randall a good one, he writes his resignation immedjit.” Mr. Clump assumed a bluff and hearty tone. “Welford’s all right, Mistuh Latimer. I talked to him last night an’ got him so he was thirstin’ fo’ blood.” Out of the corner of his eye the director saw Welford cringe at the mention of gore. “I—I’ll fight him all right; but they don’t have to be no blood, does they?" “Cain't he’p bein’,”’ interjected the harsh president. “Once Opus lands on you ro “* Aw, lay offa that stuff, Mistuh Latimer! Ise gwine see that Welford gives him hell.” Orifice snorted. He turned away and beckoned Clump to follow. “You see,”’ he sizzled triumphantly, “it ain’t no use What Welford has got is a heart like a chicken. There's two men he’s skeered to death of an’ bofe of ’em is Opus Randall.” “‘T tol’ you he’d come across all right.” ‘Well, I hope you tol’ me the troof, ‘cause does Welford miss out, he shuah is gwine separate hisse’f fum a good job awful sudden an’ permanent.” Further discussion between J. Cwsar Clump and Wel ford Potts elicited the information that Welford was des perate but doubtful. “Ise goin’ th’oo with it, but nervousness is the cne thing I ain’t got nothin’ else but.” “Tt means yo’ job, Welford.” “T know it. Ise gwine do my best, but if I wilts it’s just my hahd luck.” The man was obviously discouraged and his director sought to cheer him. (Coatinued on Page 72) “This Stahts at a Wrastlin' Match fo’ the Lady's Hand an’ Money,"’ He Told Them

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mi THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE SATURDAY EVENING POST FOUNDED A°D! 1728 PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY INDEPENDENCE SQUARE PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA, U.S.A. GEORGE HORACE LORIMER, EDITOR Five Cente the All Newsdealers. By Subscription: To the Unatted Stetes and Possessions, Argentinas, Bolivia, Brazil, Colombia, Costa Rica, Cube Guatemala, isle of Pines Mexicu Penema, Peraguay, Peru, Republic of Honduras salvador Urugwey, $200 the Year. Remit by U. 5S. Money Order, Lxapress Money Order, Check of by Dreft, payable in U. 5S. Funds opy from Dominicuen Kepublic. Lewador Nicaragee Span end By Subscription, $2 6 the Veer S Sends To Canada Single Copies, Five Cents— Canadian oF i (with Latvedor) and other Foreign Countries, exctusive d shove. hy hecription, post peid, $6.06 the Year. Re ess Money Order or by Draft on « bank io Newtound! of those men mittences to be by Postal ov F peyehilec in t in the 58 & Funda PHILADELPHIA, NOVEMBER I, 1924 The La Follette Blues f HE iasues in this e ection are not the old questions that have divided the parties in the past. The real issue before the country is pragmatic progressivism versus im- practical radicalism. The fight is between those who stand for a constructive pregram— progressive ideas that will work that never has worked and those who advocate a reactionary radicalism The latter are our true Bourbons. hey want the state to be everything, to do everything, and l'état c’eat La Follette Theoretically the State is always the people. In prac- tice it haa often been » Louis, a killer like Robespierre or Lenine, or a amail ring of pewer-seeking politicians. That is why the framers of our Constitution took such pains to guard the liberty and the property of the people against the politician and the plunderer, to safeguard the freedom of the individual against a despotism of the State. This present fight is a line-up of the forces of construc- tion and success against the apostles of defeatism and failure. It is che American ideals of government, of oppor- tunity, of individual freedom, against the European ideal of an overlord, either noble or State, as the protector of his peasant subjects and the dispenser of largess to them The ultimate of radical theory in practice is the dole, the bread line, or, at best, the petty job in a government pureau; the caste system under which all except the poli- ticians are finally of one caste—the lowest One need not doubt the honesty or the sincerity of La Follette, but one must doubt his intelligence when one They are all old stuff The farther they are carried toward their logical conclusion, the examines his theories and proposals They have all bees tried and they have all failed. mere destructive the finish. But La Follette is not logical He would not destray the Constitution—only cripple it. He does not advocate Communism—only Government But Paternalism is the father It is the Ownership and Paterna’ ism. of Socialism and the grandfather of Communism. straddle of the leader who does net quite dare. The pinks hail La Follette as a forward-looker, an econ- omist with a wide knowledge of what's wrong with the world and a reformer with new ideas that will set it right. Actually, he is as mid-Victorian as Paisley shawls and as reactionary as black horsehair sofas. His theories are the outgrowth of conditions that obtained when the world was changing from agriculture to industry, from the stage to the railroad, from the clipper ship to the steamer. His reme- dies have been tried from the days of Robert Owen and Karl Marx, down to those of Lenine and Trotzky. Ad- ministered with high hope at different times and at different strengths, they have either killed the patient or have im- paired his health until he got back on a rational diet of more hard work and less government. La Follette denies any red sympathies. None the less his theories point toward Russian and away from American ideals. But today the one outstanding fact in Russia, and every place else in Europe where paternalism and socialism have dominated, is the eagerness with which those in power are trying to hire American brains, to introduce American methods and to secure American capital—all developed under the American system that La Follette attacks. More significant even is the anxiety of the millions living under labor, socialistic and communistic governments to escape from them and to work out their destiny under our individualistic and capitalistic system. That system, which La Follette holds up as a sinister, horrendous mon- ster, has, despite its weaknesses and faults, made America the desire of the paternally ruled and the despair of revolu- tionary rulers. The real truth about La Follette is that he is not an economist, except in the narrowest book sense of the word, and that he is not practical, except in politics. It may be granted that he has read all the books on economics and consulted all the professors; but no man who has not been a business executive or who is unwilling to take counsel with those who are successfully running the business ma- chine can be regarded as an economist in any real sense of the word The book has its place, and a large place; the professor has his, and a great one; but after the lesson and the teacher must come the adjustments of practical business experience. Those La Follette has never had, and he dis- trusts those who have. To his view from the outside, busi- ness is wrong and rotten. But those on the inside know that in every process and practice business has made a tremendous advance during the past generation, and that the great impulse to that improvement has come from within, not from without; from right-thinking business men and not from demagogic reformers. It is only the bad, the exceptional, in business on which the radical can build a speech with which to affright Only by painting a black background of the exceptional, the dis- simple and trusting folk and gain their votes. honest, can he make himself stand out as a great political white hope. His methods are one with those of the sensa- tional editor who finds no news in the sane, orderly and honest lives of the great silent majority and who builds up his circulation on murder, embezzlement, banditry and marital infidelity. The radical’s picture of American pub- lie life, of business, of conditions in the factory and on the farm is no more representative of real conditions than is the front page of a yellow journal. Sensational editors sometimes become so saturated with their own stuff that they believe that life is only what they print. Politicians are sometimes persuaded by their own oratory. But more often their faith in their panaceas is due to a theoretic knowledge of the business machine, untempered by actual experience in running it. But sen- sible voters want the assurance as well as the promise of performance, and that is something that men who are in- experienced in business cannot give them. We do not trust our lives to men just graduated from the medical schools, no matter how excellent the teaching they have had. At best we are only willing that they should assist the wise old surgeons who use the knife. Yet La Follette and political doctors of his ilk come to us with a cleaver and prop*%se, after trying to etherize us with ora- tory, to operate on the Constitution and remove our rights under it, incidentally treating our private property as a more or less useless appendix that we shall be better off without. La Follette’s competence to perform major operations is nowhere better illustrated than in the case of our rail- roads—and he poses as a great railroad specialist. Some November 1, 1924 years ago, when he proposed the physical valuation of the railroads, the late Senator Gallinger asked him for an esti- mate of the cost of that valuation. La Follette set the figure at about two and a half millions. Actually it has cost, to date, a total of about one hundred and eleven The senator expected that valuation It is actually show- million dollars. would show gross overcapitalization. ing that the railroads, on the basis of 1914 costs for labor and material, are greatly undercapitalized. Thenet amount of railroad securities now in the hands of the public has a par value of about eighteen billions. The Government’s valuation, based on prewar costs of labor and material, will show many billions more of actual worth. So much for our great railroad expert. But even more dangerous than its lack of practical experience and common sense is the point of view, the In all its dark lexicon The country is ruled capitalists and bankers. The workers are “enslaved,” the farmers are philosophy of the La Follette party. there is no such word as “success.” by a “‘system,”’ composed of ‘‘money devils” “exploited.’’ Under “the system” there is no chance for anyone except the “ interests’ and their ‘‘tools’’; no hope for anybody else except of failure and poverty. Nobody is to be trusted except themselves; everything is wrong except their ideas. The cure is a Papa La Follette at Washington, blessing millions of voters with well-paid government jobs. Then the railroads will cut rates away below the present levels and raise wages far above the prevailing scale. Coal and oil will be sold at bargain prices, but wages will be raised all around. The farmers will provide cheap food and make a thumping profit doing it. The price of wheat will go sky- rocketing and the price of bread will tumble. According to the arithmetic all this would result in a deficit, but the arithmetic has been placed on the radival index expurga- torius. Using the higher, purer mathematics of the self- styled Progressives, it is easy to prove that the State, by selling below cost, will make a handsome profit. If it were not fraught with such possibilities of disaster to the country, the simple faith of La Follette and his fol- lowers in economic miracles would be as refreshing as the sight of children ‘“‘ playing business” with dolls; their sin- cere belief in economic devils would be only amusing. But there is in the world today a curious recrudescence of the belief in demonology and in the power of witch doctors to exorcise imaginary devils. It will pass, as it has passed before, but we cannot afford to take too lightly these accu- sations that great numbers of our people have sold their souls to the Satans of “‘the system”’ and that whole classes of our population are afflicted by devils that these damned ones have turned loose to torment them. That the witch doctors believed in their silly stuff will be small consolation to the crowd that they have misled when common sense reasserts itself, and no excuse for those who, not believing, stood idly by while the damage was being done. Of course if everyone who is opposed to La Follette and his theories went to the polls, he would be buried fathoms deep in ballots; but a great number of good Americans still regard election day as a holiday instead of as the most important business day of the year. Again, the anti-La Follette strength is divided between the Republicans and the Democrats; so while La Follette will poll the full radical vote, those who are against him will divide on the old party lines, regardless of the paramount issue before the country. Davis is unquestionably a man of fine character and at- tainments, but reports indicate that the best he can do is to carry enough states to throw the election into the Senate, perhaps to the Bryan Brothers. We hold no brief for the old parties. They need reorgan- ization and reshaping to meet more intelligently the needs of the country and to administer its affairs more efficiently. But with all their faults and failings, they still stand by and for the American idea of government; they still proclaim a gospel of hope, of opportunity and of security. They need only the help of all those who have a stake in America and a belief in her fundamental ideals to revitalize them. The prize fool of America is the man who goes to the golf links instead of to the polls on election day, and who, when asked if he is going to vote, replies, ‘‘What’s the use?”

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E ARE beginning to discover in this country that we know mighty little about the value of land. Asa writer recently put it in some- what high-sounding terms, ‘The study of land valuation has been little explored.” Of prices and the cost of living we have talked and written and read much. But of land value we know only that we hope it will rise, and generally it does. Yet the most dramatic economic event which the world has ever witnessed is the increase in the value of farm land since the beginning of this century. In the census of 1900 the value of all lands in farms, ex- clusive of buildings, was found to be $13,000,000,000. During the ten years following, it doubled, and the census of 1910 showed it at $28,000,000,000. By 1920 it had practically doubled again, and stood at $54,800,000,000. In the past four years it has declined in value. The Depart- ment of Agriculture issued a statement in August showing that the value of all farm property is now $59,000,000,000, as against $79,000,000,000 in 1919-20. This is a decline of one-fourth, and leaves the land value alone, exclusive of buildings, at $41,000,000,000. Farm land, exclusive of buildings, is therefore still three times as high as it was in 1900, and almost one-half higher than it was in 1910. Migrations of Capital HIS phenomenal increase in farm-land values has been fiom matched by the growth of city real estate. In the rapidly growing cities of a state like Michigan land values have increased even faster. Neither the causes nor the effects of these changes in value of land have as yet received the attention which they deserve. Latterly we have begun to realize that the increase in farm-land values which cul- minated in 1920 was the cause of much of the hardship and distress which the rural community has suffered during the past four years. It saddled the people who bought land at those high prices with interest charges which could nolonger be met when the price of farm products fell. The former owners took into the cities the capital which the purchasers of these farms had saved or borrowed. That capital added nothing whatever to the equipment of the farms or the pro- ductive power of agriculture, although it still had to be supported out of the product of the farms. The aftermath to the agricultural industry was a burden of debt without any corresponding addition to the capital equipment of the farm. There are many people who believe that the rapid increase in urban land values may likewise bring a harvest of regret. It is rather surprising that this phenomenal growth in the value of land has brought with it so little complaint. The single-tax movement in this country came after the depression of the 70’s, and was at its height in the 80’s. The movement was not revived as a result of the great increases which have occurred between 1900 and the pres- ent date. The single-taxers saw in the increases in land rents and Jand values which went into the pockets of pri- vate owners a sponge which absorbed all the advantages Hey! You're Going the Wrong Way! THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 27 of By DAVID FRIDAY ailways accruing to mankind from progress and invention There are still a few who retain the old faith in the evil effects of increasing land values; but they have never during the past twenty-five years been able to galvanize the single tax into any semblance of a live issue The average American expects land values to rise. When they are not on the increase it is a sign that somethin, is wrong. Whether reasonable or unreasonable, this is the attitude of mind in a country where population, production and well-being have grown by leaps and bounds for half a century, and where prices were mounting year by year, as was the case from 1896 to 1920. The average American citizen who buys land expects to see it sell at an advance in the normal course of things. Discrimination HE one point at which this increase has given rise to controversy and attack is in the valuation of the land which the railroads of the United States own and use for rights of way, yards and station grounds. In spite of the threefold increase in farm-land values during the past twenty-five years, and the growth in city lots commensurate with it, the question is seriously raised whether the land which the railroads own and use shall be valued at its orig inal cost, or whether, like other owners, they shall enjoy the increase in land values which has accrued to other American taxpayers. There is a group which maintains that they shall be treated differently from other taxpayers in this re spect. This group holds that the roads shall not enjoy that increase which comes from the growth of population and production, but shall be singled out as a separate class which shall have no benefit from the upward movement of land values. The single-taxers’ prin- ciple that increasing land values should (Continued on Page 66)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 7 SHO: Tweedledum and Tweedledee 4 Rimed Xditeoriai The Gider Generation Speaking) "TS the juntor members’ judg- T ment in the better sort of clubs Thai the older generation is com poet i of awful duba the freely broached opinion of the new jeune inferior to the se doree Ranke tis elders aa product of today They are foyie iving only in the past, j ; memory of ¢ rouge as deemed When to / r / moral and im- ; } vhen girls who drank were taal en the fa t heard of tep was the rage r frot waar and the one ind when slang wa im- proper. What a background! W hal an ag f wil quue , loudly Thaa the youngster y scorn- ful of the senile pi Not the pre ent vogue of j who has least appreciation of the j Well, perhaps. ul jast remem- ber, superci'iou youtl or mi Thal the one generation ts the that fathered this! older ”@ The Yeuager Generation Speaking The older generation their opinion freely 7 tre That we flapper sin ply are not fil fo “re, " and we fellers they Jreque ly and snd vehem- ently obaerve with loud regret Thai the kids ave speeding hell- ward give em time, they'll t there wel They are le rouge cocktau and con W hen the shimn cemed ins and wh The Inquisitice Complex Urges One to Inquire All About Things That are the Private Concern of If @ Person is Bitten Hard by This Complex it Causes the Victim to Snoop and Sniff Around It's a Very Busy Complex Others. la if any wonder he modern flap pe r car light af | of merit in the era of her aunt? ‘ “i sew tit l-wise elders who to criticize are pron Maybe so; but, « Recollect this genrralion your own Baron Ireland the offspring of Pumpkin Pies and Panthers Especially one of who don't it outside, but A really stormy-eyed, lean, tempes what an advantage they say. But with a round my goodr ess I’S terrible to be a moody persor these moody persons show always look placid tuously temperamet tal person, now to be like that! sf if you're born indeterminate blond-brunet, flat face, a then they say, ‘Well you ere now?’ “You must have eaten something that disagrees with vou."” They say ‘I can't imagine what gets into her.”’ The dickens of it is either. And you keep trying to lean and dark and tempestuous imagine why. You'd only clasp and clutch and laugh and weep, and say, “Ah, I feel!"" And s temperamental,” d chubby what’ re s about They say, that you can t imagine Whereas, if wert you'd never try to you you'd be so } No one faces in the wor! iteresting of all the misfit lean and panther persons, cor a pumpkin pie mprisoned behind beetling eye- can ever realize the full calamity Dark demned always to look to others like Sweet placid natures, brows and passionate « i t ‘ heek bones And mirrors are eo depressing. You look into one quite casually, to powder your nose, and get that awful shock of not seeing yourself there, but the person you look like “You aren't me'”’ you ery. No, it isn't. But you realize thinks itis. No wonder you're moody ymphshed persc themselves. sure who they : i vet intentional) that everyone I so envy these ace ns who can sit in- The Inquisitive Complex te Get Something “‘on’’ Somebody. looking like something else. Vamps. How wonderful it would be—not to be a vamp, but to be capable of that duality. Being something, and behaving like something else, and always knowing which is which; never confusing ‘em. Being the panther, and looking like the pumpkin pie, to entice. And then not forgetting, and still being the in- nocent pie, but biting deep the jugular vein at the proper moment. Oh, my goodness! denly talk like this I don’t know what makes me sud- There is no one I wish to bite. Rose Wilder Lane. The Strap — the hanger on the strap, trolley strap; AJ What a lot of exercise and kick it gives a chap! See him caper, caper, caper, In a melancholy plight, While each rude, unfeeling gaper Grins above the evening paper With an asinine delight! Keeping tabs, keeping tabs On his wild and futile grabs At the strap, is he scoots and lands abruptly in a colored lady's lap, Too much horrified to speak, At her palpiiating squeak Of despair, In her mad expostulation, as he clutches at her hair! Oh, from out his frenzied ire Wells a desperate desire For a scrap, In the swelling and compelling of his fury at the strap, it the swaying and betraying of the strap! Corinne Rockwell Swain. November 1, 1924 A Visit to Mr. Boggs HAD the pleasure recently of spending a week-end at the home of Bernard Boggs, the famous yellow editor. The visit was my reward for having won the contest conducted by Mr. Boggs’ paper, The Daily Bugle. My friends had rallied to my support, purchased 8,416,225 copies of the Bugle and had carefully clipped the coupons on the dotted lines. Consequently I was duly elected The Most Beautiful Man in America, and I was now enjoying the first prize—the privilege of being the week-end guest of the great editor. Perhaps I should first describe Statutory Grounds, which was the name of the Boggs estate. The plans had been selected after a contest conducted by The Evening Mongrel, Mr. Boggs’ evening paper, in which all the leading architects of the country had competed. The house is a beautiful yellow-stucco affair, trimmed with bright red tiling. The roof was resplen- dent with glittering gold—real fourteen-karat gold—the printed catalogue which I received on my arrival informed me. The interior decorations were done by Bud Feigenbaum, Mr. Boggs’ star cartoonist, the creator of the Mulligan Kids. All in all, it bore all the evidences of chaste and cultured refinement that one might expect from reading the Boggs newspapers. “You don’t have to get up early,”’ my host informed me as I bade him good night. “We don’t have dinner here until ten o'clock in the morning.” “Dinner?” I exclaimed. “I ought to explain,”’ he said with a smile. “You see, my morning editions appear on the news stands at three o’clock of the previous afternoon. My jate-afternoon editions are out at six o’clock in the morning. So to be consistent we have dinner here in the morning and breakfast at night. It’s quite logical.’ The next morning when I came into the dining room the Boggs family were already at dinner. I was about to sit down when to my amazement and consternation someone suddenly yanked my chair from under me, and I found myself sprawling on the floor. As I rose rather angrily to my feet I saw that Mr. and Mrs. Boggs were laughing up- roariously. Young Junior Boggs and his sister Clara Vere de Vere Boggs, evidently the culprits, stood behind my chair, equally hilarious. “The Mulligan Kids,” explained Mrs. Boggs to me be- tween giggles. “I believe in encouraging clean wholesome fun in the home,” said Boggs as I sat down. ‘‘The youngsters have a sly wit.” The conversation at the dinner table was interesting. “T see that police scour the country for ripper,” said eight-year-old Junior, looking up from the paper he was reading. “Yes,” said his seven-year-old sister brightly. “ Did you read that district attorney grilled suspect yesterday?” “They're on a false trail,’’ rejoined her brother. “ Au- topsy discloses killing to be the act of a maniac. There is nothing to this death-compact theory.” “It reminds me very much of the Clark murder,” said Mrs. Boggs reminiscently. “‘You children are too young, of course, to remember it.” “Nurse read the story to me in the Famous Crimes of Passion series in the Sunday Magazine of the Bugle,” said Junior. “Yes,” said Mrs. Boggs, “ but sister ought to know about it too. That was a case, dear, in which the body of a young woman was found floating in the reservoir. There were Continued on Page 76) DRAWN BY ART YOUNG

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 29 — FTABL DAR WTA Ve! » minah Pra Dad ad rrenanay ‘ \ . 4 * ran AAA Pied Hadeh de adatott Pe Next Tuesday is Election Day. In every nook and corner of the land, whether it be in the cross-road hamlet or in the teeming cities, men and women will enter the polls to vote their choice. I'll not orate, but simply state, This issue leads all others; é ; Good food for all will have the call But every day is an Election Day for the food product And Campbell's wins the mothers! which is a “candidate” for popular favor. And wherever votes are cast next Tuesday throughout this broad land, Campbell's Soups have met the daily test and won a victory that only honest Quality could win. Every taste of Campbell's Vegetable Soup increases its popularity. Fifteen tempting vegetables. Broth of fine beef. ie ies Hearty cereals. Dainty herbs and spices. Thirty-two ingredients every day! in all! So substantial you'll often make a meal of it! 21 kinds 12 cents a can DINNER SUPPER , SOU

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST HE CROWD By James J. Corbett IKE a thunderbolt in the sporting world came the challenge shown below. November 1, 1924 One of the gentlemen in the party was a Colonel McLewee—I think that is right, but, ‘The comparison is no exaggeration, for it created more stir than any similar defiance would today, se popu- lar was John L. Sulli- van aad so invincible was he considered in those days Sullivan's Chal. lenge ‘T. PAUL, MINN., w\) March 5: The fol- lowing was given to the Associated Preas this afternoon: “To the public in general and Frank P. Slavin, Charlee ?. Mit- chell and James Cor- bett in particular: On the twenty-fifth day of August, 1890, I “ormed a partnership with Duncan B. Harrison and entered the theatrical profession. Mr. Harrison and my- self made contracts two continu- ous including a trip to Australia. Theae facts were well covering seasons known to everybody, they having been pub- lished in almost every though my memory of people’s faces and names is pretty fair, my faculty for spelling the latter is the worst in the world. Later he owned the great race horse Gold Heels. That will help to recall him. Colonel McLewee asked me what I was doing down there all alone. “‘T am out on a mission,” I told him gravely. ‘*What do you mean?” “You know I am matched to fight John L. Sullivan?” ‘“‘What? Fight John L. Sullivan, the champion? Gosh- a’mighty!’’ he ex- claimed. I answered yes to his question. He looked at me quizzically. “And you think you ean whip John L. Sul- 9” livan? Backers PULLED up my chair his, looked him right in the close to paper through« it the civilized world. I also keep my contracts, a fact well kiver Harrison established | reference to mv entire of this contract between Mr this country career since the existence yuelf bv heen overrun with a lot and oming known has fighters and also Amer and championship honors, notoriety and Americar knowing full well that I have uut making reply or But now my turn has,come fourth do not resume again until September twelfth. This giv Wf foreign fare ored 0 ean fist be aspirants 10 have endeay Seek dollars by challenging me to a fight my hands were tied by contract and honor beer account of my com pe listen to their bluffs with *bligations Our season ends about June ind we es me over three time tc months’ prepare *t hereby challenge any of the been trying to make capital at my expense to fight me either Sep- and all bluffers who have year or the first week i New outside bet of the last week in August this tember this year at the Olympic Club Orleans, Louisiana, for » purse of $25,000 and ar $10,000, the winner of the fight to take the entire purse | insist upon the bet of $10,000 to show that they mear business, $2500 to be put up inside of thirty days, another $2500 to be put up by May first, ar as much more as they will bet to be placed by June fifteent} the Advertiser, of New + editor, to be the stakeholder. We are ready to put up the entire $10,000 now d the entire $10.000 and wk City. Colonel John Cockerill First come, first served i give precedence in this challenge to Frank P. Slavin, of Australia and his backers have done the greatest amount of blow ig My second preference is the bombastic sprinter Mitchell, of England, whom I would rather whip than any man in the world. My third prefer- ence is James Corbett, of California, who has achieved his share of bombast. But in this challenge I include all fighters-—first come, first served—who are white. I will not fight a negro. I never have and never shall. “IT prefer this challenge should be accepted by some of the foreigners who have been sprinting soe hard after the American dollar: of late. as | would rather whip them than any of my own countrymer “The Marquess of Queensberry rules must govern this contest, as I want fighting, not foot racing, and I intend to keep the championship of the world where it belongs, in the iand of the free and the home of the brave. as i Charles “JOHN L. SULLIVAN “Champion of the world.” James J. Corbett at Ashbury Park, 1402. Of course all of us in the Brady troupe were very excited We could hardly believe that the champion had actually challenged me. I didn’t take much time to speculate about it, however, and as soon as I had read the last word I threw down the paper “Bill,” said I to Brady, “put up the thousand to bind the bargain.” ‘But,”’ he nine be *You can search me,” I replied; ‘but we've got to get it. Someone in the Olympic Club has tipped off Sullivan about my letter, I mean—and he’s put that $10,000 condi- tion in purposely. He thinks that’s the best way to knock me out.” Now I really hadn't the faintest idea where to get that money and couldn’t think of a soul I could get to back me The following week I went to New York. On the train I went over in my mind the names of all the men interested in sports who were at all prominent. There were a lot of them whom I had met or knew by reputation, but it seemed silly to approach them, for everybody thought Sullivan unbeatable protested, ‘““where can we dig up the other A Fortunate Meeting HIRTY-ODD years ago there was a music hall on Twenty-third Street near Sixth Avenue, run by Koster and Bial. It was here that Carmencita, the most famous of all Spanish dancers, made her first appearance in America. It was a great resort on Sunday nights for all the high-class sportsmen, politicians and round-town celebrities of New York; among them the Dwyer brothers, Frank and Phil, the great race-horse men; Col. Jacob Ruppert, a youngster then; Jesse Lewisohn, Johnson, another race-horse owner; Dave Gideon, Matty Corbett, Ned Kearney, Al Smith, Honest John Kelly and Richard Canfield, the gambler; Stanford White and picturesque characters like Diamond Jim Brady. So I bought a box and went down there unaccompanied, one Sunday night, hoping that I might have luck enough to run across someone who would be interested in backing me—a long chance, but I thought I would take it. Seated in a box opposite to mine, with a party of friends, was a young lady I knew. Seeing that I was alone, she beckoned to me to come over. I went, was introduced to her friends and was invited to join them for the evening. Ned, His Favorite Dog, is in the Stern of the Boat eye and started to tell him, as earnestly and convincingly as I could, all the reasons why I thought I could defeat the champion I must have been a good salesman of myself for once, for he said, ‘‘My boy, I don’t think you can whip Sullivan: but you certainly have a lot of nerve and you can just put me down for $5000.” Well, | was speechless! I couldn’t believe it! I wa really dazed and must have looked around at the girl doubt- fully, for she said, ‘‘If Colonel McLewee says he will do it, it will be done.” Then he gave me his card and told me to let him know when I had to put up the first $2500. After a while I entered another group and met Matty Corbett—no relation, just an old friend of mine—who owned a racing stable in partnership with Jack McDonald, and I told my story to him and the people in that box. In fact, I think I went in every box of the theater that night, and before I left I found I could have had $50,000 if I had wanted it! Can you imagine a man walking into a theater today and digging up from people he had never even met before a sum of money which would be equal now to $100,900, just to back him to meet Jack Dempsey, and all figuring that the nervy stranger didn’t have a ghost of a chance? These people did it for me just for the sportsmanship of the thing, but it would be utterly impossible these times, when box- ing is simply a commercial proposition; there is no longer any sportsmanship attached tc it, in any shape, manner or form. Why, a man won't enter the ring any longer, even though he is a second-rater, unless the loser’s end is guaranteed to be more than a champion got for winning a fight thirty years ago. They won’t take any chances at all. I do not remember the exact date, but shortly after this memorable evening at Koster and Bial’s I notified Colonel McLewee that I was going to clinch the match and had to put up $2500 for the first installment. For this sum he sent me his check. Neither of the principals appeared at the negotiations, the managers attending to all arrangements. Charley Johnson acted for Sullivan and Brady represented me. They met at the New York World office and arranged the match, which was to be the first heavyweight champion- ship battle ever held under the Marquess of Queensberry rules, to be fought with five-ounce gloves; all the other de- tails, too, being exactly like those governing fights today. (Continued on Page 32)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (Continued from Page 30) The managers agreed on Phil Dwyer, the farnous race- horse man, for stakeholder. In the meantime the Olympic Club had offered a $25,000 purse, So the contest was fought for a $25,000 purse and a $10,000 side bet, the winner to take all, Sullivan insisting on this last condition. Now I have seen almost all the fight managers of the last forty years, but I never met a smarter one than William 4. Brady. He was the criginator of all the business strategy they follow these days; only the prizes now are bigger. He was shrewd enough to capitalize all the interest and sym- pathy arising from the fact that I, comparatively a young- ster, was matched to fght the champion, and also from the hard condition that Sullivan had forced—the winner to take all-—-something that had rarely been demanded by any champion, So Brady booked a tour through the country and we hired theaters and halls where I met all comers, as Sullivan was doing from time to time, offering $100 to anyone who could stand up against me for four rounds. Before the match had been arranged I had appeared in Philadelphia in burlesque shows as an added attraction of the evening, the story of which experienve was told in the preceding article; but now our stunt was the sole entertainment of the evening. /henever the words “James J. Corbett, now matched to fight the great John L. Sullivan,” appeared on the bill- boards they acted like magic, and we drew great houses everywhere we went. This had the additional advantage, also, of increasing the interest in the coming match, be- cause | endeavored to show in these bouts that I really was capable of standiug up to the great John L. At the end of the tour Brady arranged an evening in Madison Square Garden, where I met, in the one evening, three men of pugilietic standing, each weighing more than 200 pounds, and stopped all three within the specified four rounds; and that without taking a rest between the ses- sions. My opponents were good men, too—George Spill- ings, of Rochester; Bob Caffey, of Philadelphia, and Joe Lannon, Sullivan's sparring partner at that time. I don’t think a fighter ever lived, or ever will live, who was as popuiar with the masses, and especially with the Irish, as John L. Sullivan. Many of our Irish citizens hated me just because I had the insolence to fight him. One night, not long before the Sullivan match, I was boxing with a man at Miner's e'4 Eighth Avenue Theater, and in the middle of one of the rounds someone in the gallery called out, “So you're the guy who thinks he can lick John L. Sullivan!" and followed the jeer with a bottle which came clear across the orchestra, just grazing my head and breaking into a thousand pieces on the floor of the stage. Making Friends Through Publicity Y UNPOPULARITY with the Irish struck me as rather peculiar, for everybody that ever belonged to me, as far back as we could trace, was Irish through and through; and Sullivan, like mysei!, was born in this country, of Irish parents. Of course, this attitude was due to Sullivan's disposition, which was just the right mixture of good na- ture, aggressiveness and temper for a fighter, so people thought; while [| was always more controlled and a little too businesslike, periaps, to vie with him in popularity. Then, though I entered saloons occasionally, I did not care to waste a lot of time standing up against the bars of any city | happened to be in Teo me it was the most boring thing in the world to be mauled around by a lot of drunks; and, as my friends of the stage say, there old John L. “was on his native heath,” at least at that phase of his career. But Brady's prefight campaign did result in arousing among the better element a respect for my ability and some support, At the eame time his playing up of such things as my banking experience and my orderly way of living, together with my quieter manners and rather unos- tentatious style of dressing, brought to my bouts many people who had always thought it beneath them to attend a prize fight Meantime Billy Delaney had joined my camp, and it was quite a surprise to many experts who thought I should have engaged someone else. One night shortly after the articles were signed, the famous William Muldoon came to my table in the cold Delmonico restaurant and offered to train me, He seemed quite earnest about it. “Muldoon,” [ answered him, “if I should be lucky enough to defeat Sullivan, and if any trainer is going to get any credit for it, it's a little fellow who isn't famous like you you've never even heard of him. He lives way out in Oakland, California, and his name is Billy Delaney.” Delaney was in fact on his way East at the very moment, for | had written, asking him to sell out his business and come on to train me; which confidence showed that i thought our joint prospects were very bright. About this time, too, | ran across another old friend I had not seen in along time. I was strolling up Broadway, when a chap came out of the shadows and hailed me: “Hello, Jim, don't you know me?" I took him under the are light and looked at him in wonder. He had no coat on and the night was very cold. “Tt can’t be Jerry?” I said at last. “Yes,” he answered. Now this man, Jerry—as I shall call him here—had lived in our neighborhood in San Francisco in the old Hayes Valley days and I used to box with him in the cellar. I had heard about his drinking himself out of all the positions he had held in San Francisco and that his case seemed hopeless. So after asking him a few questions I said, “Jerry, I know you can’t stop drinking altogether; but if you could just taper down on your booze enough to run errands for me and the gang, I'll take you down to my training quar- ters. It will be a nice berth for you.” He promised. So I fitted him up with an overcoat, gave him some money and did the things for him that anyone would for an old friend. He hung around until I went into training, meanwhile trying to keep as sober as possible. Jerry did very well, considering, although he had a “still” on most of the time, but this was never bad enough for any but those who knew him well to detect. Then he came down to our camp and used to be great company as we sat around evenings talking about the old days when we were kids together. How Jerry Bent His Nose HERE was quite a big dent in Jerry’s nose. It looked as if it had been broken once, as I supposed, in a fight, and one night I asked him about it. “No,” he said, shaking his head sadly, “it wasn’t broke in any scrap.” “How did you get it dented then?” I asked. But he seemed rather shy about explaining the cause of his misfortune. “Oh, you fellows would laugh at me if I told you,” he said. However, finally we coaxed him to tell us all about it. “T was in bed one night,” he began, “and had the de- lirilum tremens. All of a sudden I heard a lot of guns going off. Then a bugle called and I sat up in bed. Bands were playing, and I saw about 10,000 soidiers marching around the room. Some fellow yelled out, ‘We are at war! Fall in!’ In all the excitement I jumped out of bed and joined in the parade, with all these fellows marching around the room, and we marched and marched and marched. Finally they started marching through the keyhole. I tried to follow them, and in trying to get through the keyhole I broke my nose!” But Jerry’s history came to an end. Sometime after this I left Jerry with money for clothes and a ticket to San Francisco, but when I returned to New York I ran across him panhandling on Broadway. Poor Jerry didn't last much longer, and a few weeks later I received word that he had died in a little rooming house, all alone. As there was not a soul to bury him, and I felt the responsibil- ity was mine, I arranged for the funeral. I wanted to give Jerry a good one, so invited George and Johnny Consi- dine, who then ran the famous Hotel Metropole at the corner of Broadway and Forty-second Street, and later the new one of the same name in front of which Rosenthal was shot; also Eddie Burke, the race-horse man; Teddy Foley; Tim— Dry Dollar—Sullivan, and others. They promised, but when the day of the funeral arrived, they all seemed to have forgotten the date, and I showed up at the place of appointment to find no one there. It was ten o'clock in the morning—probably most of them were not even up. As I rolled down Broadway in the carriage to the under- taker’s I spied a little Jewish boy I knew, Ed Meyerson. He seemed to be in an awful hurry and was almost racing over the sidewalk, but when I hailed him he came over to the carriage. “Jump in here,” I ordered him gruffly. “Oh, I can’t!” he pleaded. “I've a lot of business to attend to.” “This won't take you a minute,” I replied. “Jumpin; I want to tell you something.” He got into the carriage and I told the driver to travel! Little Meyerson tried his best to jump out of that carriage, but I grabbed his arms and explained the circumstance to him, and finally he promised to stick. So at the grave of poor Jerry the only ones to pay the last respects were two little old ladies—one of whom ran the rooming house where he had died—this little Jew- ish boy, who had never even met the principal of this last act, and myself. I was sorry, for I had tried to give poor Jerry the send-off he and his old parents would have liked. Sullivan started training at Good Ground, Lorg Island, and I pitched my camp at Asbury Park, New Jersey. Never before had a pugilist trained in Asbury Park, which at that time was almost as strict in its regulations and as religious in its atmosphere as Ocean Grove. I shall never forget the first few days of my training there. The neighbors did peek out of the windows at us, but very cautiously. The children in the neighborhood were not allowed to come near the training quarters; I was sup- posed to be first cousin to the devil himself. November 1, 1924 Some of my trainers, of course, were of a rather rough type, and there were two or three of them who unfortu- nately didn’t have very good manners. So when I saw the attitude of my neighbors I gathered the boys together and told them that anything in the way of misconduct on their part reflected on me. | further explained to them the ideas of the people we were to live with and threatened to dis- charge any who did not act like gentlemen. They all, I am glad to say, followed out my instructions to the letter. We had been there about three weeks, minding our own business and going about our work in a quiet way, when one day two boys of about tweive or so, children of people in the neighborhood, came around. I saw them and stopped punching the bag. “Now, boys,”’ I said as kindly as I could, “I want you to go back home. Your folks don’t want you to come here and I don’t want you to try it again.” One of the little fellows spoke up. ‘“‘My mamma said I could come over here,’’ he said, looking very disappointed. “Your mother said you could come here?”’ I repeated, flabbergasted. “Yes, sir.” “All right, then,”’ I told them, “I’d like to have you. Make yourselves at home.” Gradually from that time on the children began to come around; finally the fathers dropped in and actually seemed to enjoy themselves. One of my inseparable companions those days was a dog that had attached himself to me in a very strange way while I was playing New Bedford, Massachusetts, under Brady’s management. I was getting into a carriage to go to the theater when this pup jumped in and wouldn’t be persuaded to leave. Brady wanted to throw him out. “Jim,” he said, “you don’t want a dog like that; he’s a mutt!” And he was. I could see in him traces of bulldog, collie, spaniel, greyhound, black-and-tan and a few other breeds. But oh, how that dog did seem to love me! So I let him stick, christened him Ned, and he toured the country with me. Old: Fashioned Ideas of Training T ASBURY PARK Ned was always unhappy if I was not along. Sometimes he would insist on accompanying me on the Boardwalk and everybody was amazed to see this awful-looking animal following me. Often I’d lock him up when I went out. One night when I started for the New Brunswick Hotel, then the fashionable one in the place, I had to cross a bridge leading over the lake. Ned broke loose and succeeded in beating me to the hotel. When I reached there I found the women gathering up their skirts and hustling out of his way, for he was wringing wet and covered with mud from his swim across the lake. At this time Brady’s daughter, Alice, now the famous moving-picture star and legitimate actress, was a baby in arms, and as much as that dog loved to go out with me, he somehow got it into his old noodle that it was his duty to care for that baby in the carriage. When the nurse took her out he would cast longing looks after me as I walked off, but never once left his charge. I had some .original ideas about training at this time; that is, they were considered erratic then, although some of them have since been adopted. For instance, it was considered very dangerous to allow a man to drink water when heated from exercise. I noticed that I did not enjoy —in fact could hardly swallow—my evening meal after a hard day’s training. I had no appetite, only a fierce, burning thirst, for the stiff exercise had made me feel feverish inside. I figured this out and adopted a new course, much against the advice of all my trainers. When the day’s work was over I would go to a spring, take a dipper of water, rinse my mouth out half a dozen times and gargle my throat. Then gradually I would let a little trickle down. When I felt slightly cooler I would repeat the process. Thus it took about half an hour for me to empty that dipper; but I found that after that I did not lack appetite and enjoyed my evening meal enormously. You see, I simply adopted the principle of treating my ma- chinery as one does an automobile—you do not pour a lot of cold water into a heated engine, but let it dribble in gradually. Then I formed the habit of going down to the most popular ice-cream parlor about ten o’clock at night and eating a couple of plates of ice cream, to the accompani- ment, which I could hear, of sarcastic remarks from observers in the place. “There’s the fellow who is going to fight Sullivan,” one would say. “What? That chap eating the ice cream?” a com- panion would inquire in surprise; then everybody would laugh at the ridiculousness of it. “Sullivan will fairly murder him!” came the anvil chorus. I told some of my ideas to a Doctor Pancoast, a well- known authority from Philadelphia, who had a summer home in Elberon, and he also thought I used very bad judgment. in those days, you must remember, a typhoid- fever patient was never given cold water or ice cream, but (Continued on Page 34)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 7 “6, i, sep and or ~, a ned ee \ ———e = .— Men and products may vie for leader- ship, but it is the public that confers it. CC fe DB Standard of the World

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (Continued from Page 32) now it is allowed. So my routine was justified by later authorities it happened that horse racing was at its height then at Monmouth Park, New Jersey, and occasionally I took a day off and went over there, thinking the rest would do me good and probably prevent me from going stale. Now these little details are not so trifling as they seem. r'hey are very important, for they were innovations in the 60's, and I feel 1 owe what success I have had to my thinking for myself and not following rules blindly, not only in the ring but in my preparations for it. And to show how important such things seemed in the eyes of the papers and public, I need only tell of an incident that occurred just before the day when Colonel McLewee’s $2590, was to arrive and to be turned over to the stakehoider At the races I met an old friend of mine, George Morgan, of California, who invited me to dinner at a very popular During the course of the dinner he ordered a pint of champagne. I felt that a little would do me good, so took a glass of it. That was all that was The next day one of the news agencies sent “off on a bat at second installment, resort at Pleasure Bay necessary out the report that Jim Corbett was Pleasure Bay | was shocked when I read it, but more so when I received a letter from Colonel McLewee telling me that he had seen this story in the papers and of course must decline to put up the next $2500! I was left cold and I didn’t sleep a wink that night through worrying about it. Phil Dwyer, the stakehoider for the coming fight, who, hy the way, was a great friend of Sullivan's, was at Long Branch with his stable, so I rushed madly over to him the day following the receipt of the colonel’s letter and showed it to him. He saw that I was pretty much upset and tried to cheer me “My boy,”’ said he, “you have nothing to worry about.” “Why,” Lexciaimed, “he refuses to put up my deposit!” “I’m stakeholder,” he replied, “and if none of your backers come through with their money, your $10,000 is up enyway. I'm stakeholder!” He meant, of course, that he would make good the $7500 shortage if my backers failed; and he did this, mind you, although he was Sullivan’s friend, through sheer sporteamanship, wanting to see me get a square deal. There were great boys in the old days! Dwyer then asked me how much I weighed, and being «6 frightened at McLewve’s falling down, I was afraid to tell him my exact weight, thinking he might get the idea in his head that | ao light to fight Sullivan and he might therefore weaken, so I told him I weighed 192 pounds, when I really weighed 178—a white lie for which I hope | may be pardoned under the circumstances. Was An Embarrassing Five Minutes | LL be over in a couple of days to see you train,” Dwyer added as I was leaving; and a few days later he came to my training quarters accompanied by Dick Croker, then chief of Tammany Hall, and they watched me work out for a while Do you really weigh !92 pounds”’’ Dwyer asked me, as I stopped ‘Yes, sir,””- 1] assured him “Where do you weigh yourself Downtown, in a. butcher shop “Well, you come over tonight to the hotel after your There's a butcher shop next door to our hotel We'll see what ye he then inquired dinner w here they have some wonderful scales you really weigh.” I got cold ali over, but « ‘All right, sir,” I date tor « ight o’cloc! \s ron ' ‘ y han meealed my fear igre d. “I'll be over,” and made the e I called Brady, Delaney and a terrible stew, all of us cers once learned I weighed So we decided as they were gon lers and we were r thinking that if any of the ba mly 178 pounds they would leave me flat to take the iron weights out of the pulleys, each weighing or four of them four pounds, and stick three laney and I drove which I did Then Del Branch in a hack in my trousers, over to Le ng Dwyer was standing in front of the hotel waiting for me He took me into the but shop and said, “Get on the m4 her ules | started saying, “Never mind your All right,’ a litth scales and-—I'll never forget it—I removing miy coat, when he stopped me, Leave it on.” relieved coat jumped on the weighed 197 pounds! amazement | agreed Dwyer looked at m« “You're Rut even as | was tal = +} i certainly & Ge he said ‘ceiving man,” could feel that the ing t im weight were slipping. We were standir ' | tried sitti n the hs d taking his arm Dwyer who was pavement, an toward Delaney would have been up if those weights > fallen on the "t notice my end of the walk Dw yer, I felt one of the the game pavement. As we were side peculiar gait, and just as we and while I was still talkin weights at my knee, so I put my foot over the curb and the iron dropped into the dirt without any noise, and he never saw it at all. Bidding him good-by, we went home, the day saved. I told this little incident to Dwyer after the fight and he had a great laugh over it. As you have discovered, my relations were very friendiy with Brady, and we got on very well together; so well in fact that when one day he said “Jim, you and I have no contract or understanding about what I am to get if you win this fight; don’t you think we ought to sign papers of some kind?” I told him not to worry about any contract. “Just let me give you whatever I feel like. You'll profit better than if we make it a business proposition.” He agreed, shook me by the hand and said, “Jim, that’s good enough for me.”’ Time drifted by pretty swiftly, and at last came the hour for our departure. I knew I had managed to overcome the prejudice of the people of Asbury Park against prize fighters, but how much I did not realize until I was closing up quarters. As I took the hack for the train, dozens of children of the neighborhood flocked around and showered me with little presents that touched me very much—cheap scarfpins, flowers, handkerchiefs, cologne bottles. Then, to my great surprise, Mr. Bradley, who controlled Asbury Park and had objected very strenuously to my training there, sent the Beach band to escort me to the station. My last day’s training up North was done in Madison Square Garden—a publicity stunt of Brady’s that gives another evidence of his shrewdness. I ran around the track, punched the bag, and even ate my meals before a large audience which had paid admission to watch me. This netted us both a lot of newspaper space and a hand- some sum. : At last we boarded our private car and started for New Orleans, breaking the trip two or three times, on the way down, for exercise. Rising Odds on the Champion E REACHED the city about four days before the fight, Sullivan being already on hand. He had been taken up by the Young Men’s Club, the biggest of all in the state, while the smaller Southern Athletic Club, where I had boxed Jake Kilrain, opened its doors to me. The betting was three to one on Sullivan when we arrived in town. There was one princely hearted man in New Orleans whose kindness I shall never forget. His name was Wormeeley and he was one of the leading cotton brokers in the city. I had met him when I fought Kilrain, and he now actually sent his family away and turned his house over to me for a home during my stay in the city. I started in to do some light training in the Southern Athletic Club and all the time thousands of people were in and out watching me. There were also large audiences at the other club watching Sullivan. After seeing both of us, the betters decided that instead of three to one on Sullivan the odds should go up to four to one. This in- crease was due, I think, to our difference in weights—it was 212 and 180 at the ringside. if I had ever relied much on the opinion of others I wouldn't have had much confidence or strength left for the fight. Even my old friend from California, Tom Williams, who had backed me heavily in the Choynski fight, and had also seen me fight my sixty-one rounds with Peter Jackson, blew into New Orleans and bet, so someone was kind enough to tell me, $5000 on Sullivan. Not be- cause I was hurt at all, but simply because I like Williams, I wrote him a letter the day before the fight. In it I said: ‘Tom, I understand you are betting on Sullivan. I’m not mad, but I wish you would switch your bet and put it on me. I'm in splendid condition. You saw me fight Choynski and Jackson. You know I can go the distance; and no man who has lived the life that Sullivan has lived can beat me in a finish fight.” A few years later, when I was going abroad, I happened into Tom Williams on the steamer. We were talking over old times and got down to this fight. ““Do you remember the letter you wrote me,”’ he asked, your fight with Sullivan, telling me to bet on you?” *Yes,”’ I replied, and somehow managed not to grin. “Well,” continued Williams, “after I received your letter I went out and bet $10,000 more on Sullivan!” I had also written to my father and figured he would receive the letter a day or two before the fight, which he did. I told him in what good condition I was, and proph- esied that by taking my time and being careful I would win the fight between the twentieth and the twenty-fifth round. My dear old dad wore that letter out after the fight, just as he did the telegram after the Kilrain battle. The excitement in New Orleans was intense from the start, as this was the first heavyweight championship fight ever arranged to be fought under the protection of the police. All other fights up to this time had been under London prize-ring rules and with bare knuckles, and being against the law had been pulled off in private. Just before we left New York for New Orleans I had told Brady to see how much money he could dig up to bet on to rur “ before November 1, 1924 me. He took all the money his wife had and what he could skirmish up himself, and it amounted to $3000. All I had in the world on the day of the fight was $900, we had used up so much for training expenses, but that morning I gave it to Brady and said, ‘You take this $900 and the $3000 you have, and go down and put it on me.” “Jim,” he said, “I'll bet my $3000, but you had better keep your money. If we should lose the fight, that’s all we'd have and we’ll have to ride the brakes out of town.” So I took his advice and kept my $900, Brady going downtown to bet the $3000 at four to one. In a couple of hours he came back, all excitement, and exclaimed, “They’re betiing five to one on Sullivan!” “That’s great!” I replied. “Did you put the money up?” “No,” he answered, looking a little sheepish. Then he added, “‘ Don’t you think, Jim, we'd better keep it in case you get licked?” I got angry at this. “You fool!’’ I blurted out. “You were willing to take four to one, but now when it’s five to one you get cold feet! Sullivan and I are just the same as when it was three to one. We haven’t changed any.”’ Then, pushing him out of the door, I gave him this parting message: ‘“‘ Don’t you come back here unless that $3000 is on!” No sooner had Brady gone than in came the sporting editor of the Cincinnati Enquirer, Harry Weldon—one of the greatest supporters I ever had. He had prophesied by my picture that I would be the next champion of the world before he had ever laid eyes on me, and his confidence naturally touched me and later brought us to- gether very closely. He was a big, fat, red-faced man, and he, too, rushed in, all excitement. I could tell by his manner that his confidence had been shaken by this jump in the odds to five to one. Jt seemed as if everyone was going back on me. But I held tight to myself and as we sat on a trunk—“ Well, Harry, they’ve got you going, too?” I inquired coolly. “No, no, no!”’ he insisted, but his manner gave the lie to his words. “Yes, they have,’ I shot back at him, trying to put some iron in him; ‘“‘they’ve got you wriggling a little. Now I’ll tell you something, Harry. I’ve seen Sullivan fight. I’ve boxed with him, and the only thing that will ever make me think that John L. Sullivan can whip me is when they bring me to and tell me I was knocked out.” This boosted his confidence wonderfully and he went off very happy. I had also noticed that the strain was beginning to tell on my trainers, and even Delaney. With all his coolness, he was trying to hum little songs to himself to make me feel he was happy and wasn’t thinking about the fight at all. And others were whistling too loud and too often. All their actions, I could see, were unnatural and unlike them. They were all doing it for the effect on me, and, if I do say it myself, I think I was the only one in the whole crowd that really felt normal. Courting Bad Luck O LEAD up to a climax, the club had arranged bouts between famous fighters to be fought on successive nights before the heavyweight battle. On Monday night George Dixon fought Jack Skelly for the featherweight champion- ship of the world; on Tuesday, that wonderful lightweight, Jack McAuliffe, defended his lightweight title against Billy Myers, of Streator, Illinois; on Wednesday night, John L. Sullivan was to defend his. McAuliffe gave Myers an awful beating that Tuesday night, and I thought it would be a grand idea to have the last meal before I fought Sullivan with poor Billy Myers. This did not strike me as ominous, for I was never super- stitious; in fact, I often defied and flew in the face of superstition purposely. This annoyed my companions con- siderably sometimes, and only a few days before, in Charlotte, North Carolina, where we lay off on our way to New Orleans, I had almost given Delaney heart failure. I hadn’t noticed the number of my room when the bell boy took me up, and while I was sound asleep that night Brady came up and hammered on the door. When I asked what was the matter he shouted back, “‘ You’re in Room 13!” “Get out of here and let me sleep!” I called back. “T don’t care what number it is. I’m going to stay here.” So now when I suggested that I go out with the loser, Billy Myers, there was a terrible uproar. “Why, he’s a Jonah!”’ they said. They begged and pleaded with me, but I insisted on going and dragged them all out there with me. Myers came down into the dining room and met us. I knew him very well and liked him very much. He hada big black eye and.a cracked lip, and I started to “kid” him about these marks of his battle. “You may look worse than I do when Sullivan gets through with you tonight,” he retorted. “No, Billy,” I replied; “Sullivan won’t have to hit me as many times as McAuliffe did you, to lick me. If it’s done, it will be done with one punch.” (Continued on Page 105)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 35 Pattern Vo. 546 On the floor is shown Rug No. 538. The 9x /2- Soot size costs only $18.00 Patter n No. : Six New Designs in Congoleum Rugs— Pattern No. 556 Variety of artistic designs has always been one of the outstanding reasons for the popularity of Congoleum Rugs. The six new designs, shown at the left, still further increase that variety. And they prove that colorful beauty in rugs is not limited to high-priced Hloor-coy erings. A quaint charm distinguishes the Chippendale designs—numbers 552 and have on display many other patterns in color combinations that are appropriate for any room in the house. Gold-Seal Congoieum Rugs have prac tical qualities, too. Their waterproof surface is smooth and firm-——never catch es dust and needs only a few strokes of a damp mop by way of cleaning. In addition, they lie perfectly flat without 554. These patterns represent the new fastening of any kind, est notes In rug designing and until now have been found only in the most ex- Look for the Gold Seal There is only one “Congoleum and it is identified by the Gold Sea Popular Sizes—Low Prices pensive rugs and carpets. 6 x 9 ft. $9.00 Nhe patterns i 1x3 ft. 3.60 ‘ 6x 9 fe, 11.2 ' } x3 fr. 1.40 pasted on the face g every pattern. Patterns number 544 and 546 are all 9x9 ft. 13.50 | he name “‘Congoleum”’ is a regis ’ bas ‘ in ae } ox 4 ‘ a ‘ r 2 jaye “- cating —_ over floral effects that lend daintiness to ) x 1M ie. | ad ph tat. 19 tered trade name and the exclusi: aa ay ‘Sees terns to harm car Rede take a: any bedroom. The motifs of numbers y x12 ft, 18.00 with then, 3 x6 ft, 2.50 Owing to freight rates, prices in the South and west of } ’ goleum Co., Inc. the Mississippi are higher than those quoted mroperty of Con rg ys f 556 and 558 were taken from a very valuable antique rug now on exhibit . , 52 CONGOLEUM COMPANY ay er in the British Museum. INCORPORATED Gold Seal! Philadelphia New York | Bost Chicago Kansas Cit Ask your dealer to let you see these Sun Francisco Atlanta Minneapolis | Dallas Pittsburg! 4 ‘ ‘ N w Urieaus London Vari Rio de Jan latest Congoleum designs. He will also INGOLEUM CANADA LIMITED M If you want “Congoleum” bi sure to ask for it by name and don’t fail lol ok for the t Sea l (NcoLEU M Pes) Write our nearest office for your free copy of “Beautify Your Home with Gold-Seal ; Congoleum Art-Rugs’’, an } interesting booklet showing ‘ ) all the beautiful patterns. RT- U G S 4 | SOT Se tes 7 . — . SOE RAR ag a Seb eS eg a CAS 1 ESS at on |

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“Ie There No Man Who Veel Sveem? By Mary Brecht Pulver . o.e 2.2 2 Cueck THe Ciass Tuat Fits You! who wondered why ved thin bread and No. 1 Are you the hostess her guests amiled when she s butter for dinner? (0. 2. The hostess whoentered her dining room stead of preceding her guests? hostess who said, ‘Mr. A, I want you to me oe ‘ YO at of all, In N 1. The 10e8 not know the meaning of the a la russe, ma chérie? hostesa wh« le beau monde af these is You? RS. TONNIE SECORD PURNELL laid down the M Sunday supplement, and an involuntary sigh burst from her lips. A picture hanging on memory's wall aceusingly before her eye; a picture laid in and the a sharp rose instant]; known as Irons Falls; itself brought a amall-tewn environment recoilection of the environment A young hostess welcoming guests to Sun- g gE : dinner; the wince of pain guests assembling on a wide informal hickory pillows day afternoor ieafy veranda, sett ernselves on filled porch ling chairs; a hickory settee with gay Yale end Harvard flags I f Sitt the great Indian chief i the head of savory, irge sul flowers ar ng Bull; a perfume, teasing, delicious, coming through the screen door “ Don't tell me, Tonnie Secord, that you're going to give for dinner.” Papa Secord, the socially blasphemous, 1d plug cut, and--if ever man “Yes, but what good is the n't we connect with the eats, us new homemade bread And a roar fr who loved shirt ves a did — belon smell of it, T girl? What ar “We're an impatient you “Aren't father | = ] ? i} Ackers oid scnoounate wr ad DeeT wl te . sal} zea rons Falls wall patiently from This from to boarding sang-iroya awful, Sophy ? . ) years and Was chick and had lots Mr. Potter, a foreign importation—a lair a five-inch collar, achool tw And bank clerk, with suddenly combed Gibsor SATURDAY EVENING Then I Veet Do So. VS TRA TE OD Br R. mM. and black patent-leather toothpicks, coming up the steps. Mr. Potter had all the latest style, he always said ‘‘ Search me!” to your remarks “Oh, Mr. Potter, meet my friends, Miss Ackers and Miss Blount.” And Martha, enduring no more, suddenly pounding the Japanese gong as though they had all gone to Pike’s Peak. And the guests trooping through the screen door, sniffing audibly of fresh bread and leg o’ lamb, and preceding their host and hostess A tide of shame flowed to Tonnie Secord Purnell’s cheek —a little moan of horror broke. She bowed her head figuratively and murmured in her soul: “Forgive me—I knew not what I did!” And crushing the unpleasant newspaper, with its unpleasant implied aspersions on her native culture, Tonnie Secord Purnell rose abruptly to reassure herself physically, and crossed the room to a long cheval glass Even in so moving across the apartment—an expensive and modern affair—you could see how far she had come away from that unpleasant figment on memory’s wall. The cheval glass gave her all the indorsement she required. She would, she reflected with a faint sigh, have looked out of a mirror very differently had she stayed in Irons Falls She would have met the eye as a rather portly, prettyish, still young but unmistakably matronly figure. She would have been wearing navy blue, quite likely—that refined shade consecrated to the middle years of small towns and cities. With bead trimming; a great deal of bead trimming. Her beautiful golden hair would have been puffed and marcelled into a restrained sunburst effect, dragged off her November 1,1924 J am Powerful at Sveeming"”’ forehead. And she would have been wearing around her neck what is known as a lavaleer; possibly two or three lavaleers, and a quantity of sparkling rings. And the sleeves of her frock would have been georgette, freely offering the unconcealed outlines of arms and shoulders no longer quite poetical of contour. Tonnie Secord Purnell smiled disdainfully at this image. The woman who looked back at her from the dull-walnut- and-gold-leaf-framed glass bore none of these stigmata. She was very satisfying—and well she might be. A great king had buried the treasures of empire that she might be made beautiful; a noble earl had died to find them for her. She wore a slinky one-piece invisibly fastened garment, long and trailing, of thick soft lusterless silk of the hue called tomb tan. Of tomb tan, also, were the small pale leather high-heeled slippers she wore, the weblike deli- cate hose. The whole thing gave her budding obesity an ef- fect of specious lissomeness, toned down and purified her too high coloring. Long loose sleeves of the silk fell to her plump hands—hinting at mysterious beauties beneath. She wore a single ring, set with an antique scarab resem- bling a small dried prune. A strand of pale bronze mummy beads drooped from her neck nearly to her knees. And her blond hair was sheer triumph; absolutely smooth and curl-less, it was built, from just above her eyebrows, into a high shining honey-colored bowl-like affair, that elongated her slenderness by three inches. Across her brow was bound a phylactery of colored enamels that would have caused a fellah of the eighteenth dynasty to fall upon his face before her—including as it did, the horns of Ra, the Sacred Lotus, and the serpent of Osiris. The hand, that had an instant before clenched itself on her full bosom, in some apprehension of atavistic taint, relaxed. She breathed freely. She was not only indubitably (Continued on Page 38)

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| CH THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Where Chrysler Sales Ave Coming trom There has been much discussion, of course, concerning the unprece- dented sales of the Chrysler. No car of quality has ever made such a success in the same space of time. Naturally there has been a great deal of speculation as to where these sales came from. That question can be quickly answered. The Chrysler has made a market which is all its own. Its outstanding qualities are universal in their appeal. Everyone delights in the Chrysler combination of dashing appear- ance and dashing performance. Everyone recognizes at once how unnecessarily high and unwieldy other cars seem when you look up at them from the comfortable seats of a Chrysler. The Chrysler has invaded the highest priced division in every city in the country. Why not? The contrast in conservation of space, weight and height, the delightful ease of handling and parking, the cradling comfort both of riding and driving—these things are too pronounced to be overlooked by one who has driven more cumbersome cars. So the Chrysler in- vades the division of highest price—and makes equally striking ap- peal to the division below it and the next and the next. There isn’t an unnecessary ounce or inchin the Chrysler—nothing but a thorough- bred utility throughout which has revised public conception of what constitutes sound motor car investment. The Chrysler market is a market made up of people who instantly discard the past when the present offers them something better. And that means—of course— all America. CHRYSLER MOTOR CORPORATION, DETROIT, MICHIGAN Division of Maxwell Motor Corporation MAXWELL-CHRYSLER MOTOR COMPANY OF CANADA, LTD. WINDSOR, ONT, RYSLER 37

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tHe needs one that will stay | j' is going Kinds of rau inke en ' line of rain bye at cle ™ 5 Mailed free t X, 17 waterproof! to be out in storms, buy v< whether mut boy mit or rea ) vait of a raincoat (er an t see it It cic all Be vs a not iS iW m the quality of the th med ei, trl of way fabric are kill on the only t protection is t and the i that why on un manufacture rub wuarantec the reputation Is why thou today have learned n the name | “US.” Ravesters are a ec t rugwed ru r surface couts to smart vl cashmet ibber h nm instk by wklet Started stinguish raincoat qualit Add New } , iitied, Ie.” will h Our ieth ot orcnm | an mi fo < ou, 1790 Broadway , rk United States Rubber Company S.” Raynster mmplete b ‘ ty tweeds wy reip ress Dept | the best is | buoyed her up along the years, | forever | be no mistake as to that. | papa was only papa. | the past was to kiss it g | It sounded like Irons Falls. | must be- | horrors in the Sunday supplement, and ; ment THE SATURDAY Continued from Page 36) dressed with beauty and cultivated taste but she was beautiful and cultivated—with her full consent. Ten years ago, in her up- ward flight from Irons Falls, she would, she remembered, have fought against her dried prune, her string of mummy beads, with a marked preference for sapphires, to match her eyes, or rubies, the tint of her lips. She would have accepted her beads, her bug if necessary, but with bitter secret protest. But, thank heaven, she had ad- vanced spiritually as physic ally. She picked up the replica of an ancient dagger from the console table and a black old missal that smacked of Francesea da Rimini and looked like walnut hull. She knew what these things were worth. Oh, not alone in money—of which, thank heaven, she had plenty—but in esthetic value. She had had a hard time learning to like old worn-out-looking things, but she had managed it. It was being done every- where by the best people and—“ None but red enough for Tonnie Secord his was the slogan that had that had helped her cast the shell of ancient vulgari- ties. That had helped her to come away from Irons Falls—and bring her family with her! Tonnie set her teeth. Yes, her family! Away from the stupidities of her past—of Sitting Bull. She had left these and _so had her family. Let there hey should Purnell.” never be a drag on. her. Papa Secord had been bad babies. But He belon to the past. And the only thing you could do with ood-by. This thought, expressed with such force and vulgarity, startled Tonnie Secord Purnell. It was—it a recrudescence. Reading the thinking about old days and her family— about Brudy and Dan; Dan especially, who always balked, her fly in the oint- Dan, the refractory element in the process of evolution! A second sigh burst from Tonnie Secord Purnell’s lips, which was at once deftly caught up and repeated in the genteelest cough in the world at the other end of the room. Mrs. Purnell turned, to see that Miss | Angelica Simper, her lady companion, had | entered the apartment. It was a curious thing, but where she | herself was inhibited pictorially from any- thing but the closest attention to correct- ness of detail—where to err, say, in the matter of a bead or two, a hair’s balance, would have thrown herself off the technical base of her claim to perfection—there was a splendid absence of restraint, a complete inattention to all this in Miss Simper that defied analysis and equally was impreg- nable. Miss Angelica Simper, her secretary, duenna and factotum, was seen even in the simple fact of approach to be the epitome of all genteel refinement; and this, too, though she violated every esthetic canon. At least six varieties of bead encompassed her meager throat and chest, from the dull jet dog collar to the Venetian necklace, resembling chewed wads of colored paper, from which depended a gondola of tarnished filigree silver, nearly “= 2 arge as a pigeon, on the breast of her black silk blouse. In her austere colorless elderly face there played in moments of conversational verve an indubitably artificial set of teeth fastened to an equally artificial jaw of vermilion rubber, and the inadequacy of her dove- colored hair was augmented by what might have been called a betrayal rather than a transformation. Moreover, she invariably carried on her arm three little reticules of dark-colored wools and wore a sort of con- gress gaiter-—-she had bunions—of black prunella cloth Yet instantly, at sight of her, one had no doubt. She was a composé of all delight- ful cultivated assurances. This, precisely, was her meaning in the Purnell household. Tonnie had introduced her two years ago, on returning with Dan from the Interna- tional Rotary Convention. They had been received by the king. Tonnie was the only woman in Wintring- ham—a city of eighty-five thousand— who had been received by a king. It set her a little apart though not for worlds would she have confessed she had found royalty disappointing! That is, not a bit haughty or stand-offish! But she had at once en- tered a phase of English cultivation. Hence Miss Simper EVENING POST Yet Tonnie never looked at Miss Simper without a touch of despair, for Miss Simper was something she h was not and possibly never could be—that superex- ponent of gentility who could express her- self in any externalia. Miss Simper might even have used Sitting Bull as a decora- tive motif, and have merely worsted the chieftain. Tonnie had no wish to look like Miss Simper, yet she envied her this. And now, as she watched her under her recent Irons Fails contact, she felt a net- tled flash of irritation and wanted to cry out “ How do you get that way?” but restrained herself. She sat down, arranging her tomb tan in graceful folds and remembered to use the dead-level emotionless voice she had noticed in England—and used by Miss Simper. “Ah, Angelica—you wish to see me?”’ Miss Simper poised herself in her pru- nellas with just the degree of respect that connoted its voluntary quality—and this was also part of Tonnie’s daily despair. “Dear Mrs. Purnell—yes. I fancied there would be time before tea to bring this afternoon’s correspondence to your atten- tion. We have several more acceptances for your week-end party. Very gratifying indeed. Miss Mew and Miss Chynnewood you expected, of course, but I have further news.”" Miss Simper offered her genteel cough, and fixed her friend and employer it an impressive eye. “I have great ad ure in informing you that Mr. Rupert hannet, the poet, has accepted our invita- tion.’ Mr. Rupert Thannet. A faint stir of leasure overran Tonnie Secord Purnell. hough to be sure, she had rather expected the young poet, imported by the Win- tringham Sridey Club, would come to her party. ‘o There i is also an acceptance from Signor Marturo.” ~- Tonnie flushed outright. This was delightfully fortunate. Mar- turo, the Italian barytone, known as grand opera’s Great Lover, was going through the country on a philanthropic drive for his countrymen. He was taking a brief rest in Wintringham, preparatory to concerts next week. Various local women were trying to snap him up, but she, she was to succeed. “None but the best is good enough for Tonnie Secord Purnell,” she repeated again rapidly, silently. But Miss Simper held her eye. Miss Simper wore a faint lavender blush. pa crackled a smal! note out of one reti- cule. “* And I have the further happiness—and honor—to read a note from Lord Drake- wood: ‘I’m no end charmed to accept Mrs. Purnell’s cious invitation for the four- teenth. rakewood.’ Lord Drakewood.” Miss Simper moistened her lips. The gon- dola on her breast shook slightly. “A con- nection of the Clabbershams. We are most fortunate, Mrs. Purnell. I felicitate you.” Felicitate, indeed! It was Tonnie who trembled now. She had met Lord Drakewood in London. A pair of Lord Drakewoods—-though she was not sure afterward she had not seen doubie in her agitation. Certainly she couldn't have told which was which. Tall, baldish, monocled men, dropping final g’s and wearing morning coats. Dan, of course, showed his worst side. Far, far too familiar. He had had the cheek afterward to say he liked the Drakewoods. “TI don't care what you say, I like *em!"” “I don't care what you say!"’ That meant their monocles. “How lucky they are!” snorted Tonnie. Oh, wad some ayes the giftie gie us! Now, a little earlier, hearing that a Drakewood had come to a near-by metrop- olis—the Drakewoods had gone into trade since the war—and Miss Simper having had acquaintance with some of the Clab- bershams, Tonnie had ventured to recall herself with an invitation for a week-end at her mountain cottage. Another wipe in the eye for Wintringham! Tonnie tingled from head to foot. The blood pounded to her heart. She longed to spring up and cry out her pleasure. She remembered. She controlled herself. “But how delightful!’’ she murmured levelly. Miss Simper smiled with pleased ap- proval at her pupil. Still, it wasn’t possible to hold it “T think it’s egtting hot in here. I'll raise the window.” And Tonnie rose and seized the buttons on the sash. November 1,1924 “Shall I, dear Mrs. Purnell, Martin to bring in the tea?”’ “Do, please, dear Angelica,”’ cried Ton- nie. A sudden fury, an uproar in the hall, interrupted them. A tall girl, very straight and dark, in a riding habit strode in. ea!’ she roared. Prudy could roar just the way papa used to; moreover, she knew Miss Simper hated roaring, and hating Miss Simper, she usually behaved like a sea lion. “Tea—on a spring day like this. Have you been out? It was clear Prudy had. The spring wind of early April had stained her apricot skin tawny rose, her wide clear brown eyes were wind blown. She looked amazingly like Dan—a handsome female replica, even though she got her behavior from papa. “We were speaking of the coming party, Prudy.” “Yes; and that’s what I want to speak about,” Prudy roared. “What’s this I hear—that you’re not asking my young man? Phil tells me he’s had no invite.” Tonnie pressed her hand to her phy- lactery, —— the uproar. “Really, Prudy —— “You know, don’t you, that you’ve got to ask my young man, that’s courting me, mother?’”’ “Prudy, you’ve got no young man. You know that I disapprove of such language too. You’re only nineteen. And, besides, I don’t approve of this person. This young business person. I have other people I want you to be with.” Prudy started to roar again, and Miss Simper came forward to strew oil. “Your mother has planned a remarkable list of guests: Mr. Thannet, the poet; Miss Chynnewood; Signor Marturo; and—Lord Drakewood. I he we cannot include voung Mr. Ryle.” She made young Mr. young Mr. Cipher. black cool stare. “T shall make dad ask him, then,” Prudy. Tonnie began to breathe rapidiy. It was this sort of thing that was madden- ing—the complete entente in these matters between Dan and Prudy against her, and her terrible bourgeois inability to bear with them, with that glazed cool insouciance she desired. The veneer slipped now. “If you talk to your father about this make him go over my head ” Tonnie’s voice was no longer Se vel, but high- -pitched and shrill. “If you spoil this party, just when Marturo and Lord Drakewood are coming, Prudence Purnell, I’ll—I’ll in She stepped forward emotionally with lifted hand. Miss Simper’s cough recalled her. Martin was bringing in the tea. Tears of | ame stung into Tonnie’s handsome ey ring for Ryle sound like And Prudy gave her a cried But that’s the way it usually was. Just just when she was surest of triumph, just when she had herself in hand, Dan and Prudy—or Prudy and Dan—would crop up to spoil with some suggestion —and then she would skid. She should have withered the child with languid hauteur; quietly, like Miss Simper. “Perhaps it would be better, Miss Pru- dence, for your mother to go over her guest list with Mr. Purnell herself. They can decide, of course.” “Of course.”’ Tonnie sighed, resumed her low tones, and sat down before the tray. ‘Of course—your father and I will talk it over, Prudence.” As though that meant anything. Talking it over with Dan Purnell! He would side with Prudy. He liked this young ordinary Ryle person—a young man in the adver- tising business, paying attention to Prudy. He cared no whit, for instance, for her own tastes. Young Mr. Thannet, who was a poet—with soul. Or anyone else. Pre- tending to talk it over with Dan was merely temporizing. He would circumvent her—of course. A fly in the ointment. Nothing but a fly in the ointment of culture. u T WAS not always thus. Tonnie had met Dan at eighteen. At eighteen, coming from school to preside over the big re house, she had found herself given carte blanche. “Go the limit, Tonnie. time,” said Papa Ed Secord. They were standing on the veranda, looking at the valley prospect. Papa Secord owned the prospect. It gave him a proprie- tary pleasure to look at it. He also owned (Continued on Page 40) Have a good

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A European Trip need not be expensive L’ ARN how to go abroad at an amazingly low cost ow tc make each dollar buy y : ns tea + r i upr the the y lrips Europe Ie formation and a variety he every requirement shige, including the superb « che United States Lines’ between lwmouth d teequent sailings eenstow Cherbour { Bre United States hinds 45 Broadway New York City sieaesanail pee pa U.S. SHIPPING BOARD Send the Coupon Today ee ee I et ee BLANK Te S. Shipping Board Pe tA Ad's Washington, D.C. Please send me tre bookle Economy Trips to Europe If t go date will be al There will be persons in my party. Name Address THE SATURDAY Continued from Page 38 his daughter Antoinette—or believed he | did. And looking at her gave him even | greater satisfaction. She was a tall, plump, shapely girl with | rosy cheeks, blue-sky eyes and a twist of bright gold hair. She looked vigorous and | happy in her riding clothes—one of the new divided skirts that were used with cross saddles, a flannel shirt and panama hat. | Papa Ed Secord beamed on her fatuously. How was he to guess that beneath this fair, colored, sturdy exterior an insidious secret ambition was already gnawing at Ton- nie—a passion forming that should mount wih the years, a ion for complete im- molation on the ales of the correct? Ton- | nie tossed her head. “Tn that case I guess I'll givea party, papa. I think I'll give a May Day festa. I read about it in a magazine. You have punch with pistachio nuts, and lots of flowers. The pinksters are open. If I could have a | man to gather them.” | “Go and tell the manager to give you two boys.” Papa waved his hand in the | direction of the largest wood-alcohol fac- | tory in Bellew County. The festa had made him blink, but he recovered. “I want you | should have a good time,” he said. | Tonnie went down the steps and threw | a shapely limb—legs had not yet come in, or out—across the back of Ginger, her | saddle horse. “Papa,” she said, turning in her saddle, ” I'll be Led first in Irons Falls to give area smart party.” t was, had her sire realized this, the | dominant note in her maturing person- alit She rode up the face of the mountain to the factory—up an emerald trail, until the | stream beside it yellowed with waste and | chemical—until, rounding a curve, she saw the cluttered huddle of the factory and the ash-whitened shapes of men working inside | the door. “Ryan,” she called to a shoveler she knew; but before he could speak a tall young peahety came out and abruptly sto F am cniel Purnell,” he said, standing with arms belligerently akimbo, “the new manager here. What is it you wish, please?” He might as well have added “And I | am your future husband.” Sometimes in ruminating on this mem- | ory, Tonnie would speculate on the conse- | ja oe of some slight move, some turn of | destiny which, forever left unmade, had yet | offered such ant possibility ! “If I had ridden over Dan! Or hit him with m me ! Orrun my hatpin into him!” She one none of these; had stared instead : the busybody, at his handsome apricot y slightly grimed now, at the a of his glossy hair, his stern, good- king brown eyes; and trembled; with rage-—and something else. “It was because I stood beside my and never knew it,"’ Tonnie Purnell groan. She had answered haughtily, “I am An- toinette Secord, and I want a couple of your men—for this afternoon. To pick flowers,”’ she added. That had spoiled the effect. It brought out Dan’s sarcasticalest smile. And Dan, smiling in sarcasm, was, in the early years, very moving to look at. He had a beautiful smile. “Flowers,” Dan said softly. off the licker—to pick flowers.” “Why net?” Tonnie stabbed furiously. “Tr am warns a oy oe you can't have 'em!” grave would “Two men Tounis’ 8 answer was unworthy of every sworn ideal of her life and ambition. “You have a gall!”’ she hissed. “It's what I’m paid for,”” Dan had an- swered coolly; “but I can’t spare ‘em. We're behind now.” “Why, then—why, then—why, you'll spoil my party!”’ Oh, if she had only realized! It was a portent. Fate showing her her life path, Dan the spoil-sport starting in to balk her. It was the place for the hatpin. For the challenge to destiny. But Dan had taken destiny by the horn. He had started in to look at Tonnie. He looked at Tonnie’s rounded pretty body, her red lips, her blue eyes, her grapevine stalk of golden hair. “Well, I'll tell you what I'll do. I can’t spare any men from the shift, but—but I'll come myself and pick your flowers.” Oh, why hadn't she frozen him—ridden eway? “Instead, I married him!” EVENING POST “Oh, if only he had forgotten to come about the flowers! But he hadn’t. And he came for other He began to call at the house— “He thrill mt “Dan! Think of it.” Mrs. Tonnie Secord Purnell would bury her head beneath her pillow at her own shame; at Dan being thrilling. “T was crazy about him! Crazy! Bound hand and foot. Caught, hook, line and sinker. Imusthave been mad! Didn’teven wait to be proposed to properly.” What Dan actually said, in proposing, was this. He was sitting on the veranda with Tonnie on a moony June night, Ton- nie looking like a golden-headed angel in white organdie. “Tonnie Secord, I want to ask you a question. Ifa beautiful girl with a well-to-do father knew a young man starting in the business with good prospects of partner- ship, and the young man asked her to marry him, do you think she would be willing— if she loved him—to settle down and five just on his salary, without leaning on the old man, and take her luck on just what he could make?” There had been a plate of fudge on the step between them. The plate went rolling down the steps on edge and down the walk, and down the op- posite hill slope, and on down the valley— and may be rolling yet, for Tonnie Secord literally threw herself into Dan’s arms— not unprepared—and Dan found himself — ap ey Beds a fresh sweet rose, Dan, I love you so—how can Pit Pn do an hing else?”’ “That’s right. Accepted him without even being asked!”’ Tonnie would moan un- der her pillow. Then she would remove the pillow, with the jaded reflection that at least Dan hadn’t minded. No, indeed. They had been dreadfully in love. Though Dan stuck to his stern bargain. They lived on Dan’s salary in a little house by themselves, and Tonnie even did her own work the first two years. Then papa amal ted his fac- tories and put Dan over the whole lot, and they went away on a deferred wedding trip. And that’s when it began. The seeds of Tonnie’s secret Penge had sent out pale tiny budding leaflets, leaflets Dan wrenched apart in the very opening. She had carried him to a smart New York hotel. She had had herself coifed and gowned like a woman of society. She had used lemon on her hands weeks before to remove traces of domesticity. She had overhauled Dan carefully, seen that his swallow-tail and pearl studs were correct. She had chartered a smart car. They sailed off to- gether to hear La Traviata in the parquet circle. And Dan had slept right through La Traviata. She wouldn't have minded that, but he let near-by people know that he slept! And afterward, his gaucherie at supper, right at a conspicuous table inside the plush rope, in the Public eye. Why, even the head waiter smiled! Tonnie had been compelled to lean toward him with her fan to her lips, her eyes spar- kling with coquetry as one proffering some sly pretty jest. “Act a little cultured—can’t you?” she had hissed. Dan had only seemed puzzled. And he had said grand opera was a dog-gone racket. Afterward, brushing out her beautiful hair before her dressing glass—in a bright pink satin negligée with a thousand bright pink plaitings, whose banal memory made her wince now—she had rebuked him bitterly. “It isn’t necessary, Dan, to show the waiter that we don’t use finger bowls at home, is it? Dan allowed it wasn’t. “And you don’t use just any fork out of the row for oysters. The little thin one right on top of the others ——” November 1, 1924 Dan in his shirt sleeves, unlacing his shoes as he sat on his bed, had looked up mildly. “I’m afraid I’m a rube, sweetheart, on the fancy stuff. The oysters taste much the same on any fork.” Then seeing weather rising in Tonnie’s eye: ‘George Washington made a lot of mistakes too. He poured out his coffee and drank from the saucer.” “You are not George Washington,” minded Tonnie sternly. Dan tried to be placative. He had come over and kissed a strand of her golden stairs—the name he gave her ag bright hair. ’m glad Pr m not Geo ’ he said tri- umphantly; “he couldn’t 5 "chis, hon.” h, well, Dan had points. Dan was all right if only he would be more amenable to the graces of life. Of course all husbands have drawbaeks. There are many kinds of men, but only one kind of husband. Tonnie maneuvering a cup of tea for Miss Simper—who tom it avidly—and an- other for herself—who hated it privately- comforted herself. In spite of Dan she had traveled far. a Secord had long since hushed his and gone to sleep among the hills of ho pens Palle, but he had died a fairly wealthy man, and Dan with his fine executive had quadrupled everything. She cduld have practically anything she wanted—witness ea saves gs cottage whither she re- Tonnie grew going to pieces over ‘anything Dan and y might do. She controlled her emo- tions, remembered not to stick out her fat little finger, and handled the cozy like a veteran. And when Angelica Simper asked “Shall you care to go over your shopping list for the 2 gd in the morning, dear Purnell?” she made a bull’s-eye on her aux- without even thinking. shall indeed, dear Angelica. I shall get through with it as pln as possible.” ilia: am HE cottage belonging to Tonnie Purnell stood =| a stream and was approached by a ed ribbon of dirt road connecting it with the macadam at Pearl Center. Its setting, as the motor party approached, was both vernal and rustic. Pine-covered mountains, great tracts of timber and stretches of wild pasture engirdled its plot of sheared turf. It was the only habitat of man thereabouts, unless one counted the dingy weather-beaten rooftree of some small farmer glimpsed through foliage on an is- land lying out in the river. The party of guests leaping up and down as their cars climbed the bowlders knew that it was spring—by the calendar and by the faint green pollen of leaf haze every- where and the sheets of chilled mandrakes and anemones with their umbrellas closed. But the effect of these was spoiled by raw fingers of cold wind that reached out of a ragged heaven and pinched the ribs even under fur and camel's hair. They hurried into the house. Martin and helpers had been sent ahead to staff it, and now the great jaws of the living-room fireplace were flung wide over a gigantic mouthful of blazing hardwood backlog. You knew at once that you were in a rus- tic setting by the field-stone fireplace and chimney. And, of course, by the bobcat turning upon you, in a slightly at-bay pose—happily in rigor mortis—and clamped well up on the chimney breast. But you had only to turn your head and you could see that you hadn’t got to be too rustic to be comfortable, by the Oriental rugs on the smooth hardwood floors, the overstuffed chairs and davenports, the great bowl of smoking punch Martin brought in, the nickeled coffee machine, at which Miss Simper relieved their hostess. The party was just lovely. Tonnie Secord Purnell, presenting the rear upholstery of her person to the fireplace, hugged herself in secret pleasure and congratulation. But what a success! But what a cosmopolitan, but what a delightful personnel—in the main! There sat Miss Muriel Chynnewood, pale and elegant, of one of Wintringham’s first families, accepting coffee from the de- lightful Mr. Thannet; there was the great arturo, brooding in a long, rather gayly plaided cape coat, answering the nibbling timid approaches of little Agatha Mew, who was the perfect filler-in and foil for (Continued on Page 42)

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— ee a aE ee THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Mobiloil, Ford facts are stubborn i W HEREVER fire departments stubbornly insist up- on efficiency — wherever truck owners phe vache insist upon promptness—wherever taxicab opera- tors aabbocaty insist upon economy —there you will find Mobiloil “E” the favorite oil for Ford engines. Do you believe in experience? The Vacuum Oil Company, which manufactures Mobiloil “EK”, has 58 years of it. Do you believe in specialization? In all those years this company has specialized only in lubri- cation —not in gasoline and lubricants. Do you believe in scientific practice? The Vae- uum Oil Company’s Board of Automotive Engineers has studied each new Ford model under all con- ceivable conditions of operation. The individual engineers on this board have automotive experience which averages 13% years per man. With a constantly growing fund of Ford lubri- cating experience—in all the world’s climates, over every possible kind of road, and in every type of service—Mobiloil “E” has been made even better as the years have passed by. This fact is amply borne out by the ever-grow- ing number of testimonials which come to us from Ford owners the world over. There is no substitute for Mobiloil “E” because there is no substitute for the superior experience and intensive specialization which have produced it. That stubborn fact will work to your advantage from the moment you begin to use Mobiloil “Ek” For the differentia! of your Ford car use Gar- royle Mobiloil “CC” or Mobilubricant as specified « the Chart of Recommendations. Fair Retail Price—30c a quart from bulk When the dealer sells a quart of Gargoyle Mebiloil for less than 30c, he does not make his fair, reasonable profit. Lower prices often accompany substitution of low-quality oil for genuine Gargoyle Mobiloil. Prices are slightly higher in Canada, the Southwest and the Far West. DOMESTIC BRANCHES: New York (Main Office) Albany Des Moines Minneapolis Pittsburgh Boston Detroit New Haven Portland, Me. Buffalo Indianapolis Oklahoma City Rochester Chicago Kansas City, Mo Peoria St. Louis Dallas Milwaukee Philadelphia Springfield, Mass. Touring: The new sealed 1- quart can is ideal while on long trips or for emergency. Carry two or three under the seat. Fairretail price 35c (grades “E”, Arctic and “A”, 3 for $1.00). Slightly higher in the Southwestern, Mountain and Pacifie Coast States. 41 for your Home Garage: The 5-gallon can or 15-, 30-, or 55-gallon steel drum of Mobiloil pro- vides an ideal supply of lubricating oil. VAC UM - ot Lk COMPANY. Mobiloi Make the chart your guide

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42 Watch This Column “Ta know her wes to love her. “Jacqueline.” ” ~— Rogers, in VIRGINIA VALLI has one of the most fascinating roles of her screen career as the nurse in ‘*K—The Unknown,’’ Universal’s adaptation of Mary Roberts Rine- hart’s fine novel uf “K,” now being shown in leading theatres. Moreover, the cast is exceptional and is headed by PERCY MARMONT, whose abil- ity is notable. This is really an ex- quisite play. It is clean, wholesome and beautifully photographed. I am anxious you should see it and write me your opinion in detail. The Los Angeles reviewing ‘‘ The Reckless Age, became mighty enthusiastic over REGINALD DENNY, and said: “How the audience reacted to his zippy, clean-cut comedy. How they delighted in his manly and withal original personality."” DENNY ought to enjoy this. I am sure I read it with deep satisfaction. Ulike DENNY and ne always produces 100 per cent. What did you think of the play? Times, Please write and tell me what you think of these Universal pictures, if you have seen them “*The Signal Tower,’’ *‘Wine,” REGINALD DENNY in ‘‘ The Fast Worker,’’ ‘‘ The Family Secret,’’ from Augustus Thomas’ play and Frances Hodgson Burnett's novel I also want your opinion of “Batterfly’’ and “‘The Hunchback of Netre Dame, *' which has become famous in Europe as well as here. These opinions of yours are valuable. May I have them? We have received letters from the following cities, asking us what theatres make salty of show ing Universal pictures in those cities, and this is our answer: America Theatre, Den ver; Cameo, Los Angeles; Cameo, Pitts burgh; Columbia, Seattle; Liberty, Kansas City; Broadway Strand, Detroit; Cameo Bridgeport, Conn. ;C ameo, San Francisco; Columbia, Portland; Rialto, Washington. a Spe Universal Pictures Booklet sent on request (To he continued next week) (arl Laem mile ‘President UNIVERSAL PICTURES 1600 Broadway, New York City | THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 40, Prudy; there was Simper, correct and im- perturbable in moth-eaten squirrel and poplin, with a pale blue nose and her three reticules; and there was—here Tonnie sighed a little—yes, there was the young Ryle person. Oh, of course she had been de- feated by her terrible roaring Prudy. But anyhow, young Mr. Ryle was not so bad- looking. Oh, true. But—nothing mysteri- ous. Blue eyes that let you know he meant just what he was saying, the kind that couldn’t fib; a square jaw, rather; and clothes that had all the edges even and everything pressed. Nothing Bohemian. And her own family: Dan, his face red with wind as he helped at the punch bowl, and a tie that fought with his shirt; Prudy, brune and beautiful in a poem of camel's hair with king’s-blue shoes; herself in one of those long French sports skirts you fell into, and a harem veil of green tied over her mouth. And there was Lord Drakewood; rather, here was Lord Drakewood. He was bringing her some smoking punch. A lord waiting on her! She’d had no idea he was so tall! Nor so thin! Nor that he had such enormous feet! Really —for a lord—and especially in pale gray spats. But he was lovely. He had the kindest eyes—rather small, but full of twinkles. And his overcoat was perfect. A tartan fleece, four sizes too large, covered with fur. Well, it actually had a nap two inches long Tonnie had pinched it a little when he handed her her punch. “This is really tophole,” the smoking stuff And Tonnie touched his coat. It felt like smoke and velvet. Lord Drakewood rocked a little on his long kind toes. “I’m expecteen no end of a delightful time. I've always bean wanteen to visit your mountains on my other stops in the States, but business is constantly inter- fereen in one’s affairs.” What in heaven's name had a lord to do with business? “Oh, I'm so hoping you'll enjoy it,” breathed Tonnie Would she ever time to say “hopeen?”’ cious. “I'm an outdoors man myself, Mrs. Pur- nell. I make a point of visiteen the Cam- brians every year. I've a friend with a little box for shooteen there, and we do the pheas- ant a bit game and fisheen, too, of course but I’ve never had a taste of it here—nor even a look at the scenery.” “Well,” said Dan, “Tonnie has rather planned a little fishing here if you care for it, as well as some hill tramps, but I’m thinking you're likely not to get it. We're all chilled because we're soft, but at that, the weather's nothing like as cold as it was yesterday. It’s warming up and the sky’s fixing for rain; in fact, it rained a little as we came in. I felt raindrops three times.” “Oh, Dan, you didn’t!” Tonnie put down her cup vexedly. like Dan to feel a raindrop! “That wood that Martin's carrying in is covered with raindrops, mother.” “Martin, is it raining?” Tonnie manded vexedly. ‘It's beginning, ma'am.” “In that case we shall have to rely on our own resources. And those, we trust, will prove adequate. We can play whist —I remember some delightful whist at Clab- bershams Cobbles, Lord Drakewood,” sug- gested Angelica Simper. “But I shall play Mah Jongg!" Signor Marturo produced suddenly. “I have breeng my leetle cabinet of dominoes wis me; I shall tich you to be East Weend,” he said, and he turned his Great Lover's orbs on Prudy’s brune flame. “But how delightful!” But indeed how delightful Great Lover was looking at Prudy thing might happen, really. “Oh, we won't mind the weather —some of us, anyhow. Prudy and I love tramps in the rain. We brought ponchos with us,” cried the young Ryle person “Oh, yes. Bother the rain!"’ Lord Drake- “We shan't let mere weather he advised over would she dare some- It sounded so deli- How de- breathed Tonnie. the way the Any- r wood agreed grizzle us.” “Not ordinary rain,” a real mountain tempest—like some I've sorter cloudburst effect, you know. That might spill the beans.” “Oh, well.”’ cried Tonnie, to check Dan and his beans, “I guess we can stand it—for a few days. It isn't as though we had to Nobody'd do that.” agreed Dan, “but seer er live here EVENING POST “Only the vegetable woman,”’ demurred Dan. “The vegetable woman! Mew. “Oh, a little rural party —a little country widow, with a child, who lives most of the year on Otter Island—the island you saw out in the river. Perhaps you noticed a bit of roof. I believe except for a few winter months she holes up there on a little truck farm. Has a pig and a garden. Or maybe it’s a cow and a garden. Anyhow, we get our peas and corn of her. Now, she must get a taste of weather.” “Oh, bother the vegetable woman!” cried Tonnie. ‘I say, let’s all go and dress now. We shan’t want to be late for dinner. Cook’s making a special effort.” The dinner was most successful, though not unaccompanied of shock. The first arrived with the cocktails. Tonnie hurrying down from dressing saw that Martin had rebuilt the great fire, and her guests, assembling before it, presented a jewel-like and charming picture. The men were in dinner coats, all save the Great Lover, who was—living up to his reputa- tion for distinction —turned out faultlessly in fork-tailed coat, braided trousers, glossed boots, and a gardenia heavy and sweet in his buttonhole. All but his throat. He had preceded Tonnie down the stair- way by a moment, and she heard her forthright Prady roaring at him. “But Mr. Marturo—really! What is the matter? You haven't gone and got yourself sere throat.” Marturo bowed pivotally, circularly, left to right. Tonnie could see that he wore no tie or collar, only a stocklike bandage— a swathing of white silk handkerchief. He smiled paternally. “But no—leetle lady. It ees only that I do not suffer the mountain air against the expose throat. Even the collar is not pro- tect’ suffeeshunt. It must be wrapped, covered over, folded-so."’ He twisted his plump olive fingers briskly to convey the idea of folding, then drew them with a knifelike gesture across his throat. “One leetla stab of air, one leetla touch of cheel then comes the migraine, the quinsy, the bronchitis. And where am I? Pouf!” Dan, who had come out of the next room with Lord Drakewood, stopped with inter- est. He was still liking Lord Drakewood. Tonnie had heard them laughing together a moment earlier, and she had seen his lordship smite Dan affectionately on the back, quite like one of Dan’s ordinary com- patriots. Now Tonnie hurried upon the scene. “Of course, Mr. Marturo, so wonderful an intrument as the human voice must be protected at any cost. Tonnie had a blinking vision of a brown supplement: rr cried Miss No. 5: Are you the hostess whose come to dinner without their collars on? guests Papa Ed Secord had been verbally guillo- tined in the Irons Falls days for the same thing! Miss Angelica Simper netting a silk purse by the fire, smiled indulgently. “Much,” she said softly —‘‘ much is for- given to genius.” “Of course!”’ Tonnie cried. Of course! Papa Secord was not a genius! “ Martin,” she ordered, “bring in the cocktails and serve Mr. Marturo first. You must have a cocktail at once, Mr. Marturo. I wouldn't have you get a chill for anything.” But the great baritone was not yet fin- ished. He bowed again, deferentially but implacably. His fat olive face disappeared behind what seemed a knotted mass of in- credibly tangled black thread—which was really a swift expression of deprecation, pain, humility. “Signora —-madama--dear Mrs. Purnell. But no, I take no cocktail before the dinner. The cocktail, eet is bad for the throat. But ipstead—eet is my ‘abit eef you pairmeet if you allow your man to serve me. will take now, a saucer of treacle.” “A saucer of treacle!"’ echoed Tonnie. “Treacle!” cried Miss Simper. “Treacle!” echoed Lord Drakewood. Their voices alone held intelligence. Ton- nie had never heard of it. “I think Mrs. Purnell” —the young Ryle man, in the advertising business, looked up from where he sat by Prudy “I think the signor”—he pronounced all the letters—‘‘means a dish of molasses!”’ Again Mr. Marturo’s face became en- tangled in approval behind the knotted black threads and Tonnie recovered swiftly. November |, 1924 “Oh. Oh, Martin—er very well; but, of course. you may bring Mr. Marturo a dish of mol—treacle. But, of course!” “ And a small tabor or table, please,”’ the signor indicated; “and two napkins—large, please.” Martin brought them. A little later the firelight was refracted over the careless group of diners sipping cocktails with, as central motif, Signor Marturo, one napkin tied about his neck, another over his knee, eating treacle, slowly, spoon by spoon, from a saucer on the taboret before him. He ate it slowly, he explained to Miss Simper, that the sirup might have time to percolate the interstices of the throat, and he even vocalized an “e” in “alt’’—with and without sirup. He used a solution in an atomizer, of course, during the day at four- hour intervals, but there was nothing, really, so excellent as treacle. And if he ate slowly he ate earnestly—some of his dark rich hair becoming disarranged in the effort and falling perilously close to his spoon. Also he ate with little soft hissing noises, peeing. hunched forward close to his dish. “T see,” said the insignificant young Ryle. “ You let the stuff oil your whistle, in short. By the trickling process. I suppose that’s why it’s called trickle.” Tonnie heard two snorting snickers from the point where Dan and Lord Drakewood were standing. Tonnie exchanged Miss Simper. ‘Muc Sy looks with she said, “must be conceded to genius. The throat must be an endless care--the throat of genius!” But all things pass. The cocktails were drunk, and Signor Marturo finished oiling his throat. Shortly they were seated at the cook’s special dinner. Lord Drakewood had hunted big game in Africa, and now, drawn out by Dan and the young Ryle man, he fell into a torrent of agreeable anecdote. He spoke of safari and simbas and dongas. He referred to the lions —to one lion—as being far too full of beans! That meant he was dangerous. He built a picture of the danger part. The lion was a dinner roll; a pepper bottle his gun bearer; his napkin twisted, himself; then his fork became his gun. And here he asked for a bit of thin bread, that he might twist some bullets, and, their course being indicated, the dinner roll lay slain before them. Then Dan followed with some of his fish- ing stories. They sounded well, from much polish; though of course the descent from a lion to a brook fish! Still, Dan had no shame. And the table presently burst into applause and laughter; and after stories from others, dessert came on. There followed then coffee and cigarettes by the living-room blaze. Miss Chynne- wood and Miss Mew begged for the chest of dominoes and Mah Jongg, but Tonnie stayed them. “We've hardly had a word from Mr. Thannet, and now it’s surely his turn. He has promised me to read from his own verse.” “Dear Mrs. Purnell, I beg of you!” young Mr. Thannet cried, distressed. Miss Simper looked up from her purse netting. “Nature conspires to modesty, Mr. Thannet. moment for poetry.” Nature was clearly busy outside at some- thing. Some window shades were flapping, which Dan and Martin had to fasten, and you could hear a mounting commotion of wind in the trees outside. “There is something austere and noble about a rising wind,” said Miss Simper. | “Somehow,” said Lord Drakewood, makes me think of The Burial of Sir John Moore—and In Memoriam.” Then he looked a little ashamed of his confession. “Well, Mr. Thannet, you have a very sympathetic setting,” cried Prudy. ‘‘ We’re waiting.” “Oh, Mr. Thannet is surely going to read to us,” cried Tonnie. The poet shrank again. “Dear, dear Mrs. Purnell —— cated. He took a deal of persuading. It was some time before he modestly draped him- self by the piano, and the lights—at his behest —were lowered. Then after a moment’s abstracted star- ing he drew a little thin book from his (Continued on Page 44) overcome your This is surely a "” he depre-

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s the hold that counts in shaving or any other sport CFS us your famous full- J iather stick with a holder big enough to wrap our fingers around and you'll have a com- bination that’s ” Men wanted it, so we made it. We call ir DOUBLECAP gested by the two handsome metal caps that vive aman sized holder at each end. Doublecap banishes for- the slippery, finger-tip hold Pr ibly more 1 #¥ men know Williams Shaving Scick than any other ever mack >rouch of Williams to kind of gives youa unbeatable. sug- eveT Tn MLOMS trv ranstern mec use any water, hard, soft, hot or cold of lat f Vithiame | very wealth her thor oughly softens all of hair and floes not dry while you fe shaving And it leaves your face ’ hred no Re-k » extra cost \ , Aiwavs sk for ams WILLIAMS ¢ ut William Doublecap Shaving Stick hei Ve shaving. Por trial be matte, | ve is a new preperation for after write Dept. LILA SATURDAY Continued from Page 42 pocket--happily, of his own verse stared again It was very quiet, wind. His audience “Pray, pray, Mr urged Miss Simper A shadow passed across his face. “IT must wait,” he said in a low voice *Temperament!"’ hissed Tonnie. “He must wait!” Whatever he waited for, reached him. He was a tall romantic-looking fellow. Of his last book, printed on handmade vellum prestige — twenty-five copies were not f at any price, and seventy-five, signed by himself, were ad- vised for collectors. And he had beautiful manners. Cultured to his finger tips, Ton- reflected, watching. Far, far more, the Great Lover or Lord Drake- as the essential man’s name and except for the rising watched. Thannet do begin,” such was his r saie ie even, thar wood, did he impr Canfield Chesterfield Suddenly the poet sr the stil a What am I? Who am I]? Spawn of the u I tell you I an Spawn of the eas one or was--or was the eered, and shattered Iness with a sharp cry wind Do not deny me! I will not tole I teil you | | now I an “In the belly « nd | ! Oorne ‘as conceive d, fo arid circum- stance Enrironed b shal our basilisk ont { rirances no of nothingness, in the Boo of Me. ‘nem ai my pleasure . ctirily, irtty, am all subje mm all relat ? ; ; ale? rm all potentiality, EVENING POST “Yes; and That's What I Want to Speak About,’’ Prudy Roared. This I Hear— That You're Not Asking My Young Man? November 1, 1924 “What's Phil Tetis Me He's Had No Invite’"’ I am all eroticism, I am all time and ali dimen- sion, mea iy I am miracle—and I am nothingness. Yet are your denials of me nothingness, For if I deny you, you do not exist.’ There was a complete pause. Then Lord Drakewood was heard to murmur to Dan, “A little bit of all right w hat? a * Righto reply. Miss Simper looked up from her purse. “Oh, I am sure you are not nothingness, Mr. Thannet. I’m afraid ycu do not do yourself justice.” But the poet was staring again. After a moment he cried out again. He cried very sharply—two of the effusions in the little vellum book, then closing it, and his eyes, recited a thing Tonnie had heard him give herclub. Itsname was Rechemicalized Enigma. This time he spoke of You: old egg,”’ Tonnie heard Dan “You are an enigma, Yet have I knowledge of you. You are a toadstool, crushed under heel And stinking in the rain. You are a spark of sun-fire tingeing the gull’s wi nged flame. Mount as you please, you will never reach the sun, But the stink of the rotting toadstool remains In the nose of everyone.” When he finished you could see how emo- tional he was. A light perspiration had sprung on his brow, and Tonnie got up and gave him her chair. “Sit here—do, Mr. Thannet.” For the first time Miss Simper looked displeased. Two lavender spots had sprung to her cheeks. “T confess,”’ she said, “that I am frankly at a loss at the terminology employed nowa- days. In our late Queen’s life! For exam- ple, why an odor—why the idea of odor should be phrased, at its worst! If indeed it is permissible to refer to odors at all.” I am sorry to say there broke out, at once, a brisk discussion of the new literary values of our times, which lasted for quite a space. It was Prudy who supplied oil. “Mr. Marturo,” said Prudy, “has prom- ised me to sing just one song tonight. Let’s have him do it when everybody’s fighting. “Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast?’’’ So Mr. Marturo sang. He went over to the piano in the shadow, accompanying himself, and you forgot his muffler and his dish of treacle. He struck a few chords and sang the Largo al Factotum from the Barber of Seville. And a spell—the spell of genuine authentic art—stole across the room into the hearts of his hearers as he released his magnificent tones in consum- mate ease and energy. When he had done, no one spoke; only —after a moment—little Miss Mew embellished it: “It is like the voice of Nature itself. It goes on and on in your ears, like wind in trees or a lot of water rushing down a mountain.’ The company listening agreed. Signor Marturo’s voice was still going on; its echoes resembled the elements. Then in a moment they realized it was the voice of Nature collaborating with the barytone—a gale of actual weather. A sound like ham- mers and an army of drumming feet broke explosively, all at once. Dan threw up a window shade. The light was refracted against a wall of flying hammering steel outside. ‘Rain!”’ cried Lord Drakewood above the racket. ‘‘Why, it’s like bally sledge hammers.” Thor, just to show him, cut loose on all six anvils. “In the mountains, you see lifted his voice. “But it can’t last, Lord Drakewood,’ Tonnie came in in shrieking fortissimo; “it’s too violent to last.” " Dan iv UT it wasn’t. It lasted all night. And it lasted all the next day and all the next night, and what Tonnie Secord Purne!l! en- dured as an entertaining hostess could, she felt, be approximated only by the finesse and patience of Mrs. Noah. Somehow the first twelve house-bound hours were managed —with cards and cha- rades and stories, with Thannet and Miss Mew and Miss Chynnewood, Prudy and young Mr. Ryle running out into the pour, under ponchos; with Drakewood doing a steady veranda clip with his pipe and Dan dogging his heel. Continued on Page 46)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST that Packard parts are low in price, high in quality and seldom needed; that there is no guess work about the work to be done or the charge to be made, when his car is taken to a Packard service station; ' The Packard S1tx Owner Knows that more than 800 Packard sales and service stations have instructions for doing work on Packard cars at standardized prices; that for example, it costs but $12 to have carbon cleaned, valves ground and motor tuned—in Portland, Maine, or Portland, Oregon. Packard Six and Packard Eight both furnished in ten body types, open and enclosed. Packard’s extremely liberal time-payment plan makes possible the immediate enjoyment of a Packard—purchasing out of income instead of capital AGE. ee Ree US OWNS ONE

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Carry it home ina Séalr Ti 19nt ht ape 2r Container wtainers are made xls and liquids Sealrigitt | eck for packaging ice crear int f Carry themall lhe Sealright ( Lh Y half-pint licious, bh There's a smooth, de packaged the Sealright our drug- s hint and de , leak proot tary Sealright light Paper ners whenever and and foods Easier tke cream w ing moist casicr to ds } icked lright Way re lavors. All eruent sizes from SEALRIGHT CO Dept. 12-A.M Pulton, - N.Y eat more tce cream _ THE SATURDAY Continued from Page 44) It was toward evening when Martin asked Tonnie if she would step out on the veranda a moment. The sledge-hammer rain still fell stead- ily, the turf smoked under white mist. You couldn’t even see the near river bank dis- tinctly. “T’ve been down to the river, if you please, ma’am.” Martin said, “and that’s what I want to speak about. The water's very high. There’s no way over to Otter Island now. It’s three feet above ordinary.” “Well? Martin, a simple Northumberland boy, looked worried. “If you please, ma’am, the cook thinks there’s something wrong, and so do I. The cook declares she heard something twice today—-when the wind turned.” “Heard something!” “ Over on the island, ma’am; and I think | I heard it tog. I thought it might be a bird, | till cook spoke.”’ “But what do you mean?” Martin shook his head. “T don’t know exactly, ma’am. But the high water and all—I got to thinking of that Mrs. Raikes living over there on Otter Island; the vegetable woman. She—it might be her calling out.” “Nonsense!”’ Tonnie cried. “ Why she's a mountain woman. She lives here all the time. She knows all about weather.” “Yes'm, I know. But the rain’s so bad and then, all the stepping stones are cov- ered. This place out here’s a ford usually. Now there’s no sign of it.” “But who'd want to go out or go away in such weather? However, let’s both go down and listen, Martin.” Tonnie got a mackintosh and they went to the stream’s edge. The water was unrecognizable; it boiled and churned in a lather of white horses, like an uneasy giant rolling, swelling in its bed; the willows and rushes by the edge writhed in fog and the rain drove in flying showers out of a torn gray- slatted heaven. “Call, Martin. Call as loud |; 48 you can. Martin cupped his hands and shouted. But no answer came back; only the harping drum of the rain beat “There,” said Tonnie vex- edly, “you see, Martin. It must have been a bird; a crow or something. If the vegetable woman was calling on Otter Island she’d answer. It isn't so far. No,she’sin her little house, high and dry, and tomorrow, if it clears off, this water will go down and you can hop over the ford—if you're worried, Martin.” Tonnie went back to the house, high heels sinking in the yulpy morass of the lawn. Jeaven knew she had enough to do to keep her jailed party from boring one another, with- out adding her vegetable woman to her burden. “Tf only it clears tomorrow,” she reflected. It did. By dawn a west wind had come out of the hills and dried the face of everything. The heaven was as blue and mild as the Virgin's robe. The green meads and pas- tures and forests on the hills glistened from their teary wash, and the air smelt of hyacinth and wet mold Tonnie leaped to dress and in a few mo- ments greeted a newly energized group at breakfast, full of plans for the day. But Martin stayed her as she left the table His face was a little pale. “If you please, ma'am —I —we—the cook and I were not mistaken about yesterday. About that voice!” eh oice!”’ “Yes, ma'am About the vegetable woman. I—cook has been hearing it all through breakfast. I heard it again a min- ute ago a “Well—for pity 's sake, Martin. then and see what's the matter “But, you see, ma’am, I can't go! No- body can. The water’s still up. It's twice as deep as last night, and it’s going fifty miles an hour ‘Gi “Well, what do you think is wrong? Why do you think the vegetable woman keeps calling?” Martin turned still paler go over EVENING POST “It’s not the vegetable woman, Mrs. Purnell. I—I took the liberty of phoning to Pearl Center last evening. I couldn't rest, quite—but I couldn’t get Central. The rain did something. But this morning just now—I phoned again. They tell me Mrs. Raikes isn’t here. She’s gone—gone away, and that’s why we heard the calling, ma’am. It’s the vegetable woman’s child, Mrs. Purnell.” “Her child!” “It's a little child’s voice, ma’am; that’s why it sounded like a bird. And it got tired yesterday —that’s why it didn’t answer us. The way the cook and I think is this: Mrs. Raikes went away— probably for the day- and left her little one alone. And the hard rain’s kept her from coming back over these roads. Oh, ma’am, that little thing’s been alone there nearly forty-eight hours—and crying for help—since yesterday morning.” Oh, if She Had Only Reatized! It Wasa Portent. Fate Shows ing Her Her Life Path Tonnie had gone white. “Come.”’ She trembled. They hurried to the stream once more. Where all Nature was fair and lovely, only the water remained a thick, turgid, lashing mass, incredibly boiling and rapid. Beyond the frothing current ran the girdle of osiers and sedge and foliage mark- ing Otter Island. From this island came clearly now a faint yet penetrating bitter crying in a child’s voice-—a child incredibly distressed and agonized. Tonnie looked at the in- accessible water and pressed her hand to her maternal breast. “OQ God!” she cried as she listened. “The little thing!” She turned and fled back to the house. She burst upon her party asprawl on her veranda with imperative hand. “ People—everybody——listen! Martin and I have heard something terrible. We have heard the vegetable woman’s child crying over there on Otter Island. Its mother has left it alone. It’s been alone for two days. And you can’t get over to the island. Think! What shall we do? Oh, Dan—oh, everybody, think! What shall we do?” November 1,1924 The party repaired to the stream. You could hear the child erying steadily. “A boat. We must have a boat,”’ cried ae Drakewood, looking at the turgid “But there is no boat, this is not boating water. In ordinary times you might snake a canoe most of the stream—but here you'd make a carry. And I doubt if a boat could be held across here now-—certainly a raft would go downstream like a leaf.’”’ The child cried again, and Signor Mar- turo tore off his coat. “Mother of God! You stand only here an’ talk—you! An’ the leetle babe, he lies there and cries for aid. Is there no man who veel sveem? Then I veel do so. I am pow- erful at sveeming in my youth in Seecily. Stand away, please.” He drew back to take a running start; Dan and Ryle flung on him and held him. “ Are you crazy, man? No man could swim against such a current. That’s going downstream to Bells Falls like a fast motor. ‘*You’d be pounded to pulp onthe rocks before you knew.” “Yes, yes, Sig- nor Marturo; re- member ‘Woe to him that is alone when he falleth; for he hath not another to help him up,’” cried Miss Simper. “T say though, just get mea rope,’’ ordered Drakewood. “I'll hitch it to this cak, and you can pay out as I need. I'll jolly well pick my way across on me two feet.” “Can’t be done,’”’ Dan declared curtly. “It’s not a one-man job. You couldn’t keep your foot- ing. Therocksare glass and no rope could keep you from being knocked down. No, this is an all- man job. AndI’lltell you what we've got to do. We'll go back to the house ard put on our hobbed shoes, then we'll make a human life line. Er—a kind of a bucket-brigade thing. “Somebody can make a bight here to the oak, and one by one we'll pay ourselves out, bracing each other. And the first chap out is the only one who'll have to run much risk. When he gets over to that old buttonwood yonder, that hangs out over the current, he’ll have to un- couple and creep the trunk. That'll be tricky going for a few feet, for that’s rapid water over by the bank.” “Well, I’m the lad for the buttonwood, old thing.” Lord Drakewood breathed easily. “What you theenk?” Signor Marturo demanded. “But it is I who will clam the buttonwood.” “You’ re too stout,” objected young Ryle. “I’m the youngest, and I’m only made i in buttonwood sizes. * And I’m your host. I can’t let endanger himself on my land,” “We'll draw lots for it,” Drakewood. “And we'll hustle,” said Dan, “and we'll want everybody—that is, at least five. Oh, we'll want Thannet too.” “Oh, yes—Mr. Thannet,” cried Prudy. Mr. Thannet had withdrawn a little from the group. He was examining the bark on a near-by tree minutely. “Mr. Thannet!” “T say—Thannet!” “Lend a hand, Thannet.” Mr. Thannet appeared to have mislaid his hands. He turned and came slowly to the group. Continued on Page 48 anybody said Dan. suggested ”

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THE Hanover Shoe Exclusively for Men and Boys THE SATURDAY Continued from Page 46 “You want me?” he asked, looking a little green. “We're going to put on spiked shoes and go over to the island. Get a move on, will you? g “In—into—that water?” Mr. Thannet’s green grew greener. “ You—you want me to get out in that water? Me?” “T’ll take his place, sir,” suggested Mar- tin. “Right,” said Drakewood, and Dan mar- shaied his flock. “And do hurry!” cried Prudy. “I never heard a kid wail like that in my life.” It was true. The vegetable woman's child was histrionic in its appeals. It tore the welkin with its wordless distress, so that the blood of the listeners at once boiled with indignation at its forsaken plight and froze with horror of its anticipated condi- tion. They had not long to wait. The men were equipped and quickly back again, and Tonnie saw that Dan was taking the but- tonwood. He stepped out a few feet—first of all. He was in his shirt sleeves and old canvas waders, thrust into spiked shoes. He held a stout pole. He made a stiff arm, and he was firmly gripped by Lord Drakewood fol- lowing, who in turn was held by Martin. Martin was followed by Ryle. Lastly young Ryle’s left hand was ‘seized by Mr. Mar- turo’s righi, who threw his left arm about the heavy boled oak, his mighty operatic shoulde ers and chest carefully braced. e heerio!” cried Lord Drakewood. “Let’s go! The water leaped upon them like an avid animal. Dan staggered and swayed, the line slewed and stopped.. Then Dan made a reconnaissance with his pole, took a new stand. The whole line shifted, moved a foot. The eyeballs of the ladies dilated, audi- ble murmurs of apprehension were uttered. “ Attaboy!” cried Dan, and Lord Drake- wood said “‘Cheerio! Slowly, slowly, feeling each step, the men advanced. Twice there were slips, young Ryle almost went down, and again Lord Drakewood. Both were hauled up. The line tightened, progressed. And at last it was finished. Dan reached the buttonwood. Tonnie saw him give his pole to Lord Drakewood, feel for leverage on the bend- ing tree. He encircled the trunk then with both arms, drew himself stiffly up, began to crawl over it to shore. Tonnie breathed suddenly. “That's that!” she said. Dan looked awfully funny. He was crawling over the buttonwood like a big slow bug. Dan was beginning to stouten, and on all fours he was anything but grace- ful, and you could see the little bald spot on his head shining like a new nickel in the sun. He was creeping like a fly. He looked like a fly. He actually did. Something stirred in Tonnie. She had called Dan a fly before! A fly in the ointment—and here he was, actually carrying out the physical resemblance. Suddenly Tonnie remembered something else, and turned faint. She remembered that Dan said the but- tonwood had the only real danger. There was quite fast water below, and Dan was hanging over it like a fl Only a fly had six legs and had wings. ta had no wings, he was not a fly—just a two-) man, EVENING POST little huddle of building. He came back, one hand behind him. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he shouted across the water, “I have the honor to pre- sent the vegetable woman’s child. I found it in ashed; nobody else at home.” He withdrew from his back what looked like a tangle of writhing yellow yarn. “A cat! “Ts that what we saved?” “And he’s got to come back! Tonnie. It was true. He had to come back, and did. The process of withdrawing Dan from the island was even worse, more realizable, than his approach. It was, Tonnie de- clared, responsible for the five gray hairs she plucked from her head within that week. But Dan reached terra firma and gravely set down his starving charge. He found a new spectator, a native of Pearl Center, who had brought up the mail afoot over the ruddled road. “Dog my cats!” this individual was say- ing. “Is this Niagara Falls you are walking on the tight rope or what is it, that you go climbing trees over water like this! Don’t you fellers know a swullen stream’s death if ye fall in.” “It occurred to me,” said Dan, drawing his sleeve over his sweated brow, “‘but asa matter of fact it seemed to be necessary at the time. We believed Otter Island to be inhabited by a child in distress. By the child of Mrs. Raikes, and that Mrs. Raikes couldn’t get home for mud and high water over the ford.” “Mis’ Raikes! Why, she’s went away. More’n a week ago. She went away fur good —with her kid.” “ And left her cat,” “so we found.” “‘An’ if she hadn’t gone! If they’d be’n anyone human on Otter Island, do y’ s’pose they’d wait fur birds to fly through the trees to git to "em. D’y’ s’pose Mrs. Raikes skips stones through the river to git home, ever’ time she goes away. Why, they’s a perfectly good footbridge way "bove high water t’other side of the island connectin’ with th’ other shore. If you wasn't all such city bubs — But nobody minded his harshness for the windmill that suddenly flailed its way through the group toward Dan. It was Tonnie Secord Purnell, the apostle of refined culture and dead-level repres- sion, cutting her way through, in quest of contact with verity and stability. ” screamed said Dan pleasantly, “What I don’t understand’ —Tonnie Purnell, brushing out her golden stairs, paused and waved a hairbrush at her hus- band, who sat on the edge of his bed lacing his shoes—‘‘what I don’t understand, Dan, is that you all acted so alike! Or nearly all!’’ she sighed. Her face was swollen and distorted by marks of recent weeping, a reaction she could not explain, but which had occupied her a large part of the afternoon. Fits of shuddering and alternate tears. “It’s because, Tonnie, I expect we are all sisters under the skin,”’ said Dan mildly. Tonnie sighed “T’m all crisscross, Dan, that’s all. Be- cause you wouldn’t suppose any crowd of people on earth could be more different than ours—I mean their lives, their begi nings, and yet —really—you were so alike. If —if—oh, I don’t know what I’m trying to say, but if culture and—and having lots November 1, 1924 together—for somebody else. I don’t care if it was a mistake. Oh, I don’t know what I’m trying to say.” “What you're trying to say, Tonnie, is that taking us all in the rough, in the lump, by and large—including fame, family, money, molasses, poverty, petting, sheep flock, table waiting, education or none, we totted up about of a kind—on a funda- mental thing. Just average men. All that is’—Dan turned his dress pump over thoughtfully—‘“‘all but the Egg of Me.” Tonnie winced and pressed a sodden ball of handkerchief to her nose. “Tt looks as if, no matter how you tried to—to change yourself, Dan to—to im- prove yourself, it can’t be done.” “Not in the ways you are always think- ing of, Tonnie. Because they are only surface things. Mind you, they help a lot. But the real things—that matter to men, lie deeper. Your little tarradiddles are all right; it isn’t pretty to put your knife in your face when you eat, but if there’s noth- ing left, when all that’s washed off, if there’s nothing much in your egg but yolk ——” “Don’t, Dan.” “Well—you know, Tonnie. And I’ll tell you something else.”” Dan waved his pump at her. “This thing ought to be good for you. You’ve been getting cross-eyed, like lots of you girls, about this trimming stuff. Drop it. You ought to, anyhow. For if ever there was a common woman—a really common woman on God’ 8 green feotstool, Tonnie Purnell—it’s you.’ Tonnie’s eyes rolled; she reeled against her bureau. Dan rose, approached her, brandishing the pump. “T mean it. It’s the truth. You are com- mon to the bone. I thank God for it. You are common with the commonness you got from Ed Secord—who was the commonest man I ever knew. Salt of the earth! Listen. What that old fellow lacked in honor, in- tuition, kindliness and sympathy isn’t worth talking about. He left his mark on more lives, on more hearts than you and I could count. He had what all cultured people have at bottom—character, or their culture isn’t worth a fiddlestring. And you've got it, too, Tonnie—the old vulgar Grade-A commonness, that’s got the smell of humanness, of Mother Earth in it—or you would have if you gave yourself a chance. But you’ve been cultivating Grade B too long, my girl. Swanking yourself in ways that don’ t belong, chasing the unessential things.” Tonnie buried her face in her hands. “Oh, Dan—if that’s what you mean. All that came to me like a stroke of light- ning this afternoon. I—I have been fussing with foolish things. There’s Prudy. I've tried to make her just like me. Dan—I I haven’t been a good mother. I’ve op- — her about young Mr. Ryle. I'll tell er —— “You won’t have to. Prudy’s as common as the whole lot put together. She’s ac- cepted young Ryle, anyhow—and I'll tell you something ~ We're going to reform you, Tonnie, and make you more comfort- able. For at heart I don’t believe you have been comfortable for a long time. We're going to send elegant Angelica away. And we’re going to take you out West this sum- mer. Prudy and Ryle are coming, and Drakewood. And we'll take Martin along, and we'll get a string of saddle horses and guides and ride up high on the snow line and Active outdoor play’ Hanover Shoes for Boys and Lit- tle Men—nething like them for staunch, steady wear. Rugged, comfortable shoes that let little feet grow right. $2.50, $sand $3.50. who might fall in there; and if he did! A cry, terrible and full-lunged, backed by the vigorous simplicities of Irons Falls training, tore from Tonnie’s lips. “Dan!” she screamed. “Dan Purnell! You fool! You back right out of that tree! Do you hear me?” He stop ped moving “Shut up!” a, _ called “Shut up, Tonn Tonnie Peery le eyes. She ceased to breathe. Wordlessly she prayed, and she counted to a strange metallic ticking—in- side her head—for one hundred years. get the big view, mountains and cafions— out over the big old country—where the Injuns and— -er—Sitting Bull used to be } se forgo « onnie was looking at a big thing of advantages and traveling and meeting the right sort of people, all—all in the end comes out, to just as if you hadn’t had ‘em —— Well, if all that doesn’t make men different! Why now, take Signor Mar- turo—you know yourself he’s awfully petted and he sings ‘like a god —— “ And gets sirup in his pompadour.” “And Lord Drakewood with all his fam- ily and tradition ——”’ “*The daughter of a hundred earls’— and one darn good fellow.” “And young Mr. Ryle, who’s nobody at all, you might sa He shad to wait on table now. “Oh, Dan,” she quavered, good to have you here—to touch you, and have you all safe. I—I thought when you ite were on that buttonwood I might not see 1} you again. I—I’ve sometimes had such if dr-readful thoughts, and when I saw you ie creeping—l-like a fly—oo-oo-whoo! Oo- lf o0o-whoo! I remembered how much I |-loved i “it seems so i turned his head. a . back crisply. ey 1 ? ." Then a gale of applause and laughter to go through co lege.” you! Qh, I’ve been a fool—a—big—fat — | broke. She opened Ser eyes. Dan was off “And who's ped push two sisters fool.” j the buttonwood aad standing on Otter through.” “Nonsense!” cried Dan, and he encom- i Island. “And you—well—you’re—you're like passed her, golden stairs and all. He did his “The child,” cried Tonnie hysterically, me, Dan; just folks. And Martin’s only a _ best. ‘‘ Nonsense, my own dear girl! Why, he ‘is safe! servant. Why, his father was an ignorant how could you be a fool, Tonnie? Haven't Dan was gone only a few minutes. He shepherd boy. But when it came to being you just showed me you can’t get along disappeared back of the willows to the useful—and using your heads and bodies without your old man?” Style BMS Boys’ Br own Russia i Lace Shoe—Si.80 anal : —

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The discovery of this nest was a stroke of luck, but by using his wits Rusty im- proved upon it. He had noted the wide, plainly marked trail or crawl leading from the surf to the turtle nest and back to the surf again; and several times that spring and summer he found turtle nests for him- self by digging in the sand where an upward trail and a downward trail came together above reach of the tides. Once, just before dusk, he lay down for a nap at the edge of a dense myrtle thicket, covering perhaps an acre and separated d by

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EVENING POST

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the place of other drinks for every mem ber of the family, every meal of the day for it contains no drug stimulant. Remember, while the remarkable world-wide success of Postum is mainly due to its delicious roasted-wheat flavor, that this is also a Aealthfu/ drink. There isn’t a trace of caffein in it. You can en joy it late at night as well as in the morning. You know that you are acting n accordance with health and efficiency, instead of risking sleeplessne ss, taut nerves, indigestion, and headache—in

=~ —_— eee OE Ee oweewrs eure i Now tasfe it! Sense the full, delicious stead ot robbing your be “dy "s reserve tt flavor of the grain. Judge it for itse/f strength by artificial stimv!ation. a) > » 924, 1 a , \ — » Bin B doe = ys 4 CHILDREN LOVE You know how many children do not like the taste of milk. You know how they ke to have the same drink as the F seis 2 ™ : , grown-ups You know, too, how good it is for them to have a Aot drink i INSTANT POSTUM Make Instant Postum for them, using hot milk instead of boiling water! They’il like the taste immediately ! And they will ih made with milk! get the helpful elements of wheat, p/us the nourishment of milk, in a Aot drink that is economic al and #0 easy to make! ras . ‘ iN Convenience and Economy! Your grocer sells Postum in two forms, Instant Postum is made in the cup by adding boiling water It is one of the easiest drinks in the world to prepare. Postum Cereal (the kind y s als asy t ke t should t

-d 20 minutes. Either form costs less than most other hot drinks.

1 families prefer lesome drink onstrator, send you her own directions for preparing it in the most delicious way. Accept Carrie Blanchard’s offer ! Carrie Blanchard’s Offer “T want you to try Postum for thirty days, I want to start you out on your test by giving you your first week's supply. “It seems to me that it would be a wise plan for mothers, part ularly, to think of this test in con nection with the health of their families “Will you send me your name and addres Vell me which kind you prefer—Instant Postum or Postum Cereal (the kind you boil). I'll see that you get the first week’s supply right away hREE— MAIL THLS COUPON NOW!

ff nae H S.EB.P. 11 1-24 | i Postum Cre Co., I Battle Creek, Mich | i I ke at lay test of Postum, Please send | “ bliga first week upply of | | I ant Postum Check ij | hich you i |), ponnle Gotae ws | ls \| | i] | Hci | - | In Canada address | Canapian Postrum Cearar Co., Ltd | 45 Front Street, East, Toronto, Ont

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Busness Engheh ; THE SATURDAY EVENING POST RUSTY ROUSTABOUT came when Rusty, the Irish terrier, might have told his master much about the great wildcat Longclaw, into whose domain the storm had flung the little red dog to wage a long war with the jungle’s tawny mys- terious lord. Meanwhile, however, weeks and months were to pass—weeks and months during which Rusty the castaway learned to live the new life to which fate had assigned him. It was a slow process, that learning; yet, even at the beginning, Rusty's wits met the first and most important test—the problem of sustenance. Twenty yards from the spot where the dog had been washed ashore, a white-and-gray bird dropped down to the sand on quivering pointed wings and pres- | ently ran on long slender legs to a tall clump of beach grass well above high-tide mark. Soon came another and another, while overhead still others circled and called, “ Pill-will-willet, pill-will willet, pill- will-willet.”” For a half hour after the lynx had disappeared Rusty lay still, exhausted by the brief exertion of that encounter; but after a while strength returned to him and he got to his feet and walked slowly up the beach. Accident rather than design turned his steps toward the grassy area where the willets nested, and one by one they rose before him to fly low over his head, crying and swooping. He gave them no heed, not, knowing the reason for their excitement; but suddenly, as he brushed past a grass clump, some- thing crunched under his forefoot. He had stepped squarely into a willet’s nest and had broken two of the buffy, brown- blotched eggs. He ate these ravenously, then broke the two other eggs in the nest and ate them also. Conscious for the first time of his hunger, he nosed about from grass clump to grass clump, found five other nests, each containing eggs, all of which he devoured. Then, suddenly aware of a thirst which exceeded even his hunger, he pushed on across the belt of loose sand that extended between the beach and the jungie’s edge Luck favored him in his quest. A hun- dred feet within the dense wall of cassena and myrtle fringing the woods, a chain of ponds and pools extended for a quarter of a mile lengthwise of the island, fed either by rains or by obscure springs hidden amid rank reeds and rushes. As Rusty splashed along the slime-covered margin of one of these pools toward a little cove where the water growths fell away, a great milk-white bird, half as tall as a tall man, startled him as it rose with labored wing beats not more than half a dozen feet in front of him. He drank and drank and drank; then irre- sistible weariness came over him again and, making his way to a dry spot close to a »almetto trunk, he ley down and slept for cm When he awoke dusk had come to the jungle. Where scrubby, stunted live oaks spread their wide branches under the pines it was already black night; and all around him in the gloom the little red dog heard sibilant, mysterious whisperings—the eerie music of the sea winds sifting through acres of palmetto fronds. A chuck-will’s- widow cried shrilly in the blackness, an- other and another answered. Down from Continued from Page 21) the air above the feathery pine tops floated the loud guttural “‘Quok-quok-quok” of a squadron of black-crowned night herons going forth to their fishing, and presently a homing blue heron sent down his harsh hoarse call. Then, as the breeze lulled, fell silence, deep and absolute; and in the grim clutch of it, with the blackness growing ever blacker, fear came into Rusty’s heart again—fear and a great longing for Mat Norman, his master. The longing abode with him, but the fear passed. It was not in his nature to be afraid; and the hunger, which the willet eggs had only temporarily appeased, would not let him lie idle in the darkness, appalled by the jungle’s dreadful silences, startled by its inexplicable sounds. Soon his nose gave him tidings which made him forget all other matters in a new quest for food—a quest to which he could bring a ripe experi- ence. His nose told him that there were rabbits about and Rusty was an old hand at rabbit hunting. It mattered little that these dwell- ers in the jungle morasses were short- legged, dark-tailed marsh rabbits and not the cottontails with which he was familiar. Indeed, it was fortunate for him that this was the case, for these marsh rabbits lacked both the wit and the speed of the cottontail. He bungled his first attempt, but the game was plentiful and a quarter of an hour later he had another chance. This time he stalked his prey more skillfully and soon had a supper suited to his needs. Thus, at the very outset, Rusty solved the primary problem—the problem of food. If there had been nothing else, the sea birds’ eggs on the sands—eggs of willet and plover, tern and skimmer—and the sluggish water-loving hares of the island-pond edges would have kept him alive for weeks. But there were many other sources of food sup- ply besides these; and little by little sometimes by accident, sometimes by vir- tue of his keen nose and sharp wits—the terrier gained knowledge of them and skill in turning them to good account. Walking the beach one moonlight night, he came upon a raccoon busily digging in the sand twenty feet or so above high-water mark. He tried to stalk the coon, but the latter saw him and, after debating the question for a moment, decided upon flight. Rusty treed him in a young live oak just within the edge of the jungle, then lost him as he made off along an aérial pathway passing from tree to tree. Returning to the spot where the coon had been digging, the terrier took up the work of excavation and in a few minutes unearthed a store of round — eggs, more than a hundred and fifty in all. He did not know that they were the eggs of a great sea turtle which had come up out of the surf earlier that night and, after lum- bering across the beach and laboriously dig- ging a deep hole in the soft sand with her hind flippers, had deposited her treasures therein and waddled ponderously back to the ocean. But Rusty found that these eggs were exceedingly good to eat and, tearing open their tough skins with his teeth, he devoured more than a score of them at one sitting. November 1, 1924 The discovery of this nest was a stroke of luck, but by using his wits Rusty im- proved upon it. He had noted the wide, plainly marked trail or crawl leading from the surf to the turtle nest and back to the surf again; and several times that spring and summer he found turtle nests for him- self by digging in the sand where an upward trail and a downward trail came together above reach of the tides. Once, just before dusk, he lay down for a nap at the edge of a dense myrtle thicket, covering perhaps an acre and separated by an open stretch of sand from the main body of the jungle. In the myrtles hundreds of herons had their nests—slender blue and white and brown Louisiana herons, bulky gray-and-black night herons, immaculate snowy egrets adorned with curving delicate plumes. Rusty prowled about in this thicket occasionally, because one day he had had the luck to find there a young night heron which had fallen from a nest; but on this oceasion he had come to the place by acci- dent and had gone to sleep there merely because it was as good a place for a snooze as any other. When he awoke, an hour after dark, he was aware of strong pungent scents tickling his nostrils, scents which he distinguished easily amid the rank and pervasive odors characteristic of every heronry. For a few minutes he lay motionless, sniffing the air and listening. Then, rising stealthily, he went to work with the silence and patience ae instinct and experience had taught im. Ten minutes later a fat opossum, am- bling about under the heron nests in quest of fish and frogs dropped by the parent birds in feeding their young, realized too late that certain faint sounds which he had heard behind him possessed a deadly sig- nificance. Rusty feasted sumptuously on the possum and found his meat the best that he had yet tasted on the island; and discovering that possums were in the habit of visiting the heronry nightly, he returned — to the place and seldom failed to make a kill. In these and various other ways the little red dog made his living during the first weeks of his long exile. At first he searched often and hopefully for his master, but little by little he realized that his search was vain. Slowly, too, realization came to him that he was a prisoner. On one side of his island lay the sea, on the other a wilderness of salt marsh, boggy and treacherous, an im- passable barrier which Rusty tried only once to cross. A house, where an oyster planter had once lived, now stood deserted and desolate, half wrecked by a terrific hurri- cane. Rusty’s ordeal in the storm had filled him with an enduring horror of the surf. For this reason he avoided the front beach as a rule and made no attempt to swim the deep inlet separating his barrier isle from the next island of the chain. But for his fear of the breakers his exile might have been shorter, for fishermensometimes landed on the island and walked the front beach. But none of these rare human visitors en- tered the hot, almost impenetrable jungle behind the dunes, teeming with insects in the warm season and inhabited by many snakes. (Continued on Page 52)

Poo. OF Caw GEE wants The New Hot Springs on Hymen Terrace, Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

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THE SATURDAY * 4 2 oe 3 C) ms ea a EVENING POST STANT BEG U.S. PAT. Fe. Postum A BEVERAGE Sait cdnsd obs stipes ond bon pent, Manufactured S UM CEREAL COMPANY, RATTLE CABEK,.MICH..V.8.4 “on Bee Hate ” ahes Mar Weicwr, Bicrt Ozs. aa + Two million families prefer this wholesome drink |S yeppcveg WATER~— Instant Postum in the cup—cream and sugar—and you have, steaming hot before you, the favorite mealtime drink in 2,000,000 American homes. Whole wheat and bran—life-giving grain—skillfully blended and roasted! Pour fresh boiling water into the cup, and watch the deep, warm color rise to the surface as you stir. Now just a little most people think a teaspoonful is enough—then add the cream, stirring it in until the drink has a rich golden tone. sugar Now taste it! Sense the full, delicious flavor of the grain. Judge it for itse// it is not an imitation of any other drink but a wonderful drink in its own right. A drink which is a// wheat—and wheat is the best-liked food in the world! Postum is economical! It costs much less than most other drinks, and it takes the place of other drinks for every mem ber of the family, every meal of the day for it contains no drug stimulant. Remember, while the remarkable world-wide success of Postum is mainly due to its delicious roasted-wheat flavor, that this is also a healthful drink. There isn’t a trace of caffein in it. You can en joy it late at night as well as in the morning. You know that you are acting in accordance with health and efficiency, instead of risking nerves, indigestion, and stead of robbing your strength by artificial stimulation. sleeplessness, taut headache —in by “dy s reserve In the interest of health and economy, we want you to make a thirty-day test of Postum. We will give you, free, your first week’s supply of Postum for this thirty-day test. And we will have Carrie Blanchard, nationally famous food dem- 4 > © 1924, F \ —_—_——_—_—_— - : 2K Cc . many children do not like the taste of milk. You kr | they like to have the same drink as CHILDREN LOVE You know how 5 iren d aste of You know how “grown-ups You know, too, how good it is for them to have a Aot drink INSTANT POSTUM Make Instant Postum for them, using iilk instead of boiling water! They’ll like the taste immediately ! And they will made with milk! get the helpful elements of wheat, plu nourishment of milk, in a Aot drink that is economical and so easy to make Convenience and Economy! y sells Postum in two forms. Instant Postum is made in the cup by adding boiling water It is one of the easiest drinks in the world to prepare. Postum Cereal (the kind you boil) is also easy to make, but should be 120 minutes. Either form costs less than most other hot drinks, onstrator, send you her own directions for preparing it in the most delicious wé Accept Carrie Blanchard’s offer! Carrie Blanchard’s Offer ly. “T want you to try Postum for thirty days. I want t start you out On your test by giving you your first week’s supply. It seems to me that it would be a wise plan for mothers, particularly, to think of this test in con nection with the health of their families, “Will you send m our name and address Tell me which kind you prefer—Instant Postum or Postum Cereal (the kind you boil). [ll see that you get the first week's supply right away.” hREE—MAIL THIS COUPON NOW! Fi | i B.E.P. 11-1-24 | HT Postum Ceavar Co,, I Battle Creek, Mict HI | I | . s t ok pply of i i] ] | I Postum Check HI : i I rum CeRea prefer i | | \ \| i i Hg | i. “ | In Canada address Cawsaptan Postum Creneat ¢ ! i) | Front Street, East, Tor Ont

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"Toanxscrvinc—and a house full of relatives invited. The turkey with all its “fixins”, ready to cook--and no water. Little do we realize the value of water urtil just such a situ- ation as this arises. Yet year ‘round that ill-fitting, short- lived old style ball in your toilet tank fre- quently wastes 355 gallons of water daily at the av- erage cost of $25 an- nually, Reg UD Pet. OF Stops the leak W\> It fies snugiy into the valve. sealing it at every point. It can't leak be- cause the one piece of pure, live gum, of which the Parabal is made, cannot split, bloat or lose its shape. We guarantee it three years, burt it lasts indefinitely. $1.25 through Master Plumbers only Ask your plumber for the MUSHROOM Parabal. If he can’t supply you, write We'll see th ’ it. Ullus- us. we ec that you get it. us trated literature om request. PVEQWrTe SANI- SEAT You knew ifs clean Pyralin processed through out,cven to the hinges. The utmost in beauty, sanita tion and durabiliey, And tt makes the bathroom Sil, through Master Plumbers only == “a = Woodward WangerCo OG SpringGarden St Phied Aphia > Seehe THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 54) had said was terribly hard. Chris had been filling his pipe; and now Dorothy brought him her school history and showed him a composition she had written about the ancient Egyptians. Mrs. Ansen then asked me about my car; and she said they had always wanted a car, but Chris would not pay interest to the bankers, and even the price of a cheap used car seemed like a lot of money to pay out in one sum. But it did seem a shame not to have a car in this | country, where there were so many won- derful places to go. I said that I hoped they would go with me on a drive to a mountain lake thirty- five miles away on the first Monday we changed shifts. Mrs. Ansen was pleased, and she talked delightedly about her enjoy- ment on the two trips to the mountains she had taken the summer before. “Now you and Chris must talk some more,” said Mrs. Ansen. But Dorothy was looking through the music on the piano, and I saw The Road to Mandalay in her hand. I wanted to hear it. Dorothy was not afraid to attempt the marching music of the song. She played spiritedly, and as the music of the chorus sounded for the third time I hummed the tune; and I sang out the last three lines as loudly as though I were out in the open on the green chain. “Gee!"’ said a boy’s voice then. “Give us Casey Jones, won't you, mister?” Elbert had rushed in from the Gilker- sons’. He and his friends had planned to go to a movie. But when Casey Jones was buried and his children provided with “an- other papa from the Salt Lake line’’ Elbert wanted another ballad. So we had the old woods song, The Jam on Gharry’s Rock, and Chris himself joined in with a mournful bass to help sing of the grand deeds and sad fate of “the foreman, young Munro.” “Now,” said Mrs. Ansen, “maybe your papa and his friend will play five hundred with you and Dorothy, and you will wait for the movie ti!] tomorrow night.” And so we sat down to the game, after Elbert had run out to tell his friends and had returned again That hour of cards in Chris Ansen’s home will always be a pleasant memory with me. Such a home, simple and unadorned, the creation of the hands of its possessors and their loving thought, seemed a marvelous and beautiful place. Its homely furnish- ings, bought with the savings from Chris’ wages as a laborer or made by his wife in long evening hours, had a dearer worth than their material. Here was a father, a mother and children whose natures made them agreeable to one another, I thought; here was a family who could live content- edly and cheerfully and have a comfortable home from the wages of common labor. Chris and his wife had worked hard and saved carefully to get their possessions; but now they had them, and they were still saving a little every month; they had enough in the bank to buy a small car, Mrs. Ansen had said. The main disturbance and trouble in their life came from Chris’ ideas, the ideas he got in his reading Bold Playing Chris and Dorothy were partners against Elbert and me in the game of five hundred. As the scores ran close Chris got a sharp in- terest in the game; the shadows left his face and the wrinkles about his eyes curved into lines of humor “What do you mean by leading out a low trump?" Chris frowned like a lion at Dorothy. “How'd you know your pap had right bower?” “What's the fun if you don't take a chance?” said Dorothy scornfully. “She's a reckless child; takes after her mamma,” said Chris, grinning at me. “Em breaks a dish regularly every six months just to be devilish.” “Why, Chris—what a thing to say!” She looked doubtfully at me, but the chil- dren and I were smiling with Chris. So she smiled, too, and said: “It does Chris good to talk foolish once in a while.” We were merry over the cards for the rest of the game, saying the things which have no meaning in themselves, but which serve to keep up a gay spirit when people are at leisure together. I thought my evening in Chris’ home had been a very good one, and I told him so as I made ready to leave. We were standing by the table, and his hand touched the pile of magazines, which had been pushed to a corner. His gaze dropped to them, and his EVENING POST face got its usual troubled, set look again, and the creases between his brows deep- ened. “I wish you'd take this one along and read it,” he said, offering me one of the magazines. “It tells all about the senator and shows up the newspaper lies about him. I don’t go much on any politician, of course; but here is one at least who has always made t sacrifices and has given his all in the Echt for us oppressed and ex- ploited men.” I put the magazine in my pocket and shook hands with Chris. Then I said good night to his wife and children. I told Mrs. Ansen it was a treat for me to pass an eve- ning in a real home, and I thanked her for my pleasure. She said again that she was glad Chris had found someone he could talk to, and asked me to come around any time. Chris came to the door with me. “TI do want you to read that,” he said. “You need to read more of the truth. Such men as the senator will bring out a real movement for the workers and farmers one of these days. Read what I read, and you'll see. Oppression, persecution and cor- ruption are everywhere; and rebellion is smoldering under the surface everywhere too. We've got to get ready for a great change.” Inherited Discontent As I turned into the street I looked back, and through the window I caught a glimpse of the room I had just left. Mrs. Ansen was putting her mending away, Dorothy was standing by the piano, Elbert was play- ing with the cards, and Chris was stooping over the literature that commanded his thoughts. I had a last flash of his face— somber, frowning, revealing his plagued and tormented soul. And the thought struck me that here was one thing in life besides physical misfortune that I had found to be genuinely pitiful. I knew that in my pocket there were stories written to excite pity and wrath, written with the purpose of stirring action against existing society. These stories, too, would show stooped laborers, slaves stooped under the blows of tyrannous masters and staggering under oppressive burdens. I had seen hun- dreds of such word pictures, drawn by imaginative radical writers. I wondered if they could dream of what a torment of soul their writings might inflict on a man who had blind faith in them. Here was Chris, a man who took life seriously enough at its best. Not being fitted by nature to rise in the world, not even having the knack of learning the means of a small success, he yet had tae qualities of a good husband and father, and he could work steadily and save money. Let alone, his ambition might have flourished in its own limits and he could have lived the more prosperous and con- tented life some of my other friends en- joyed. There is an inherent discontent and rest- lessness of soul in all men that normally makes them strive as individuais for more from life. It is this spirit in men like Chris which is captured and perverted by the noble and honest preachers of revolt. They teld Chris he was an oppressed slave; he believed them and lost his self-respect as an individual. They told him that the small comfortable successes which any man can attain in this land were evil deceptions, that they were bait for poor fish, traps set by the tyrants who prey on the weak; he believed them and scorned his work and the opportunities it offered. They wrote about labor troubles and betrayals of public trust and told him that class conflict and political corruption existed everywhere in the land; he believed them and saw every squabble and misunderstanding about the mill as flames of the hidden revolt, and he saw every phase of even common local politics as only another move of the master class to secure dominance of the machinery of gov- ernment. Chris lived for the most part in a world of woes, a world created for him by the great leaders who were sacrificing all for him. The facts of his past experience and the facts of his workaday wala were too simple, un- adorned and undramatic for him now; his heroes had spoiled any chance he once had of getting pleasure and profit from plain life. Laughed at by the more realistic men he worked with, inflamed by the wild talk that sometimes ran around the yards, often so lonely that his wife was delighted when he found someone to talk to, Chris was cer- tainly an unhappy man without sound rea- sons for unhappiness. November 1, 1924 When I got to my room I turned on the light and at once looked into the magazine Chris had given me, to see if I could find some justification in it for the unhappiness such publications give Chris and others of his kind. There were the usual stories of industrial troubles and recitals of political wrongs. Such troubles and wrongs hap- pened, I knew; how could they be avoided in a nation of 110,000,000 whose govern- ment is spread over every activity of the people? But they were sporadic, and di- rectly concerned but a comparatively few people; astrike was in one town among thou- sands of towns; a political wrong was one among innumerable and complex opera- tions of the Government. My own experi- ence and personal knowledge told me that the evils which filled the pages of this maga- zine were exceptional if true; I was sure that they were actua!ly rare enough to make any laborer and good citizen hopeful and quiet in his mind when he considered them in relation to the life about him. Most of the employers Chris and I had known were fair men who were quite willing to pay good wages for honest work, and neither of us had ever been in a strike. Our only contacts with government. officials had been with city and county officers and with perhaps a few members of the state legisla- tures and the like. But we had never seen one of these men who was glittering with gold taken in graft. Most of the other workers I knew would say the same. But the senator and his scribes and preachers insisted that —— corruption was the rule and not the exception, and that every man who worked with his hands was an ex- ploited and oppressed beast of burden. And the deliverers promised salvation unre- servedly; they were glad to sacrifice all for the sake of poor humanity. Well, as I sat and read this and thought of Chris and others who, like him, were liv- ing in this blackness of accusation, sus- picions and distorted facts, it seemed to me that the one sure effect of such writings was the torment of the souls of men who, through misfortune or through lack of per- sistence, patience and fortitude, had not got what even plain life had to offer. The radical writers and orators appeal to the man who has somehow failed, they place the blame for his failure on our political and industrial system, and urge him to help them change it. Whatever they may say, they cannot help but show an eagerness to get power themselves; they are profes- sional tormentors, and Chris and his kind are their victims. Letters From the Crew I wished I might help Chris, but I did not know what help I could give him. I threw the magazine upon the bureau; then I no- ticed a letter which had been brought in while I was gone. It was my first letter of acceptance from an editor. I considered it quite soberly for a long time. This was the first tangible result I had got from years of study, planning and dreaming. Now, per- haps, I could earn my living with a pen, be perfectly free, my own master. But as I thought on through the night about what I would do, necessities and re- sponsibilities and doubts and fears such as had never troubled me before, came to my mind. I must write about laborers, about the life I had known. Should I write about laborers as heroes? Well, I was a regular laborer; was I a hero? Should I tell only of their troubles, and pity them? Well, wouldn't I resent pity myself, think it im- pertinent? But just what was there in the life I had known that was grand, dramatic, colorful, terrible or pathetic? These quali- ties seemed to be demanded in popular writing; how could I put them into the dlain facts of the life I was to write about? erhaps I, too, would come to invent, color and exaggerate, like the scribes who glori- fied the senator. But I thought of Chris tormented men. I remained on the green chain for four months, pulling lumber at forty-one cents a thousand feet. Then I was able to leave my job and write. For many months now I have worked every day at a desk. It isa lonesome job, and I am glad sometimes when one of the old green-chain crew re- members me and writes a letter that begins, “Well, old kid, how’re you making it? I manage to keep kicking myself.” Chris wrote me once, condemning me because I did not help in the great fight. He said I was with his enemies. I am sorry he thinks so, for I like Chris and his family. tormented men,

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 40% Power Increase makes New Records 29 OF THE HARDEST HILLS FROM COAST TO COAST North Adams, Mass.— Mohawk Trail in high gear, turning round at Hairpin Turn and continuing climb, reaching top at 28 miles per hour. Newark, N. J.— Up famous Eagle Rock Hill and over the top at 20 m. p. h., with four passengers, in high gear. Kansas City, Mo.— Over Reservoir Hill in high gear. Cincinnati, Ohio— Over Sycamore Hill with three passengers, in high gear. Clifton Avenue Hill in high gear; over the top at 40 m. p. h. Syracuse, N. Y.— Over Arsenal Hill, from a standing start, in high gear. To the top of Standpipe Hill in high gear. Denver, Colo.— Over Lookout Mountain in high gear, with 3 passengers. A 7-mile climb, many sharp turns. Utica, N. Y.—Over College Hill at Clinton in high gear. Over Allegheny Mountains — Baltimore, Md., to Cum- berland, Md., and return in high gear. Also Hagers- town, Md., to Summit, Pa., and return, traversing seven different mountains, including Big Savage Mountain, 2890 feet above sea level and five miles long. Philadelphia, Pa.— Over Dodd's Lane, State Road Hill, Glenn Road and Gray's Lane, in high gear. Through the Green Mountains —Via Bennington, Wil- mington and Brattleboro, in high gear. Scranton, Pa.—Up Fairview Mountain at Carbondale in high gear. Troy, N. Y.—-Climbed Oil Mill Hill, and thence over Grafton Mountain, at no time under 40 m. p. h., in high gear. Albany, N. Y.— Up Swan Street and McCarty Avenue Hills in high gear. Also up the 4-mile Altamont Hill in high gear, five people in the car, minimum speed 33 m. p. h. San Francisco, Calif. — Over Twin Peaks Hill with two passengers, in high gear. New RuNs SHOWING FRANKLIN’S GREAT ROAD ABILITY Dallas, Tex., to El Paso, Tex.— 683 miles in 18 hours, 9 minutes, elapsed time, beating best train time by 2% hours. Five passengers, ~~ average 40.6 m. p. h., 603 miles between dawn and dusk. Marietta, Q., to Columbus, O.— 140 miles in 2 hours, 58 minutes. Average 46.8 m. p.h., breaking best previous record. New Haven, Conn., to Littleton, N. H.— 282 miles in 6 hours, 36 minutes, running time; average 42,7 m.p.h, Butte, Mont., to Spokane, Wash., and return, one man driving, 696 miles on mountainous roads in 22 hours, 7 minutes, elapsed time. Actual running time, 20 hours, 12% minutes. If you are personally familiar with any of these places, you will have a clear-cut idea of Franklin ability. But to know exactly and completely what the Franklin will do, go to any Franklin dealer. He will place a car at your disposal. You will be amazed at its performance and delighted with its comfort. This fine car can be purchased out of earnings instead of capital — divided payments. Ask your dealer. Begin your motoring enjoyment now. FRANKLIN

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58 Office Easy Chairs HES PHILA LPH A Friendly Chair When you welcome an influential business caller, it is well if you have a really friendly chair to offer him. A chair that puts him at his ease and bids him stay a while. A chair that is both good to look upon and to sit upon. When you have a long day's work before you, it is well if you have a friendly chair which keeps you comfort able~ not a hard hearted, crabbed chair continually nudging you in the back and digging you in the ribs, so that you arr glad to get up and give your cramped body a rest. Every Sikes Office Easy Chair is a sturdy, friendly chair which aids you in your work. Comfort is the first consid eration in the creation of every Sikes model. Its generous width between the arms, its roundness at every edge and cerner mean comfort. The distinctive design of seat and back is anatomically correct. Some chairs force the body to fit them. Sikes Office Easy Chairs are made to fit the body Any Sikes dealer can show you Sikes Chairs in a wide variety of woods and models. There are expensive and inex pensive styles. But all conform to the Sikes standard of workmanship, finish and comfort. Write for the names of dealers in your city SIKES COMPANY ruqimantts PHILADELPHIA in Buffate, a Sihes factory ia devoted ex- eclusively toe quality chairs for the home THE SATURDAY twenty-five dollars down on each of them and then stood around when the crowd came out and sold every last one of them over again for fifty dollars profit. You see I'd picked out the choice lots. and so I made six hundred on that “U m, ’ said grandma name? 26 “Keats B. S. Dodd,” he said. “What's the initials stand for?”’ “Madam,” he said courteously, “I will tell you anything but that.” Grandma Newton turned abruptly and looked on all sides of her, and then drew a step closer to Mr. Dodd “Somebody,” she said in a whisper, “‘is watchin’ us now. I feel eyes.” Mr. Dodd wasa practical young man,and, personally, he could not understand any- body feeling eyes; but his twenty-odd years of life had trailed itself in the midst of a pro- cession of people who had been capable of seeing and feeling and hearing innumerable things imperceptible to his senses or his emotions. Therefore he was not in the least astonished; nor, as another stranger might have done, did he question if she were afflicted with a hallucination. On the con- “what's your | trary. He regarded himself as abnormal, and why not? In all the world of his youth he had been the only individual of his kind, different from the poets and painters and musicians and critics who seethed and saw and argued in his family circle. He was the white frog. In a world of cross-eyed men, he with straight vision is deformed “How does it feel?” he asked with interest. “Like somebody was a-hidin’—slinkin’ and snoopin’ behind suthin—and watchin’, and watchin’ kind of malicious, with his eyes all squinted up.” ‘I guess it has to be born in you,” he said, embarrassed at his lack. “I just can’t manage it." His keen brown eyes flicked and darted over the adjacent slopes, bowlder-dotted. Somehow they reminded one of the little birds c alled flickers. “‘My mother,” he said absently, “‘ used to tell me I was as material as a— vacuum cleaner.” He spoke subconsciously, for his mind was with his eyes—thrusting flashes—and then he ceased to be at Grandma Newton's side and beeame a youthful figure hurling itself most efficiently across the pasture and down the slope. He filled the air with muscled legs ‘Ww ell!” Grandma Newton gasped. “Is he runnin’ away from, or runnin’ after?” It was demonstrated that he was running after, for in an instant a brown figure, crouching, flicked from rock to rock and then broke across the open to lunge down the steep descent to burrow in the thickets of young spruces in which «he brook hid. A hundred leaps behind, Mr. Dodd whisked in after him, ferretlike, leaving Grandma Newton in a state of acute interest and sup- pressing a desire to comport herself like a college student at a football game. By the time she had made up her mind to follow, Mr. Dodd reappeared, moving slowly and alone. He retraced in modera- tion the course he had taken down the hill- side immoderately, pausing here and there to scrutinize, and halting for a full minute behind the bowlder that had been the orig- nal shelter of the fugitive. When he emerged he dangled something in his hand. He vaulted the stone wall and stood at grand- ma’s side again. “Field glasses,"’ he said succinctly, wag- gling the leather case before her eyes. “I vum!” said grandma; and then, You don’t cale’late to let grass grow under your feet, young man.”’ She pursed her lips. “Thank goodness,”’ she said as an aside, “I’ve been brought up to dress with the shades drawed!”’ Mr. Dodd scratched the back of his excel- lent, sinewy neck and stared at the preten- tiousness of Amassa Newton’s house and the neglect of his grounds. It was a house which did not fit. There was too much of it in the first place, and too many doodads on its elevations. It had a fashionable look and obviously was not at home in West- minster. Then he studied grandma briefly and with approval that he withheld from her dwelling “Something,” he said,“ is going on around he re “* Prowlin’ and snoopin’ goin on. “Why?” that’s what's EVENING POST STILL FACE (Continued from Page 7) ” “Unless it’s boys cuttin’ up capers -—— grandma hazarded. “It’s not boys.” He gave his attention to the stylish residence again. ‘It looks,” he said, “like a house where anything might happen.” ‘It’s a house,” said grandma, “where things has happened.” ‘What things?” “Treachery,” said grandma, “and in- gratitude and death that come from heart- break; murder, though it wan’t done with a weapon and the law wouldn’t call it so, and theft.” “Ah,” said Mr. Dodd, as though this in- ventory of wickedness was about what he would have expected of such architecture. “Um—be sure. , You're rich,” he said, as one speaks who has followed a thread of reflection to the knot. Where,”” asked grandma, that notion?” “Treachery and ingratitude and those things you mention happen only within smell of money. And that house—who- ever built it had cash to waste.” His prac- tical soul spoke for itself. ‘“‘Lord knows, nobody would build it as an investment.” Mr. Dodd continued his deductions aloud, engrossed and forgetful of his companion. “*Men don’t watch a house with field glasses to count the shingles on the roof.” “If them men with opry glasses,”’ said grandma, “want a job lookin’ for money in that house, all they got to do is come to me. They kin hunt all they want to if they’ll give me half.” ‘All the trouble in the world comes from three things: Money, love—and pet dogs.” ‘Four,” corrected. grandma. “You got to add line fences. . . . Well, we hain’t got any money and we don’t own a dog and our fences hain't in dispute, and the way to come courtin’ ain’t by hidin’ behind a bowlder and starin’ with opry glasses. So there you be. . . Young man, d’you know anthine about machinery?” “Machinery,” he said, “is a part of my complex. In fact it’s what first drew atten- tion to it.” “Of your what?” grandma asked, squint- ing up her face. “*My complex.” “What” grandma punctuated with her nose and eyebrows— ‘‘is a complex?” “Really, don’t you know? Not making funofme? Why--er—everybody has them There is the (Xdipus complex and the in- feriority complex and—scads of complexes. They're a kind of oopus that hitches itself on you, and then you’ve got one and it regulates you like a safety valve—only generally they don’t seem to be safety valves, exactly.” ‘Up here we call ‘em whims,” said grandma with ready comprehension of a clean- cut exposition. “When I was six,” said Mr. Dodd, “they caught me running away to watc h a station- ary engine in a basement. [ never could break myself of it. Sometimes I’d go along for a month without seeing a wheel or a toggle joint or a belt or a counterweight, and then I'd give away and get caught in a regular debauch.” “Your pa and ma didn’t like sich a bent?” The expression of his face answered her. “The janitor of our apartment building was studying a correspondence course in mechanical engineering,”’ he went on, “‘and I finished that with him. I-—well, I couldn't restrain myself.” “Do you feel anyways sanctified or any- thin’?”’ grandma asked. “Er—not especially. Why?” “Because,” she said, “I cale’ late you're an answer to prayer. Put that thing back on your head and come along with me.” She dangled her key before his eyes, and then, with the v roice and manner of one who entices a child, “It’s to a buildin’ jam full of enjines and machinery.” “‘d’you git a ACK of either saddle horse or runabout compelled Faith Newton to that primi- tive mode of locomotion whose use nowa- days is to be recommended by physicians as a prescription. Its by-products of health and litheness and beauty had given over trying to carry on a war of attrition against her discontent with it as an advertisement of her poverty. Faith was in that malign state of mind wherein she despised what- ever she could possess and valued only what was beyond the capabilities of her November 11,1924 purse. Brooding upon the snatching away of wealth to which she had grown accus- tomed, she stranded herself on the belief that money was not only the greatest gift of God but the only gift worth bothering about. Which constitutes a slippery spot for a girl to stand upon. She walked down the long hill, very sullen, and blind to a day that had every right to her attention. It was one of those luminous days when light seemed to ascend from the earth rather than to descend from the sun, and the mountains were not moun- tains but gracious banks of green clouds, and all roads led to fairyland. Westmin- ster had chosen its valley with discernment. Presently she reached the narrow sidewalk that dipped into the village, and then she was passing the post office defiantly, for she believed everybody looked at her with hateful curiosity and pitied her. Here she took the road to the right. This was a road that any county might envy, for after it hurried past the squat ugliness of the Red Mill—-whose door stood open—it darted inward to have a look at the rickety dam, and then swept and undulated off to the westward through as fertile meadowland as ~the state Gould boast. It loafed along for a mile or more, when, of a sudden, it shook itself in two and both halves bounded up hill in a sort of dance. It was toward the half that played along Trout Brook that Faith was trudging. It was lonely there—a delightful place to carry and to nurse her resentment against life. Wheels and a rattle warned her that she shared the road with a vehicle; but instead of passing, the wheels stopped and a stac- cato voice whose mode of egress seemed to be exclusively through the nose, with the exception of sibilants on which the voice seemed to love to linger, addressed her. “Mornin’, Faith, mornin’. Heh. Out fer a walk, s-s-s-seems as though.” Faith glanced upward, resentful of the intrusion, and nodded curtly. “Want to ride? Lots room. Clamber right up.” “No, thank y “Um monet | to teller if I didn’t take ye. S-s-say, whatever’s gotintoye,eh? Growin’ up hain’t improved ye none to speak of. Uppity! Gol-ding! A body’d think a meat cart wan’t good enough fer ye. S-s-s-say!”’ Mr. Pinch rested his shirt sleeve on his knee and pointed his sharp nose downward at her, while he moved his upper lip back and forth, which set his mustache to twitch- ing grotesquely. Having studied her briefly, he twisted his long neck to scrutinize his canvas-covered cart as if to determine if the fault lay with it. Pride flowed in upon him. No, it could not be the cart, nor the steaks and roasts and chops which were its freight. ““Dag-gone good cart. Dag-gone good ow f Wan’t raised hereabouts. Western heef.”’ His eyes dwelt on his place of business with satisfaction, for he was an artist and therefore an autocrat. He permitted West- minster to buy its meat from him, and one was wise to use diplomacy, refraining from wounding his pride, for if he took offense one got no meat. It was his custom to drive up to each door and to shout ‘ Meat!” nasally. When the housewife emerged he would dismount, his butcher’s apron flap- ping about thin legs, and reaching under the canvas cover, select a piece of his wares. ‘Got a roast fer ye today.” “But, Mr. Pinch, we was calec’latin’ on steak.” “Um — Thereupon, with mustache twitching, he would replace his selection, turn his back and make as though to climb back onto his seat. “7 guess - mebby—we’ll take the roast, Mr. Pinch.’ “Ye better!” That was his sales method. effectual. Once more he aimed his nose—which had at the end of it a hint of a bulb—at Faith. “Who's the young feller?” he asked. “What young fellow?” “One your grandma’s got. Kind of upstandin’-like. Uh-huh. S-s-s-seen ’em gointothe Red Mill. Whatfer? Sellin’ it?” “T don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Um ——” If he eould not add to his supply of news, he could at least dissemi- nate what he already had. ‘“‘Ketched s-s-sight of S-s-still Face?” (Continued on Page 60) ” It was ce ay pe AL oe

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Co } of 25 towels for 1x (Continued from Page 58) “Still Face? Who is Still Face?” ““Mebby,” he said tantalizingly, “if your manners git more neighborly, I'll tell ye. . . . Heh! Nobuddy knows who he is and nobuddy knows what he is, but he’s moved into Weaver’s house yonder, and he’s a sight to see. Yes, ma’am. Don’t wear no hat. Looks like the ~_ riest of Isreelites or suthin’. Ye git one mae at him and his face kind of clutches ye—like that.” He illustrated how it clutched. “Grand- lookin’—-yeah. And white, like he’s allus kept indoors. Ye can’t think of nothin’ but peacefulness when ye look at him—that and a deep and abidin’ wisdom.” “But why Still Face?” “*Cause it don’t never change. Anyhow, nobuddy around has seen it change—not that folks has seen much of him. No, sir, | it don’t change no more’n the one on the granite soldier in front of the lib’ary.” “Ts he old or young?” “Couldn't say. Judgin’ from his hair, he’s young; but judgin’ from his face, he | could be anythin’ from twenty to eighty. Cur’ous feller. Won't ride, eh? | Huh! Uppity! Cold day before I as-s-sk ye agin. . . Faith waited for Mr. Pinch’s dust cloud to settle before she followed the road again; and now it was with a quickened interest, the uplift of curiosity. Still Face! West- minster was always apt at nicknames. It had time to develop a descriptive wit and an aptness of epithet. Faith strove to re- gain that resentment again in which she took so much pleasure, but found it crowded out of reach by inquisitiveness. If you live in Westminster you are inquisitive; you have to be; it is indigenous tothe soil. . . . Still Face! Who was this newcomer and why had he come? Did Mr. Pinch exagger- ate the qualities of his face? The Weaver house—that she would pass shortly—a fine old house, white and roomy, with green blinds and pilasters at the corners to con- ceal the spruce beams of which its frame was constructed. He must have rented it furnished from the Boston remnants of the Weavers who used it as a summer resi- dence. . . . When she passed it, it was almost like seeing a new house, for its occu- | pant gave it a character it had not possessed. It had become mysterious and attractive. Its blinds were shut and there was no sign of occupancy. She walked on, turning off to the left at the wooden bridge and leaving the road to follow Trout Brook upward to the huge bowlder upon which she took pleasure in sitting and brooding upon the ill will life bore toward her. The brook twittered and | tinkled and gurgled with its cool silvery | voice, and made itself very attractive, as mountain streamlets have a coquettish way of doing, while Faith settled herself with her back against the rock to take her morning’s enjoyment of despondency. The brook could not pause to look at her as it must have wished to do, but it gurgled compliments as it followed its destiny, and doubtless remembered her even after it had joined the river. Still Face! Deep and abiding wisdom! Might be twenty or eighty! High priest of the Israelites! Face that clutches you! Mr. Pinch’s descrip- tions repeated themselves in her memory and her imagination began to nibble at the personality that inspired them. It is a for- tunate man who may be so preceded. Thoughts, when not restrained by the will, run about like colts in a pasture, look- ing over this fence, then that fence, pranc- ing, shying, whisking their tails and frisking aimlessly. One of Faith’s thoughts frisked to the open door of the Red Mill, and then to her grandmother and the upstanding young man who had been seen entering it. She frowned with displeasure. Who Grandma Newton picked up now and what was she up to? Grandma had no sense of fitness and dignity. Well, whatever it was, she would put her foot down on it. “Signorina.”” The voice was deep, calm, not startling. She looked up and saw him standing there, stately, tall, bending a trifle from the waist upon which long slender fingers clasped themselves. His head was uncov- ered, but the mass of dark waving hair was sufficient protection. Faith knew him then, for there was no man in Westminster with such splendid hair; but when she looked into his eyes she was sure. Still Face! Of its pallor one first became aware, then of its oval beauty, then—by degrees and in wonder—of its serenity, its loftiness, its wisdom! Purity and aloofness and knowledge! With involuntary deference November 1, 1924 Faith arose to her feet and stood with a feeling of awe, almost of reverence. “The signorina is not at peace.” Faith made no reply; stood fascinated, silent. “T see resentment, bitterness, hatred,” said the man. “It is not well.” Faith’s tongue returned to her and she asked, flatly enough, for she was not at ease, “Who are you? Are you Italian?” “Because I spoke to you as signorina?”’ He spread his hands. “I might have ad- dressed you as Fraulein, as mademoiselle in Arabic, Chinese—I have no nationality. They are all one to me.” There was no play of feature, no expressed emotion—only stillness of face as he spoke. The eyes moved, the mouth uttered words, that was all. Perfect immobility, forever the same, as if carved out from some unknown rare stone. “What do you want? me here?” “Follow?” surprise, but no displeasure. aware of you until—now.” “You do not know me—my name—who I am? Then how did you know I was re- sentful and bitter?” He fixed his eyes upon her and held her until she was vaguely afraid. “I see those things,” he said at last, “‘as I have just now seen the cause for them.” “Seen? Where?” “Behind your eyes,” he said, you store your memories.” “You—you mean you mind?” “The mind is a printed page to those who have eyes to see. Shall I read for you? Listen!” He closed his eyes'and, with oval face uplifted, spoke in a soft, musing tone. “TI see regretted riches, trust violated, treachery. There is death and a flight, and hatred of the man who escaped. They are there, distinct, as is his face. I see resented poverty—-and a wish, a willingness. I see pride, humiliation. Are these not printed on the page?” She was frightened, affronted. “How dare you? How dare you peer and pry? What are you? Who are you?” “I am,” he said gravely, ‘“‘one who con- templates.” “Contemplates what?”’ “The ne and the end of things.” “Wh “To Ae free of the wheel of life.” “I—I don’t understand.” “Because you are tied to the wheel by resentment and hatred and covetousness.”’ All this was beyond Faith’s experience; it awed her, fascinated her—the mysticism and the glamour of it laid detaining hands upon her young imagination; and yet, be- cause her forbears and her heritage were such as they were— practical, material, self- contained and hard-headed—she was not convinced. Was this the language of one whose wisdom had carried him beyond the mysteries, or was it but the patter of a charlatan? She lowered her eyes by an effort of will and suspicion mounted; she lifted her eyes again to that beautiful, placid, lofty face and suspicion crouched and whimpered. She held her eyes upon the ground resolutely and undertook the unu- sual exercise of rational thought. The point that determined her to be suspicious was his presence in Westminster. If he were real, a great philosopher, a great thinker, a mystic—if, in short, he were what his face advertised him to be—what was he doing in this of all places on the face of the earth? She despised Westminster, revolted against the placid self-satisfaction of it and its con- tentment with monotony. It bored her; more than that, it chafed her rebellious spirit because it contained her like a prison, walling her in, shutting her away from the life she had only raised to her lips as it was snatched away from her. No; nothing real, nothing glamorous, nothing worthy, noth- ing to stir the imagination, nothing desir- able could come to Westminster; and so logic compelled her to dubiety of the genu- ineness of this arresting being. “What are you doing in Westminster?” she demanded. Again he lifted his hands. “Westminster? What are places—what is time? As well here as elsewhere, signor- ina. The mountains and the spaces. The quiet of illimitable distances. In a throng, jostling, pushing, trampling, one does not walk freely. So in your cities, amid your great populations, material thoughts jostle and push and trample. But here one may (Continued on Page 62) Did you follow The voice expressed grave “T was not “where can read my but also she was

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Wi egy ) ‘Wn OO NONAaaatineesogeneneasanesneeinil ANH aT esHitgHontatT TTC a Je THE SATURDAY EVENING POST aw Ve, Va. Ce aN a i i Ah \| aw a ea eas Ah: 4 PASSENGER COUPE -W CAV NAO ONS AI AIO ‘| ——— S ENGE JUPE : A NEW CAR A NEW SIZE - HE craftsmen who build the Ser#es 80 have in mind constantly the Pierce-Arrow cars they have always known. To them there is but one way to build a motor car. As they fashion their work with the skill attained through many years, they are unconsciously guided by what has gone before. r. They have set themselves a masterpiece to match. While the outstanding success of the Pierce-Arrow PIERCE-ARROW Series 80 7- Passenger Touring Car | $2,895 j (at Buffalo) ¥ 7 i , , i ; 5-Passenger Sedan $3,895 Pierce-Arrow Produdls include passenger cars of Series 80 Wheelbase . 130 inches 7-Passenger Sedan $3,995 ‘0, (ees: the Pierce-Arrow Dual Valor Six Sovies 89 Engine 6 cylinders os a > loeed Deive Li Fs a 2 and the Pierce-Arrow Series 80 in seven body ftyles Nea aad Semel : Belinne Tite aa oO 7-Pass. Enclosed Drive Limousine $4,045 Wises: neat lees awass Pierce-Arrow Standard Equipment Balloon Tires aa) a at Buffalo; Government Tax additional Heavy Duty Motor Trucks Pierce-Arrow Four-Wheel Safety Brakes « The credit facilities of the Pierce-Arrow Finance Corporation, a Pierce-Arrow banking inStitution, are extended to purchasers of Pierce-Arrow cars A NEW PRICE Series 80 is a matter of general comment, it is but the inevitable reward of twenty-three years of un- paralleled experience. That you may personally learn the character of the new Series 80, the Pierce-Arrow representative in your city will be glad to place a car at your disposal. A catalog will be sent you, upon request Tue Prerce-Arrow Motor Car Company, Buffalo, N. Y.

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thoughtful restaurant manager HEN you are served with milk bottled under a Perfection Pull and Hinge Cap you feel more certain of the restaurant in which you are eating. A waiter’s thumb does not open your milk, nor a fork, nor an ice-pick. And you can have the same clean- liness in your own kitchen. A month's free supply of Perfection Pull and Hinge Caps will be sent mail the you if you'l us See how they work on to coupon, a hinge so your children can drink through a straw at school or so you can partially use a bottle of milk and quickly re- close it without contamination. Just mail the coupon now. PERFECTION MILK-BOTTLE — Smith-Lee Co., Oneida, N.Y. Without obligation please send me a month's supply of Pertection Caps Address Manufactured ia Canada by THE ARIDOR COMPANY (Canada) Limited 245 Carlaw Ave., Toronto DRINK MORE MILK THE SATURDAY | (Continued from Page 60) | sit upon a hillside, turning his thoughts in- ward, becoming a part of the great silence. Therefore I came. It was not enough. What he said might mean something, but she did not under- stand it. “What is your—business? Are you a preacher? One of these funny new religions with swamis and yogis and Hindu things?” “Your religions,” he said, “are only the play of children standing on the shore of a great sea. Your preachers sail toy ships. I am no preacher. I have no religion.” “Then you don’t do anything but con- template?” Being what she was, she con- sidered this a poor occupation for a man. “What do you contemplate?” “The word which indicates word could define —is ‘infinity.’” In spite of herself, the personality of the man was fastening upon her. She did not understand; skepticism was the thread upon which her mer ad were strung, and instinct held up a warning hand; yet the serenity of that face, its purity, its un- worldly detachment, arrayed emotions against reason. ‘You do not understand,” “No.” “Ah, you will understand, signorina.”’ He closed his eyes and again lifted his face so that the sunlight, trickling through the leaves above, poured over it and illuminated its pallor. ‘You are of those who may understand. I see you free, signorina free, at peace, swept clean of resentments and of hatreds. Have patience yet a while and you shall live.” ““You-—you pretend to read the future?” “There is neither future nor past—time is not. If one remembers what you call the past, why may not one remember what you call the future? I see —— She stepped toward him, tense, excited, but no he said. ne conquered for the moment in belief “You see—what?”’ His eyes returned to her and he peered into her face with a strange, emotionless gaze. “Not yet,” yet. There remains the purification. Patience, patience.” With that he turned from her to seat himself upon the flatness of a rock, arms folded, head bent upon his breast, eyes closed to the world. He did not move, seemed not to breathe. In a matter of mo- ments it seemed to Faith that he had always been there, was age-old, contempo- rary of the mountains. She waited but he did not stir. She waited. Then, urged by awe, by fear, by some emotion which made that spot forbidden to her, she stole softly away. Still Face was not aware of her going. Immobile as the rock upon which he sat, oblivious, deep in the silence and the con- templation of infinity, he seemed to have withdrawn from a finite world. he said in a low voice. ‘‘ Not preparation — the signorina, iv HE door of the Red Mill stood open for the first time in two years—and | Faith Newton paused as she came abreast of it. Her grandmother was up to some- thing. The oid lady had threatened to re- open that dilapidated woodworking plant and to resume the manufacture of wooden spoonsand drumsticks and potato mashers and Grandma Newton had an uncomfort- able way of carrying out her extravagant threats, She seemed to have no sense of the fitness of things. It would be just like her to get herself up in overalls, to the everlasting disgrace of the family, and operate a lathe. Faith compressed her lips and walked across the road with stern intention. After all, it was her mill. Then she remembered the young man of Mr. Pinch’s gossip and hesitated. A stranger! Grandma would pick up and talk to the queerest people in spite of all her granddaughter could do to explain to her the impropriety of it. Faith compressed her lips and strode into the dusty cavern to put an end to all nonsense. “Grandma!” she called. “Grandma!” “What's wanted?” came grandma’s voice from spaces beyond the saw carriage. Faith's stern resolution carried her through ancient intainuiations of sawdust and shavings, under lopping belts and through a jostle of woodworking machinery which must have forgotten its skill during years of disuse, and in the end found her grandmother and a young man with their | heads bent over some small object they EVENING POST held in the intercepted light of a cobwebbed window. ‘It’s a chair rung,” said grandma in much the same way a scientist would have said it was a dinosaur’s leg. “Grandma!” said Faith. The old lady reluctantly tore her e away from the wood turning and pe ta the girl abstractedly; then she seemed dimly to recall the amenities. “Faith,” she said, “this is Mr. What’s- His-Name.” A little jig of laughter danced in the young man’s cyes. “We don’t pronounce it that way,” he said. ‘Our family always call it Dodd.” Faith ignored him elaborately. Humilia- tion drenched her. She was ashamed of her grandmother; she resented Mr. Dodd be- cause he was an amused witness of her humiliation--and because he existed at all_-which was perfectly reasonable. “What are you doing in here?” she de- manded. “Run along, child,” said Grandma New- ton, “and don’t be a hindrance. Mr. What’s-His-Name and me's talking busi- ness.” “What business? I’ve a right to know.” Suddenly Faith screamed and shrank against the resented young man. “There!’’ shesaidinawhisper. “There!” “Where? What?” asked Mr. Dodd sharply. “A man’s face—pressed against that window. I saw his white teeth — great white teeth. He was staring in at us.” Grandmaand Mr. Dodd bartered glances; then he sprang to the window and looked out. There was nothing to be seen, no movement, no skulker; but on the outside of the window, in the accumulated dirt, were the prints of fingers and of a forehead pressed to the glass. “Must have been mistaken,”’ said Mr. Dodd in a matter-of-fact voice. “Let's go to the office, Mrs. Newton, and see what we can find there. We may get some idea.” “Idea of what?” asked Faith, still trem- bling. “Of what they made here, and how much it cost to make it, and who they sold it to for how much,” said the practical Mr. Dodd. “Grandma Newton,” Faith said in a voice that should have frightened the old lady but obviously did not, “you're not really —really—- going ahead with that wild, absurd, disgraceful idea!” “T be,” grandma said succinctly. Then, “IT never knowed a Newton that didn’t prefer bein’ disgraced to bein’ hungry.” “Who is this man?” Faith asked nastily as she could manage. “How sh'd I know?” grandma countered. “Come along, young man. I ain’t int’r- ested in who he is, but in what he kin do.” With that they walked off and left her as though she were a person of no importance whatev oi What she resented most heatedly, strangely enough, was the abstracted man- ner ny r. Dodd. He had not noticed her. He had not looked at her. He had walked away without a backward glance. As she walked away from the mill there was at the back of her head a subconscious resolution to look in the mirror. Mr. Dodd and Grandma Newton went to the small room which had served as an office and dirtied their hands with ancient files and books whose covers had served many a hungry rat. These they studied for hours, tracing the history of the busi- ness, noting names of customers, prices, quantities and other matters of interest to pe ~ople setting out to adventure for dollars. “Um,” said Mr. Dedd, picking up a book of later date—‘“here’s a new bookkeeper. Some difference, eh? Now this was a good man. Who was he?” Grandma advanced her spectacles and looked; then she made a snapping sound with her lips and Mr. Dodd saw her face grow hard and somber. “Tt’s him,” she said. “Who?” “Carl Phillips,” said grandma. Mr. Dodd, waiting, saw grandma’s hands clench into fists, saw the bright old eyes glow with unquenchable hatred and dim with tears. “The man who murdered my son, said. “Murdered?” “With treachery and theft! Amassy took him in and give him work. Oh, he was smart! Amassy come to trust him like his right hand—and he was Amassy’s right hand. He got so’s he run almost everything of my son’s. Why, he lived in our house like he was born a Newton! And as ” she November 1, 1924 all the time plannin’ and schemin’. But I got suspiciousofhim,and I warned Amassy, but he wouldn’t hear to it—and then I got proof. I wan't to be bamboozled like a man. I got proof even Amassy couldn’t blink. They took him by surprise and all but ketched him, but he knocked two down and got into the hills. They chased him with horses.” Her voice broke. ‘He hain’t been seen from that day to this—and two hundred thousand dollars in Liberty Bonds went with him. It was wartimes. When Amassy got through settlin’ up— what with all them bonds bein’ gone, and the other money Carl Phillips had stole, and the heartbreak of it—the’ wan’t nothin’ left but the house and this old mill and a mite of money. That’s what Carl Phillips done. And Amassy died of it.” “They never caught him?” “Nary hide nor hair,” said grandma. “Well, that’s that,” she said with abrupt change of tone. “T got to go home and see that Huldy don’t set the bread to raise in the parlor. Here’s the key to this place if you want it. You nose around. Fetch the key back this evenin’ and you ’n’ me will talk business—if so be you're in- clined. Mebby,” said grandma, snapping her eyes at him, “you've kind of wambiel over that destination you was huntin’ for.” When he was alone with the mill, Keats B. 8. Dodd availed himself of that unchap- eroned opportunity to place himself upon terms of intimacy. He descended into the wet pit where hung the water wheel and counted the missing buckets. He penetrated the cobwebby engine room and did all that a man could do with hands and eyes to determine its potentialities. He checked up belting, let the eye of efficiency pass judg- ment on the conveyor system and carried on a separate flirtation with every piece of machinery in the place. Following this mechanical debauch, he locked the door and gave his attention to the dam, the log ard and the crumbling hot pond. From is expression it would have been impossible to hazard a guess at his conclusions. It was noon when he walked into the bank on the corner and opened an account, depositing in currency a matter of twelve hundred dollars, to which his original three hundred had increased themselves. “Moving to town?” asked the cashier. “Just pausing,” said Mr. Dodd, and dis- couraged further conversation by pocketing his pass book and moving away rapidly toward the hotel, where he was seated at the traveling men’s table. Here he was eyed by three traveling gentlemen, one of whom, after the soup, asked, “‘ What’s your line, brother?” “ Destinations, “Eh?” “‘Destinations,”” Mr. Dodd repeated dis- tinetly but affably. The three looked into one another's eyes, but found no enlightenment, and spent the remainder of the meal in speculation. Mr. Dodd arose first and the three stared after him. “H’'m,” “Them destinations, ofa patent medicine Seen ’em advertised.” Mr. Dodd sat down on the piazza of the hotel to smoke his pipe and to consider matters, but hardly had he found a com- fortable place for his feet on the railing when Mr. Pinch’s cart stopped at the hitching block. Mr. Dodd regarded the turnout with curiosity, for this was his first experi- ence of itinerant butchers. Mr. Pinch re- turned the curiosity with variations that only skill and long practice could have accomplished. Then he climbed the steps, half opened the door, closed - —_— and took the chair beside Mr. Dodd “How be ye?” he asked. “Well, I thank you,” said Mr. Dodd. ““Stoppin’ to the hotel?” “Yes " said Mr. Dodd. said the fat hardware salesman. now—they’re a kind -sort of a cough drop. " Long?’ . “What,” asked Mr. Dodd, “is the big mill down the river?” “Amassy Newton’s old mill,” said Mr. Pinch. ‘When he busted it was took over by Boston folks. . . . I seen you goin’ into the Red Mill with Mis’ Newton this mornin’. Didn’t know she was offerin’ it for sale.” “Is she?”’ asked Mr. Dodd. “IT dunno,” said Mr. Pinch, and the ends of his mustache flicked about like antenne. He had asked a number of questions in his best manner, and though this young man seemed to be answering them—-anyhow, he was talking—Mr. Pinch had received one (Continued on Page 65)

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| | | : (Continued from Page 62) direct reply and that with respect to health. He wondered if this young man were doing it on purpose; but he had not the look of one evading curiosity. Mr. Pinch persisted. “Knowed Mis’ Newton long? Come from Boston, didn’t ye?” “New York,” said the young man. “Lots of trees growing on the mountains.”’ Mr. Pinch had known the natural re- sources of his locality, but at least he was inducing statements instead of questions. “Lumber business?” he asked “It must be a very interesting way of earning a living. Who owns all of it?”’ “Different folks, but mostly this here Westminster Lumber Company, as it calls itself. Heard tell they tried to buy the Red Mill, but Mis’ Newton wouldn’t sell to’m.” “No!” said Mr. Dodd with encouraging interest. “Now what do you suppose that company wanted of the mill?” “ Anybody that knows anythin’ knows that,” said Mr. Pinch. “It was so’s they could control all the timber ‘in the valley ‘thout buyin’ it. Yes, sir, slick idee. So long ’s that miil’s here, the’ s a chance for folks to sell logs to it; but if "tain’t here they can’t sell now’eres but down below. One of these here monopolies.” “Tf I was this Westminster Lumber Com- pany,” said Mr. Dodd, “I'd be sorry to see the Red Mill running again.” “They would,” said Mr. Pinch; “and I bet ye they’d make it hot for whoever done it. That gen’] manager down there’s a slick feller, and meaner’n quinine on the tongue. I know on account of I used to sell "em meat for the boardin’ house.” “Most likely,” said Mr. Dodd, “any- body who started to run the Red Mill couldn’t get enough timber then.” “Off’n farmers and sich he could keep a-goin’. Might be kind of peckin’. Course, if he had money — “Yes?” “Why, the’s big pieces he could buy up that the lumber company is jest lettin’ lay, on account of they know they hain’t no- body but them to sell to.” Mr. Dodd removed his feet from the rail —— and smiled affably upon Mr. Pinch. ’ he said, ‘‘seems to be a town where people are practical. I noticed the stone soldier in front of your library.’ “It’s been admired,” said Mr. Pinch. “It gives assurance,”’ said Mr. Dedd, in the voice of flattery, “‘that art has made no serious inroads upon you. ‘ I hope the meat b susiness is flourishing. Er—good afternoon.’ Mr. Pinch stared after him; he was con- scious of having imparted considerable in- formation, but his own mining had brought to light only three nuggets: Mr. Dodd was well, he came from New York and there were trees growing on the hills. He scratched his head, snapped his mustache from side to side and could not account for his failure with so simple and talkative a young man. It was early evening when Mr. Dodd dropped the knocker with which Amassa Newton had ornamented his front door. Instead of being admitted by a servant, he was surprised and made not a little uncom- fortable to see the door opened for him by Faith Newton. “Good evening, Mr. Dodd,” she said; and then, with a disquieting directness, ‘I was waiting for you— because I want to talk to you before you see my grandmother.” Her manner was inauspicious, and the cold formality of the room into which she let him did little to allay his perturbation. She walked very straight and stiff-backed; her chin was set and her eyes forbidding. Mr. Dodd thought to himselt that here was a girl with a great aptitude for making people uncomfortable. “Mr. Dodd,” said Faith, “my grand- mother has been talking to you about this ridiculous scheme of hers to operate the old mili, has she not?” He felt like some bug impaled upon the hatpin of her eyes. “‘She— mentioned it,”” he admitted. “‘T waited for you to come,” she said, “‘to put an end to it once for all—to tell you it is impossible.” “I’m quite sure the mill will run,” he said, feeling that he must say something, and then aware that he had selected the wrong thing to say. “I am not in the least interested in whether the mill will run,” she said coldly. “T merely wish to tell you it must not run. Therefore you will oblige me by telling my grandmother that you will have nothing tc do with it.” “T see. That is, I mean to say—you don’t want the mill to start up?” “T think I have made myself clear.” “You have. Yes, indeed. You have been perfectly ert — perfectly. But — “But wh “Why don’ t you want it to run?” “It is enough that I do not,” she said, feeling that she was overpowering this em- barrassed young man; but he took his turn at 79 hae her. “Tt’s—um—not enough for me,” he said, “Wh-what do you mean?” “Why, in effect—don’t you see?—that your desires in—ah—a business matter of this kind are extraneous—not germane unsupported by a reason.” “Is that,” she demanded hotly, “a roundabout way of telling me it is none of my business?” “It did sound like that, didn’t it?’’ he said with an ingratiating smile, whic h she noted but disregarded. ‘It wasn't exactly what I meant; but as we used to say when we played hide the thimble, you were warm.” “You are rude,”’ she said. “No, I’m practical. It’s my besetting sin. What is your reason?”’ “The idea! The absurdity of an old woman like my grandmother operating a mill! The whole county would laugh at us!” “Is that your only reason?” “Tt is enough.” He shook his head. “It isn’t a practical reason,” he said. “You mean that you won’t do as I ask? And you claim to be a gentleman!" “T haven’t,” he said. “I haven’t claimed anything. Does a gentleman always do whatever a—young woman asks?” “He should.” “Even if it is unreasonable?” “A gentleman,” she said loftily, be above asking a lady’s reason.” “You may be right,” he said. ‘I don’t know any gentlemen. Only poets and painters and authors and sculptors and musicians—and, when I could sneak out, engineers and 'pricklayers and mechan- ics. . . . Is Mrs. Newton ready to see me now?” Faith gasped. That she was nonplused did not quench the flame of her rage or dim the flaming signal of her scarlet cheeks. Her rage was as much at the feeling of help- lessness of which she was conscious as at the affront this young stranger seemed to offer her. She could not understand him, for he was outside her experience. He seemed embarrassed, ill at ease because of her presence and of her demands—but for all that, very steadfast and immovable. He made her feel singularly futile and she hated him for it. It was her desire to blast him, to shrivel him with her well-bred scorn; but she was only twenty, and each moment of her rage decreased her maturity by a year. She leaped to her feet like a small, petulant girl at the end of a childish quarrel. ‘You— you — you’re unspeakable! You're a boor! Why, w herever did even my grand- mother pick you up?” She paused for a breath. “‘ But you shan’t do it—you shan’t! I won’t have it!” “It’s business,”” he said with a certain eagerness and not without diffidence, “‘don’t you see? And I have to consider it on its merits.” “Oh,” she cried, and stamped her foot, just as Grandma Newton entered. “Oh, you’re here?”’ she said. “Faith must ‘a’ let you in. I declare I didn’t hear you. . . . Well, Faith, how was you and Mr. What’ s-His-Name gittin’ on? “We weren't,” said Faith. “No, Mrs. Newton, we weren't, and that’s the truth,” said Mr. Dodd in a wist- ful voice, not unmarked by bewilde*ment. “Somehow we didn’t get on at all. Ah haven’t you found your granddaughter is sometimes er—a little unreasonable?’ “Once in a blue moon,” said grandma, “Faith contrives to be reasonable. She’s kind of economica! of it. Kind of laid in wait for you, didn’t she, to warn you about me and my notion about the mill?” “would THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Faith glared at them with eyes shooting | sparks of animosity. “If you do this,’ she said, “I'll make you regret it to the last day ‘of your lives.” Upon which she made a tempestuous exit. Grandma seated herself coolly, her granddaughter’s tantrum shed from her mind as negligible; but not so Mr. Dodd. He was worried and perplexed and un- happy. He felt he might have done better, made himself clearer, put his position into words that would have showed him in a more enviable light to Faith. Not that she mattered, but he disliked the idea of his own inadequacy. “Well?” asked grandma, He held out the key to the mill. “It’s kind of attractive to me,” “but my mind isn’t made up.” “That child didn’t make no difference?" “Not the least,” said Mr. Dodd, who really thought he was telling the truth. he said, “T just want another day to look over the | lay of the land.” “In that case,” said grandma, “we'll jest set and visit, and before you git ready to go home I'll put on a drawin’ of tea, and I got a fresh batch of sugar cookies.” “Yes’m. . . . Many Italians in town?” “None.” “None? But I saw a couple—ma three. Little men. South of Italy cher looked. You—er—-know the Sicilian bene.” “TI don’t know nothin’ about furriners— and precious little about home folks.” “T was just wondering about the local labor market,” he said. Then, “By the way, have you, during the da felt anybody watching you again—like this morning?’ “‘T have been too busy to feel anythin’,’ said grandma. “No man in the house?” “The’s me,” said grandma. Before ten o'clock Grandma Newton produced tea and delicious cookies, and in effect shooed Mr. Dodd away. Early hours were a passion with her--and very needful these past nights when she had been awakened by noises after midnight. She retired and slept. The clock, striking twelve, awakened her and she got up to take her station at the window, kitchen tinware close at hand. There was a half hour’s silence, then a stealthy sound. In the murk below she fancied she saw a figure move, and dropped her kitchen utensils with a crash. This drowned out other sounds she might have heard, such as a grunt of surprise, the trampling of feet, a cry of pain. But presently she was aware that somebody rapped. “Who's there?” she demanded. “Mr. Dodd,” answered a voice that did not sound exac tly as his voice should sound. “1 think you'll have to let me in, He's gone. It’s all right.” She lighted her oil lamp, for electric lights in Westminster do not burn after ten o'clock at night, and descended the stairs. She was a bit apprehensive about unbolting the door, but got through with it as quickly as possible and opened it the merest crack. “Be you sure it's you?" she demanded. “I'm certain,” said Mr. Dodd, and she opened the door wider. Mr. Dodd came in, not with springy step, not erect and speaking of youth and health as she knew him, but crouching, tottering a little, with right hand pressed to the other shoulder and blood streaming through his fingers. “It’s—nothing—much,” he said, but his lips were white. She slammed the door to and bolted it. Mr. Dodd was sitting on the floor now and was very pale indeed. “What kind of a dido you been cuttin’ up now?” she demanded, as if didoes were his regular habit. “I waited around—to see--if there really—-was anything,” he “said faintly. “And there was. He got away.’ Grandma had been getting him out of his coat and working his shirt away so she could get a view of the source of the blood. “Why,” she exclaimed, “it looks like a stab wound!” “He had a knife,"’ said Mr. Dodd, and his head began to droop. Then it lopped and Mr. Dodd lay in a rather crumpled and awkward position on the floor. “Now how ever * grandma said to her- self, “be I a-goin’ to git him into bed? And we don’t want no gossipin’ doctor neither. Um-—now what in tunket has come over the face of things? Fust time I ever had a young man stabbed on my door step. Huldy! Oh, Huldy! Slip on your kimoner and git down here quick!’ (TO BE CONTINUED) In the panel below the links af this sensible Simmons Chain are shown twice enlarged ‘QUALITY’ ifs explainable in this WATCH CHAIN How orten is “quality” an in- definite term, meaning little or nothing at all! But it is rightly applied to a Simmons Chain, for it means longer wea: better looks and more security It is the natura) result of fine designing, detailed for the watch, care in making and the Simmons special process of manufacture By drawing gold, green gold or Platinumgold over a stout base metal, we offer you a watch chain that is not only durabk and beautiful, but remarkably reasonable in price. At your jeweler's—$4 to $15. R. ! Simmons Company, Attleboro Mass. Canada —95 King Street Kast, Toronto, Ont a 2% — This substantial shell of wold is drawn over a core of base metal in the making of every Simmons ' Chain. From the original ingot ¥ (illustrated actual alze) until the emallest link has been wrought out, the ratio of gold to base metai ie constant With this special Simmons process durability and clean-cut design follow naturally ¢

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Walk-Overg THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE VALUE OF LAND AND OF RAILWAYS (Continued from Page 27) SHOES V/or Men and Women Why is this the best- fitting shoe made? It has exclusive features that give it a per- sonal, made-to-order fit. It is made in styles to fit every known shape of foot. You will find your own personal model at the Walk- Over store. It will be good-looking. It will be comfortable. It will keep its comfort and good looks because it has the exclusive Walk-Over personal fit. Gro, E. Kerth COMPANY, CAMPELLO, BROCKTON, MASs,, U. S. A. Quality for Halfa Century Walk-Overs fit at the heel and inkle. The exclusive Pear-shaped heel is narrow at the top, and extra wide atthe bottom where your heel isextra thick. It has room for your heel to expand when your weight is upon it. The grip at the sides, not a pressure at the back, makes Walk-Overs fie without gaping. Walk Qee peur wiped heel grip. tightly A. lowing rex Reguluy heel —not wade enough at B. Pressure from our weight expands the p, leaving a gap at A The Walk-Over Main Spring* Arch is made of handtempered steel that gives flexibility to the tread. The scientific design,which gives re- silient support, can be concealed in astyle shoe. It looks normal. It feels normal to the normal foot. To the foot that needs support, the Main Spring* Arch gives correct support. *Patented, Reg. U.S. Par. Off Many Walk-Over styles are made with the Main Spring* Arch | questions, redound to the benefit of the public has come to life again in these pro Is to limit the value of railway land to its cost. This controversy over the value of rail- way land has been raging now for almost twenty years. During that time we have had many valuations of railway property. These brought the increase in value of railway land before the public. Attention was fas- tened upon this, while the general rise of land values went unheeded. There was a maximum of loose talk about the burden laid upon gd we a by this growth in the value of right of way; and there was a minimum of definite information and of facts. Even, in 1911, so sane and hard-headed a public official as the Honorable Franklin K. Lane discussed seriously the suggestion that it | would be wise for the Government to pro- tect its people by taking over these railway | properties at present value rather than await the day, perhaps thirty or fifty years hence, when they would have multiplied in value | ten or twenty fold. He went on to observe that it had been estimated that the increase in land values of one railroad involved in the Spokane rate case amounted to approximately $150,000,- 000. All this oceurred in 1911. Since that time the Interstate Commerce Commission has valued the land and other property owned by the railroads. The Commission has also sought to determine the original cost of this land to its present owners. It has not been possible to find the entire cost, and the Commission has disallowed all items which could not be proved beyond any doubt. Yet for this railroad which Mr. Lane cited the Commission found a value of land in 1917 amounting to less than $85,- 000,000. It found items of cost which could be established beyond doubt amounting to $35,000,000. This gives an increase in value of less than $50,000,000 from the time of acquisition to 1917. It shows how absurd was the estimate that the increase had been $150,000,000 to 1911. Despite the fact that land values in the territory through which this road runs had increased at a rapid rate from 1911 to 1917, the final in- crease over cost for the land of this road was less than one-third the figure which had been so glibly used in 1911. Some critic once said that he liked Joseph | Conrad’s novels because he pushed his characters through the door and let them speak for themselves. That is exactly what we need on this question of railway-land valuation. Let us push the facts through the door and let them speak for themselves. 1. C. C. Valuations A letter from the secretary of a county | farm bureau in Iowa recently inquired con- cerning the pertinent facts needed to pass | judgment upon this question of railway- land values, which has become a political issue in this campaign. He wishes to know how much of the nearly $20,000,000,000 valuation that has been tentatively placed upon the railway systems of this country is made up of valuations of land used for rights of way in cities and towns and out in agricultural regions, or in the two combined if there are no separate figures for town and country rights of way. He also asks: “About how much greater is this present valuation of such rights of way estimated to be than the probable original cest to carriers of such rights of way?” While the Interstate Commerce Com- mission has not yet completed and made ~ all its valuations, it has proceeded ar enough with that task to enable one to arrive at a pretty accurate answer to these Of the $20,000,000,000 valua- tion placed upon the railroads of this coun- | try, about $2,650,000,000 is made up of the valuation of land. Most of this land is used for rights of way in cities and towns, and in the agricultural regions. But about $400,- 000,000 of this pertains to noncarrier land. Approximately one-eighth of the value of right of way and terminals is located out- side of cities and villages, This means, that | only $350,000,000 of this land consists of right of way located in rural territory. Nat- urally the proportion of rural land varies widely upon the different roadsy It amounts to almost 20 per cent on some of the large roads, like the Rock Island, which traverse agricultural territory. In the case of the November 1, 1924 New York, New Haven and Hartford, rural lands were only 1 per cent of the total valu- ation which the Commission placed upon the company’s land. For thirty-eight of the large systems lo- cated in all parts of the country, from Geor- ia to the Pacific Coast, and from Texas to ew England, the Commission found a total value for carrier lands of $325,000,000. Of this amount $37,000,000 was rural land, and $288,000,000 was located in cities and vil- lages. This group includes such diverse roads as the Central of Georgia, the St. Louis Southwestern, the Great Northern, and the New York, New Haven and Hart- ford. The concentration of railway-land values in the larger urban centers is evi- denced by the fact that the 11,000 acres which these thirty-eight railroads owned in cities having a population of 75,000 and over had a value of $165,000,000. The 110,000 acres which they owned in towns of less than 75,000 had a value of $123,000,000. Comparative Increases The original cost which the Interstate Commerce Commission has been able to establish beyond question will amount to something more than $1,100,600,000. The total increase in value which will be included in the tentative valuation of the Commis- sion is, therefore, close to $1,500,000,000. It must be borne in mind, however, that we are here comparing the present value of all the land owned by the railroads with the cost which could be established beyond question. For a considerable amount of this land no cost could be found, or it could not be proved conclusively enough to be included by the Commission. Some of the land was donated to the railroads by the Government as land grants or by individ- uals who desired to see the roads built. But a great deal of it cost the railroads con- siderable sums of money which cannot be traced at this time because of imperfect or destroyed records. This $1,500,000,000 of increment in railway-land value compares with a figure of $28,000,000,000 in the increase in farm-land values even since 1900. The value of farm lands, exclusive of buildings, in the state of Iowa alone rose from $1,256,000,000 in 1900 to $6,699,000,000 in 1920. After the de- cline of 27 per cent which has occurred dur- ing the past four years the value of all farm land in Iowa is $4,875,000,000. This still leaves an increase of more than $3,600,000,- 000 since 1900, as against an increase over cost of $1,500,000,000 in all railroad lands of the United States. In North Dakota the value of all farm lands exclusive of buildings rose from $173,000,000 in 1900 to $1,279,- 000,000 in 1920. This land hasa value today of more than $1,000,000,000. It is true that this increase is due in part to greater acre- age, but the land in farmsis only alittle more than twice as large as it was twenty-four years ago, while the value is still six times as great. In Iowa there was an actual de- crease in acreage. In Texas the acres df improved land in farms increased by 50 per cent. As against this the value of farm lands without build- ings rose from $591,000,000 in 1900 to $3,- 245,000,000 in 1920, and today still stands at $2,400,000,000. The facts in these states prove how inconsequential is the increase of railway-land values when compared with the increment which has been enjoyed by other landowners. It is clear from these figures that the rail- roads are not receiving an extortionate increment of value. The increase in land values which has been allowed them by the Interstate Commerce Commission is far less than that which other people have en- joyed. If the people in the various counties knew the value which the Commission has actually placed upon railroad right of way in their communities the criticism would vanish overnight. Take, for example, Washington County in the state of Iowa, which is the home of Senator Brookhart. The Rock Isiand owns 812 acres of land in that county outside cities and villages. The Commission valued this rural right of way at $134 per acre. The census placed a value upon the farm land of that county, exclu- sive of buildings, of $43 per acre in 1900, of $104 in 1910 and of $221 in 1920. The (Continued on Page 68)

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ee eae ne T LAST marcelled Claude is reunited to blond Ella. The old homestead is saved and Sir Jasper takes his crime-ridden soul and his incredible hat out into the night and a bitter paper snowstorm! In the theatre of to-day such a scene would be greeted with shrieks of laughter, but it stirred the public of a past decade to wild applause. The curtain of public favor has fallen on the old crude melodrama, but it has only begun to rise on movies and the radio. It has fallen on the buggy and the red plush sofa. But it has risen on the automobile, electrical equipment and the phonograph. Everywhere experts and specialists are planning new inventions that will command public favor. Scientists are working at new processes that will change buying habits. NW AYER @-SON ADVERTISING HEADQUARTERS, PHILADELPHIA CHICAGO SAN FRANCISCO NEW YORK BOSTON SATURDAY EVENING POST ies ee ae But those who would anticipate or develop the favor of the public by advertising must do more than collect scientific data, collate facts and figures and establish lines of com munication to original sources. The advertising agency which will ade quately serve and counsel a client must also keep alive that sixth sense which detects in tangible changes in public thought. It must keep in accord with changing tastes and new viewpoints. It must know what people are doing and thinking. It must draw on the experience gained only by years of continual contact with buyers and sellers in order profitably to suit a commodity to a market. For after all is said and done, markets are simply people. And the human mind ts, now as always, a variable and changing quantity.

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‘Drink it throug Stone's Sanitary Straws Pour ; different! nomage t the hibidares to be original inal touch of dain a Stone s Straws te drink. Dainty ler--tinted they are Mlizin r Made and itely by machinery, Mlucely sanitary Stone's Straws when ochildren. Straws ne. Your druggist them in handy, toc several weeks’ home a Home For fountain ind, spill-proof hox f ISeone's St: aws msSure gutl ountand ruarantad perfecti " The Sto Sera ee Ce eel | ing to the census. THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 66) value of all farm land in the county in 1920 was $60,000,000 higher than it had been in 1900. The total valuation of all the land of the Rock Island, including the terminal lands in Chicago, was $41,316,125. The Great Northern Railroad enters the state of Icwa at the northwest corner, and runs through the three counties of Lyon, Sioux and Plymouth, into Sioux City. The road has 897 acres of right of way in these counties located outside of cities and vil- * lages. This was valued by the Commission at an average of $138 per acre. The average value of all farm lands in those counties was given as $174 per acre by the census in 1920. It was valued at $96 in 1910 and at $36 in 1900. Nor is this discrepancy in the increase of railway-land values as compared with farm land values limited to states like Lowa, where prices are unusually high. In North Dakota the Great Northern Railroad has 35,024 acres of land in rural districts. This was given an average value of $32 by the Inte srstate Commerce Commission. All farm land exclusive of buildings in the coun- ties which this railroad traverses was worth on the average $41 per acre in 1920, aecord- In 1910 it had been $27, and in 1900 it was $13. . All the land, rural | and urban, which the Great Northern owns in North Dakota was given a present value of $3,272,795. The original cost which the commission found for this land was $1,557,- 371, or almost one-half its present value. In Nelson County, which is a typical agri- cultural section with no towns 4 any size, the rural right of way of this railroad, amounting to 1595 acres, was valued at $29.50 per acre. The census placed the farm land in this county at $45 per acre in 1920. In 1910 it had been $29, and in 1900 it had been $9. If railroads are to be treated like other properties, and are allowed to share in the increase of values which comes from the growth of population and production, there can be no doubt of their right to the in- crease which is being allowed them by the Interstate Commerce Commission. A Grotesque Theory Anyone who has followed these figures cannot help noticing that the increase in | railway land has been much smaller than | that which other property has enjoyed. The | reason why the increase of this land over | original cost as shown by the Interstate | Commerce Commission is less than the | rise which other lands have enjoyed, even since 1900, is to be found in the fact that a railroad must commonly pay more than the going market value which land brings when | it is sold in ordinary lots or in entire farms. The railroad must have a continuous right of way, located in such manner as to give favorable grades and reasonable construc- tion costs. It is well known that when the roads buy land it costs them several times as much per acre as could be secured for the land if it were sold for ordinary pur- poses in lots or* parcels of conventional shape or size. Because of this the original cost per acre of acquiring the land, even for roads which were built in the 70’s and the 80’s, was commonly greater than the value which surrounding lands attained for a number of years thereafter. What the Interstate Commerce Com- mission has allowed the roads, then, is a value for their property no greater, and in many cases less than that which prevails in the community today. Since the railroads paid several times the surrounding land fd 3A hl dB EVENING POST value when they acquired this property, they have not snicued so rapid an increase as have other owners. Yet there are those who would deny even this increase to the railroads. The argument for their conten- tion is that the character of the land in the right of way is changed by the fact that it becomes dedicated to a public use when the railroad acquires it. This is true, according to this point of view, because the railroad is performing a function of the state, and in 80 doing it is exercising governmental pow- ers. They hold that the moment that land - —— to a public way it ceases to be and, Thus far neither the Supreme Court of the United States nor the Interstate Commerce Commission nor Congress has given any support to this bizarre legal principle. Railroad Economics The value which the Interstate Com- merce Commission has placed on railway land is, then, less than $1,500,000,000 in ex- cess of original cost; and it is certainly vastly less than the amount which would have to be expended in acquiring a right of way and terminals at the present time in the communities which these railways serve. Compared with the total increase of $28,000,000,000 in farm land values, and with an increase of much more than that amount in the value of land located in cities and villages, during the past twenty years, this increment in land vaiues en- joyed by the railroads since the date of pur- chase many years ago is trifling indeed. The total increase which is allowed them under this valuation comes to only about 2 per cent of that which other land owners have pa during the past twenty years. The total railway property of the country, in- cluding buildings and equipment as well as roadway and land, amounts to about 6 per cent of the nation’s property. This was fixed by the census at $320, 803, 000,000 for 1922; and it is greater than that today. The Tailroads are valued at roughly $20,- 000,000,000. Almost 5 per cent of the num- ber of people gainfully em “eres in this country are in the service of the railroads. It is clear, then, that this industry has lagged behind owners generally in partici- pation in the increase of land values which has come with the growth of population, wealth and well-being. Nor is the amount of land value to be supported by each ton of freight carried any greater today than it was twenty-five years ago. In 1899 there were 501,000,000 tons of freight originating in the United States. The great mass of land owned by the railroads had already been acquired at that time. If $1,000,000,000 of the original cost be apportioned among this freight, it comes to $2 per ton; and a 6 per cent return thereon would amount to twelve cents for every ton of freight originating. In 1923 the number of tons originating was 1,303,000,000. When this is compared with the value of land of $2,650,000,000 it is again almost exactly $2 per ton. The amount which would need to be collected from each ton of freight in 1923 to support the value of railway land as fixed by the Commission is, therefore, no larger than in 1899. The labor costs of transporting a ton of freight have more than doubled; the material costs are more than twice as high; the taxes are three times as high. But the amount of land value per ton transported remains the same, despite the fact that every ton of freight was carried a much greater distance in 1923 than in 1899. November /, 1924 ‘tne reason is, of course, that the rising land values which have been granted the railroads have no more than kept pace with the increase in the nation’s production. Everything that is produced in this country involves transportation, both for the raw materials used and for the finished products. The output of our farms measured in phys- ical units is 38 per cent greater than it was at the beginning of this century; the vol- ume of mining output is three and one- third times = and of manufacturing output is two and three-fourths times as large. This increase in production has naturally brought with it an increase in economic well-being and a rise in land values. But the increase which is allowed the railroads has not outrun the nation’s product which must be transported, nor has it increased in any measure the freight rates per unit of output. In this respect the relation of railway- land values to freight rates is quite different from the relation of commodity prices to farm aad city land values. The phenomenal rise in the prices of farm lands between 1900 and 1910, which continued until 1920, was the direct result of an increase in the prices of farm products which began in 1897 and continued uninterruptedly for thirteen years. During that period the prices of farm products increased 87 per cent. After 1910 there was a lull in rising prices, which continued until the European War once more swept them upward in 1915. By 1920 they stood at a level almost four times as high as in the closing years of the last century. The price level for farm products at this time is still more than twice as high as it was in 1900. According to the Department of Agricul- ture the total value of all farm products, excluding those used for seed and fed to animals on the farm, rose from $3,549,000,- 000 in 1900 to $6,607,000,000 in 1910. In 1924 it will be $12,000,000,600. This is three and one-half times as large as it was in 1900, and maintains the price of farm lands at a point three times as high as it was then. It was the price of the farmer’s products which drew the price of farm land up after it. A Sound Principle In the case of the railroads the increased value of land has not contributed in any measure to the rise in freight rates. From 1900 to 1917 the rates did not rise at all. The increase since that time was necessary to cover the rising costs of labor, materials and taxes per ton carried. For the next decade there is no prospect of another advance in the general price level. Land values will be maintained at their present levels, and will probably see some slow and orderly increase with the growth of population and production. The output of our industries will continue to grow, and the number of tons of freight to be transported will keep pace with produc- tion. The amount of land value which each ton of freight must support will therefore decline in years to come, for production will surely increase more than land values in the next decade. In the meantime there is nothing in the facts concerning railway- land values which warrants a departure from the principle laid down by Mr. Justice Hughes in the Minnesota Rate Case, when he assumed that the railroads were entitled to a reasonable share in the general pros- perity of the community which they served, and thus were entitled to attribute to their property an increase in value. “ Su ir Bd Bas Bs ad bee a nats Fee o- SS a ES ar ae ms

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Jhis different OIL STOVE Anabundance of quick gas B URN O I . of the finest gas range. Is heat forevery cooking need bringing new cooking con- .—this iswhat the RepStrar venienceand more pleasant gives. It isan oil stove, but Get kitchen hours to millions of different. It burns kerosene e homes beyond the gas main. oil without wicks. But it There is a size of Rep cooks with a heat as in- Sas SEVVICE Star for every need—two tense and as even as gas to six burners. There is a — produced by the patented Rep Star all- price for every purse. See the nearest Rep metal burners. Star dealer. If you do not know him, write Rep Srarsets the high standardofoilstove _us for his name and a copy of the Rep Star beauty and cleanliness. Equalsthe best work _ book. THE DETROIT VAPOR STOVE COMPANY, Detroit, Michigan ©) RED STAR Detroi t Vap or OIL STOVE G+ f €& at

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November 1, 1924 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

. & A: a y 2 io 4 3 2 > Be 3 ss 2 : > ® 2 2 Q

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ST A NNN A mms eert ~ a THE SATURDAY EVENING POST COAL | | | | | | | a s SS aes = 88) .45 Domestic ee oundry Blast urnaces Breeze or B yiler Fuel The chart above shows the by-products derived from coal at the River Rouge Plant and their utilization for Ford manufacture. SAVING MILLIONS | Light Oil Benzol \ | Artificial Leather Ammonium Sulphate-for Fertilizér Industrial Purposes and City Consumpt By Robbing Smoke of [ts Waste To feed its two 600-ton blast fur- naces at the River Rouge Plant, the Ford Motor Company built and oper- ates a battery of 120 modern type coke ovens, consuming 2,160 tons of dry coal daily. The first instance of this being done within the automotive industry— it has effected important economies in handling and transporting. fuel and has resulted in the conserving of valu- able by-products. From the vapors of these ovens are obtained about 26,000,000 feet of gas per day; 18,000 gallons of benzol (mo- tor fuel ) ; 60,000 pounds of ammonium sulphate, used for fertilizer; 16,000 pounds of tar and 4,500 gallons of re- fined oil. Most of these are turned back into the Ford industry for use in various stages of manufacture. No heavy plumes of smoke roll from the tall stacks above the main power plant. For smoke is waste, and waste is unpardonable by this company’s standards. The economy program of the Rouge Plant which includes many other rec- lamation and salvage projects is typ- ical of that which has been enforced throughout every step of Ford Produc- tion. The annual saving is tremendous —one of the big factors making it possible for the company to give such high quality in its products and sell them at the present low cost. Ford fotor Company, Owning and operating coal and iron mines, timber lands, sawmills, coke ovens, foundries, power plants, blast furnaces, manufacturing industries, lake trans- portation, garnet mines, glass plants, wood distillation plants and silica beds.

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Your daily pound of danger HrALTHY pores continuaily give off poisonous excretions. If this is not removed, the pores be- Your system Over a pound a cay. come clogged. becomes sensitive to colds. Wright's Hea’ th wear protects you. | nder- The wool in every ab- sorbenc y of the Wright garment ‘s increased by the patented loop-stitch with which it is knitted. It bs all excre- instantly absorb: tions and leaves your body dry and warm all the time. With Wrighr’s Health Underwear there is no need to fear winter's most vicious shor ks. The conducting. The body cannot go we ol 1S non- reat of your mit. Pene- trating cold cannot creep in It helps to keep you free from colds. Don’t take a chance this winter. Get Wright's Health it comes It keeps you warm. Underwear to-day. in all pure wool, in worsted, in cotton-and-wool mixtures. light one to Your choice of heavy, or medium weights suit any preference, any cli- matic condition. Union suits and separate garments, Write for booklet, “Comfort.” It ts full of in facts about Wnght’s Underwear. our teresting Health include your And ask favorite store. WRIGHT'S Health Underwear FOR MEN AND BOYS Waicnt’s Unperwear Co.,, 74 Leonard Street, New York City Mills at Trov, N. Y. Please dealer's name. about it at ‘vour Inc. Per ever forty years, the fivest of underwear THE SATURDAY EVENING POST November 1,1924 INSIDE INFLAMMATION “You just quit worryin’, Brother Potts, an’ count on me. Ise gwine fix things all | right.” | idly. But J. Caesar feared that he was boasting It seemed that he had undertaken a | task which savored of the physically impos- | sible. Conscious belligerence was some- thing of which Welford was simply not | capable, and yet —— “He's got to do it. My whole organiza- | tion is — go flooey if he falls down now.” The day on the lot was not a signally | happy one for J. Cesar Clump. He watched | Welford off the set and on, and rew heart- that gen- sick at every fresh indication o ability. tleman’s undoubted _histrionic | Worried as the little actor was, he yet suc- ceeded with each scene in throwing off the depression which gripped him and of pro- jecting himself into the slapstick comedy with such hilarious effect that even the hard-boiled cameraman laughed. “‘An’ tha’s the feller,””’ mourned Clump, “that ol’ Latimer craves to fire.” Orifice made it quite plain, too, that he intended to brook no procrastination, Be- fore ending work for the night he walked on the set. “Tomorrow,” he announced, “us takes the big scene where at Opus and Welford have their fight. I want all of the company heah early to git ready, ‘cause if that scene ain't no good the pitcher is rotten. Good night, folks; sweet dreams.’’ And with the “sweet dreams” his eyes focused upon the cowering figure of Welford Potts. J. Cesar Clump took his problem home | with him. An element had entered into the | situation which turned the director’s soul | to iron. | ably the right of the director; | himself and Cesar. Orifice Latimer had presumed to usurp certain powers which were inalien- Orifice had dared make it a personal issue between Therefore if Mr. Clump | was to retain the authority necessary to his | friends, continued success, he must emerge victo- rious from this clash. Must—but how? “Ev’y plan I gits that is all right is all wrong,” moaned the harried director. ‘I wisht I was lyin’ six foots underground whiffin’ lilies.”’ He dined in lone misery at Bud Peaglar’s Barbecue Lunch Room & Billiard Parlor, where he greeted his friends with curt and distant nods. Invitations for a sociable evening were coldly refused. Even Florian Slappey’s pot oh suggestion that a spend a couple of hours shooting Frene | pool at two bits a game was turned down. “Somethin’s eatin’ on Cesar,” pro- claimed the superb Florian to certain “an’ whatever it is has suttinly got | an elegant appetite.” From Bud Peaglar’s, Cwsar returned to his pretentious two-room apartment, where he donned a flowered lounging robe and gave himself over to an orgy of thought. He conscripted every atom of brain power | he possessed and set it to work, but the | devious trails he followed pore to be | mental cul-de-sacs; each plan broke its | neck against the brick wail of impossibility. And then, just when it seemed that J. | Cwsar Clump was doomed to disgraceful defeat, the great idea came to him. It came | suddenly and full-panoplied, and at first it le ft the director dazed and gaspin “Hot dam!” he muttered, would work!” If! It seemed too good to be true, yet if it on’y | the more he thought it pver the more feas- ible it seemed. He paced the room nerv- ously, viewing the proposed scheme from every angle; and as he thought, the stern expression departed from his colorado- maduro countenance and in its stead ap- peare,i the ghost of a smile, which zradually expanded into a full-fledged grin and came into the world in the form of loud and tri- | umphant laughter. I knowed mind was gwine triumph over matter, an’ the bigger the mind—which is mine—the less it matters. Brother Welford Potts, you is gwine git saved in spite of yo'se’f, an’ I is the man I got it! | which saves you.” He changed feverishly from lounging robe to sack suit. He trotted downtown to the office of a doctor friend in the Penny Prudential Bank Building in Eighteent Street. Fortunately the gentleman of medi- cine was in. To him Cesar outlined his scheme and at his recital the M.D. began to chuckle. He gave the scheme his un- qualified indorsement and then requested (Continued from Page 25) rmission to attend the hostilities the fol- day. When Cesar rose the doctor ied his hand. “Mr. Clump, I am proud to have talked with you. Brains are the most things you possess in your head.” From the doctor’s officé Ceasar made his way to the corner drug store. His purchase there was very simple, and quite interesting. He bought fifteen cents’ worth of volatile oil of mustard and he chuckled as he left the store with the innocent-looking vial. His next objective was the studio of the Midnight Pictures Corporation, Inc., an old abandoned warehouse which had taken a new lease on life. The night watchman knew Cesar and greeted him respectfully. ‘Workin’ late tonight, ain’t you, Mistuh Clump?” “You sho’ expostulated somethin’ that time, my man. Ise wukkin’ late an’ Ise wukkin’ impawtant.” He entered the dark and cavernous re- cesses. He pressed a button and the lights flashed on, disclosing a scene of wild dis- order—-new sets and old sets; sets in proc- ess of construction and sets in process of being demolished; wires squirming across the floor like great black snakes; lumber, furniture, what not. But the disorder— organized disorder—held little interest for J. Cwsar Clump at that moment. He picked his way across the cluttered space and paused before a dressing-room door. Inseribed on this door was the name of Welford Potts and immediately above that name was blazoned a large star. A skele- ton key gave access to the director. He closed the door carefully and snapped on the lights. Then he worked with swift and efficient purposefulness. From a hook he removed a weird-looking garment of wool. It was quite lengthy and uncompromisingly black. Cwsar held it at arm’s length and gazed upon it with sincere affection. “Ideas which I has got! Wrastlers’ trunks!” Wrestlers’ trunks they were—one solid ‘rae of material calculated to fit the stellar orm of Mr. Welford Potts from wrists to toes. “What goes in heah,” mused Ceasar beatifically, ‘‘ain’t nobody gwine see.” The task of turning the trunks inside out was a trifle more complicated than at first agnor: But eventually it was accom- plished, whereupon Cesar took the first step in the execution of a Machiavellian scheme which was calculated to make Wel- ford’s job safe for Welford. Giving careful heed to the expert medical advice recently received, Cesar placed on the inside of the woolen wrestling suit a score or so of drops of oil of mustard. The points at which these drops of fire were placed were selected scrupulously; each was a strategic position and the effect was calculated to fill Welford with enormous enthusiasm when the Opus Randall fight should start the following day before the all-seeing and merciless eye of the camera. J. Cesar did an artistic bit of work, and when the oil of mustard was duly distrib- uted he swung the trunks about his head until quite certain that the drug was thor- oughly dry. Then he turned the tights right side out again, hung them back on the wall and inspected closely. There was, in truth, a faint aroma which had not been there before; but J. Cesar was quite cer- tain that this would not be noticed by the unsuspecting Mr. Potts. “By tomorrow it’s gwine be dry th’ough, an’ when Opus commences th’owin’ Wel- ford aroun’ an’ Welford begins to perspire, then ol’ Mistuh Oil of Mustard is gwine take the directin’ right out of my hands.” All the way back to his apartment Mr. J. Cesar Clump was clortling with unholy glee. He was positive that the oil of mus- tard, so cunningly placed on the interior of Welford’s eee costume, would impart to that gentleman an unnatural eagerness for combat; and though Cesar confessed to himself that the measures pursued were rather drastic, there was no slightest doubt in his mind that the end justified the means. After all, it was a poor director indeed who would throw up his hands and confess him- self beaten when the president desired to discharge his most valuable male star. The following morning J. Cesar was on the lot early. There Welford Potts found him. Upon the countenance of Mr. Potts was a lugubriosity which made the sur- rounding atmosphere soggy with gloom. “TI ain’t gwine make a good fight of it, Cesar. Ise skeered.” “Shuh, boy, you ain’t got nothin’ to be skeered about. “Yes, I has. Orifice Latimer is a ready heah an’ he has done tol’ me that di’n’t I fight Opus hahd my job was gwine be ain’t.’ “Words what he talks with his mouf. You just stick arounc, Welford; I'll look after you.” “You mean that, Cesar?” “Suttinly do. I promises you faithful that I’ll handle things so as Orifice Latimer will be salisfried.’’ “What you gwine do?” “Nemmin’ what Ise gwine do. willin’ to trust me?”’ “T shuah is, Cesar. You is a fine friend fo’ a feller to have.” “Boy, you said it!” Welford turned away. “T’ll git dressed in them wrastlin’ trunks.” “No; stick around with me. Gittin’ dressed now might put ideas into some- body’s haid. You just hang aroun’ until I say fo’ you to git into those coschume, understan’?”’ “T does. I ain’t cravin’ to git into them graveyard clothes no sooner than I has to,” Cesar sought Orifice Latimer. “Mistuh Latimer, ev’ything’s chicken,” “Says which?” “T got it all fixed. bo plumb ene you is heah so you can see fo’ yo’se’f ow much injustice you has done po’ Welford Potts.” “Huh! Nothin’ ain’t injustice to that po’ jellyfish.” “You is a good pesca Orifice, but you ain’t no judge of men. You just watch Welford.” “You bet I wili!’”’ “On’y one thing worryin’ me. S’pose Welford beats Opus Randall up so bad Opus cain’t work next week.” Orifice flushed. "What you tryin’ to do, little man, kid me? “Never would try to kid you, Brother Latimer. Ise se’ ious.’ “You is craz “All right; e’s see.” He glimpsed a ponderous figure wadding across the lot incased in a moth-eaten bath robe. Im- mediately the shrill voice rang out: “ us!’ Welford’s co-star turned and grinned. Cesar beckoned and Opus came. “*Mawnin’, Mistuh Latimer. ’Mawnin’, Cesar.” “*Mawnin’, Opus. You all dressed?” Mr. Randall flung back his dressing gown, disclosing a huge paunchy figure clad in wrestling trunks of ocher shade. Cesar put hands over eyes. “Great wigglin’ tripe! You looks like an accident goin’ somewhere to happen.”’ “I is,”” murmured Opus confidentially. ‘Fo’ six months, Cesar, I has been lookin’ fo’ a chance to git even with that uppity Welford Potts, an’ today is my day.” “What you mean?” “President Latimer tol’ me he wanted this fight between I an’ Welford to look reelistic, an’ Ise shuah gwine give him what he craves.’ Inwardly Cesar chuckled. “Tha’s Just what I has called you over fo’, Opus. I know you an’ Welford don’t love each other none, an’ Ise puffectly will- ing you should beat him up, specially as i i make a swell pitcher fo’ us. But just one thing I requests—don’t go too hahd on him at fust. Staht off slow until Welford gits a chance to git warmed up, then go as strong as you like.” “Sweet orders which you issues!” “An’ another thing, Opus: ' You take good care that Welford don’t git away. Seein’ as you-all will be wrastlin’, it’ll be easy enough to hol’ him tight. Mos’ likely he’ll want to git loose an’ run.” “He won’t never git loose fum me. I'll hold him with one hand and wailop him with t’other.” “Tha’s talkin’! Give him hell!” “ Hell’s cool to what he gits.” Cesar turned smilingly to the president as Opus waddled importantly away. “You see, Orifice, I has suttinly fixed things.” Mr. Latimer turned a puzzled eye upon his director. “Does Welford know how thoughtful you is taking care of him?’ (Continued on Page 74) Is you

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q@ JOSEF ha eae oe Oe AT. eS THE SATURDAY EVENING POST STEINWAY > oe = NWAY THE INSTRUMENT OF THE IMMORTALS From under those miraculous hands a Chopin Nocturne ripples in delicate, lacy perfection. A Liszt Rhapsody becomes a thing of glamour and passion. A shadowy theme from Debussy assumes delectable contours, gleams with cool, floating light. Here speaks the immortal genius of great composers. And here, also, under the touch of a master pianist, speaks the glorious voice of a great instrument—the Steinway. Long ago Hofmann chose the Steinway as the one perfect medium for his art. Rachmaniaoff knows how exquisitely it interprets a subtle nuance or a profound emotion. Paderewski knows how mag- nificently it responds to his imperious de- There is a Steinway dealer in your community or near you through whom you may purchase a new Steinway piano with a small cash deposit, and the balance will be extended over a period of two years. * Used pianos accepted in partial exchange. Prices: $875 and up Plus transportation. Steinway & Sons, Steinway Hatu 109 East Fourteenth Street, New York City . mands. Levitzki, Cortot, Grainger these are but a few of the celebrated pianists who, if only sincerely artistic motives are involved, invariably choose the Steinway. To meet the requirements and acoustic conditions of every home, the Steinway is made in numerous styles and sizes. Each embodies all the Steinway principles and ideals. And each returns to those who buy it, not only unending pleasure and delight, but the definite gift of perma- nence. You need never buy another piano.

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A few years ago a comedy was “just a comedy” in many picture theatres. You had to take your chance on what you would see when you went to the movies, for the words “and a comedy” were often all the informa- tion you obta:ned in the the- atre advertising Today you can pick your comedy as well as your feature. Educational Pic- tures have put the comedy on the same basis of quality production as the best fea- tures. And the best theatres not only select their come- dies with the greatest care, but also tel! you about them in their advertising and in their iobby displays. You can be sure of the best comedy for the Whole Fam- ily if you watch for the Educational Pictures trade-mark in the theatre lobby For Educational presents this year the greatest array of comedy stars ever gath- ered together—Larry Se- mon, Lloyd Harmilton, Bobby Vernon and Walter Hiers, in their own pictures; Lige Conley, Ruth Hiatt and others in Mermaid Com- edies; Jimmie Adams and Nea! Burns in Christie Com- edies; Al St. John in Tuxedo Comedies; Cliff Bowes and Virginia Vance in Cameo Comedies, and a host of lov able kids in Juvenile Com- edies. And you will find fun, novelty and the latest news in the Earl Hurd Cartoon Come dies, Lyman H. Howe's Hodge Podge, and Kinograms, the news reel built like a newspaper. EDUCATHONATI LAF EXCHANGES, Ink 7 ae «ss 2 Nelsen 448-44 THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 72) “We-ell, not ezac’ly, but “Yeh! An’ when he finds out he’s gwine | run away, an’ then —— “Trouble with you, Mistuh Latimer, you ain’t got no confidence in me.” “You ain’t doin’ the fightin’. An’ if this scene ain’t good an’ rough, Mistuh Welford Potts ain’t gwine have no mo’ job than a worm.” J. Ceasar Clump smiled an enigmatic smile. “You watch,” he counseled cryptically. Mr. Orifice R. Latimer had absolutely no intention of doing anything else. He hov- | ered around the set like a buzzard near a prospective meal. There was a voracious light in his eyes, and in conversation with Opus Randall he amplified the instructions of the director anent the degree of mayhem which should be committed upon the terri- fied and unsuspecting Welford Potts. As | for that gentleman, he gloomed about in his dressing room clad only in his misery. | J. Ceasar Clump was with him—“ Kinder | chaperonin’ you into yo’ clothes, Welford.” ” “Oh, lawsy! “Don’t you go to frettin’. things.”’ Ise fixed “No buts. Ev’ything’s ready. Just you climb into them tights an’ come with me, Might as well git it over with.” “You talk ike I was gwine be hung.” Eventually they came to the set, an im- provised amphitheater. Within the eye of the camera were grouped all -members of the organization plus certain extras who offered their services gratis. In the fore- ground was the buxom lady who was cast in the rdle of picture heroine. Opposite her was the camera and near the camera stood Orifice Latimer. He hungrily eyed the sadly deficient figure of the approaching Welford. Welford sensed that the crowd was not unlike the gatherings of old Rome when the gladiators came forth to do battle. There was a tenseness on the set, a subtle feeling that something genuinely dramatic was about to happen. This was an idea | which the director deliberately had fostered. The tense expectancy of the dark faces was | not simulated, it was startlingly real. No — that the scene would be a success. | ‘Thus far there was no hint that the vola- | tile oil of mustard had commenced to func- tion, which was just what Cesar desired. “When that cullud boy gits to per- spirin’ ——"’ He tarried not, neither did he hesitate. He summoned to the ring the principals in | the wrestling match. He was a bundle of | nerves, barking orders here and there, | coaching the extras in the parts they were to play, explaining to the lady star the de- gree of interest she should register. “This stahts as a wrastlin’ match fo’ the lady’s hand an’ money,” he told them. An’ you bofe loves her so much that you craves to ’sterminate each other. Is that plain?” “T’ll say it is!’’ Opus Randall seemed to comprehend clearly. ““N-n-n-n-not really ‘’sterminate,”’ haz- arded Welford eartully. “Co’se not,” reassured Ceasar. make it look good.” He walked with Opus to that gentleman’s corner. “Don’t you let him git away, Opus.” “Not a chance.” “A’ right. Ev’ybody set?” A general nod. A final quiver of terror from Welford Potts. Then the voice of the director crackled through his megaphone: “Ready! Action! Cam’ra!” The combatants came to the center of the ring. Welford put out a gentle, ten- tative hand. Opus grabbed it and clinched. Welford’s eyes rolled. “Not so hahd, Opus.” “T ain’t gwine hurt you. git warmed up.” “Just C’mon, le’s us EVENING POST Welford’s puny figure was locked in Opus’ embrace. Came the directing voice of J. Ceasar Clump: “Tha’s good! Tha’s fine! Now wrastle around a bit, you fellers. Le’s git a per- spiration up.” Thus far the scene was far from satis- factory and Orifice Latimer was peeved. His basso profundo beat upon Welford’s ears: “Little mo’ action there, Brother Potts!” Welford tried his pitiful best to oblige. His slender figure wriggled and squirmed. He panted an struggled, and Opus stayed with him. J. Ceasar Clump leaned forward interestedly; he saw tiny beads of perspi- ration on the little man’s forehead. Wel- ford was doing his best—when suddenly a ball of living fire touched his right thigh. He wriggled fiercely. “Hey! Lemme Toeust O-o-ouch!"” Cesar howled enthusiastically: “Tha’s it, Brother Potts! Now you is fightin’! Hold him, Opus!” The eyes of Mr. Welford Potts popped wide open. The terrific burning on his thigh was no longer only on his thigh. He was stabbed in the back by a jet of flame; another pierced the calf of his ieft leg; still another crawled over his tummy. “Hey! Leave me go, Opus! of me!” And Cesar shouted orders: “Stick with him, big boy!” The big boy stuck. He grabbed Welford more tightly than ever. But now stark terror had ripped Mr. Welford Potts. The oil of mustard was functioning at top speed and Welford felt the urge for sudden de- parture. Poor Welford didn’t know exactly what was happening, but he did know that he desired it to cease. He fought and kicked and tore. Opus clung tighter and tighter. Desperation gri Welford. He gathered the idea that his agony was di- rectly due to his opponent, wherefore Mr. Welford Potts inaugurated a battle for freedom. And Welford was good. He doubled his puny fists and battered them upon Opus’ a countenance. His voice pealed forth in wild and eerie shrieks which punctured the atmosphere and set the spectators dizzy with enthusiasm. Then Opus Randall got mad. No longer did he require the hysterical advice of his director to make it look realistic; Welford Potts adequately had taken care of that. There started on the stage an epic battle. Opus manhandled Welford, but Welford didn’t seem to mind. As a matter of fact, Mr. Randall’s most stalwart attack was as nothing beside the effectiveness of the few drops of oil of mustard with which the in- terior of his wrestling trunks had been flavored. “Lemme go!”’ howled Welford. ‘“‘ Lemme go or I'll pe Wham! His right landed on Opus’ nose. That organ protested redly. “Bust me on the nose, will you?’’ Mr. Randall was fighting in scarlet earnest. “Take that! An’ that! Hey! quit chewin’ my ear!” For several moments Orifice R. Latimer stared pop-eyed at the shambles, Then he drop a respectful hand on Cesar’s shoulder. “Boy,” he murmured apologetically, “they suttinly is fightin’.”’ “Shuh! They ain’t even stahted vet. Just stick aroun’ a while.”” Then, loudly— “Hold him, Opus!” Opus was holding; but he was holding now for self-protection. Mr. Randall was frightened. Every time he released hand or foot of Welford the temporarily emanci- pated member came to painful rest upon some vulnerable portion of Mr. Randall’s protuberant anatomy. It never occurred to Opus that Welford craved flight; he fancied that their personal grudge was being settled then and there by a suddenly berserk man who was thirsting for gore. “Leave go of me, you big, fat —— O-o-ow!”’ . Leave go November 1, 1924 Thespectatorshowledandraved. Amaze- ment and delight shared equally in their expressions. The calm, critical eye of the camera missed no detail. The men on the platform pitched about, locked in a grasp which Opus feared to loose. And finally Opus’ voice came pitifully from the mélée: “Hey, Cesar, make him quit beatin’ me up. Ise all in.” “Hop to it, Welford! Attaboy!’”’ No sympathy from the director. Around and around they lurched. The poser strength of each was well-nigh ex- austed. They were breathing with diffi- culty and their heads rolled about on their necks. Welford was suffused with fire—all he knew was that he was burning up. He was scarcely conscious that Opus was swatting him. nd then —— “Cut!” Cwsar’s voice boomed through the studio. He and Orifice leaped forward and separated the combatants. For an instant Welford Potts stood tee- tering on the balls of his feet. Then he saw an opening in the warehouse door and through it he vanished like an ebony me- teor. J. Caesar Clump turned in grinning triumph to President Latimer. “T guess you fires Welford now, eh?” Orifice was graceful in defeat. “TI was all wrong, Cesar. Mistuh Potts is a wonder which has a job with us as long as he wants. Sufferin’ side meat, how that boy can fight! Tomorrow mawnin’ I apol- ogizes to him pussonal.” Cesar left the studio. He mounted his flivver, which was parked at the curb, and started for the boarding house of Mr. Wel- ford Potts. He overhauled that gentleman halfway. Welford was zigzagging down the street, slightly worse than all in. Cesar bundled him into the car and took him to his own apartment. There, by main force, he stripped the pungent garments from the stricken wrestler and anointed the burning body with cold cream and lard which had been stocked against this emergency. And at length Welford Potts received some sur- cease from his pain. He sat up on the edge of the bed and turned puffed and inquisitive eyes upon his director. “Well,” congratulated J. Czsar, ‘I fixed things fo’ you, didn’t I?” id which? ” “T fixed things.” “What you mean—fixed things?” Briefly J. Cesar explained. For an in- stant the light of murder flared in Welford’s eyes, then died. After all, as Cesar ex- plained, what was done was done, the ordeal was over. “Orifice Latimer is gwine 'pologize to you in pusson tomorrow. An’ instid of gg fired you has got a job with us fo’ ife. I hated to do you thataway, Welford, but it was plumb nessary. An’ I’ll han’ you one thing, boy—you shuah fit noble.” Slowly Welford Potts straightened his slender figure. A new and vast dignity settled upon him. “Yeh,” he agreed, “‘I guess I did. Then he finished meeeecney: “An’ Opus done pretty good himse’f.”’ An hour later Welford swaggered down to Eighteenth Street with his friend and director. Welford was not at all averse to the piaudits which he knew would be show- ered upon him and he was eager to display the new pride which had resulted from his he-man exploit. To have whipped a man ninety pounds heavier —— They paused in front of a hot-dog stand. “Le’s eat,”” suggested the director, and Welford agreed. They posed at the counter. J. Cesar Clump gave the order—‘‘Two hot dogs.” The man behind the counter inserted two succulent Wieners in a pair of crisp rolls. Then an idea came to Mr. Welford Potts. He leaned across the counter and spoke with intense feeling. Said Mr. Potts to the hot-dog man, “‘Don’t put no mustard on

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GRAND RAPIDS, MICHIGAN Branch Offices ond Salesrooms 11 East 36th St., New York City 312 Weat 10th St., Los Angeles Preston Furn. Co., Ltd., Preston, Canada and is not easily | No Necessity for Glass or | | of that game. I | Rich Clubman | for Heartbalm, for | older than you,” | said Mrs. Boggs, | should play what | the room and we | ous pleasure. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST SHORT TURNS AND ENCORES twenty stab wounds on the body, so the theory of suicide was scouted.” I listened with rapt attention as Mrs. Boggs narrated the details of the famous crime to her little daughter. At times the child would interrupt with a question, and I was amazed at the keenness and alertness of her mind. “Didn't they find calcification of the pituitary gland?” she asked. Then the conversation turned from crimes of violence to lighter topics. “Why,” said Junior, surreptitiously emptying the saltcellar into his father’s coffee, ““does a chicken cross the street?”’ “I give up,” said Boggs. “Because he wants to get on the other side!’’ exclaimed Junior triumphantly. I was not prepared for what followed. Boggs and his wife became rigid, and with loud shriek: fell over backward on the floor, where they lay prone and motionless for a few seconds. I was frightened for a moment until I realized that this was merely the usual comic supplement of parents to the bright remarks of their progeny. Mr. Boggs showed me through his house. The walls were hung with framed portraits of the heroines of celebrated divorce and breach-of-promise suits. Some neighbors dropped in during the afternoon and we played merry games, taken, as Mrs. Boggs explained to me, from the woman's page of The Evening Mongrel. We were in the midst of a jolly game which consisted, as I remember, of writing down | the names of all the European rivers that | begin with the letter W, when little Clara | burst weeping into the room. ‘“‘What's the matter, dear?” said her mother. “Brother won’t play with me,” she sobbed. “That’s a dastardly canard,” said brother, who entered directly after her. “She wants to play Follies Girl Horse- (Continued from Page 28) Mithridates An Oid Tate With a Modern Morat OW of Mithridates Let me tell the glories. To the broad Euphrates Spread his territories ; Westward did his armies come To the site of Troy. Evidently he was Some (As Livy puts it) Boy. Customs then prevailing Let us not be blind to. Poison was a failing Society inclined to. Poison in the soup had done For Mithridates’ kin; Mithridates was the one Who had put it in. Wise old Mithridates Wouldn't stand for fooling ; Till his early eighties He intended ruling ; In his childhood he was fed Poison from a spoon; He had trained and dieted Till he was immune! Vitriol and sirychnine, Hemlock and bichloride, Others quite as sickenin’, Equally as horrid, He would take dilute or neat With gusto lickerish ; He liked carbolic on his meat, Ammonia on fish. When his little nieces Were discovered pressing Glass, in little pieces, In the chicken dressing, He ate it all and rolled his eyes. “Well, kids,” he cried, ‘“‘who won?”’ He laughed and laughed at their surprise. He was full of fun. November 1,1924 Fate, however, handed A knockout to his splendor, For the Romans landed, Forced him to surrender. Honor called for suicide, He had lived enough ; But in vain he tried and tried; He was far too tough. This is why I care to Recur to Mithridates: His life I would compare to One of my old mateys Who recently has vainly tried By arsenic to die; In vain he gobbles cyanide Bootleg gin is why. — Morris Bishop. The Courtship of Miles Standish [Twentieth Century Edition] CENE: The veranda of a Cape Cod ho- tel. PRISCILLA sits on the railing smoking a cigarette. She is dressed in a one-piece bathing suit and her hair is bobbed and waved. Enter JOHN ALDEN. PRISCILLA: Hello, Johnny! Whaddya know? JOHN: Ain’t tellin’, kid. Want a word with you, that’s all! PRISCILLA: Shoot, honey, I’m a sweet target! JOHN: Well, you see, it’s like this, Pris: I just been talkin’ with Miles Standish. You know, he ain’t such a bad skate. PRISCILLA: Uh-huh! JOHN: He’s got an awful lot of jack. I seen him cashin’ a check for a thousand beans yesterday. PRISCILLA: Yeh? JOHN: I hear he’s got a summer home and a limousine. Some class, what? PRISCILLA: Oh, I dunno. JOHN: All the girls around this dump has gone cuckoo over him. Valentino couldn’t get a job shining shoes if that baby was around. And he’s the swellest dancer! PRISCILLA: Weil, what’ sallthis whips Wealthy Turfman in Caba ret, and I’m tired want to play Bur- lesque Queen Sues ” a change. “Brother is kissing the two children, “and you he wants.” The children left resumed our hilari- We had an early dinner the follow- ing morning about 7:30—as I remember, for I had to catch a train into town. “ Here is a little souvenir of your visit,” said Mr. Boggs as I said good-by. He handed me a cou- pon clipped from one of his papers. ‘This,” he said, “if presented at any one of our branch offices will entitle you to a ticket for half price for one of those popular concerts we're running this week.” When I was seated in the smoking car of the train I tried to remove my hat and found that either Junior or sister had spread glue on the band, and my hat was firmly stuck to my Se tome? You tryin’ to get me to trail along with that has-been? You want he should be my sweet daddy? Not while I got my strength! JOHN: You coulddoworse, kid. PRISCILLA: Be yourself, boy! I ain’t gonna run no old soldiers’ home at my time of life. No, Johnny, your boy friend may be the erab’s curls, but when I want an antique I’m gonna pick on King Tut. JOHN: Well, I gotta be goin’. I done all I can, but I see it ain’t no use. Solong, Pris; don’t grab no rubber dimes! PRISCILLA (quickly): What's the rush, John? You ain’t workin’ for nebody. JOHN: I know, but I gotta check. Pippip, sweet one! PRISCILLA: Just a minute, John! JOHN: What? PRISCILLA: Why doncha put in a good word for yourself, kid? JOHN: Whaddya mean? You mean you like my style? Say it quick, cute- ness! PRISCILLA: Don’t mean nothin’ but! You're awhiz! Be brave and kiss me! JOHN (embrac- head. RAWN BY CARL ANDERSON Newman Levy. I Wonder Where That Big Coward I Chased Into This Hole Went To! ing her): Hot dog! (Curtain) amt awl OP

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Oe co ae Es a2 RR iE aaa Aaa Na ta a AP i NC ~ =" rn OE eee THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Cook with focused heat —save time, save work, save money An oil range that directs the heat right on the cooking UST look at the business-like way the flame Yeti in the Florence Oil Range. Notice that it doesn’t spread out wastefully in all direc- tions. See how it goes straight to the bottom of the pot— intense, concentrated heat. That's why we speak of the Florence as the oil range with focused heat—it has the special construction that sends the heat into the cook- ing, where you want it—and not into the kitchen, where you don't. Better for the cooking— better for you You notice the difference when you see the Florence. The most elaborate cooking is possible with this handsomely porcelain-enameled range— the slow, through-and-through cooking for cereals, the quick hot cooking that makes steaks crisp outside and tender inside. It is easy to operate the Florence. No priming, no messy wicks to trim, no guesswork about the heat of your flame—just a simple turning of the levers and your clear gas-like flame gives you any degree of cooking heat you desire. The Florence is economical. With the heat focused where you want it, the cooking gets done in less time, with less fuel. The Florence delivers to the cooking more heat in a given time ffom a given amount of kerosene than any other oil range. The Florence Leveler makes the stove stand even A clever device attached to each leg adjusts the stove to any unevenness in the floor. Turn the screw to the exact height indicated by the spirit level on the feed pipe. Ask about Florence Ranges and Ovens at a department, furniture, or hardware store. Find out more about the Florence and the things you can cook and bake on it by sending for our free booklet, “Get Rid of the ‘Cook Look’.”” The Florence Oven This is the Florence Oven, built on the q principle of the Dutch oven, with the “baker's arch” to prevent air pockets. The patented heat spreader at the bottom assures even distribution of heat and guards against your roasts and baked things being underdone on top and burnt on the bottom. On the door of the oven there is.a heat indicator that shows how much heat there is inside. FLrorence Stove Company, Park Square Bldg., Boston, Mass. DIVISION OFFICES: New Orleans, Dallas, New York, Denver, Chicago, Detroit, Atlanta, Cleveland Makers of Florence Oil Ranges, Florence Ovens, Florence Water Heaters and Florence Oil Heaters Made and Sold in Canada by McClary’s, London, Canada FLORENC Oil Ran Tue cut-away picture below shows how the heat and save time, save work, save money. © 1924, F. 8. Co é Hii 1 blue flame of the Florence goes straight Wii! if to the cooking. The heat is focused just Se Oe where you want it. Cook with focused

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November 1, 1924 The safety o sented by C motor car D« by Budd, t Never befor industry has possible at s In addition of steel — its shocks — its ful baked-e 50% greate A wooden corner post hides a complete car only two seconds away. Danger lurks behind those blinding wooden comer posts. Overland increases the driver's range of vision fully 50%.

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CZ THE SATURDAY EVENING POST November |, 1924 $625 is all you need pay down to secure a Hoover complete with house- hold cleaning attach- ments. Now, anyone can afford a Hoover. Have yours delivered today! It beats rugs gently; sweeps as no broom can; and thoroughly air-cleans—electrically! Its handy new air-cleaning tools dust, dustlessly. It keeps your home immaculate; saves time, strength, health; makes rugs wear years longer. Certainly, it’s a Hoover! Delivered to any home upon payment of only $6.25 down! Your Authorized Hoover Dealer will explain our easy purchase plan. nd largest maker of electric cleaners The t er 9s also made in Canada, at Hamilton, Ontari: | 7 a NE és & bj pa, It BEATS ::- @s it Sweeps as tt Cleans

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FE Ca es — POT i aa Rn wT —_- f i

I still had confidence. I figgered if I just left Bat alone a bit everything would come out all right. Well, Ed, that shows how even a good man can be fooled. Next afternoon when Bat boxed four rounds he showed about as limp as a section of macaroni. “Bat,” I said, “I wanta talk to you seri- ous. Ain’t you wise that we’re fighting Blink Balou Saturday night? Don’t you want -: clean up? ’ Bat said, ‘ clean = or not.” Ed, I never had a boy talk that way to me before. If I’d had a bottle I’d have beaned Bat just to put a little heart into him. But I didn’t have no bottle. “Bat,” I said, trying to talk gentle. “Bat, that Blink boy packs an awful wal- lop. If you ain’t right and if he lands on you = may kill you. ’ Bat said, ‘I hope he does—I hope he ian” What was I gonna do, Ed? All Monday I kept trying to kid Bat along, but no use. Tuesday he wouldn’t come out and do any road work. Wednesday he wouldn’t even put on the mitts. And Wednesday night he sat down at the table, looked at the beans once, then pushed back his piate and walked upstairs. And there I was, Ed, there I was. Well, not being able to think of any- thing better I went out and hunted up old Moxie Ryan, that’s known ’em all ever since the Boston Strong Boy. Moxie pulled on his old corncob a while and then he said, *‘ Well,” he said, ‘‘ there’s two kinds. The first takes it hard; the second takes it harder. If Bat’s one of the second kind you better call it a day. He couldn’t lick the champion paperweight of the Second Ward kindergarten.” Ed, you know how I always treat my ‘I don’t care whether I boys, watching over’em like babies. I don’t deserve no credit, Ed; it’s my nature. That’s the kind of a heart I got. But a man’s first dooty is to pertect himself, and he can’t allus pick and choose about the way he does it. Bat had cost me good money, Ed, and I was entitled to get some of it back. And as long as Bat didn’t have a chance to win I figgered I was justified in doing what I done. First thing, I had a friend go round and see if they was any money being bet on Bat. Usually you don’t get much on these newspaper decisions, but this time some- body had left eight hunert at Morgenroth’s. Peaches. Well, I borrowed off’n our end of the purse; I hocked a coupla rings; and I dug the rest outta my roll, and betting on Blink I covered that eight hunert. After that I went home and slept—slept sound, Ed, for the first time in three nights. When I woke up the sun was shining in the winda; there was a blue sky and the birds were singing. I felt good. I smoked a cigarette and come down to the breakfast table whistling as purty as a steam piano at a circus. Well, the first thing I see nailed me there in the door. I couldn’t have moved for a dollar. There was Bat sitting at the table and eating oatmeal as if he had a hole in his stomach. “Hello, Bat,’’ I said, coming out of it, “feeling bette er this morning?”’ “Aw,” Bat said outta the corner of his mouth, “who said I wasn’t feeling right?” It wasn’t what he said, Ed, it was the way he said it; and allatime eating that oatmeal as if it was so much boiled shingle nails. Just looking at Bat and thinking of my poor ol’ eight hunert dollars made me feel them cold chills side-stepping up my back. “Bat,” I said, ‘we better let the boxing go this afte ernoon ; then you'll be resting up for Saturday.’ “Aw,” Bat said, with his mouth full of oatmeal, “‘rest? I been resting too long. A girl t’run me down, but that’s all right. I’m off ’em now for life. Never again. I’m gonna lick this Blink bird so bad he’ll wisht he’ d kept on selling ribbons.’ “i “Listen here, Bat,’’ I said, using all the argument I could think of, “you ain’t got nothing against Blink. He’s working, the same as you, and what’s more he’s got a mother and a raft of little brothers to sup- port besides paying alimony in two different directions. You oughta feel sorry for him, Bat.” (Continued from Page 13) Bat give a mean laugh. “Aw,” he said, “sure I feel sorry for him. I feel sorry for him the way Jack Dempsey felt sorry for Firpo after getting knocked through the ropes. I feel so sorry for him that I’m gonna put him out of his misery so I won’t have to go on feeling sorry for him. That’s me.” And in the afternoon allatime laughing that same mean laugh Bat makes two lightweights quit on him and winds up by - knocking Dutch Olsen cold for twenny- three minutes. Everything had come out the way I'd planned it first, and how did I feel? Ask me, Ed, ask me. Vv HERE’S moments, Ed, when a man’s got to face facts. I couldn’t hedge on my eight hunert because first they wasn’t any money being bet and second because I couldn’t have covered it if they had been. To keep me off the rockpile Bat hadda lose, and I knew if I pulled any coarse work they’d get me. Boxing in that Wisconsin state ain’t a business, Ed. Nosympathy there; nothing but rules and regulations. “Well,” I says to myself, I says, “‘there’s just one thing to do; bring the little girl back to Bat. One hug and a kiss and Bat’ll wilt the way he wilted before, and Blink won’t have to do nothing but punch the bag. Then if I can break up Bat and his little girl the second time—say a week before Young Kid Angelo thinks he's = grab some cigarette money—wow, aby—champion— New York.” So Saturday afternoon I done some extra dressing on the little girl’s account and went round to the South Side and to Nelson’s. Ed, it was certainly a crime the line of bunk I handed that little girl, but what could I do? There I was, Ed, there I was. I begun by telling her the facts about what had happened to Bat and how hard he was hitting now. Then I got down to cases, “When the society,” I said, “sees it’s gone too far it’s allus ready to step in and pertect the innocent. The first time I was sent to pertect you; this time I’m sent to pertect Bat.’ She grabbed her hands together. “Oh, Mr. Bryzinski,”’ she said, ‘“‘what do you mean, you have to pertect him?” “Because he’s in danger,”’ I said. ‘ Ain’t I been telling you how he’s knocking ‘em all cold? “Yes,” she said, , yes. Then I begun a? “ittle story. ‘You know,” I said, “in a prominent battle like this they’ s thousands of dollars bet on both sides.”’ She give a little start. “Oh, I know,” she oni. “All right. The friends of this here Blink Balou are one tough gang. When they see Bat going downhill they sold their shirts to bet on Blink. Now then if Bat wins they’!l figger Bat was double-crossing ‘em, and they'll take it out of his hide.” “You mean if Bat—if Mr. Quinn wins he’ll be attacked?” “Attacked,” I said with a laugh; “that ain’t no name for it. Murder, Miss Nelson, murder. And unless you can speak to Bat and make him listen to reason— well, it’ll be in and out—one-two—allatime bing-bing—uppercut him, boy—wham wow, ‘baby—Blink, you're out. Then Blink’s friends’ll come back on Bat. You may not like Bat as a sweetie,” I said, “but just think of his mother.” And I pulled out my handkerchief, Ed. Weil, when I left, the little girl was shaking me by the hand and weeping and thanking me for my good deed. She'd promised not*to say a word to anybody but to come round to the boarding house that evening before me and Bat left for the auditorium. Ed, I felt better—some worried but practically better. At dinner I was purty near cheerful. When Bat finished eating I got him into the parlor and started one of those sobby violin records. “Come on now, Bat,’ I said, sweet music’ll cheer you up.” Bat said he didn’t like any kind of music, but I knew what I was doing and pretty soon I saw a sad expression come over his face. He shut his eyes and begun shaking his head. ” “a little THE SATURDAY TOLD TO THE SPORTING

EVENING POST EDITOR Just then by the winda I see the street car stop vy the np girl get off and start toward the h “Well, Bat,” "T ‘said, “you stay here and enjoy the music—I’ m going up to my room for ten minutes.’ So I starts the record again and slips out into the front hall and tiptoes into the back parlor which was shut off from the front parlor by a pair of folding doors. I'd left one of ’em open on purpose. Then edging behind the portiére and with Bat noticing nothing I squeezed back of the piana. From there I could hear every- thing without anybody in either parlor see- in it w was dusty; it hadn’t been cleaned since the Big Wind. But I figgered I could stand the dust in a good cause, so I settled myself and waited. Vv ELL, I ain’t got much more’s settled when I hear Seena beg “* Meestare Pal, lady ban hare see And then nothing else except I cou d oa of feel Bat breathing hard. Next the girl’s voice said, “Oh.” There was nothing from Bat at first till he ome me short and ugly, “Aw, what?’ bad, but there was nothing for zh c a but keep my head down, I could feel the prespiration running down my collar, and practically every time I moved a lot of dust would come off the wall into my nose, Then the girl said, I've come here?” “No,” Bat said; “why?” “Well,” the girl said, “I’ve come be- cause— because I couldn't help it.” Then there was a sort of a rush and I come near yelling “Break!"”’ Oncet more they were together, and I felt better, Ed, all except a crick was getting in my back. Yes, I begun seeing pitchers of that eight hunert dollars. After they’d been clinching for quite some time the girl said: ° you know everything is different now. When I first heard you were a boxer I couldn’t believe my ears. You were al- ways so nice and gentle, and I don’t like rough people. But now it doesn’t matter to me what you are. Only I want you to promise me one thing.”’ “‘Aw, sure.” Bat’s voice was so changed I couldn't hardly ree onnize it. “Sure I'll promise what is it?’ “Well,” the girl said, “I wish you'd promise me that tonight you won't hit Mr. Balu hard.” I could hear Bat scratching his head. “Aw,” he said, “I don’t need to promise that; since I got you back I got friendly feelings for everybody. I don’t think I could hit him hard if pee. to.” And there everything was fixed. By just his voice you could tell Bat had gone back to where he was a coupla weeks before. Ed, it made me feel goc I begun having some friendly feelings myself and I purty near forgot the crick and the prespiration and the dust. They must have clinched some more be- cause they wasn’t a word till Hazel bust out,“‘Oh, honey!” “Aw, what?” “Honey, are you perfectly happy know- ing you ‘re not going to hit Mr. Balou hard? “Aw, yes,”” Bat said. “But if you don’t hit him hard you won’t win,” “Aw, I guess not.” “But are you satisfied to lose?”’ “Aw,” Bat said, “‘so long as I don’t lose you.” “Well, then,”’ she said with a kind of a sigh, ‘‘well, then, it don’t matter?”’ “What don’t matter?” “What I did?” “What did you do?” “T’m afraid to tell you.” “ Aw, go on and tell.” “Do you know why . a ! Another clinch, Ed, and no referee, I just had to wait till they got through. I was getting a little nervous, too, with the dust and all, and not knowing what the little girl was going to say. “Well,” she said, “I was so mean to you that night when I wouldn’t let you in that I couldn’t get over it. And the next pn ing when I saw your pitcher in the r where you were going to fight Mr. ou I felt worse than ever. I wanted 9 do ‘

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Even as primitive maa practiced the principle of reinforcemert by embedding reinforcing twigs in the clay of which he built his home— So we, today, embed ininitely stronger feiniorcing wires (or fabric) in Stucco, in order te make it stronger and per- manently wecther-tigst—in order to “bind” the Stucco together, and to the building, and thereby prevent cracking and failing . . National Steel Fabric Company (SUBSIDIARY OF PITTSBURGH STEEL CO) 725 Union Trust Bldg., /ittsburgh, Pa. Atlawtia Chieage Clewdand De las Denver Detroit Houston Los Angeles Pittsburgh | New Vork City Ptah ed pee, Row hewter f. Louis Sen Actunio Sawa Francisas Before you build or remodel, write for a copy of this free book— use the coupon, if you wish. National Steel Fabric Compeay, Pittahergh,Pa. | Please send me, free of charge, the book ™ Buiiding s Permaneat Home™ sider it a duty to that. | suspected, for all men who had | pyramiding their dollars through those THE SATURDAY something to show that I liked you any- how, no matter what you were. So did it.” “Aw,” Bat said, ‘what did you do?” “Well,” the girl said after another clinch, “‘I went down to the bank and drew out all my savings and had my brother-in- law take it down and bet it on you. It was eight hunert dollars, and somebody bet eight hunert dollars against it.”’ And there I was, Ed, there I was. The | little girl was betting on Bat to win and | she’d told him so. A double stream of prespiration begun running over me and when I wiggled I shook down so much dust I had to strangle myself to keep from making a noise. Bat was walking up and down from the piana to the other end of the room. “You bet eight hunert dollars on me?” “Then why do you want me to lose?” “Because I—because I don’t want you that’s why.” “But eight hunert dollars “That doesn’t matter so long as you don't hit Mr. Balou.” Bat stopped by the piana. “There's something back of this,” - said. For a minute, Ed, I thought he meant me;* but, no, he was on’y talking figurative. “Yes,"’ Bat said, ‘‘there’s something back of this, and I want to know what it is.” Ed, I just prayed that that little girl would have enough strength of mind not to tell, but you know what women are especially the good ones “Well,” she said, “I ought not to tell you, but it was after seeing Mr. Bry- zinski 4 “Who's Mr. Bryzinski?” And then it come out, Ed, then it come out. I could hear Bat stamping and tramp- ing all over the room, with the little girl saying “Please be quiet. It’s nothing really. Don’t get excited.” “Don’t get excited!’’ Bat yelled. “Why, | thet Bryzinski is a fake and a bum, and all he told you was a string of lies.” The girl’s voice sounded purty worried. | “You don’t know whether it’s true or not. You mustn’t take any chances.” “I'm taking no chances. What did he look like?"’ Bat whooped. “But if something should happen?” around and holler- like? What did he Bat just kept — ing “What did he loo | look like?” EVENING POST By this time the girl had begun to sniffie. “He was old,” she said, “and fat and disgusting. He looked like a frog that had swallowed something.” And there I was, Ed, there I was, not able to put in a word for myself. “‘Aw, what did he look like?”’ Bat said. “What about his face?”’ “Well,” she said, “when I looked at his face all I could think of was a lot of mashed potatoes covered with tomatta sauce.” And me there helpless, Ed, helpless. “Is that all you remember?” “Well, no; he had on a terrible vest—all yellow with little red stripes.” “What!” Bat yelled. ‘What kind of a vest?” The next thing that happened, Ed, I dunno exactly, but I think Bat musta kicked the piana, because there was a bump and all of a sudden the dust pegne coming down like rain in Los Angeles. Before I could help myself I was choking. And then out come a sneeze like a million dollars’ worth of hay fever. Bat give a yank to one end of the piana and there I stood with both of ‘em looking at me and the girl saying, “It’s Mr. Bry- zinski—it’s Mr. Bryzinski!” Bat stepped back. I could see he was getting ready to swing and that it was u to me to think and to think quick. But alt I done in my life, Ed, I owe to my mother and to being able to think fast and accurate in any position up, down or side- wise. “Bat,” I said very frank, “I ain’t deny- ing I told this little girl I was an investi- gating agent, and I was, Bat, I was. I was investigating her on your account. But I wanta say that aside from that there’s on’y one other true statement she’s made tonight, and that’s where she says she wants you to lose. Sure she does—because she’s bet all she’s got, not on you, like she said, but on Blink Balou. And I got the goods on her and I can prove it.” Ed, I could see in a minute I'd won. Bat’s fist dropped and he stood there dumb and helpless, looking first at me and then at the girl. He couldn’t have licked the molasses off a spoon. As for the girl, she was all white and kept saying, “Oh, what an awful story!” But I raised my voice authoritative and drowned her out. “I’m ready and willing,” I said, “to prove every word that comes out of my mouth. What’s more, I got the November |, 1924 pers in the case with my lawyer now. at, this’ll teach you a lesson about making acquaintances. Put on your hat. We’re going to the auditorium.” i had Bat, Ed, I had him right. I could feel them sixteen hunert smackers in my right-hand pants pocket. “Yes,” I said, “and I’ve done some more investigating, and the reason she t’run you down and bet on Blink is because Blink is her fella. You poor boob, him and her they’ve double-crossed you for the second time. She’s Blink’s girl.” Ed, I had went a step too far. I ought to’ve sewed up my mouth ten seconds earlier, but with a nice oe little girl like that—Ed, you wanta look out for the quiet kind, especially them that says they don’t like brutality. Because what do you suppose that little girl done? Ed, before I could raise a hand to stop her she’d grabbed the bees 4 machine off’n the table and slung it right at my head—wham! And there I am on my back watching the Roman candles in the ceiling, and from far away, a long ways off I hears the little girl saying, as if her heart was busted: “It’s a lie, Bat. It’s you I want to win— it’s you! Hit Mr. Balou just as hard as you can and fight and win—fight and win!” Well, Ed, it was the druggist from the corner that put me on my feet, but even then I didn’t get to the auditorium till the end of the second round when six boys was lifting Blink out of the ring. From all I hear Bat done just the same as I trained him—in and out—one-two—allatime bing-bing—uppercut him, boy—wham— wow, baby! And I ain’t never see Bat since. He got married and went right into the plumbing business, but before that he put a lawyer on me to collect. How’s that, Ed? Isa bantam treacherous or ain’t he? But that don’t matter. I picked up this boy here— stand up, Bat; take off your hat—which in his right name he’s Willy Schliesselbaum, but I call him under the ring name of Battling Mutt. Look at that face, Ed; look at the mush on him; look at his beezer. Is they any girl going to watch that at breakfast if she can help it? I got con- fidence in Bat that he’s gonna stick. And Ed, that’s why I come so you could put a story in your paper saying we’re ready here and now to meet any boy in the world at a hunert an’ fifteen pounds ringside bar none. THE CONOVER CROWD the stoek’s much too high, even now, and it won't be worth anything when business slumps. Some day, Conover, I’m going to make money on theshort side of that stock.” “Let the Conover family know when you're ready,” begged Henry. “ We'll con- elp you smash it.” In time Johnny Henderson came to the end of his long campaign in Conover Chem- ical. He had done with it far more than he set out to do. He had established the stock in popularity with the gamblers of Wall Street, had made for it a broad and active market at a high price level. He had wrung from it huge profits for himself and for those for whom he had worked. It | seemed to him now that no more was to be done—wisely; and his decision rested with So there was final liquidation and ad- justment; and thereafter, with his ears shut to protest and pleading, he would travel no farther with what Wall Street had come to | call the Conover crowd, It was almost quitting time, Henderson been days of war and enthusiastic peace. He said as much to Randolph and Scudder and the others when they pressed him to go on with them. But they, being what they were, laughed loudly at his comical caution, so harshly out of tune with the meledious optimism that was ringing more joyously than ever among all the fat-pursed, cock-sure profiteers of the season, Then, as was his practice when he had cleared his decks, Johnny Henderson dis- appeared from Wall Street. When he re- turned a month and more later it was with the sure conviction that the great boom in stocks was near its end, and with intent to | make ready for that. Earliest of his prepa- | rations was what had been long in his (Continued from Page 15) mind —the selling of Ritchie Aniline stock. Since he owned none, his sales were of shares borrowed for the purpose—short sales. He was quite sure that later he would have opportunity to buy back such shares at much lower prices. Their worth was far less than their present quotation; of that he had satisfied himself. Ritchie stock was selling in the market then at 50 or thereabouts, and showing sober new strength in reflection of vague reports of some material improvement in the company’s money-making. Henderson heard those reports in their vagueness, and doubted them cynically. His first sales were tentative and of moderate size. After the first of them the stock crawled higher and he sold more. Higher still, he sold still more. Within a month it reached 60, and by then his accounts showed him to be short of a precise six thousand shares of Ritchie Aniline which he had sold at prices averaging 55. On paper that was a loss of thirty thousand dollars. The deficit did not worry him. It was not seriously great and he was confident of the ultimate result; yet it made him cautious and more attentive to the stories of the Ritchie company’s greater pros- perity. He met difficulty, however, in gathering dependable information as to that, and he debated braving old David Conover with a plea for facts such as that veteran might command. But old David surprisingly saved him the offense by ap- aring one day and opening the subject imself. “Johnny,” said the Conover elder briskly, coming to the matter directly, “how much have you had to do with making this Ritchie stock go up so much lately?” “None at all,” Henderson answered, hiding his astonishment. “That’s a queer — coming from you. Why do you as ? ” David seemed disappointed. “Just wanted to know, Johnny. Just curious. Why do you suppose it’s been going up?” “T’'ve n asking myself that,’’ Hen- derson said, ‘‘and I think I know. I suppose you remember how the Ritchie people put out an issue of new stock a few months ago?” “Needed money,” declared David. ‘Had to have some to keep up with the pro- cession.” “Exactly. But that new stock was offered to the stockholders for subscription at fifty dollars a share when the market etry was below 45. Of course the stock- olders didnt subscribe, and probably the whole of that new issue went to the syndi- cate that underwrote it—and certainly at a much lower figure. It’s my guess that the syndicate is voles the stock up now, getting ready to sell it out at a fat profit.” ““What syndicate? Who are in it?” de- manded the old man with keen interest. “T don’t know. I’ve never been able to find out. It was all done through a Stock Exchange house— Pickens, Graham & Co.— and the real principals have been keeping their masks on. But whoever they are, I’m sure they’re making this move in the stock. And that’s where these tales of Ritchie’s bigger business are coming from.” “Some truth in those stories, nag David said. ‘“‘The Ritchie company has been doing better these last few months. Don’t understand it quite. They’ve taken three-four good men away from us—some of the best we had. Worse than that, they’ve beaten us out of some big orders that we should have booked.” “They’ve been spending some of the money they got from the stock issue,” guessed Henderson. “It won’t last. Ritchie can’t stand up when business falls off, and it’s beginning to drop already.” (Continued on Page 84)

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At Jewelers’ and Men's Shops Up te $25 che pair Write for Correct Dres: Chart ‘*7"’ The Baer & Wilkie C sin wv Attleboro, Mass UMAPART TAAGE MAGA O46. 0 6.PaT OFF ‘the snap with the li’etime guarantee | sently. | goin | that. | over,”’ | quite a bit of it. |} are. THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 82) “Maybe so,” admitted old David ab- “But something’s going on. I’m to find out what it is.” Henderson saw opportunity in ll let you into a secret, Mr. Con- he said. “I’m short of Ritchie, and There’s a loss in it now and I’m looking out for news, just as you Suppose we make a deal. I’ll pass on Johnn “ctr | to you whatever I get if you’ll do the same | with me.” | pene: “Won't do it!” barked old David “Not going to tell you things or you to use in the stock market. You're | only looking to make money for yourself | and smiled. | incredibly so. | old man. gambling in Ritchie stock. I’ve got other reasons fr being interested.”’ Henderson thought of the Conover feud It was childish, of course, and But David Conover was an He would nurse such things, and | be queer about them, and crabbed. It | would be useless to chaff him. agreed. “All right, Mr. Conover,” Henderson “We won’t argue it. But now you know how I stand and I hope you won't forget to ae me a hint if you see any | reason my should change my mind a about Rite | David Conover; David was scornful. “I'll promise you that,” he said. “If I see any reason I’ll tell you, but there won’t be any.” Nothing then was to be expected of and Henry, who was be- yond reach, anyhow, wouldn’t know any- be! worth hearing. The slow rise in i | Rite | certain. | Thanks for what you've told me. ie Aniline’s price continued, and Hen- derson sat watching it, puzzled and un- He could discover no logical reason for the strength other than the syndicate’s natural desire to market the block of the stock which he knew it still held, and he decided against yet pocketing his loss and abandoning his venture in Ritchie shares. But he decided also against selling more of them now while they were being so steadily advanced. He would wait and watch, and act when the opportunity came, Then, as he was waiting and watching, and when the stock was ens to 70, word came to him declaring that the Ritchie Ani- line Company was shortly to be bought, swallowed, absorbed, lock, stock and barrel, by the Conover Chemical Corporation! That called for action. Immediately he was talking by telephone to David Conover. “T've heard a rumor and I need the fact,”” he said. “Is Conover Chemical going to take over Ritchie Aniline?” *No,” answered old David instantly. Henderson’s voice told of his relief. “That helps,” he declared. “I’ve just been told—and very positively, too—that Ritchie is to be taken in immediately at a price much higher than the market. You can see what that would mean for me. I'd have my neck in a noose if I stayed om. ave | you heard the story?” “Don’t make any difference about my hearing it,’ said David testily. “’Tain’t true, I suppose some people would like it EVENING POST to be true, but it won’t be. There’s been no such proposition put before the Conover board, and it couldn’t be put through if it was proposed. You can be sure of that.” So Johnny Henderson, reassu and stubborn now, yet uneasy withal, went on waiting and watching while Ritchie stock daily climbed a little higher as more and more of Wall Street heard the report that there was to be consolidation with Conover Chemical. At length the story found place in newspaper columns, ail padded out with shrewdly invented details; and with that the stock’s forward movement gained un- pleasantly in pace. When the tickers recorded 80 for Ritchie, Johnny Henderson stirred himself and sent for Andy Mitchell, of the Leader. The reporter came in, smiling his little twisted smile, and paws his gray bulk upon the merest edge of Hen- derson’s smallest chair. “Good morning,” he lisped genially. “What have I done now?” “Nothing worse than usual,” answered Henderson cheerfuliy, “but I read in your valuable paper a day or two ago that Conover Ehemical is all set to take over Ritchie Aniline. I suspect that you had something to do with writing that interest- ing romance. Where did you get the plot?” “It’s true enough,” said Andy Mitchell. “Don’t you believe it?”’ “IT don’t,” Henderson replied. ‘Some- body’s been taking advantage of your trusting nature.” “But I got it very straight,” objected the reporter. ‘Scudder wouldn’t deny it when I cornered him, and neither would the Titanic Trust people. I hear the Conover directors are to vote on it next Monday. They’ll give two shares of Conover for three shares of Ritchie. With Conover selling around 145 that makes Ritchie worth 96 or 97. What makes you think the story is a fake?”’ “Because old David Conover told me so himself. That’s reasonably good authority, isn’t it? He didn’t tell me that to tell you or anyone else, but I believe he’ll say it for publication if you ean get hold of him,” Andy Mitchell chuckled impudently. “T’ll do that small thing—for you,” he said. Johnny Henderson smiled in his turn. “Don’t think of me. I’m telling you this in the interest of truth.” “Which same truth hasn’t been pre- vailing lately,” added Andy, nodding to- ward the chattering ticker. ‘‘ Ritchie made a new top above 80 this morning.” “You've been down here in Wall Street too long,” Henderson remarked affably. “But if you'll run along and find him, I believe David Conover will talk.” Old David did talk, and without regard for fine phrasing. Next morning the Leader gave prominence to his flat and heated denial of the report that there was to be a Conover-Ritchie combination; and Johnny Henderson, coiled and ready, moved swiftly to make that denial effective on the Stock Exchange. Of itself, the positive statement by the Conover corporation’s chairman induced November 1,1924 much hurried selling of Ritchie Aniline by the rank and file of Wall Street speculators. It seemed to destroy whatever justification there might have been for the advance that had taken place in the stock; and it seemed very definitely to mean that Ritchie’s present high prices were not warranted. Wherefore, sales to take advantage of those high prices before they disappeared were in order, and accordingly they were made in volume promptly with the market’s opening. To the weight of that volume Henderson added aggressive sales of his own—more short sales, made urgently by intent, con- tinued vigorously by direction. It was a deliberate, determined, smashing raid he made upon Ritchie Aniline that morning, and it was carried out with all the skill and all the courage that were his. It failed sensationally and disastrously. Ritchie’s price broke from above 80 to somewhere near 72 and the break lasted fel its half an hour, while Wall Street ld its breath. Then, suddenly, huge buy- ing appeared, such buying as speedily »bled up all offerings, peubel all sellers, enderson with the rest, and turned the stock’s price — again, raising it rapidly, spectacularly. By noon the tickers showed 80 for Ritchie Aniline once more. An hour later they showed 83, higher than ever. Then Johnny Henderson decided to run. He was beaten and he knew it. He was, by that time, short of more than twenty thousand shares of Ritchie stock more than twenty thousand shares bor- rowed and sold and sometime to be bought back. Already his loss was reaching toward three hundred thousand dollars. But he could not doubt his danger, and waiting might well make the damage far greater. It was certain now, as he could see, that some development, something of which he had lacked foreknowledge—doubtless this rumored purchase by Conover Chemical was soon to add unexpected value to Ritchie shares. And he would have to pay that value, whatever it might be, to get what stock he must have. It would be better, cheaper, to buy now. Accordingly he set about to buy. All that was to be done he intrusted to a certain aggressive, irritable, nervous, little wisp of a man who was the acknowledged master of the Stock Exchange in such things. And that little man promptly reported back to Johnny Henderson that there was no Ritchie Aniline stock to be had! The market was bare of it. There was none for sale—practically none. A few hundreds at this price; a hundred or two a dollar or so higher; scattered small offerings still above that; but no such quantity as Henderson wanted, no such quantity as he was compelled to have. And there were other ready waiting buyers to compete with him, buyers who constantly raised their bids above his. Johnny Hen- derson was trapped! Ritchie Aniline was cornered and he was short of twenty thou- sand shares of it! When the Exchange (Continued on Page 89) PHOTO. 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; rh { Ff: : ‘ ‘ : ) 4 a ) 4 | q i } (Continued from Page 84) closed that day Ritchie stood at 89 and the irritable little broker declared that no more than a thousand shares could be bought between that price and 100. And Hender- son needed twenty times as much! He barred his door and stood unmoving at the wide window of his office, his hands gripped behind him, staring down upon Broadway while he sought the best way, the surest way out of his maze. He was caught—badly caught. It was plain enough. The men who were the Conover Chemical Corperation—Secudder and Randolph and the rest-—-held him in a net so strong, so finely meshed that neither plunging nor wriggling would set him free. He could see now how they had planned quite secretly long ago that their Conover should gulp down the Ritchie company, and with great profit for themselves. They had bought up under cover in the market what Ritchie stock was there. They had been buying it quietly, steadily, through recent weeks and months while he, unknowing, had been selling it. He realized that it must have been chiefly their stock which, through his brokers, he had borrowed to sell and was still borrowing. And now, presently, the Conover cor-' poration would announce itself ready to pay its own shares in exchange for those of Ritchie, and he would be called on to return what he was borrowing, since its owners— Scudder and the others, of course-—would want to make the exchange. But with no stock to be bought in the market, he could not meet that call. He was cornered, helpless. He must admit it and pay the price— whatever price might be asked. He must settle upon the best terms he could get. There was no other way out and there was no reason for delay. Therefore within the hour he sat by Morris Randolph’s desk, showing his hand quite frankly. “T’ll cover my shorts in the market if you'll let me,”’ he said, “but there’s no stock there now. You know that.” “I don’t know it,” declared Randolph sharply, with heat that glowed righteously. “T am a director of Conover Chemical and you are insinuating that I’ve bought Ritchie stock to sell to my own company. I won’t permit that.” Johnny Henderson scowled his unbelief. “I’m wasting time with you,” he said. “Who shall I see? Scudder?” “T don’t know who you should see,” returned Randolph. “I know nothing at all about it. But I’ll promise you that if Conover makes an offer for Ritchie the position of speculators in the stock won't be considered.” “I’m wasting time,’’ Henderson repeated. “‘T’ll see Scudder.” But Hartley Secudder’s attitude was the same. “Why do you come to me?” he asked, showing irritation. ‘““Why do you talk of making a settlement with me?” “That’s childish,’ snapped Henderson. “We're quite alone here, aren’t we? I’m ready to settle on any fair basis. Don’t pretend that you don’t know anything about this situation. It was enough for Randolph to try that. You and the others have cleaned up the market in Ritchie, and I’m caught short. I admit it. Now what do you expect me to do?” Hartley Scudder smiled _tolerantly. “You're excited,” he said. “So far as I know, no one connected with this company has any interest in Ritchie Aniline. You’ll have to go somewhere else to make your terms.” “Don’t play with me, Seudder,’’ said Johnny Henderson, and his voice was like thin metal. ‘““You may have yourself so well covered up in this thing that it can’t be pinned on you, but it will be wisest for you to instruct whoever is handling it to make a settlement with me. If you don’t, I'll refuse to cover my Ritchie shorts and let a court make the terms. Then I’ll find out how I can carry out a contract when you’ve made it impossible.” Scudder’s sneer was luxurious. “That’s what’s called welshing, isn’t it?’’ he asked smoothly. “It is,” Henderson answered, with dis- agreeably narrowed eyes. “It’s used when the game’s found to be unusually crooked.” “T’ve told you I have nothing to do with the thing,”’ declared Scudder, angry now. “T have no control over Ritchie stock yet. But I will have very soon. Next Monday my directors will vote to take it all in, and what comes to this company will stay in its treasury. Practically every share is already bound by agreement to THE SATURDAY come in immediately. So if you’re short of Ritchie you'd better get it back before Monday. There won't be much of it around after that.” “In which case,’’ Henderson said, ready to leave, “‘ your dummies will ask you what to do about calling in the stock my brokers are borrowing for me, and you'd better tell them to come to me for a decent settle- ment, and a quiet one. If they don’t, that settlement will make more noise than you 4 Morris Randolph or anyone else will ike.” There the matter rested. David Con- over’s denial was eclipsed next morning by an official admission that Conover Chemi- cal directors would consider the purchase of Ritchie Aniline at their forthcoming meeting; and when buzzing reporters swarmed about David’s door to have him answer that, they found him suddenly gone away without anyone’s leave. On a few scattered transactions Ritchie’s price jumped promptly to 96, and there it re- mained unmoving. That would be the stock’s value in the Conover shares which all Wall Street now knew would be given in exchange for it. Henderson, worried but giving no sign of it, could do no more than wait for develop- ments. He made no further effort to buy Ritchie in the market, for it was clear none was there to be bought. No demands were made upon his brokers for the return of the stock they had borrowed and sold for him, but he knew those demands were only delayed. They would come quickly after Conover directors voted formally to make the Ritchie purchase, and then they would be peremptory. Against that squeeze he would have to make his fight. That threat to ask help from the law had been no more than a threat. To such a resource he would not turn until at last, if driven. His way was to play the game by the rules, to pay when he lost, neither dodging nor whimpering. Already, with Ritchie where it was, his loss would be well beyond half a million; but he would pay still more if they forced him, rather than take refuge behind the lawyers. Yet, if they tried to wring him too harshly —— He fretted while he waited for the Conover meeting and for terms. When he thought of that meeting Hen- derson thought of David Conover, and he wondered how far that persistent old man would carry his losing fight for his bitter prejudice against the Ritchie name. It would be a stormy meeting, he supposed. Old David would be likely to make it so. But the others would calmly outvote the Conovers and that would be the end of it. Seudder and Morris Randolph and the Conover crowd were well able to do that. Perhaps old David would save his face by staying away. There might be so much method in this latest disappearance of the bellwether of the Conover flock, who once had been so sure there could be no purchase of Ritchie and who must know now that the purchase was certain. Very likely old David had decided not to face humiliation after all. But Johnny Henderson was wrong. The Monday meeting of Conover Chemical di- rectors was scheduled for two o’clock. Half an hour before that time a sprightly youth came whistling to the company’s somberly ornate directors’ room bent upon furnishing the long table properly with such pads and pencils and tobacco and matches as are essential to sober business conferences; and also to set neatly before each director's chair typewritten sheets bearing upon the affairs of the day. He stopped short at the open door when he saw ola David Conover, all alone, sitting in his official place at the table’s head, serenely reading a newspaper. Old David shed his content when he dis- covered the intruder, “Where's this meeting that was cailed for two o’clock?”’ he demanded peevishly. “Where is everybody?” “"Tain’t time yet,’’ the boy answered, recovering from his surprise. Old David drew his watch and looked up from it sheepishly. “You're right, son,’’ he said, childishly ashamed. ‘Only half past one. How did I come to make that mistake?” “Yuh musta mistook the time,” the lad cleverly pointed out, and went on with his work. “T’ll wait,” announced David. ‘“They’ll be here soon. Leave that door open when you go out. Need the draft to clear the air in this room, And see here ——” He produced money. “Put that in your pocket and don’t say anything about my EVENING POST being here so early. Don’t want poyhody to think I’m getting so old I can’t tell time. that door just as it is.” Later the youth was jubilant with others | of his stripe when they sat together upon a | bench. “An’ it wuz a fi’-smacker bill he gimme, th’ poor ol’ simp,” he said. Chairman David Conover was unusually tolerant of tardiness that afternoon, and it was well past two o'clock when he rapped sharply for order and said irritably: ‘“Some- body shut that door. Too much draft. Slam it hard or it won't stay shut —some- thing’s wrong with the latch.” The door was slammed and stayed shut, and the meeting proceeded. Along both sides of the great table every chair was filled. Old David, at the head, had Hartley Scudder beside him. Farther on sat Morris Randolph, and others of the Conover crowd, which contained no Con- overs, were scattered here and there. Thomas Conover and Henry and even | young David were in their places. And every man of them all felt something of the | tension that came with the crash of the | heavy door when it was thrown shut. There were brief routine preliminaries, | and Hartley Scudder came immediately to the lesson for the day, speaking as if the matter was no more than a casual one. “This special meeting was called,” he said, “for the purpose of adopting the resolution, copies of which are before you. It provides for the purchase by this cor- poration of the capital stock of the Ritchie Aniline Company through the payment of two shares of our stock for every three of Ritchie’s. The matter has been discussed in detail with every director so that you all are familiar with it and with the advantages that will come from this addition to our roperty. I may say that we now have ull assurance that, with the exceptions of a few scattered shares, all of the Ritchie stock outstanding is ready to be turned in. I move the resolution considered as read, and that it be adopted.” Calls of “Second” were prompt, and all eyes turned to where David Conover was sitting —erect, grim, obviously hostile. He looked slowly around the table, studying them one by one, before he spoke. “Before we go any farther with this, David said, ‘I want hex to know that the | Conover family is absolutely opposed to the deal. I won’t mince words. We con- sider it a swindle. Ritchie plants and Ritchie business are not worth a cent to this company; but even if they were, the price you intend to pay is so much above their value that to pay it will be swindling Conover stockholders.” “That’s all been gone into very thor- oughly,”’ Scudder declared. “ Experts and accountants have reported on the value of the property. Every director has had op- * And remember what I said about leaving | | portunity to study their reports, and copies | are before you now. They show that Mr. | Conover is mistaken, As a matter of fact | Mr. Conover and the members of his family have a strong prejudice against the Ritchie | company that is not based on doubt as to its value. It is a hatred that is a tradition with all the Conovers and I do not think it should be allowed to influence the opinion of anyone else here when the figures speak for themselves,” “We'll admit that and save argument,” replied David, ignoring Scudder at his side, but watching the rest. ‘‘ We Conovers have | a lot of ideas about business that wouldn’t be appreciated here. I know very well that a majority of this board intends to vote for | this Ritchie purchase, and no common- sense objections will change that intention. But before there is any voting I have some things to say and some questions to ask.” The silence that followed was broken by Morris Randolph. He said, very respect- fully, “I think your questions will be answered to your satisfaction, Mr. Con- over.” “T hope so,” returned David grimly, and after a pause went on. - “For a long time the Ritchie family owned about half the Ritchie company’s | stock. A year or more ago, when the company was hard up, they all got to- gether and gave an option on one-third of their holdings at thirty dollars a share to a syndicate. The syndicate undertook to sell the entire property for a price that would make the rest of the family’s stock worth more than any of them thought it ever could be worth. I suppose you gentlemen know all about that.” “There was such a transaction,”’ Scudder said impatiently. ‘Someone was keen Conquers Winter Whenever your household thermometer shows that it is colder than 60° above zero, Winterfront makes your motor more efficient. For Winterfront holds the heat under the hood and cold-weather driving loses its terrors. Because, when your motor needs warmth to make it start easier and operate most effi- ciently, the shutters remain closed, holding the heat in and keeping the cold out. But before your motor gets too hot, the shutters begin to open —you don’t do it, the heat of the motor does it. 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The Mosaic Tile Company \merwan Ercaustic Piling The National Tile Company Ce. bed Old Bridge BE. B. 4 Tile Co, teaver Palle Ant Tile Co. Penh Amboy Tile Works The Cambridge Tile Mfg The ©. Pander Works The United States Encaustic Tile Works Wheeling Tile Company Associated Tile Manufacturers 405 "th Ave., Beaver Falls, Pa (iruebhy Paience 4 Tile Co. Matawan Tile Company THE SATURDAY enough to see the opportunity, and formed a syndicate to take advantage of it. Is there anything wrong with that?” “T think there is,’ declared the old man instantly. “You see, one set of Ritchie heirs are minors, and I happen to know the trustee who handles their estate. I’ve been to see him. He wouldn’t agree to that option until he found out what he wanted to know about the syndicate and its scheme. He learned that it was the plan at that time to sell the Ritchie company to the Conover corporation, and he also learned that men connected with the Conover management were interested in the syndicate. “He was willing enough to give me the names, but I didn’t ask for them, and I won't ask for them now—not until we take this vote.” Hartley Scudder spoke angrily. “Such a threat as that calls for ” he began, but old David interrupted. “I’m only beginning,”’ he said sharply. “Soon after that Ritchie option was ~ the company put out a lot of new stoc was offered to stockholders at a price 80 high that only a fool stockholder would have subscribed, so it went to a syndicate, headed by a Wall Street firm called Pickens, Graham & Co., that had underwritten it; and the price was forty dollars a share. I’m not sure yet, but I think I can prove that this underwriting syndicate was the same combination that had the option on the Ritchie family stock at thirty dollars. So there was a nice fat block of Ritchie at thirty and forty dollars, and a nice sure- thing plan to dump it out on the Conover corporation for nearly one hundred dollars a share in Conover stock.” Scudder leaped to his feet. “This is nonsense,” he asserted loudly. ‘It’s in- sulting, and I won’t stand it. These are mere cheap suspicions that can't be sup- yorted. I ask for a vote. I refuse to stay here and listen to these Conover insinua- tions any longer.” “ Better sit down,” said David. “ You'll listen to them here or you'll listen to them in court,” “Court!” exclaimed Morris Randolph. “Court!” repeated old David. “My family owns about one-fourth interest in this company, Mr. Randolph. That will give it some standing in a court of equity, I think. And we're prepared to go to the length of asking for a receiver if necessary. Shall I go on?’ ““What more do you want to say?”’ Scud- der demanded angrily. “I want to ask some questions,” David answered, “Just after that Ritchie stock issue was made, four of the Conover’s best men—technical men and operating men left us and went over to the Ritchie com- pany. They were told to do that by officers of this company —told that, although they must keep it secret, the Conover corpora- tion wanted the Ritchie business built up. Why?” Seudder sat glowering and made no answer, David Conover went on with what he had to say. “About the same time, Ritchie put in new equipment and started to use some of Conover’s most valuable processes, every one of them owned by us pect whole Lf Ritchie’s been using them ever since, st ing money out of them, and never paying us a cent. Why? I'll tell you why. cause officers of this company deliberately allowed it, wanting Ritchie to show big profits that would make its stock seem valuable and justify Conover paying this high price for it. Besides that, three of the biggest contracts of the past year have gone to Ritchie instead of coming to us. Our bids were deliberately put so high that Ritchie could underbid us and still get good prices,” “This is nonsense! It’s slander!’ Seud- der cried excitedly. ‘‘These charges are false. The question before this meeting i whether we shall take in the Ritchie property or not. I want that question de- cided,” “So do I,” declared David Conover. “And if the vote is to take Ritchie in, every statement I’ve made will go into court to back a plea for a receiver based on charges of mismanagement—crooked man- agement, That’s the choice you have to make.” Morris Randolph raised his voice above the others. “I think we should have more time to decide this,” he announced. “I move the question of the purchase of the Ritchie company be referred back to the | executive committee for further consider- ation.” EVENING POST “That won’t do either!” barked old David instantly. “I want this settled now—yes or no. And if it isn’t a flat no this whole situation goes into the hands of Conover attorneys tomorrow. It will go to the newspapers even sooner than that. Now, all in favor of the resolution already moved and seconded will say ‘Aye.’ There were no ayes. Even the president of the Conover Chemical Corporation sat silent. “ All opposed will say ‘No.’”’ “No,” boomed Henry Conover, and young David echoed “ No.” “The ‘motion is lost,” declared grim old David. “Is there any other business before this meeting?” Hartley Scudder jumped from his chair and made swiftly for the door. He wrenched the knob vigorously and it came away in his hand. For an instant he stood look- ing in stupid surprise from what he so un- expectedly held, to the little square hole from which he had pulled it, and old David sat watching him with eyes that showed malicious amusement. But Scudder did not see that. He thrust the metal shaft back into its place and twisted it angrily and rattled it, and when it would not — the latch he plucked it out again and, wit! an oath, pounded the knob viciously upon the heavy panel. “Open this! Open this door!’’ he cried, and hammered furiously. Others came for- ward and tried their skill, but with no success, and their ready jesting seemed to heighten Scudder’s anger. He turned and strode rapidly down the room’s length to where a telephone st As he seized it Trinity’s brazen voice clamored the hour and old David Conover, age evilly, said, ‘‘ Three o’clock, Hart- arket’s closed.. No good to hurry now.” Scudder rounded upon him, profane. A little later the Conovers gathered in Thomas’ room and went over it all. Old David was elated and quarrelsome. “None of you did a thing,” he told them seornfully. ‘I had to do it all. I’ve been running all over the yen and drinking bootleg liquor with all ki of people to et enough facts to choke them with today. Fou" ve all gone stale since you’ve had so ae money. Do you want Scudder and ng to get it all away from you?” "i nry steered the talk away from that. “What happened to that door?" he asked. “T heard you say something was the matter with the lock.” Old David’s anger disappeared. From one pocket he produced a bright new screw driver and from another sundry discolored screws and bits of metal curiously shaped. “Can’t expect a lock to work right with- out its intestines,” he said. “I took ’em They looked in amazement from him to each other. ““Now why the devil did you do that?” asked Henry at last. “So none of them could get out and sell Ritchie stock before the news came out,” David answered tartly. ‘‘ D’you suppose I was going to let Scudder dump a fot of his Ritchie on people who would have been ready to buy, believing the deal was cer- tain. I didn’t know whether that meetin would last until after the market dant or not, so I made sure. Now everybody will start even when it opens again tomor- row. Hartley won't have an edge on any- body. snarling, me When did you do that, father?” Thomas ° asked solemnly. “*Bout an hour before the meeting started,” David chuckled. ‘Had the room all to myself and had it all done before the boy came to fix up the table. All I was afraid yf was that somebody would shut the door before the whole crowd got there. No trouble at all to do it, Tommy. I know something about locks.” Thomas Conover shook his head omi- nously, but Henry was hugely delighted. “Good work,” he declared. ‘“‘There won't be a bid for Ritchie stock tomorrow morning. I’ ll gamble it opens down 25 or 80 points. David sat up suddenly and reached for a telephone. “Want to tell Johnny Henderson,” he explained. ‘“‘That’s another reason I fixed that door. He’s been in hell’s hole on ac- count of having sold a lot of Ritchie short. He’s in pretty deep, I think, but I told him this deal couldn’t go through, and up to last week I understood he hadn’t covered. This ought to mean a lot of money to him.” ‘ high? Ho November 1, 1924 David was unable to talk to John Hen- derson just then, however. Word came that Mr. Henderson was seriously engaged and had shut off his telephone. David said, “‘Tell him I want to see him this afternoon. I'll drop into his office before I go uptown.” An hour later, therefore, old David came in upon Johnny Henderson where he was standing by his big window, scowling down upon the homeward-hurrying Broadway crowd, of which he was seeing nothing. “Well, Johnny,” cried the old man from the door jubilantly, “how great a man is your friend Hartley Scudder now?” “What do you mean by that?” Hender- son asked, halting with his hand out- stretched. “Haven’t heard about it, eh? Well, we licked him today. We Conovers licked the whole Scudder gang. The Ritchie Aniline deal is off.’ “What!” Johnny Henderson’s exclama- tion was like the crack of an automatic. “It’s off, and it’s off for keeps,” David declared happily. ‘“‘Didn’t I tell you it couldn’t be put through? Didn’t I tell you there wouldn’t be any reason to change your mind about Ritchie stock being too you'll go in and smash it now, Johnny. Hope you'll make a lot of money out of it after all.” Henderson seemed to find difficulty in believing that David was serious. His drawn, puzzled brow showed how incredible the news was to him. He eased himself into a chair and started the usual roughing of his hair. “Let me get this straight, Mr. Conover,” he said slowly. “Do you mean to say the Conover corporation is not going to buy Ritchie after all?” “That’s just what I mean to say,” chuckled David. ‘We stuck a pin in the Ritchie balloon this afternoon.” “The directors actually voted against t —finally — officially?” “They did,” David declared. ‘There'll be no drop of Ritchie in the Conover toddy. What do you suppose Scudder and the rest of them will do now with the stock they’ve bought, expecting to exchange it for Con- over shares? ’Tain’t worth ten dollars a share.” “You're right enough about that,”’ said Henderson absently. me expect it will sell down there some day.” “Hartley Scudder’s not so much smarter than other people, after all,”’ bragged the old man. “Still, he’s fairly smart.” Henderson seemed thoughtful, and David studied him in some perplexity. ““What’s the matter with you, Johnny?” he demanded after a time. “I thought you'd be more chipper about this. Seems you ought to be grateful. Maybe you think I should have let you know sooner, but I couldn’t. No way of reaching you before the meeting broke up, and after- ward, when I phoned, your office said you were so busy you had shut off your tele- phone.” Henderson crossed the room to his win- dow again. From there he said, “I know you couldn’t reach me, Mr. Conover. No complaint on that score. I’m thinking of what Ritchie will do in the market to- morrow.” “Tt’ll go to pieces,’’ asserted David cheer- fully. “‘Where did you sell it short?” “My sales averaged about 70,”’ Hen- derson answered indifferently. “Ought to make a lot of money if you're short enough of it. When are you going to start covering it?” Henderson whirled savagely, his eyes blazing; and ‘the sudden passionate anger in his voice dropped old David’s jaw. “I’m not going to start!’’ he spat out. “T’ve already finished! Scudder worked fast after you hit him, and he thought of me first. His brokers—this Pickens-Graham outfit—came in here an hour ago with a proposition and I took it—signed up to pay them 95 for enough stock to cover my shorts. That’s why my phone was off. sat here with my eyes shut and swallowed a loss of half a million and more. D’you hear that? You don’t think Scudder’s smart, eh? Well, I do, and I know. He’s stung me with more than twenty thousand Ritchie at 95 that he knew couldn’t be sold tomorrow morning for half that. Not smart, eh? " Hartley Scudder’s half a million dollars smarter than Johnny Henderson tonight and it’ll figure a lot more than that tomor- row. What do you call smart, anyhow, Mr. Conover?”

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After a time, however, it encroached upon his conscious- ness and attracted his attention. He recog- nized the sound at once. A long whine, rising in pitch, to break off at last in a sharp cough; a succession of staccato barks; and then the whine again—Rad Pettibaw’s sawmill, working in the sapling pine a mile | or so up the shore of the pond. Dale could hear the exhaust of the engine as the car- riage was drawn back between cuts; he could hear the drone of the keen saw as it ripped through the soft wood, striking a louder note when it cut through a resinous knot, waxing ever higher and higher as it gained in speed till it tore out through the end of the oo with a clang, quickly stilled as the engineer shut off the power. Then the barking engine as the carriage slid back; the relentless how! of the saw again. He thought there was something obscene in the sound, snarling through the still air of the summer afternoon. It was, vaguely, profanation that such a turmoil should shatter the pleasant silence in which the old pines lived. He resented the fact that the saw should come so near them; wondered if even the philosophic courage of age could | make them impervious to the threat it represented. But the saw would never touch them, he thought; and he said, half aloud, “Don’t let it bother you, boys. It ain’t coming this way. Just cutting up that young stuff, that’s all.” When by and by he turned homeward, the sound of the saw pursued him chal- lengingly; he found himself vaguely un- easy, was glad when a greater distance lessened its insistent cry. au ALE, returning from the pines toward his home, did not retrace the path he had taken when he came down to the shore of the pond. Instead he followed the rutted wood road which connected the cottage | with the highway, and turned toward the village along that way. In the ruts beneath his feet he saw the marks of the heavy wheels of Rad Pettibaw’s lumber wagons, which had been hauling the sawed boards from the tract where his steam mill was now at work; and the sight of these tracks curiously oppressed him, so that he lifted his eyes sed went forward more swiftly. As he approached his own farmhouse an open pasture lay to his left, toward the pond; it was here that he had picked a few berries in the early afternoon, and among the bushes here now, at some distance from the road, he saw a woman's sunbonnet and her bowed back—Jane Thomaston, picking berries there. She may have heard his footsteps. At any rate she lifted her head and saw him and called some word of greeting, but Dale only nodded and went on. Jane watched him go, hesitating as though she were in- clined to come to the roadside and talk with him. She was a tall, strong figure in worn and faded gingham, and the sun- | bonnet shaded a vigorous and not unat- tractive countenance; the countenance of a woman past her youth who has stood alone against the world. Dale, having left her behind, thought of her a little wistfully, He was momentarily sorry he had not oneliness pur- When he turned into his own farmyard it | was already late afternoon. The farm lay | on the eastern slope of rising ground, so | that the sun already seemed low in the sky, and long shadows from the wooded land above the house stretched dark fingers | down across the pasture and the meadows toward the pond. The air was still; and Dale, from this slight eminence, could hear more plainly the song of Pettibaw’s saw. The cows were in the farther end of the lane, idly grazing as they drew toward the bars outside the tie-up. Dale watched them for a moment, and then went into the | house. The fire in the kitchen stove was out and he rekindled it, splitting a chunk of cedar in the woodshed with strokes full of an unaccustomed vigor, as though his ax struck at an enemy. Yet Dale had always | been too indolent to have an enemy. When the fire was going he looked around the kitchen aimlessly. Unwashed dishes from his breakfast were in the sink. He would clean them up tonight before he went to bed. His bed, in the next room, was un- made; some of his garments lay heedlessly EVENING POST THE PINES (Continued from Page 11) upon a chair. He made sure the fire would burn, put in a chunk of oak to hold the flame, and went out through the shed to the patch of garden above the house to pick a few peas for his supper. This took only a few minutes; and he returned and shelled the peas and put them to cook upon the stove. One of the cows lowed, and he went to the bars and admitted the creatures to the tie-up. Dale had six head of stock. Three were heifers not yet milking, and one of the others was dry. From the two which re- mained he got enough milk for his own needs, with a little to spare. An irregular number of cats of all sizes and every variety of coloring absorbed the remainder. His small black-and-white dog, trained to run rabbits, had died of distemper a month before, and:Dale had not yet found another to his taste. The cats were his only com- pany in the house; and Dale permitted them to stay rather because he was too in- different to take the trouble to rid himself of them than because he had any love for cats. While he was busy with the cows he heard the far-away pipe of a derisive whistle, and knew it for the whistle of the sawmill, marking the end of the day’s work. A little later two rattling automobiles passed along the road, carrying the men to the village. Rad Pettibaw himself drove the first. Dale was in the barn door as they passed; and Rad waved a hand to him and shouted something, to which Dale, curi- ously rigid, made no reply. Rad was a large man, heavier than Dale, bulky and strong. He sat in the seat of the small car with an overbearing and dominant impressiveness. The car sagged and complained beneath his weight. He wore, at an angle, an old felt hat; and Dale found something curiously annoying about this hat. Hats were, so far as Dale was concerned, merely a cover- ing for the head, to be worn in all weather, indoors and out. It had never occurred to him that the way a man wears a hat may sometimes be an index to his mental hab- its. Dale’s own hat drooped listlessly. Rad wore his like a challenge; it seemed almost to ve adorned with a cockade. The affecta- tion irked Dale. A little later still, while he was watching the coffeepot on the stove, a step sounded on the kitchen porch, and he turned and saw Jane Thomaston there. She had pushed the bonnet back upon her forehead, and her face was red with her vigorous movements. She was a strong woman who lived as soli- tary as Dale himself, in a small house be- yond the village, chopped wood as well as any man, cultivated a garden rather more successfully than most men, and was re- puted to have means. If she had not been so oppressively com- petent Dale might have liked her better. As it was, he was attracted to Jane; but he was also a little afraid of her. She had fallen into the habit of paying him small attentions, giving him a pan of biscuits or a batch of doughnuts now and then, offer- ing to mend his clothes, and once or twice fetching him a pair of socks she had knitted. She carried now in either hand a large pail, and Dale saw that these pails were well filled with berries. “I declare,” she said as she stood out- side the screen door. “It’s right warm in the sun today. I said to myself that I'd stop and get me a drink of water.” Dale said uncertainly, ‘“‘Come in and set. I'll pump some fresh.” “I can do it,” she offered, setting down the pails of berries on the porch and com- ing in. He had taken the bucket from the sink, and she reeched for it. “You'd rust the pump,” Dale warned her. ‘I know how.” She laughed cheerfully. pump a pail of water.” “The plunger’s rusty,” Dale explained. “If you work it too hard it scrapes the sides of the pipe and the water ain't fit to drink. Leave go.” The pot on the stove simmered as the coffee began to boil, and she surrendered. “I'll tend to this, then,”’ she assented, and Dale went out into the shed, where she heard the slow and methodical clank of the ump handle. She watched the coffeepot, ooking around the kitchen meanwhile and appraising its deficiencies. When he came back she said briskly, “‘ Never could see how a man could live in a mess like this. You need a woman around the house, Dale.” “Guess I can ET eT November /, 1924 “It don’t bother me,” he told her, and handed her a quart dipper of water, from which she drank deeply. ‘‘ You got a lot of berries,’”’ he commented, by the door. “T aim to put ’em up tomorrow,” she ex- plained. “What with my garden coming along and all, I’ll be over a stove the rest of this month, I reckon. Your garden looks right thrifty.” “‘More stuff than I can use,’’ Dale agreed. “T could put it up for you if I wasn’t so busy my own self.” He said uncomfortably, ‘Guess you've got all you can do.” “Land!”’ she commented. ‘A person always seems to have all they can do. But they manage to do a little more if they have to, I've always said. It’s as easy to do for two as for one, come to that.” Dale felt his ears burn. He knew, as he had known for years, that Jane was no spin- ster from choice; knew that she liked him well enough. But it was impossible for him to think of himself as married. He dis- trusted marriage, as he distrusted every- thing that threatened to alter the smooth current of his easy life. He did well enough as he was; it was therefore obvious enough that change meant peril. Yet there were moments when Jane attracted him; when he liked her rather more than he knew how to say. There were such moments as this, when she was kindly and friendly; but there were other times when her tongue was sharp, when her eyes were critical, when her words were caustic. She was, for an- other thing, so alarmingly energetic, for- ever at work, forever planning and doing; and she had a forceful decisiveness which appalled him. It was not as though he could not take care of himself. He was comfortable enough as he was. If he were older, if he needed her more, he might have n more willing to meet halfway the ad- vances which she sometimes made. “You better let me carry them pails to the village,” he suggested awkwardly. “I’m going to the store after supper. I could as well as not.” She laughed. “Land, they don’t weigh hardly anything. And you'd forget 'em, like as not, or crush the berries.” “T see Rad Pettibaw and his men go by right ahead of you. He might have carried you home.” She tossed her head faintly. “I don’t hanker for riding with Rad Pettibaw,”’ she told him. “I got out of sight when I heard them a-coming. Kind of hate to see him cutting down the woods around here. I al- ways did like the woods.” She knew Dale’s weak spot. “Guess he'd like to get hold of the pines if he could.” “He ain’t likely to,” Dale said quickly, so quickly it was as though he meant to re- assure himself. “Well, he’s a money-getter,” she re- minded him. “If he wanted to I guess he wouid.” He had not suggested that she stay to supper, nor did she expect any such invitation. “Well, your supper’s ready. I'll go along.” “I'd as soon carry them pails for you when I go.” She took another long drink of the cool water, shook her head as she turned toward the door. “I don’t notice them no more than nothing,” she replied, and went out on the porch. “I'll send you a jar of the preserves,” she promised. “A man likes a taste of something sweet oncet in a while.’”’ He found no words, and she went down through the barnyard to the road and away toward the village. Dale, safely withdrawn within the kitchen, watched her go. He had a faint sense of loss at her going; that suggestion. of loneliness made itself felt again. He remembered her reference to Pettibaw, her statement that she had hid- den rather than be seen by him, rather than be offered a ride back to the village. Petti- baw would certainly have invited her to ride. He had already, as Dale knew, paid Jane some attention. The whole village had sometimes seen him in the evening sit- ting on her porch, a cigar in his mouth, talk- ing through her kitchen door while she washed the supper dishes inside; and Will Belter had gone out of his way to tell Dale that Pettibaw thought her a fine woman, and—potentially—a good wife for any man. “‘He’s right struck with her,” Belter de- clared unctuously. It was always his pleas- ure to carry such reports. “But I told (Continued on Page 97)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Your oil “ must act instantly—or? For over 35 years our company has been in the business of making good lubricants. We understand that business thoroughly. Sunoco Motor Oil and all Sunoco Lubri cants are definite contributions to better lubrication. We are large refiners of paraffin-base crude oil—for certain other prod- ucts. We never use it for Sunoco Motor Lubricants. Why engineers attribute 80°, of motor troubies to faulty lubri- cation; why lubrication deter- mines the life and satisfactory performance of your car, or truck, or tractor—are subjects too large to deal with in limited space. So we've written a book- let about them. It’s easy to read; and it will tell you some facts about motor oils that you ought to know. Just write for a copy of ‘‘Motor Lubrication.” HEN you start your car in cold weather, the first five minutes’ running tells the story. If your oil is stiffened by cold, more wear and damage can occur than might result from a month of normal driving. A free-flowing oil prevents damage and also makes starting much easier. Sunoco Motor Oil flows freely in cold weather. It gives im- mediate and effective lubrication. It contains nothing to cause a harmful thickening or stiffening. Play safe by using Sunoco, the wholly distilled motor oil. It is made from a special crude oil best suited for motor lubri- cants. Every type of Sunoco is absolutely pure and uniform; wholly distilled. It contains no cylinder stock. When the temperature gets around 40°, start right by hav- ing the old oil drained from your crankcase and refilling with the proper winter type of Sunoco. You'll appreciate its superiority when you use it. SUN OIL COMPANY, Philadelphia Sun Oil Company, Limited, Montreal Branches and Agents in Principal Cities—Dealers Everywhere SUNTDEE THE DISTILLED OIL

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST November 1, 1924 VARNISH FINEST QUALITY VARNISHES”° FINISHES SUPREMIS FLOOR FINISH E.L.DU PONT DE NEMOURS & CO. (inconra PAINTS & VARNISHES for every Household and Industrial Use

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST The secret of du Pont achievement eS a ® @ « h \] in interior finis es f, A= FINISH for each special purpose— SUPREMIS—for floors a developed through years of research, for just SHIPOLEUM—for woodwork and furniture ' that purpose and no other, and proven by long service NAVALITE—for exterior use in practical use . . . . no wonder du Pont Finishes CHI-VO—for dull-rubbed effects in . have set new standards in value. interior use. For example, varnish for floors should be tough, elastic, literally made to walk on. If you cover your floors with a varnish designed for furniture or woodwork, you cannot expect it to wear like a special floor varnish—yet the furniture varnish will provide a lustrous, long-wearing finish on chairs, tables and woodwork. Du Pont Chemical Engineers have carefully fol- lowed this tried and proven principle of specializa- tion. They have developed special varnishes that give super-service for the particular use for which they are designed, each held to uniform quality by the most rigid system of chemical control known to industry— And du Pont has applied the same principle to other interior finishes such as enamels, stains and fillers. FLOW KOTE—the porcelain-like white enamel for woodwork; cannot chip, crack, or turn yellow with age ; Floor and Deck Enamel Paint for porches and old fashioned floors; Colored Enamels, Penetrat- ing and Acid Stains for various effects on furniture. No matter what you want to paint, varnish, enamel or stain, there is a du Pont Product that will give you extra value at no higher cost. The du Pont Oval on the can is a pledge of highest quality — on the store window, a pledge of service. See the du Pont Paint and Varnish Service Agent in your community. He can serve you and serve you well! E. I. DU PONT DE NEMOURS & CO., Inc. Chicago Varnish Works 35th St. & Gray's Ferry Road Everett Sta, No. 49 Chicago, III. Philadelphia, Pa. Boston, Mass. vT Mm Flow Kote ENAMEL LIKE LIQUID PORCELAIN 7 When you employ a contracting painter, specify du Pont materials. He will be glad to thus insure the high quality of his work. CAre you the merchant? A few territories are still open for the kind of merchants who can qualify for the du Pont Paint and Varnish Franchise. 95 Super-Service through Specialization Du Pont offers a special “Paint Pre- scription Service” to Industrial Plants, specifying the proper paint or varnish product to provide longest wear and a. greatest coverage for every upkeep pur- wy pose and for every manufactured article. ¢ ¢/ S LOOK FOR THE DU PONT OVAL IN THE DEALER’S WINDOW

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST November 1, 1924 96 Lead gives light when darkness comes > %, ‘ y 4 GS ae. P LACK clouds hide the midday sun. A storm is about to break over the city. In every office and home people get up and turn on electric lights. In the emergency the power plant must supply electricity up to its capacity. But only two of the generators are running, and it takes time to put the others in operation. Where is the additional elec- tricity to come from? Man turns to lead for aid. In the power plant an electrician throws a switch that turns on the current from many storage batteries. These batteries, made mostly of lead, provide the extra current until other generators are started. Millions of pounds of lead used Lead is serving you in storage batteries everywhere. At home, on trips by land and sea or through the air, in peace and war, these lead batteries have become an essential part of the nation’s life—the life of each of us. Storage batteries in this country in use in radio sets, automobiles and cen- tral station power plants alone contain many millions of pounds of lead. The amount of lead used in a single storage battery ranges from a few pounds in the smallest to several hundred pounds in the largest battery. thousand What's inside the storage battery? Each lead storage battery is an electrical reservoir storing up energy for the time of need. Inside are two sets of lead grids, or perforated plates, covered with lead oxides—one set with red-lead, the other with litharge. These plates are immersed in a weak solution of sulphuric acid. While the smaller sizes of storage bat- teries are contained in glass jars or hard rubber jars, the large central station bat- teries are installed in immense wooden tanks lined with lead. 28@:. Lead storage batteries supply electric- ity for telephone, telegraph, and wireless communication. They furnish electrical energy for self-starters, lamps, and igni- tion systems in millions of automobiles. They supply current for the ignition systems of tractors on many of the 6,000,000 or more farms in the country and gas trucks in every part of the land. = Wey x IL lighting needs in a central power plant Lead storage batteries propel street- cars, electric industrial and pleasure ve- hicles, mine locomotives, and electric fire engines. They operate drawbridges, rail- road switches, and signals. Lead at sea and in the air For yacht lighting and for motor-boat lighting and ignition, storage batteries again come to man’s assistance. They supply current for turning turrets, sight- ing and firing guns on warships. They propel submarines when the undersea craft run beneath the surface. Lead storage batteries even soar through the air in airplanes. Lead in paint Lead aids man faithfully and well in the storage battery. But it serves him more generally perhaps as paint. You doubt- less know that white-lead is the standard paint for wood and non-metallic surfaces. Red-lead, another lead pigment, is the standard paint for metal to protect it against the attacks of rust. You see red-lead everywhere—on_ skyscraper skeletons, bridges, gas tanks, ships, on metal construc- cn tion wherever used. [Swe It saves the covered : surface and hence the entire structure from rapid deterioration and eventual destruction. Producers of lead products Dutch Boy red-lead is the name of the pure red-lead made and sold by National Lead Company. It comes in paste form which can be tinted to any dark color. On every keg of Dutch Boy red-lead is reproduced the picture of the Dutch Boy Painter shown here. This trade- mark guarantees a product of the high- est quality. Dutch Boy products also include white-lead, linseed oil, flatting oil, bab- bitt metals, and solder. National Lead Company also makes lead products for practically every pur- pose to which lead can be put in art, in- dustry, and daily life. If you want in- formation regarding any particular use of lead, write to us. If you wish to read further about this wonder metal, we can tell you of a num- ber of interesting books on the subject. The latest and probably the most complete story of lead and its many uses is “‘Lead, the Precious Metal,” published by the Century Co., New York. Price $3.00. If unable to get it at your bookstore, write us or the publishers. NATIONAL LEAD COMPANY New York, 111 Broadway; Boston, 131 State St.; Buffalo, 116 Oak St.; Chicago, 900 West 18th St.; Cincinnati, 659 Freeman Ave.; Cleveland, 820 West Superior Ave.; St. Louis, 72@ Chestnut St.; San Francisco, 485 Cali- fornia St.; Philadelphia, John T. 1 ad = att! mai lle 4 . = Pittsburgh, National Lead & Oil Co. of Pa., 316 Fourth Ave.; wis & Bros. Co., 487 Chestnut St.

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(Continued from Page 92) him,” he assured Dale with a grin, “that she wa’n’t likely to marry anybody, less’n it was you.” Dale, not ready of speech, made no com- ment on this. A denial would have been fatuous; the whole town knew this was truth, had accepted the situation for years. “He laughed at that,” Belter added. “Said he guessed no woman would be that big of a fool. He thinks you don’t amount te much,” he explained. Dale remembered this conversation with Belter, after Jane left him. He thought she was not the sort to hide from any man; and with sudden insight wondered whether, if she had indeed hidden from Pettibaw to- night, she had not half expected to be dis- covered in spite of her precautions. He wondered if she found the millman attrac- tive; remembered that she had paid a tribute to his habit of success, his comer and vigor. She was, he told himself, the sort to like a vigorous and energetic man; and in spite of the fact that he was quite sure he did not want her for himself, that he was definitely afraid of her, this realiza- tion curiously intensified the faint dislike which he had of late begun to feel for Pettibaw. He ate his supper indifferently. The peas were tender and delicious; the coffee good enough; and two or three doughnuts com- pleted the meal, Dale, like most men who live alone in such a community as Frater- nity, found in the doughnut the true staff of life. Enough may be fried at one time to last for days; and age cannot wither nor cus- tom stale either their sturdy appeal to the masculine taste or their sustaining effect. In his unmethodical way he cooked dough- nuts whenever the crock in the cellar was empty, and ate them till they were gone, and cooked more as need arose. There was always cheese in the house. He bought a fresh slab every evening at the store; and doughnuts and cheese are good staple diet for an indifferent man. He had a fine taste in doughnuts; there were some that he liked, others failed to appeal to him. It was a matter of pride with him that his doughnuts should be tough rather than crisp, and not too sony impregnated with the pork fat in which he fried them. Some- times, for variety’s sake, he mixed choco- late in the dough; but this was a noveity that soon lost its appeal. After supper, since there was hot water in the tank at one end of the stove, he de- cided to wash dishes before milking, and he did so with a careless effectiveness that satisfied his own requirements. He left the dishes to drain and dry of themselves, and went to the barn to milk the two cows and make them comfortable for the night. About dusk he set out along the road toward the store, carrying a lantern to illu- mine the homeward way, since there;was no moon. It was perhaps half a mile to the village; but for half that distance the road lay through a hardwood growth where on a dark night the shadows were black. Be- yond this wood he passed a deserted farm- house, and then another stand of buildings where his road joined that from North Fraternity. Thus he came down into the village and crossed the river at the bridge above the barrel mill and ascended the little rise to the store. There was already a group of men upon the high steps, smoking their black pipes and talking together in the warm evening air: Chet McAusland and Jim Saladine, and Gay Hunt and Joe Race; and a mo- ment after Dale had taker his place among them George Freeland crossed the road to join the others. The stage had not yet come. Inside the store the lamps were lighted and Will Bissell and Andy Wattles were attending to the wants of a few cus- tomers. Gay Hunt had been fishing that day and reported his catch; he said that a cow moose and a calf had been seen the evening before on the road to Liberty, as- serted that he had seen a wildcat’s track beside the brook that day, and an otter slide. Hunt was known to be a fanciful man, not so much a liar as one who always exaggerates the tales he tells; so the wild- cat was not wholly credited, and Saladine cast mild doubt upon the matter of the otter. “Haven’t seen an otter track around here for three-four years,”’ he suggested. “There was one that traveled up and down the river back of my place last win- ter,” McAusland declared. ‘I see the tracks twice.” “Well, they will travel,” Saladine agreed. “They move around a lot.” THE SATURDAY “‘T guess I know an otter slide,’’ Hunt in- sisted. Joe Race asked mildly where it was; and Hunt told him, detailing the location. Cir- cumstantiality lent body to his tale; and Chet McAusland asserted that there had been a slide in the spot he mentioned, nine years before. ‘Nick Westley saw it,” he added, “‘He told me it was there. I meant to get up to see it, but I never did.” ale listened without making comment. He was not a talkative man, not an sive one. Most of his neighbors liked him in an indifferent fashion, although some of them disapproved of him because he had let a good farm run down. His part in these sessions at the store was usually that of listener. Will Belter came down the hill in his buggy, driving from his home on the ridge, pen went in to order a sack of feed from Andy Wattles. The stage arrived, and Andy and the stage driver carried the mail bags inside. As though at a signal those on the steps rose and went in to get their pa- pers and wait for the mail to be distrib- uted. They found Belter talking with Will Bissell; and since Belter always talked in a loud tone they heard what he said. “He went in town and fixed up the deal today,” he declared. Will was usually the first to learn of any happening of general interest; and he loved to spread the news, so that he had acquired an ancient reputation as a talebearer. Sala- dine in a jocose voice asked Bissell now, “What’s Will want you to believe tonight?” The storekeeper was a composed man with a quiet face and a low voice. He smiled faintly and replied, ‘Says Rad Pettibaw’s going to cut the pines.” Dale Warner had been one of the last to come in from the steps; but he was in time to hear this. Bissell’s words struck him with shocking force, so that he stopped where he was for a moment, and his knees trembled. Then he spoke harshly, loudly, in a voice unlike his natural tone. “The pines up by the pond?” he de- manded. Belter answered him. “Yes, sir. Bought "em today.” i Belter was working for Pettibaw with his team, hauling logs and lumber, so that his words were entitled to some small credence. But Dale could not believe them. He looked at Belter, and then at the others; and he said gropingly, “Guess that can’t be so.” “Tt sure is,” Belter insisted with some unction. This was news of general public interest, for everyone knew the trees, and everyone in greater or less measure loved them. If Pettibaw should cut them it would be quite definitely an affront to public opinion. It was not a matter anyone was likely openly to resent or to hinder; their feeling would hardly take the form of action. Yet every man of them would be sorry to see the old trees go. Saladine voiced this general thought. “That don’t seem right.” “Why, they’re old and beginning to get rotten, anyway,” Belter argued. ‘Half of them are punky now; but he figures there’s good lumber in them. Guess he made a good bargain at that though.” “There ain’t but one of them that’s got a hole in it anywheres,”’ Dale exclaimed, a hint of passion in his tones. “T guess if Pettibaw’s bought them he knows what he’s doing,” Bissell remarked. “You sure he has?” Saladine asked Belter. “T heard him say so,” Belter insisted. “Probably you didn’t hear right,” Sala- dine suggested mildly. The discussion developed into an argu- ment, hope lending strength to the general increculity. Only Dale Warner took no part in what they said; he listened almost avidly, his eyes lighting at each denial, clouding at Belter’s repeated insistence. And through his thoughts ran the picture of Pettibaw sitting so insolently in his small car, his hat at that aggressive angle above his eye, and he heard again that far how] of the saw, ripping its harsh way through tender wood. The memory conjured a series of pictures before his eyes. He imagined the tottering of the great trees, imagined that he saw their round trunks pared away and pared away by the recurrent strokes of the whirling teeth. He found himself shud- dering with a physical nausea; and he tried to tell himself that this tale could not be true, that Belter was mistaken or lying, that this atrocity was incredible and out of all belief.

EVENING POST

But by and by Rad Pettibaw himself came into the store, bulking large. He was as tall as any man there, and broader, his heavy shoulders insolent. Upon his com- ing, momentary silence fell. Pettibaw was not a Fraternity man. His home had been over near South China; he had come into the town five or six months before with his steam mill to cut a tract of small stuff he had bought; and since then he had bought other standing timber and reduced it to bleeding planks and slabs, in the process littering the earth with sawdust piles. He had made few friends. His manner was too spares and too domineering for that. ow as he came in he tugged his hat a little lower on one side, accentuating that angle which Dale found himself suddenly hating. Bissell was behind the Po show case in which were candies and cigars, and Rad loudly demanded two cigars and paid for them, ringing the coin upon the glass, and lighting one of the cigars. With it cocked between his strong lips, his elbows resting on the edge of the show case behind him, he faced the other men in the store. Dale, just inside the door, watched him bitterly. No ~< ers till Pettibaw’s loud voice boomed orth, “Well, pretty good haying weather,” he remarked. Belter appealed to him then, appealed to him for confirmation. “T been telling them you’d bought that bunch of old pines by the pond,” he said in a fawning voice. “They don’t seem to be- lieve me.” “Wh not?” Pettibaw demanded. “What's bps with that?” _Saladine said slowly, “Them pines are a kind of landmark. I guess we’d mostly hate to see them go.” “Make damned good lumber,” said Pettibaw. “I aim to move my mill down there soon as I get through where I am.” He puffed a cloud of smoke, Dale, inconspicuously enough, withdrew himself. He went out through the front door of the store and homeward. He forgot his lantern, left it on the stoop before the door. Perhaps this was the rea- son why, when he struck into the home- ward road, his feet continually stumbled. He went uncertainly, like a man who can- not see his way. mi HE night was dark and still, and far sounds came clearly to the ear. A coon, fishing for frogs somewhere down along the pond, whistled shrilly; a fox barked; an owl hooted from a stub in the old pasture; a breeding pair of black duck in the marshy shallows at the foot of the pond spoke softly together. Dale found himself blundering along the wood road that led from the highway down through the pines. He did not know how he had come there; had passed his own farm without knowing it, walking blindly straight ahead, turnin automatically along this wah comahenal thoroughfare. Where the wood road curved around the rotting stump of an old tree that had stood there years before, ard had fallen before Dale’s day and recollection he stopped for a moment. It was very stil here within the wood, and he heard a mouse squeak. Ahead of him as he went on, faint sheen upon the water revealed the pond lying like a pool of mercury; and outside the oe a bass splashed when he missed his stroke at a chub. Dale came out of the wood and down upon the strand till his feet were at the very water’s edge. He stood there, halted by this barrier, his senses whirling; stood and stared out across the water, conscious only of the turmoil of his thoughts, of the great sorrow and gnawing rage which tore at him. After a little time he moved back from the wrter to the nearest pine; and if there had been anyone to see, he must have seemed to them composed and calm. Like his neighbors, he wore a habitual cloak of still composure, and this hid and covered his unhappiness now. The cool night was cong upon his hot cheeks and his oe »xrow. He laid one hand against the trun of the tree and leaned there, his glance still turned out across the pond; and memories ran through him. From the water there seemed to come the voice of old Charlie

Broad. “ Perch are biting, Dale!” High in the air above him, even though there was | no perceptible current moving, the needles whispered as though to comfort him, whis- | pered with a proud courage and resigna- | tion. After a time he sat down wearily, his | shoulders against the trunk of the tree, and (Continued on Page 100) }

A Fixture “Creation” Not merely a “ceiling light,” but the daintiest bit of decora tive lighting fixture you ever Saw. The ivory and gold plate, which fits snugly against the ceiling, gives the final touch of elegance to your decorations, The light diffused by the exquisite ivory tinted bowl is wonderfully soft and restful, but sufficiently strong for comfortable reading, Especially designed for bou- doirs, hotel bedrooms, efhiciency apartments, tea rooms, clubs, See Maze-Lite and you'll want one right away. $ installed any- 11.85 where in U.S. Write for booklet Trial Offer. Your Fixture Dealer is authorized to install one Maze-Lite on twenty days’ trial. If the luminaire is not thoroughly satisfactory, he wail 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 made by the makers ro} ams ob a- t-fere) b he

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST November 1, 1924 possible for you in your home to have the greatest artists of the piano play for you the music of all the composers from Bach to Irving Berlin. The musical possibilities in the home of Bach were actually limited by comparison with the music made possible in your home by the Ampico, two centuries later. cA picture that raises the question, “Is good music possible only in a musical family or in a home where there is at least one talented musician?” For years this was true. Each family had not only to provide itseif with a piano, but it had to pro- duce the musician to play it. Today the Ampico has made it NE 252 F ITT ORT NE STEER Ts 6. Music in the Home of Bach " Painted by ToBY &. ROSENTHAL The Ampico is found exclusively in fine pianos. It is built as an integral and concealed part of the following makes of pianos, which have been known for generations as instruments of quality. CHICKERING HAINES BROS. MARSHALL & WENDELL »- FRANKLIN In Canada the Willis also KNABE FISCHERU Note that the Knabe and the Chickering are two of the four great pianos in general use on the American concert stage. ahs ae: t ry > — - ~- —______ = m/s /impico brings hundreds of amous artists te You. o/Fmong dim, ate ~ fa 4 RICHARD BUHLIG TERESA CARRENO JULIUS CHALOFP? JAN CHIAPUSSO CHARLES COOPER GEORGE COPELAND ERNO DOHNANY! MAURICE DUMESNIL LEOPOLD GODOWSKY KATHARINE GOODSON PHILLIP GORDON MARK HAMBOURG VICTOR HERBERT ETHEL LEGINSKA MISCHA LEVITZKI JOSEF LHEVINNE YOLANDA MER(O ALFRED MIROVITCH BENNO MOISEIWITSCH MIECZYSLAW MUNZ ELLY NEY ERWIN NYIREGYHAZI LEO ORNSTEIN SERGE! RACHMANINOFF MORIZ ROSENTHAL ARTHUR RUBINSTEIN E. ROBERT SCHMITZ GERMAINE SCHNITZER HENRY SOUVAINE And pl play popular o FANNIE BLOOMFIELD ZEISLER ing usic ADAM CARROLL j. MILTON DELCAMP FERDIE GROFE HENRY LANGE VINCENT LOPEZ RALPH REICHENTHAL

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NY a elt | ; : ’ ' THE SATURDAY EVENING POST WHAT DID YOU BUY WHEN YOU BOUGHT A PIANO ? UYING a piano is a perfect example of pay- ing for one thing to get another. You go to the piano store and select a beautiful instru- ment. But what you really want is something that cannot be seen, or touched, or carted out to your house in a moving-van. For you pay your money—not for a piano— but to hear it played. Unless your piano yields beautiful music, beautifully played, it is just as if your purchase had never been delivered. For the first time—the all of the piano A piano is really a piano only when a musician plays it. So a piano that is masterfully played but a few times in years becomes, in fact, the merest fraction of a piano. Only when a piano is beautifully played gen- erously, constantly, and whenever the need for it is felt—can we say that the purchaser has received what he paid for. Such a piano is the Ampico. For even when an Ampico goes into a home where not one person can play, it carries with it all the world’s best music. Through the years, the Ampico will offer its riches—musical treasures that make any home a finer place to live in. You are now offered for the first time in the world’s history the all of the piano. Now you may exchange your old piano for the Ampico—an instrument that gives you everything a piano has to give. For here is a splendid instrument, worthy of the artists who speak through it. No detail of its structure is changed by the miraculous device concealed within. By means of this device the world’s greatest artists will play for you— whatever, whenever, and as often as you like. When your piano is an Ampico, your piano is music. Great artists will play for you The greatest musical genius of the world is yours to share when an Ampico is added to your family. Levitzki, Rachmaninoff, Rosenthal, : \ | Se. ©The Sh nico Corporation, Schnitzer, Bloomfield Zeisler—these are but a few of the hundreds of artists whose playing the Ampico reproduces with almost magical fidelity. All the music that you know, and all the music that you want to know, is found in the library of Ampico recordings. Nocturnes, hymns, ballads, dance music, symphonies—the list is endless! You may now know music as you never dreamed you could. Hear the Ampico! The Ampico may be had only with pianos bear- ing these names, which for generations have stood for instruments of quality: Knabe, Chickering, Marshall & Wendell, Haines Bros., Fischer, Franklin, and in Canada the Willis also. Note that the Knabe and the Chickering are two of the four great pianos in general use on the American concert stage. To make sure of hearing the Ampico soon, go to the store of the nearest dealer who handles any of the pianos listed above. The whole world is expected to want to hear this miracle. Every lover of music is entitled to hear it again and again. ; Exchange your silent or player piano for an Ampico You will want to own an Ampico. piano will entitle you to an allow- ance in buying an Ampico, and convenient terms of monthly pay- ments make it possible to own an Ampico without delay. Foot- power models, $795. Electric models, $985 to $5000. With | freight added. Uprights and grands. Your present - BLUE DANUBE ave If you are not near a store where the Ampico is sold, or if achmaninott SPRING SONG you want to know more about ON THE WINGS OF SONG the Ampico before hearing it, | — vatse ranrasrique write to the address below. You We ne will receive a booklet descriptive WILL O' THE WISP Jansen ” 4 ‘ GOODBYE, SWEET DAY of the Ampico and information DINNER MUSIC. N about where you may hear it. On for dancing ADORING YOU Niern IN A LITTLE RENDEZVOUS § MAYTIME Rose ROSE MARIE A FEW Schulz-Evler RHAPSODIE Dohn4nyi | JEUX DEAU (The Fountain) | | ] PRELUDE IN G MINOR Mitovitch CHARLEY, MY BOY Fior THE DANDY AND weyer Menge Vannal THE BELLI Moises witech Ra 457 Fifth Avan Nw’ York Cilyy | SELECTIONS YOU MAY WANT TO HEAR Played by Levitzki Donahw hmani Mirovit iff h }

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7¥> a eth - | , ya bE y gh eA Eh Travelers’ tales were true they called Hudson's Bay the world’s best to bacco. We've brought it now Amer- to America ica seems to think so too | tion of the situation, THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 97) lighted his pipe. He sat there for an inde- terminate time, perhaps for hours. His ipe burned out; and when he noticed this fe refilled it, and it burned out again and was refilled. It would not be accurate to say that he thought; rather he felt. His shoulders were burdened with sorrow; his heart was turgid with revolt. And above and behind him and on every side the tall pines seemed still to whisper as though bid- ding him take heart; as though assuring him that they were strong enough to meet whatever might come. He did not, during these hours of the night, arrive at any practical considera- or Dale was not a neva y- man. He was one who had always ound that life laid down for him each day | an easy road, along which he might travel | without too much struggle or effort; and he | sweet for him, cal had taken this —_ way. Life had been ing upon him for no | effort, rewarding him with the enveloping | beauty of the countryside he loved, with | the companionship and solace of these an- | cient pines. Now he was vaguely bewil- dered and hurt by the blow that had been struck at him. He found himself dwelling on ancient ‘ | days, remembering that it was a Warner | who first chose to live among these trees, | and another Warner who preserved them Traverers came back to America telling of a wonderful tobaces smoked in England and the English colonies, where pipes are very much the thing. “No wonder Eng- lishmen are such pipe smokers,” they said, “with such tobacco to smoke.” Now we have brought that tobacco to America— Hudsun'’s Bay Imperial Mixture and Cut Nug—the one unbelievably rich and mel- low, the other sweet and mild. It seems to be just what pipe lovers wanted. Conservatively speaking, Hud- the world’s finest tobaccos. The prime leaf of four succes- son's Bay is one of sive crops is aged for four years—longer than any fobacco known to us. The result is—-well, just try it on your own pipe! At your nearest dealer 8, or Write us if yor don't find it there We In tins and poc Ket pa kets will be happy to send, postage prepaid, a gen- erous trial package if you will send 4g0c in stamps, That little act will open up the pleas- antest chapter in your »moking history! HUDSON'S BAY Tobacco " BEN WADE PIPES Alia American Distr thaters | the hills and from the first sweeping ravages of the lum- berman, and another Warner who be- trayed them at last for money; and he felt a hot shame for his father, and his ancient resentment acquired renewed force. But he arose at last and went back up through the woods and along the road to his house without coming to any conclusion, without arriving at any plan. At home, abed, he ~— restlessly, miserable and forlorn. hen Dale woke next day it was to a gray world. The wind had changed during the night; it came now from the eastward, laden with wisps of fog that shredded over owed down into the valley; there was rain in this wind, and Dale thought with some relief that in such weather he could not harvest his hay. | While he was eating his breakfast Rad | Pettibaw and his crew drove by on their way up to the pond, and by and by he heard the sawmill begin its ravening cries, like | some beast, voraciously feeding, browsing | claim his lantern. nearer and nearer where stood the pines. Dale had watched Pettibaw’s passage with lowering eyes; all his resentment was be- ginning to concentrate in hatred of this aggressive and successful man, who wore his hat awry, who wooed Jane Thomaston, who planned now to destroy the pines. After his morning chores were done he found himself celine to be alone; and he went aimlessly along the road toward the village and stopped at the store, empty of customers so early in the morning, to re- Will Bissell was busy | with his accounts; Andy had gone to East | supplies; Dan Bissell labored home fresh low stairs, stowing sacks of feed in smaller compass, Harbor with the truck to brin | rolling the casks of cider vinegar to new | locations. By and by he came up the stairs from the cellar, mopping his brow; and he said cheerfully to Dale, ‘‘ Hot, even down there, a day like this.” Dale nodded absently. “Thought you’d be doing your farming,”’ he suggested. Dan was newly married, and therefore an object of furtive curiosity to Dale. He watched the younger man, seeking to dis- cover in his countenance signs and effect of his new estate; but Dan was as he had always been. This mystery of marriage had always repelled Dale; he shied away from even the thought of it as a horse shies from a shadow. While he and Dan talked now he studied the other, but was as puzzled at the end as at the beginning of their encounter. They discussed the hay crop, the weather, the rumors of the euenaryelde, and the sale of the pines to Rad Pettibaw. Dan was a oung man who had seen the outer world; it seemed to him natural and reasonable that the pine trees should be converted into lumber, and he said so. “They'll just rot and die if they’re not cut,” he remarked. “But I can see how some folks might kind of hate seeing them go.” Dale did not argue with him. Will Bissell was a business man too; but his attitude was somewhat different from that of his son. “Trees like that are a good thing to have in the town,” he confessed. “Rind of a — but I guess Rad sees a profit in them.” EVENING POST When Dale left the store, vaguely seek- ing some salve for his hurt, he found him- self turning toward Jane Thomaston’s house. She was busy with her preserving, but welcomed him into her kitchen and bade him sit down out of the we. “A pity you can’t find something to do, even if you can’t hay,” she said sharply. “You was always one to find ways not to work, Dale.” “Ain’t feeling so good this morning,” Dale confessed. “What’s the matter with you?” she asked vigorously, running a stream of ber- ries from one large palm to the other as she picked them over. “You look stout enough.” “T’ve been thinking about Pettibaw’s cutting down the pines,” he told her. “It’s a pity some ways,” she agreed. “Looks like Rad could find other ways to make money. I told him so last night.” Dale looked at her, a little astonished and dismayed at this new evidence of the strength and resolution. ‘‘What’d he say?” he asked. “That man? He yon grr the way he does,”’ she confessed, and added with grim amusement, ‘I will say for him, he knows what he wants; and you can’t budge him.” “] kind of like having them pines there,” Dale remarked; and she looked at him with a quick glance, and nodded. ‘That's right,” she agreed. ‘‘ You always were kind of funny about them trees, Dale. I remember hearing ror paw tell how you took on when he sold the iand down there. It wan’t a mite of good to him, either. He done well to sell.” “Well, I kind of like them,” he repeated aimlessly. “It’s a shame, at that,” she agreed. “Somebody ought to stop him cutting them.” Dale’s eyes burned faintly. ‘That's right!’”’ he approved. “But there ain’t anybody in town with puriee enough to go against him,” she eclared. ‘‘That's one thing about him. I don’t like him as much as my little finger nail; but he does go after what he wants, and he most pomete gets it. The rest of the men in this town just set around and say it’s too durned bad.” She looked at Dale speculatively. ‘I sh’d think you’d do something,” she urged. “Dunno as there’s anything I can do,” he objected. “You can’t do anything setting in my kitchen and moaning about it,” she re- minded him. ‘‘Sometimes I think you ain’t good for much, Dale. You always needed a woman to make you hump your- self. You got a good farm up there if it was run right. Good as there is in this town. But there, I or you never will be the marrying kind,” “T’ve thought about it some,”’ he con- fessed. “If it was Rad Pettibaw, he’d do more’n think,” she remarked; added in a specula- tive tone: “But I wouldn’t want a man that was always trying to run me the way he runs folks.” She perceived the shadow of alarm in Dale’s eyes. “I dunno as I’d want to run things myself if I had a hus- band,” she explained eagerly. “I can get along with folks, but I wouldn’t want a husband running me.” “I guess you'd be like most women,” he ted—‘‘want things your way.” “You know a lot about women!”’ “T’ve heard a lot of ’em talk about doing everything to please their husband; but I notice he had to be pleased with their ways.” “Tf it was a woman she wouldn’t let Rad Pettibaw cut them trees without a her say-so, anyhow,” she countered. “ will say that.” Gloom descended upon him once more. “ Guess she couldn’t do much.” “If I wanted to keep hir out of there bad enough I'd do it,” she declared. *“ How?” he asked. “He's in there for profit, for one thing,” she reminded him. “I'd show him it’d pay him better to leave them.” “Buy him out?” “Tf I had to I would.” “Take money to do that.” She nodded. “You're like all the rest of them, prob’ly. Keep body and soul to- gether and never have a cent ahead. Well, all you can do is to moan about it then.” He left her, vaguely stimulated by the vigor of her spirit. Usually this energy on her part frightened him; but this day he was in a mood for action. A rare mood with Dale. He walked home and cooked dinner su November 1, 1924 and ate it. From his dooryard he could see the tops of the pines, the pond beyond. He remembered how Will nt and Charlie Broad used to stop here to pick him up when they drove down to the shore to go ing; and how Charlie Broad always liked to see the pines from here. He had not thought of Charlie before; had not seen the old man for four or five years, and remem- brance of him now su ted a new line of thought. Charlie had loved the pines, would hate to see them go; and Charlie Broad was a man of means. He could buy off Pettibaw if he chose. Dale considered this possibility, turning it over and over in his mind all that after- noon. The more he thought upon it the more it seemed to him that if Charlie knew, he would not permit this outrage to occur. Alone at home that night—he did not go to the store because if he went there he must encounter Pettibaw—he weighed the situa- tion; and the outcome was that next day, bad weather still persisting, he went to town in time to of to East Harbor with Andy Wattles; there sought out Charlie. He found the old man at home, heavy in a wide-armed easy-chair, big with the sloth- ful weight of years, his eyes moist with a sadly sentimental sorrow because life was passing on. Charlie made him welcome in cracked and mournful tones; and Dale sat down facing him, twisting his hat between his fingers, listening to Charlie’s intermi- nable reminiscences. ‘‘ Remember this,” said Charlie Broad. ‘‘ Remember that.” And his old eyes filled with tears that trickled down his cheeks. “And now Will’s dead and gone,” he reminded Dale. ‘‘And the old camp’s in bad shape; and the perch don’t bite nowadays the way they used to, Dale. We had good times in those days, didn’t we? Sometimes thinking of them, I get pretty sad. It’s kind of hard to get old and helpless, the way I am.” Dale waited for a chance to tell his news; broke in at last upon the wandering flow of words. “‘Pettibaw’s bought the place,” he said harshly. ‘‘He’s going to lumber off the pines.” Charlie’s big head nodded sadly. “I did hear that,” he sens. “Yes, sir, Yaia hear that, Dale. Well, the years come and the years go. I'll never see the pines again. The perch can bite for all of me. When you're as old as I am your old friends keep dying, and the things you’ve enjoyed keep disappearing. The changes here in town, Dale—it makes me feel old just to go down- town. Well, well, so the pines are gone, you say. Dale found himself in the grip of a rising impatience at such maundering. ‘‘They ain’t gone yet,” he remind Charlie. “‘Pettibaw’s bought ’em, that’s all.” “He'll put a mill in, and topple them down, and saw them up, and rip them into boards. The old trees Will and I loved. Well, well. It makes a man feel mighty old.” “He figures on making a profit out of them,” Dale suggested, an edge of anger in his tones. ‘‘That’s all he’s after.” “The old things have to go when the young men see a profit,”’ Charlie commented sorrowfully. “Well, that’s the way of the world, Dale. I never thought I’d outlive those old trees though. They were hun- dreds of years old before I was born, and now I’m going to outlive them. You can’t tell a thing, can you, Dale? The way things turn out sometimes.’’ He seemed to find a complacent triumph in the thought that he would thus cling to life beyond the allotted span of the ancient. pines. “Thing is,’’ said Dale insistently, ‘a man could buy them back from Pettibaw.” Charlie sighed. ‘That would be a fine thing to do,” he agreed. “‘ Yes, sir, an ideal- istic thing to do. A fine man that would do that. You going to do that, Dale? Will Dent would thank you from his grave, I expect.” “TI ain’t gct the money to do it,”” Dale confessed. He added hurriedly, “I kind of thought you might want to. It wouldn’t cost so much. | guess he bought the place cheap enough.” The old man wag; his head. ‘No sense in age getting in the way of youth when yorth sees a profit,”’ he said oracu- larly. ‘Youth has to have its way, Dale. Plunges blindly ahead, ——. devas- tating. Might as well step aside. I’d never see them again anyway. Too old and feeble to travel so far, Dale. No, no sense in m putting out money on them. After Will died I couldn’t go back there; and the rch had quit biting. That’s why I sold. o sense in buying back again now.” (Continued on Page 103)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST HO ait, OO ert, CODY rit, OHO) art ORM, ee SEY Se LY ee *y ”% ri

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST EDISON MAZDA LAMPS A GENERAL ELECTRIC PRODUCT HE long winter evenings are here. Enjoy the comfort of enough light—since the cost of it is so little. For example: A 75-watt Edison Mazpa* Lamp gives two and a half times as much light as a40-watt Edison Mazpa Lamp—yet the difference in current cost averages but a third of a cent an hour! | | Has Your Town | Started a Home | Lighting Contest? | UY your lamps where you see the sign shown above. It identifies the Edison Mazpa Lamp Agent, who will help you se- lect the right lamps for your fixtures. Edison Mazpa Lamps make the most of electric lighting service. Use the right types and sizes. They’ll increase your comfort im- mensely— but your current bill scarcely at all. *MAZDA—the mark of a research service November 1, 1924

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SPEED WAGON VERSATILITY fits it to prac- tically every business in which commercial motor haulage is a factor. SPEED WAGON POWER is greater than that possessed by any vehicle of similar carrying capacity. SPEED WAGON STRENGTH and _ stamina —largely due to the inner-frame anchoring of major units, and 50% oversized vital parts — make available a quarter-million miles or more of service. SPEED WAGON AGILITY —due to steering ease, prompt acceleration, unusual braking efficiency, and overall compactness — gives it mastery in city driving. SPEED WAGON ROADABILITY—insured by rational distribution of chassis weight, THE SATURDAY EVENING POST pneumatic tires, improved spring suspen- sion and tremendous ruggedness — gives assurance of hustle-ability with safety for highway travel. SPEED WAGON CAPACITY— 500 to 2,500 pounds —fits it to average loads. The possibili- ties are remote that it will ever be dangerously overloaded or unprofitably underloaded. SPEED WAGON DOMINANCE is absolute — more than 100,000 in service represent world leadership. SPEED WAGON ECONOMY~—definitely established —is based on most possible miles per dollar invested, most working hours per year of service and a low initial price, the latter being due to manufacturing economies .in con- sequence of Reo’s institutional self-containment. Designed and manufactured in the big Reo Shops (not assembled) so as to surely combine balanced goodness, equalized quality and rationally-effected price economy. Write for the booklet “*Reasons for the Speed Wagon” REO. csMOTOR CAR COMPANY, LANSING, CHASSIS - $1185 Cab and Sills - «+ $1300 Cab and Express Body 1375 Cab and Stock Rack - 1400 Cab and Grain Box - 1425 Cab and Stake Body - 1400 Cab and Canopy - - 1400 Cab and Canopy with Screen Sides - - 1450 Cab and Canopy with Double Deck + - 1425 Any of the above can be supplied with closed cabs for $35 extra, Full Canopy Express (illustrated above) 1375 Carry-All, with Full Canopy ‘ 1400 Double Deck with full Canopy - - - 400 Prices are f. o. 6. Lansing MICHIGAN Manufacturers of Motor Vehicles to Serve in Every Field of Highway Transportation ON ei

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST November 1, 1924 A GENERAL ELECT uY your lamps where you see the sign shown above. It identifies the Edison Mazpa Lamp Agent, who will help you se- lect the right lamps for your fixtures. Edison Mazpa Lamps make the most of HE long winter evenings are here. Enjoy the comfort of enough light—since the cost of it is so little. For example: A 75-watt Edison Mazpa* | Lamp gives two and a half times as much HOME LIGHTING CONTEST Q.2x=) Aste light as a 40-watt Edison Mazpa Lamp—yet an ee ee electric lighting service. Use the right types the difference in current cost averages but a Started a Home and sizes. They’ll increase your comfort im- third of a cent an hour! | Lighting Contest? | mensely—but your current bill scarcely at all. *MAZDA—the mark of a research service

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ~ Dominant in_ Qatic tires, improved spring suspen- and tremendous ruggedness — gives mee of hustle-ability with safety for ay travel. CHASSIS - $1185 ) WAGON CAPACITY— 500 to 2,500 s—fits it to average loads. The possibili- ® remote that it will ever be dangerously aded or unprofitably underloaded. : WAGON DOMINANCE is absolute than 100,000 in service represent world ihip. D WAGON ECONOMY-—definitely Bhed —is based on most possible miles is _Allar invested, most working hours per Oe NEU Fee 2 Dp REI SRS SSR Oe] year of service and a low initial price, the latter Cab and Sills « «+ $1300 Cab and Express Body 1375 Cab and Stock Rack - 1400 Cab and Grain Box - 1425 Cab and Stake Body - 1400 Cab and Canopy - - 1400 Cab and Canopy with Screen Sides - + 1450 Cab and Canopy with Double Deck + - 1425 Any of the above can be supplied with closed cabs for $35 extra. Full Canopy Express SPEED WAGON ROADABILITY—insured being due to manufacturing economies in con- (illustrated above) 1375 by rational distribution of chassis weight, sequence of Reo’s institutional self-containment. Carry-All, with Full ba Canopy - - 1400 F Double Deck with, full ; Canopy - - - 1400 Designed and manufactured in the big Reo Shops (not assembled) so as to surely Pri: 106. 2 combine balanced goodness, equalized quality and rationally-effected price economy. ne rate Write for the booklet ““Reasons for the Speed Wagon” REO.sMOTOR CAR .COMPANY, LANSING, MICHIGAN Manufacturers of Motor Vehicles to Serve in Every Field of Highway Transportation ON ee

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(Continued from Page 106) sleep. The championship was a great achievement; my ambition was realized. But I got to thinking of that $6000 mort- gage on my father’s house and livery stable, which had impressed me so as a kid, and the next day I wired my father asking him to let me know at once just how much he owed. He replied that $10,000 would cover everything. So the first thing I did with the money I won was to send the $10,000 ome. The night following the fight, Brady and I sneaked away to a restaurant where we thought we could escape recognition. But as we sat there we noticed on the other side of the room a table all set for a banquet. One by one a number of men entered, and I recognized several of them, men from all parts of the country. They spotted us and came over, shook hands and congratulated me; said they had all bet on Sullivan, but = glad to see a good man win, and the ike. Finally the banquet was ready to start, but there was one empty chair. I saw a number of them look over at me, then whisper to one another. Finally two of the gentlemen rose, came over again and asked if Brady and I wouldn’t join them. We ac- cepted, another place was made for Brady, and I sat down in the “vacant chair.” Of course we talked the fight over and one thing and another, until finally the chair- man got up and said: “T think we had better be honest and tell Mr. Corbett that we all came down here and bet on John L. Sullivan. We are all friends of his, and this banquet was to have been a surprise for him after his vic- tory. Of course we wish it could have been Sullivan that won, yet we’re all mighty glad that an American has taken his place, and not Slavin or Mitchell.” Then he wound up: “Now since Sullivan will be in bed fora few days and cannot be with us tonight, we are glad to have you, Jim Corbett, as the guest of honor.” Then we all stood up and drank the health of the defeated ex-champion. The next day we started North. On the way up from New Orleans we stopped at Birmingham, Atlanta, and others of the larger cities en route and gave exhibitions which brought us something. Then when we reached New York, Brady ordered a play written, named it Gentleman Jim, got together a company and we toured the country. It was a very prosper- ous season and we netted jointly about $150,000. In writing the story of a professional career one hesitates to draw in one’s family; but as my wife has helped me so much dur- ing the twenty-nine years we have been to- Prev I somehow cannot help telling of the ittle incident of our first meeting, which even after so long a time still sticks out strongly in my memory. A Dash of Romance I was playing in Kansas City in this melodrama, Gentleman Jim, and one afternoon gave a box party to Miss Maxine Elliott, her sister Gertrude—liater Mrs. Forbes-Robertson—and James A. Herne, the famous old actor, then out with Shore Acres. Before the curtain went up and while the audience was naturally paying considerable attention to Miss Elliott, who was a reigning beauty of the day, another equally beautiful, but with light hair, entered the opposite box and the interest was divided. There was much guessing as to the identity of the newcomer, who, the spectators supposed, was another actress and guest of honor. I knew nothing of the excitement until my manager came back and I asked if Miss Elliott and her party had arrived. “Yes,” he replied, “she’s there; but you ought to see the beauty sitting all alone in the box opposite her.” So I took a peek through the curtain. Now I have always admired Miss Elliott, but I am afraid I didn’t cast many glances in the direction of her box that afternoon. After the matinée I went down to the Midland Hotel for my dinner, and who should walk into the dining room but the Lady of the Box! I happened to know the gentleman with her, and he came over and invited me to sit at their table. I didn’t need any coaxing. Two years after that, we were married, on August 15, 1894. I am now fifty-seven years old, and still I feel like a young man of twenty-five. I have been successful and happy since leaving the ring, and I owe all my success and great happiness to her. After our trip with Gentleman Jim we returned to New York. Meanwhile the newspapers were working up interest in a | fight between Charley Mitchell and my- self. The former had been in America dur- ing the months preceding my fight with | Sullivan and was considered a prominent | contender for the championship. I was booked to box at Miner’s Bowery Theater for a week and didn’t know that they had Mitchell and Slavin, the latter also a leading figure in pugilistic circles, engaged for the same dates. Finally the manage- ment decided that since I was matched to fight the great John L., I would be the drawing card, and they put me on,canceling the acts of my two rivals. They both re- sented this, naturally enough, brooding over the slight, and one night, after a round at the old Hoffman House bar, they decided they would go down to Miner’s and give Corbett a licking. I was standing in the lobby when they | walked in, and Mitchell came up to me and tried to pick a quarrel. Among other things, he said, “Why, I'll fight you right here for a five-pound note!” “You won’t fight me in a barroom,” I replied. “Boxing is a business with me. But mark what I say: I’ll fight you some day and I’ll whip you, and I'll get a lot of money for doing it!” This didn’t satisfy him, and he insisted on mixing it right then and there; but the | manager, Mr. Miner, came up and sepa- | rated us. That was all there was to it, but | of course the papers had to come out and say that Mitchell had given Corbett an awful calling down; also that Corbett was yellow and afraid to fight Mitchell. Mitchell's Challenge The insults I did not ferget, but it was just as well to get a little cash with my re- venge, I thought. So when Mitchell, who had returned to England, finally issued a challenge to fight me to a finish for a $10,000 side bet and the largest purse offered, I ac- cepted at once. There figured in the papers frequently, in those days, an English sportsman by the name of Squire Abingdon Baird. He seemed to have a ton of money and was constantly spending it on his racing stable and theatrical productions, in which famous beauties, particularly Lily Langtry, were starred. He also seemed quite as infatuated with Charley Mitchell’s prowess as a fighter | as he was with the beauty of the “Jersey Lily,” and Charley Mitchell really was a mighty man. He was the first who ever knocked John L. Sullivan down, and that, too, when Sullivan was at his best. This great feat was accomplished in the old Madi- son Square Garden. Later they were matched for a second go in the Garden, but though Mitchell was on deck, quite fit, Sulli- van showed up in no condition to fight and the bout was postponed. The meeting place was transferred to France, where they fought a finish fight for the championship, with bare knuckles, under London prize- ring rules. This resulted in a draw. When the challenge and my acceptance | appeared in the English papers, it was an- | nounced that Squire Baird was coming | with Mitchell to bet on the side as much money as all the sports in America could raise together. | Well, the two arrived, and on themorning on which the articles were to be signed, Richard Canfield, who owned the famous gambling house at Saratoga, also the one, even better known, on Forty-fourth Street, New York City, went over to the Gilsey House to see a friend of us both, Al Smith. There he handed him fifty bills of $1000 each to “talk turkey” with the squire, and Al immediately jumped on the L and went down to the World Building in Park Row, where the match was to be made. After the articles were signed and my $10,000 put up, Al turned to the squire. “T understand you have come over here to lay all the money in England on Mitchell,” he said. “Well, you’re on. I haven’t all the money in the United States with me just now, but here’s $50,000 as a starter, and there’s plenty more where that came from.”’ Which, I think, was quite a good illustration of the courage of the sportsmen of those days. However, when it came down to the color of his money, the squire showed only $10,900 and his bluff was called. It happened that the Duval Athletic Club in Jacksonville, Florida, offered the best THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Here are the facts elele)bimbie).(acj oR eenin Oi Avoid the extravagance of cheap oil Use 100% Pure Pennsylvania “The highest grade oil in the world” As the chart shows, the cost of any oil is small. But when oil fails to do its work, then the big costs—repairs, depreciation, gasoline — begin to skyrocket. Experts recognize Pennsylvania to be “the highest grade oil in the world.” This wonderful oil is found in only one place—the Appalachian Field, where oil was first discovered. It is superior to any other oil in the crude state. 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THE SATURDAY FIRST AMERICAN MANUFACTURE N

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| sat Brady,

EVENING POST purse, $20,000, the winner to take all, so the offer was accepted; and Mitchell started training at one of the Florida beaches, I about ten miles farther up the coast at er om : harley evidently lightened his labors with considerable humor, for I was told sev- eral stories about him, one of which will serve as an example of his pretty keen wit. He was eating dinner at his quarters one night when the sunset gun went off. Lean- ing back in his chair, he exclaimed, “‘ Hello! My friend Corbett punching the bag!” So he, too, had his way of getting peo- ple’s goats and disturbing them mentally, only he was cleverer about it than any other man I ever met. A very important thing es y about four < before the fight. I was piayin handball, had gone through a couple o' games at a furious pace, when suddenly I noticed that I did not perspire. I stopped and my trainer asked, ‘‘What’s the mat- ter?” Now I didn’t want anyone to know my predicament—not even those closest to me—so I didn’t answer him, but started walking over to the shower. Naturally the trainers followed, and here Brady and De- laney also inquired, “‘What’s the matter?” “T don’t want a rubdown,”’ I said; “just | a shower and a dry rub with a towel.”” And all at once I grew very irritable. No one could talk to me without my wanting to | bite his head off. Still, I kept the secret of | the trouble to myself. A Delicate Situation I waited until dinnertime, then went out to the ice box, took a quart of cham- pagne and drank the whole io Brady and Delaney tried their level best to stop me and I abused them unmercifully; so much so that Brady cried and I was an out- cast in the training quarters all that eve- | ning. About nine I strolled down the beach in the moonlight, and when I returned, there elaney and all my handlers in the parlor, heads cast down. I walked in, went out to the ice box again, took a pint of champagne and drank that down, started laughing, singing and kidding them about how little they knew about training, as I went up the stairs, then felt on the bed and soon was off to a sound sleep. The next morning a knock came at m door and Delaney said, “‘Get up, Jim; it’s seven o’clock.” “I’m not going to get up at all,’ I re- plied. “I’m not going to train today.” ‘Now, Jim, please open the door and let me talk to you a minute.” “Get out!” I called back. going to get up until noon!” So I lay in bed, not knowing what was going on downstairs, but pretty well able to imagine it. At noon I got up. Brady came into my room, sat down on the bed and said in the most coaxing tone he could manage, “We're pals outside of business and it’s coming to me. Won’t you please tell me, Jim, what this is all about?” “T know exactly what I’m doing, Billy,” I answered. ‘‘And I’m not going to tell you or any living soul what I’m doing; but i don’t do any more training up to the fight!” “*And you won’t tell me why?” “T’ll tell you just before the fight, but not till then.” That ended it and I loafed until two days before the big event. Then, in the after- noon, I said to the trainers, “‘ You wait here. I’m going about a mile and a half down the beach and will run back, and I want you all to be ready to give me a dry rub when I come in.” And down the beach I started, all of them looking at me in amazement and wondering if I hadn’t gone plumb crazy. I jogged down at a pretty fair clip, then doubled back at the same pace until about 200 yards from the training quarters and then I sprinted in. When I arrived at the rubbing room, a most beautiful ad of per- spiration came all over me, and I said to the boys, “Come en now! I'll get under the shower. All you need to do is just rub me down with a towel.”’ While I was dressing I looked at them and laughed. “Now,” I said, “I'll tell all you fatheads something you don’t know and that none of you had the sense to notice. The day I stopped playing handball I did enough work to sweat an oceanful, yet I was as dry as a bone. Don't any of you know what that meant? Well, I'll tell you. It meant “I'm not November 1, 1924 I was overtrained and hadn’t any perspira- tion to come out. If I had continued train- ing up to now I’d have been tired after two rounds. Now I’m all right; but I don’t do any more work until the day I fight Mitchell.” It was not only because I wanted to teach these fellows a lesson that I kepe quiet but also to prevent any news leaking out, through carelessness on the part of my trainers, which might reach Mitchell and add to his confidence. For the benefit of the young fellows com- ing along, in whom I always have the greatest interest, I should like to say here that I do not advocate going out and get- ting drunk every time one feels stale; but the facts in my case were these: Although I never have drunk much— that is, since those early San Francisco days—I knew that I was dry inside; dan- gerously so; almost burned out. I had to get some liquid into me. My stomach at that time revolted at the taste of water and I could not take much, but I must get more liquid into me somehow, and I knew that with the kick in its taste I could take more champagne than anything else. As a mat- ter of fact, ene I may have been fool- ish in the youthful days I have just spoken of, I am a strong advocate of moderation in all things. Lots of things that people look upon as harmful are all right and beneficial, providing one knows when to stop and does not carry on to excess. One can take too much medicine, eat too much, as well as drink too much and smoke too much. I do not even advise a man’s giving up tobacco if he can limit himself to a moderate num- ber of smokes a day. Temperance, or moderation, has been one of the secrets of such success as I have had. I have rarely overdone in my pleasures, and I am sorry to say many pugilists have shortened their careers in the ring by taking the opposite course. During these weeks a great friend of mine frequently visited the training quar- ters—Porter Ashe, the one who put the $500 in my hand the day I fought Choynski and told me to keep it if I won. One day he reported that he had been down in the village and had met one of Mitchell’s trainers, Billy Woods. While they were talking the latter was foolish enough to say that when Mitchell got Corbett in the ring he was going to call him names and get him mad, and then was going to whip him. Disquieting Thoughts This didn’t trouble me; in fact, it amused me at the time, but another incident did cause me some worry. A couple of weeks before the fight I had written to my brother Harry in San Francisco, who by that time had added a pool room to Cor- bett’s Café, where bets were laid on races and all sporting events. In my note I told Harry to go out and bet his socks on the result of the fight, but not to bet on rounds. What I really meant was just to bet some reasonable sum. But on the day before the fight I received a telegram from Harry say- ing he had put every nickel he had in the world on the result of the fight, and not only that but he had gone into debt to back me further. Never had I received any news before a fight that troubled me so much as this wire. As I went to my dressing room all I was thinking was, “If I should lose this fight Harry will be broke!” That didn’t help much. When we got orders to come to the ring I went out first and Mitchell was to follow, I not caring about this particular point of ot pee a now. Of course I had a light ath robe over my fighting costume, but the wind was chilly and Mitchell kept me waiting out in that ring one hour! Talk about a fellow “ getting another one’s goat!” Iwas like a raving maniac, with the telegram from my brother on my mind and this fellow keeping me there in the ring for that length of time. I couldn’t even get a laugh out of a remark I heard from Steve Brodie, the famous bridge jumper, who, when some fellow popped up and in a loud voice cried out that he would put 1000 head of cattle on Corbett, shouted back, “Bring on your cattle!” One thing I did notice as I waited was that the soldiers stationed around the arena by the governor of Florida, who had made a grand-stand play about stopping the fight, were quietly entering one by one and taking their seats in the audience, their rifles on their arms. (Continued on Page 113)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ot November 1, 1924 NEIGHBORHOOD BULLETINS You knew the !lorner Place was sold? ND Sylvia Trude is the one who sold it, All the men were talking about how dull the real estate business was, and (jeorge Shaw said he couldn't Chere it stood, one of the best built, best arranged houses in even get a nibble for the Horner place. town, and no one would look at it. Sylvia said: “You turn it over to me, and ['ll have it sold within a week.”’ All the men laughed at her but George told herto go ahead, T hat was Saturday. The next Friday she walked into George’s office and announced that she had sold the house to Bill Stone for nine thou- sand. “But,” said George, in astonishment, “I of- fered him the house ‘or eighty-five hundred, months ago. How in the world did you get him to pay nine?” Sylvia grinned and held out a placard she had hidden behind her back. It read: “Acme—Wet Paint.” Acme Quatiry House Paint Gives pleasing effects and lasting results Lucie says she is still mentioned in Aunt Sophia’s will HE and Peter were staying in her Aunt Sophia’s house while she went East. You know how sacred Aunt Sophia’s possessions are. Those silly young- sters left the windows open. Of course it rained, Those window sills and floors! Lucie was simply scared to death. Peter dashed down to the store and came back with a supply of Acme Quality Varnish. When Aunt Sophia arrived, every window sill and floor was shining brightly, and Peter and Lucie look- ing as innocent as babes. But they nearly expired when Aunt Sophia, after a careful tour of the house, remarked; “I had planned to have the floors and woodwork done over this Spring, but, with the won- derful care I give them, they really don’t need it.” Acme Quatiry Great Lakes Spar VARNISH A wear-resisting general purpose varnish Acme Quatiry FiLoor Roc VaRNisH A wear-resisting varnish for floors Don’t mention antiques to Mrs. Ralston OU see, when she began to go in for them, she decided to get rid of all her old furniture, in- cluding Horace’s favorite chair. It had been in his family as long as he could remember, and he pro- tested, “But it’s so shabby,” said Mrs. Ralston. “Oh, if that’s all, I'll fix it.”” So he did it over with Acme Quality Varno-Lac, and she consented to let him keep it—in his den, One day she was showing a distinguished collector her new antiques. He was strangely unenthusiastic—until he happened to catch a glimpse of Horace’s discreetly hidden chair. He simply pounced upon it—said it was one of the finest examples he had ever seen, and all that —offered fabulous sums for it. Horace told him the whole story, and Mrs. Ralston was speechless with chagrin. Now when anyone mentions antiques, Horace says: “My collection is small, but good.” Acme Quatiry Varwno-Lac Stains and varnishes in one quick, easy operation Anita managed to keep the lamps, after all HE came home with three gorgeous lamps, had those old fixtures taken out, and reveled in her new lamps—until her father came back. He simply stormed! Said he didn’t intend to risk his life stum- bling about in a half-dark room. Told: her to call up the electrician and have the old fixtures put back. Instead, she called up George Bolton and told him 4 a to hurry up with his brushes and some cans of Acme Quality No-Lustre Finish. Of course that was all the room needed. It’s simply lovely now with its smooth, creamy finish and the soft, subdued light. And now her father tells everyone he planned the whole thing! Acme Quatity No-Lustre Finisx For walls, ceilings and woodwork Mrs. Aldershot says— HAT the story that Julia had an interior dec- orator from New York do her stunning new sunroom is all nonsense. That she stopped in at Julia’s one afternoon and found the table heaped with magazine clippings of smart sunrooms and with cans of Acme Quality Enamel! Kote labeled “black” and “orange.” That Julia came in wearing a smock, and a smudge of orange paint across her nose. And that if she were as clever as Julia, she would claim the credit, instead of keeping it a secret. Acme Quatiry ENAMEL Kore For furniture and woodwork ~~ “~ %, O you know how many fascinating things you can do with Acme Quality Products? The enchanting transformations you can make inside and outside your home? Our booklet, “Playing Fairy Godmother to Your Home,” tells just how to do all this beautifying of your walls, woodwork, floors and furnishings, and shows you just what Acme Quality Products to use to get lovely and satisfying effects. Write for this free booklet. AGHE QUALITY Paints, Enamels, Stains and Varnishes ACME WHITE LEAD AND COLOR WORKS Detroit, Michigan, U. S. A. Branches in principal cities— Dealers everywhere

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(Continued from Page 110) Finally Mitchell did show up, and when he came into the ring I was not in a very good humor. I had disliked him ever since that affair in the Bowery Theater, and now he had kept me waiting until I was thoroughly chilled. To add insult to injury, he now looked over at me and winked and smiled — a very clever stunt —and it had the desired effect. All at once I turned so mad and was so wild to start that as soon as we got the gloves on I said to the referee, the famous Honest John Kelly —he still walks Broadway—‘‘ No shaking hands!”’ Turning to Snapper Garrison, the famous jockey, — acted as timekeeper, I yelled, “Snapper, hit that gong!” And he hit it. Before Mitchell had time to catch his breath the round had started, without any of the usual preliminaries, not even the shaking of hands. There was no method in this; he simply had my goat and I was wild. As, with the gong’s clang, I sprang to the center, Mitchell recovered from his surprise enough to call out sarcastically, “Hello! Started already?” My answer was a left-hand swing, which he ducked. He went me one better by land- ing on my mouth and cutting my lip, and I don’t think any bull in an arena, with the picadors after him, was ever madder than I was then. But mad as I was, my rushing tactics were not quite so reckless as they may seem or as they would have been in fights with the heavier men of my previous fights, like Peter Jackson, who weighed 204 pounds, Sullivan, who weighed 212, or Jake Kil- rain, at214. Mitchell had gotten down-to about 168, while I, having gained four pounds during the four days’ lay-off, scaled 182 and so could afford to slug with him. As he had fought John L. Sullivan a draw, I was anxious to settle all question of my supremacy once and for all time by licking him quickly. So it was not all tem- per that drove me to that mad rush, However, Mitchell was skillful, and tak- ing advantage of my lack of caution, he shaded me this first round. I knew this, of course, but it did not affect my aggressive- ness, for I was determined to make a quick finish of it. In the second round I hit Mitchell a right-hand body blow which I think took all the fight out of him. With all his gener- alship he couldn’t hide the fact that the punch hurt him. At the end of that round I knocked him down. Ain Unexpected Encore I do not consider out of order here an ex- planation contradicting a statement which was published in the papers after the fight, and which was believed by some of the ex- cited people who had been in the audience. It was declared that I had struck a blow at Mitchell while he was still on the ground. Mitchell, as a matter of fact, was on his knees, the referee still counting, and, as I thought, too slowly, so I said to Kelly, “Count faster!’’ While I was talking to him I wasn’t going to be caught napping, and from out the corner of my eye I could see Mitchell getting up off his knees and setting himself to take a punch at me the instant he got up and while I wasstill facing the referee. Just before he straightened up I turned and unloosed a punch myself, which he saw coming, and to avoid it fell back again on his knees. This is the truth about the disputed blow. With the gong’s signal for the end of the round, I walked to my corner, and was just -about to sit down when Mitchell quickly retraced his steps and, leaping at me ferociously, hit me behind tke ear. Then I went at him, and, instead of taking the minute’s rest during the intermission, we started fighting, hammer and tongs. This little encore created a world of ex- citement, but before we had been at it long his seconds and mine jumped into the ring between us and pulled us apart and at last we went to our corners. We had hardly been seated when the gong sounded again. I sprang at Mitchell THE SATURDAY like a tiger, not letting up one instant, and things were fast and furious. We had been boxing only about a minute of this third round when I caught him on the chin with a vicious right-hand punch, harder than I usually let loose in a fight, because I like to | protect my hands until time for the knock- | | out. However, it was timely enough and I saw I had him, for after receiving the blow he stiffened out straight and fell forward. | I knew the fight was over, so turned my back, went to my corner, held out my hands to my seconds to have the gloves unlaced and didn’t even bother to turn around and watch him. It was not necessary. He was | dead to the world and counted out. Sometimes the general impression that I am a light tapper, a story started by some newspaper men who do not know the game, amuses me. Not that it worries me, for I am content to stand on my record; but it is wrong. The idea has gained ground, I suppose, because I did not waste my strength poe and did not let loose punches with all I had until the critical mo- ment. My hands have always been deli- cate; in fact, they donot look stronger than a billiard player’s—the lady who often takes my dictation says my hands are like a piano player’s—and I had learned my les- son after breaking both right and !eft in my fights with Choynski, The last punch | I landed on Sullivan had this same result. | It put him out and my hand too. Fitzsimmons’ Graceful Act So I rarely tried to put full force into a blow until I had my man where I wanted him and was ready to put over the finishin touch. I contented myself with jabbing cel good hard jolts that would gradually weaken my opponent and maneuver him into position. You will never find any man who ever fought me who will say I couldn’t hit hard with either hand. It was just two years ago that Jeffries told me I had him licked at Coney Island before the ten rounds were fought. He confessed that when I sank one in the body with my right I hurt him a great deal, and when in the tenth round I landed on the jaw with my right hand I saw his eyes roll, and all this was when I was past my prime and thirty-five | years old, and those blows did not have the | old steam behind them. Fitzsimmons, too, has talked with me | many times, and he has told me himself that | I gave him the worst licking he ever had in | his life, and he repeated this statement in | St. Louis one night to a theater audience, and called me up and shook hands with me | on the stage; an action which I thought | very courteous and generous. Furthermore, I have a picture in my | memory of Peter Jackson in that steam | room, hugging his stomach and moaning; and if anyone thinks a light tap would put away the 212 pounds of the mighty Sulli- van they ought to try it. But then it is easier to argue outside the ropes than to | fight inside them. Reservation of one’s strength is all im- | portent, and I can but illustrate my method | by a comparison with a very clever man in the baseball world—grand old Christy Mathewson. He would often let them hit his offerings when he had a safe lead, but would tighten up when runs counted. Now in the Mitchell fight, as is evident from my description of it, I did not follow my usual system of keeping cool, although I was thinking pretty rapidly and craftily at that. But calm poise and self-control | are indispensable in a bout with a bigger | man, and this battle is the exception that | proves the rule. Mitchell certainly “got my goat” that time, as I had so often gotten others’. After the battle was over, Porter Ashe met Mitchell’s trainer, Woods, and said, “T thought you said Charley was going to get Jim mad and then lick him.” “He did,” replied Woods; “but he got | him too mad!” Editor’s Note—This is the fourth of a series of | articles by Mr. Corbett. The next will appear in an early issue EVENING POST “The World s Fastest Shave, oniy 78 seconds from lather to towel That wins many men. For speed signifies a super-keen blade and greater comfort \ ‘ i . : ¢ .. | f : ; , ’ ; a | : 2 ; : ‘ ‘ . ; ; . 3 5 a NCEA ewan or . eh eee, ~~ | am: ed OCLC AITO AE ORD on OO “cc ” . Only 38, yet looks 48." Some men know that wrong shaving ages the skin , * Pulling” and daily torment is not natural. Such men seek a super-keen blade, Men’s two interests —a poll of millions as to shaving For a solid year we checked the wishes of men as to shaving. We addressed over 3,000,000 men and watched their preferences. Some voted for comfort, some for speed, some for economy, some for simplicity. But all agreed on this one fact: the Valet AutoStrop Razor— because of its patented self- sharpening device—gives supreme satisfaction in combining the essentials of “each shave a perfect shave.” Men agree that a quick shave is a finer shave. That a speedy, finer shave requires a super-keen blade. Only the Valet AutoStrop Razor gives self-stropping—a few automatic strokes restore the blade to new-like keenness. If we did not have this feature, our blades, like non-stropped blades, would dull with each shave until they had to be thrown away. But we avoid the ordinary limitations. That is why men make such direct comparisons, awarding the Valet AutoStrop Razor an exclusive position. Our blade gives two or three times the average service. Know the facts, gentlemen. Make your own comparison. Save your’ selves from shaving annoyances and experiments. 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Por business men who trevel we offer unusual accommodations plus un- failing courtesy in service 61) Ri oms— All with Beth—- All Servidor equipped Minimum Ketes Three Dellers Managing Director Become ladependent Dept S011 . wt Learn ia Spare Time at Home Fara $30-$35 a Week very wotmae should leara, We train Repiancrs Practical Nurses, Mothers and Ret@ ous hes kere by our Fascinat “¢ Hom Method, Leading ( ig : Fadors . by physi ave, Kvtabstieh 1s Es n While Learning fer SS years atalog and J2 with REE Jetaile back © varanter EQUIPMENT CHICAG) SCHOOL or NURSING South Ashiasd Boulevard NURSES and FREE | Chicago | | THE SATURDAY EVENING POST | THEORIES AND THANKSGIVING | Students of crop production say we shall never see a low price level for corn again. They point to the vast amount of the cereal for industrial purposes, breakfast foods, sirups and similar products, lessening the amount to be placed on the market di- rectly. Furthermore, in a great part of the country little corn now leaves the farm ex- | cept on the hoof. It is kept to feed the work animals, to fatten livestock and to serve as an asset the year round. A few years ago the railroads of Kansas and Nebraska had miles of corncribs at stations to hold corn brought for shipment; all have been torn down. Corn in much of the Corn Belt is not ee in large quantities, and as - ng silos and systematic oe and cattle advance, more corn will be kept in the farmer’s yard. The government report gives the price of corn in August, 1923, at 87 cents a bushel; in 1924, $1.074; wheat last year, 86.4 cents; this year, $1.168. Here is 20 centsa bushel | advance in corn and 30.4 cents in wheat. During early autumn the prices of these cereals fluctuated, mostly showing a higher figure as the season advanced, indicating a | firm value for the remainder of the mar- keting period. The estimate of increased income for the 1924 products of the farm, compared with last year’s return, is ap- | proximately three-quarters of a billion dollars—a material betterment of the finan- cial condition of the producer. If anyone thinks the country banker sat quietly at his desk and waited for the wheat raiser to sell his crop and come in to pay the long-overdue note he has another guess. What the banker did was to finger the | rather worn and sometimes yellow notes and then take his motor car and drive to the | various farms where harvest was in prog- ress, demanding that some of that wheat money be paid to him. Indeed, every | county had plenty of chattel mortgages de- scribing the security as ‘““——— acres of rowing wheat.” That held the crop—at “ast what was necessary. Most of these notes were two or three years old; some were in the hands of bank receivers; but to | liquidate them went the income from the harvest. What happened is a simple matter of arithmetic and banking practice. Perhaps ——— | the bank had put up the notes as security for a loan at a city bank, thereby obtaining funds to care for the local business. When the farmer paid, the banker sent the money to his city correspondent. His own obliga- tions and those of the farmer were de- creased and the city bank saw its deposits increase. The whole machinery was oiled anew and was hitting again on all cylinders. Credit Too Easy Furthermore, bank failures practically ceased. They decreased in May when pe yects were for a fair crop and everybody eld tight. In June they were less; in July | still smaller, and by midsummer it was largely only crookedness- something never failing to break out in places—that caused suspension. “Somehow the country-bank problem has been vastly distorted,” was the argu- ment of a rural banker of long experience. “The public has evidently been led to be- lieve that the failure of some 600 banks out of more than 10,000 in the Middle West ar- gues a general wreckage. They do not hear | of the other 9400 that have gone on doing business, thousands of them without bor- | rowing, and have cared for their customers’ interests soundly. | “The inexperienced banker was liberal in helping the customer who had hard luck. He loaned more than he should to one per- son, Then his bank was too small to stand loss. Take a bank with, say, $15,000 capital and $3,000 surplus. Let it have half a dozen losses of $2000 to $3000 each—and it is gone. A bank with $100,000 capital would not feel it.” Banks have unquestionably beer on safer ground the past year than in the two years previous, they scrutinized loans and tried to collect all possible on the old notes. The receiver of a typical country bank thus ex- plained what he found: “The town had two banks. This was the older and had been run by the same man- ager for thirty years. He knew every old family and called most of the folks in the | community by their first names. When crops failed and cattle lost money for their a (Continued from Page 16) owners, he came across; when another year showed loss, he increased the loans. Then last year the deposits fell and the banking department closed his doors. The assets, which seemed likely last spring to pay about 20 per cent, will actually bring the depositors half their claims. The guaranty fund will pay the remainder.” The states west of the Missouri that have tried to bolster up country banking by the guaranty fund, contributed by all ban meet losses of failed institutions, have seen the system put to a severe trial. Oklahoma, after having acquired some $5,000,000 of unpaid claims, repealed the law; Texas has paid its losses thus far; Kansas has about $3,000,000 yet to pay, but claims it. will eventually work out the remuneration; Ne- braska and South Dakota have kept up with the losses by heavy assessments; North Dakota has $4,000,000 to pay which may never be liquidated. It is possible that in the collapse of many rural banks the psychological effect of the guaranty kept weak banks alive through sustained confi- dence, but it is safe to say that no more states will adopt the plan. Gradual Readjustment One of the interesting angles on the coun- banker’s struggle is the courage with which hundreds of country institutions have fought out their battles alone—and won. “T took $35,000 of notes to the War Fi- nance Corporation a year ago,” said the pres- ident of a small country bank in Kansas. “I did not get a dollar, because the management was skeptical about the security. I am glad of it. Some of the notes have been paid; others have been reduced and my bank is in better condition than it would have been with all my customers sitting back and thinking they had three years to pay. Maybe it ae not work everywhere, but mine is a cattle country and things are growing bet- ter. Thecattiemen had troubleenough. One of my eustomers had, in 1920, 1500 acres of land clear and $90,000 in cash. He fed 3600 head of cattle and lost $50 a head—more than $150,000 in a single year. But last winter he made $40,000, so I guess he will pull through.” That is the kind of report you get from the rea' country banker—stories of strug- gle, courage, regained position and eventual soundness of condition. But it calls for comprehension and tact. A bank examiner was sitting in with the board of directors of a country bank recently. “Here are several farmers who are be- hind,” he remarked. “Their notes are overdue; this paper must be collected.” “If you will give me an order in writing to go out to their farms and foreclose on their cattle and other livestock ard sell them out, I’ll obey,”’ remarked the bank president quietly. “Oh, that would not do,”’ came the quick reply. “That would make the bank trou- ble. I mean cut the loans down as fast as possible.” “That is exactly what I’m doing,” replied the banker. The country banker has been doing the best he could to maintain the financial in- ogee of his customers and of his commu- ™ The hundreds of millions of dollars to come from grain products ought to have a tonic effect on trade, and the customers’ changed state of mind should make for a clearer comprehension of the actual relation betwéen the buyer of commodities and the manufacturer’s and wholesaler’s situation. To the desks of the rural press in the in- terior come reams of copy relating to schemes and systems by which an economic millennium is to be brought speedily. In- terviews for farmer consumption are spread over the pages of papers circulating in the crop states. Statistics that prove every possible theory are printed in open letters. Coupled with it all is the argument that big business is sittin ing up night plotting how it can ruin the producer and grind the farm- stead between the upper and nether stones of financial manipulation. Take just one instance—the implement industry. The farmer is firmly convinced that the manufacturers of plows, binders, harrows and similar equipment have been living in luxury at his expense. He con- ducted, in 1921, a buyers’ revolt, ref to purchase implements i in order that he might jo his indignation. Implements are November 1, 1924 higher than formerly, but the manufactur- ers have had their troubles too. In 1920 one firm had in a few weeks cancella- tions of contracts for ap erry! 312,000 machines, a business o 000,000 Ata meeting recently to Fo conditions a farmer deplored the cost of equipment and = the decline in the price of farm an “What could you have obtained for your farm in the high-price era?”’ asked an im- plement manufacturer who had attended to discover the farm owners’ ition. “At least $100 an acre,” was the reply. “TI think that is high, but let it stand. What is it worth now? “T could get about fifty dollars an acre.” “Tf you had sold your farm at that time for $100 an acre,” went on the manufac- turer, “‘and had decided to invest in what you call the profiteering implement indus- try, which firm would you have selected, leaving our own out of the consideration?” The farmer named a well-known old- established firm. “Well, if you had made that investment at the time, buying the stock at its then market value, you would now have 23 per cent of what you paid for it. That is, your land has declined 50 per cent; the imple- ment company’s value has declined 77 per cent. Does this indicate that we have taken no punishment?” Implement makers have flooded the farm country. with bulletins giving statistics to show that the cost of manufacture is un- avoidably high, that it is impossible to sell machinery at the old figure. Did it do any good? It did not. The farmer simply fixed up his old machine and waited for a drop. To be sure, this year he had to hurry in an order for a new binder or a new combine—.a machine that would cut, thresh and deliver the grain to a truck ready for the granary all at one operation—but generally he was not interested. Maybe he will become a regular customer next year, but it is consid- ered just as well by the retail dealers to keep a full stock of repairs on hand rather than many new implements. It takes time to change the psychological attitude of a class as large as that producing the food- stuffs of the nation. What is true of imple- ments is true of other commodities, though in less degree. A Car to a Family All except automobiles. Into one little Western town, consisting of an elevator, bank and a dozen stores, were shipped last July 131 carloads of freight; 33 carloads were automobiles. Most of the farm coun- try averages a car to every family—and sometimes more. I checked up one pros- perous farm county 160 miles west of the Missouri River. It has 25,300 population, of which about half live on farms and the others in a dozen small towns. It has 6700 automobiles licensed this year. But the banker has ceased to worry—the financing corporations care for the delayed payments and somehow the payments come, even if there is a shortage of funds for some other demands. But perhaps there is some merit in the ef- fort of the producer to make his implements last longer. The cheerful habit of storing ex- pensive machinery in the open and in spring buying new has been responsible for some of the financial embarrassment experienced. The tiller of a half section of prairie was talking of his method :“T operate seven teams,”’ said he. “This calls for seven sets of harness and a set lasts seven years, so I used to buy one set every year. But for two years I have patched up a set and got along. , My budget wouldn’ ‘ ae the new outfit.” He will come out all ri ‘e of the stable exhortations of the alarmist, be he politician or organizer, is that myriads of farms are headed for the hammer by the foreclosure route because of the owners’ inability to meet interest pay- ments on the mortgages. It is true that an exceptionally large number of foreclosures, comp: with previous years, has oc- curred. During the war iod practically none took place. Before that was a long era of stable procedure in which the average producer met his obligations unless he was a r manager or a speculator. ith the boom in land, due to the high prices of products, selling values doubled; (Continued on Page 117)

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‘Warmth THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Pure Virgin “Wool ~q” Virgin wool gives both style and warmth! bh ee: want your overcoat to look weli. It must be warm, too. In a Jacobs Oregon City virgin wool overcoat you find both warmth and style. Jacobs Oregon City Virgin Wool Products Overcoats Mackinaws Boys’ Suits Men's Suits Flannel Shirts Lounging Robes Indien Blankets Motor Robes Blankets

Warmth comes from pure virgin wool—live, lustrous fleece that has kept sheep warm high up in the western mountains. Mere “all wool’’ may be wool that has been worn threadbare, and then reworked. We weave virgin wool—and only virgin wool— with all its vitality, into wonderful overcoatings. They run the gamut of beautiful weaves and colorings. Oregon City style begins with these virgin wool fabrics. For sixty years the looms of Oregon City have been famous. They surpassed the STN r ~ : \) 5 \ ~s world at Philadelphia in 1876 and again at the San Francisco Exposition in 1915. We tailor these fabrics into overcoats for men and boys. They are made in our own sunny shops in the heart of the great wool country. See the new models at the Oregon City dealer near you. Note the smart styles. Look for the virgin wool label It is your guarantee of fabric and garment because we make both. You'll be surprised at the moderate prices. Write for the graphic story, ‘‘A Trip Through the Land of Wool.’’ Oregon City Woolen Mills, Established 1864 by I. & R. Jacobs. Mills and tailoring shops at Oregon City, Oregon. Sales offices in principal cities. Jacobs Oregon City Woolens ‘4 PURE VIRGIN WOOL ~ WOVEN WHERE THE WOOL IS GROWN

November 1, 1924

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(Continued from Page 114) land in Iowa sold as high as $600 an acre, when by no usual method of farming could it be made to return interest on the invest- ment. With the lowering of price levels for products, of course, it was more hopeless than ever. A vast number of land sales were speculative, made on contracts with the hope of reselling at a higher figure. In- stead, the bottom dropped out. This was the history of a half dozen states of the Middle West, and naturally there came a reckoning. The president of the oldest joint-stock land bank in the West es- timated last summer that 12.5 per cent of the mortgaged farms in Nebraska would eventually go through a process of re- adjusted ownership, either by foreclosure or amicable taking over by the mortga; but this includes the speculative pure atte’ as well as the instances where crop failure or other causes enter. Yet conditions were not all bad. The sec- tions where diversified agriculture prevails and where land speculation did not run riot show a fairly equable course. Take Lyon County, Kansas, whose county seat is E poria. It is a fair sample of the counties in the older settled portions of the Middle West, with cattle, hogs, wheat and corn. Its county records show twenty-five fore- closures of mortgages in 1922 and nineteen in 1923. But there were twenty-one in 1914 and twenty-eight in 1915, though only fourteen were recorded in 1919 and 1920 ey the fat years for agriculture. It is frank to add, however, that there has on the part of the life- insurance companies, which have $1,500,- 000,000 in farm mortgages, and of the other great loaning agencies, a liberal policy toward the debtor. If he was hard pressed there was no sheriff at the door; instead, he was given more time, and fre uéntly the investor was protected by the loaning agency through advancement of the sums due. It is true that this could not continue permanently; the investor may not always be willing to make renewal. But the Fed- eral Land Bank and the joint-stock land banks, which already have more than $1,313,000,000 in farm mortgages, are a resource with their thirty-year amortiza- tion as an aid to eventual liquidation. The Department of Agriculture, as a re- sult of an inquiry, estimates that the 8.5 per cent of farmers in corn and wheat pro- ducing states lost their farms either with or without legal process between January, 1920, and March, 1923, referring to the up- per Mississippi River Valley. In addition, 15 per cent, for a time probably insolvent, through the leniency of creditors retained their land. These are on the upgrade again. However, the reiteration of the tendency to leniency indicates that there has been abroad a spirit of helpfulness on the part of those to whom obligations were due and that the in- terior is, as a whole, working as a unit for the upbuilding of broken fortunes and the cure of untoward conditions. Too Many Banks This mutual concern is something that is mostly left out of the strident oratory of the paid organizers. The cold fact is that the Middle West realizes as never before how closely bound together are the ties of business prosperity and how essential it is that there be forbearance, sound counsel and helpful understanding on the part of every element of the citizenry. Along with the widespread betterment has gone a definite effort to sell to the pro- ducers of the prairie country, where the one- crop system has had its baleful effect, new ideals in production, to visualize for tne leaders of various communities what can be done in giving the farmer a steady income rather than an annual return which has a whole year of uncertainty as to its volume. Trainloads of representative citizens, dairy- men, wheat raisers, corn raisers, bankers, merchants, newspaper men—have been gathered out in Nebraska, Kansas and Mis- souri and taken during the past summer on a tour through the dairying sections of Wis- consin and Minnesota. They have seen the 365-day roads, the big dairy barns, the creameries and condensaries, and have in- spected the account books of farmers who thrive in good times or bad. They compare the closing of Western banks by the score with the record of Wisconsin, where, by the way, is one bank to 2600 population instead of one to 543 in North Dakota. The bank- ing department of that state says: “From 1904 to July, 1918, were two bank failures. One paid depositors in full and the other, a trust company, just being liqui- dated, will probably pay in full. In 1922 there were two failures, both due to misap- propriation of funds inside the banks. In 1923 there were five failures, in which mis- appropriation of funds was responsible for three, bad management in one and insuf- ficient business in one. The loss to deposit- ors in these will be very small, if any.” This is sinking into the consciousness of the Western country and pointing the way to stable conditions. The difficulty is, however, to induce somebody to act. The banker is willing to do his part. But the producer with f ited means can ee no security to assure the banker he will pay the note when it be- comes due—hence he does not get the money. The past season, over a considerable area has brought about a change both in actual condition and in the state of mind of the customer. For instance, there was a tenant farmer out in the wheat belt who was tell- ing of his harvest. “T have just sold 6200 bushels of wheat at $1.03,” he proudly announced when he vis- ited his old home farther east. “Looks like a big thing, but I owed $3600 at the bank — been owing it over two years. I have not raised a crop that paid for harvesting since 1921. I owed a lot of bills and the family had to have some clothes. But I’ve got square with the world now and I can borrow money if I need it—that is why I paid the bank first.” Farmers Who Win He is one of thousands who have squared up for the first time in three years, or, if not completely liquidating their obligations, have reéstablished their credit and inci- dentally regained their courage. That, after all, is the ie asset the producer can have. Not all the unions, lodges, leay es and similar organizations can give it if he be hopelessly in debt Banking departments have recently in- sisted on financial statements from all bor- rowers. such statements. He felt somehow that it was revealing his personal affairs, and even his banker was no privileged person. But it had to come, and it is a revelation to see how much worth is behind the names of men who, despite the hard times, the lower- ing of price levels for products and the un- certainty of income for the past four years, have gone quietly along and increased their oc tegen But they are men who, as one anker put it, just farmed. They did not try to buy all the land that adjoined them did not buy oil or promotion stocks; did not speculate in cattle, They followed the thrift path and while experiencing a lessened in- THE SATURDAY The farmer had disliked to make | come have steadily kept a sound financial | standing. Ebbed land values are coming back slowly, affected by the new price level for products. Central markets report the larg- est shipments of grain and livestock in more than a decade. The output of the farm- stead is making its way to seaboard for ex- port and to the industrial country for domestic consumption. Producers them- selves are in the market for commodities. The theory that nothing could bring bet- terment except legislation, so insistently urged a year ago, has had hard going. Somehow its inventors planned it without proper consideration of a few basic influ- ences such as rainfall, sunshine, thrift and world production. Neither class laws nor subsidies brougnt about the new situation. Do not get the idea, however, that the sea- son has ushered in an agricultural or a trade millennium. It» has not transformed the farmstead into a mint. It has not lifted all the debts or established the producer on a rock from which he cannot be dislodged. This it has done: By an aggregate pro- duction, neither very large nor very small, but better balanced, crop by crop, than in several years, with no section suffering from complete failure and with a higher price level for the more important crops, it has strengthened the morale of the producer and lightened the burden of the banker, tradesman and manufacturer. Did it ac- complish nothing more than bring a new state of mind, inducing courage and hope- fulness, it would be worth while; but it has added a tangible store of wealth not to be despised and has made it possible to plan the future more sanely, with an appeal to economic principles rather than to preju- dice or exaggerated statement of needs. For this cheer the season has given much thanks. EVENING POST Let Ditto Help Copies of orders for several departments; copies of invoices for bookkeeping records; copies of impor- tant bulletins, reports, price changes, and many other items—every day; it’s amazing how much work copies do. Literally, copies ‘“‘run’”’ your business. Ditto can save you money by doing your copying better, quicker, and at much less cost. Ditto makes exact duplicates, photographically correct, in one quick operation; of anything typed, written, drawn or printed; direct from your original; no stencil, no type, no carbon. It eliminates re-writing. If your original is O. 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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST OUR AMERICAN DIPLOMAT (Continued from Page 4) New Electric Moror New Model 77 Thermostat with 7-Jewel 8-Day Clock (ow still greater achievement in Automatic Heat Regulation A cozy home in winter—who doesn’t want one? This winter, don’t be denied the comfort of automatic heat regulation. Now, Minneapolis engineers have made automatic regulation more desirable than ever. They have given you the last word in simplicity, the last word in dependability in heat controlling equipment. THE NEW MODEL 77 with 7-Jewel 8-Day Clock surpasses all previous models. The new Minneapolis Elec- tric Motor is also a noteworthy achievement. These new models insure heating comfort at all times with the mini- roum of attention. Once a week you wind the clock—the rest is automatic. No need to bother with dampers, drafts, or valves when your heating plant is equipped with Te INNEAPOLIS 4 HEAT REGULATOR “THE HEART OF THE HEATING PLANT” Think of the work and worry you avoid. Hand regulation asks so much of vour time, interrupts you so often, gets you out of bed in the morning, and is decidedly a nuisance in every household. Moreover, it fails togive you uniform temperature. With automatic control, heat regulation ceases to be a problem. Phe Minneapolis automatically keeps temperature even all day long, changes to.a lower temperature at night and back again in the morning. You get true heating comfort. You save fuel. The wew booklet, ‘' The Proper Operation of the Home Heating Plant,’’ illustvates and describes the two new, remarkable models shown here. This boot contains valuable information on all forms of heating sys- tems, lists many simple rules for saving fuel, and fully explains the many advantages of automatic temperature control, Mailed free,on request. MINNEAPOLIS HEAT REGULATOR CO, 2&3 Fourth Ave., So ee ee Seld and i Minneapolis, Minn stalled by branch offices in principal cities and 20,000 heating contractors. oO ET SLEPT. OT Automatic control is a necessity on Oil Burners. Leading makers furnish the Minneapolis as standard equipment. Insist on Minneapolis controlling equipment before you buy. at ° eee , RS cite | meaningless phrase unless it appli | have been cabled to us from | And even some of the American corre- voice of the United States which clinched the nail. There were the facts. Propaganda—on | the whole, rather successful propaganda— | filled many American citizens with deliber- ate goose-stuffing. It was said the United | States had unofficial observers, but if I was | an unofficial observer so were all the other | delegates. It was said that the United rfectly toevery delegation there. One of my friends—a rather gorgeous New York lawyer—guided States took no responsibility—a | by the benevolent-ignoramus group or fooled by those whose misrepresentation is deliberate, wrote me that he was sorry that I had not been empowered by Washington to cast a vote. He might have written the same regret to Wilson when Wilson was in Paris, since no ballot box was passed to either of us. With this background of misinformation it was believed that instruction to make the statement of our open-door gener must ashington. spondents—all of whom knew, because they | saw, that the United States was a full mem- | ber of the conference, including those whose papers were saying the contrary—could not | shake the false notion that a modern diplo- mat is merely a dinner guest and a voice on the end of a wire. They had heard that nonsense so often that they had forgotten | that a representative of our foreign policy need have no fear of stating it as clearly as he can, preferably at the time when the world will prick up its ears and the forces of intrigue if they are present will retreat with their burglar kits. I want to knock on the head the idea that our diplomats are always on the end of a wire. I do not do so on my account, for I am no longer in the service, but on account of our ambassadors and ministers who are working often every waking minute, harder | than others work in law offices or at busi- ness executive desks or in professions of private life, to serve us all, to carry out in- structions faithfully, to keep the sources of instruction well informed, to aid and pro- tect our citizens abroad, and also to live and act and speak as worthy examples of the kind of men Americans are, and to weave their own suggestions, opinions and inde- pendent action into the pattern of our na- tional foreign policy. Diplomatic Initiative Those who have read the letters of Walter Page from his post in London know that he found under a temporary régime that Wash- ington appeared like a graveyard in which the ideas he sent there were silently buried. That temporary condition passed. The Department of State, if I may continue the jas = clerk’s figures of speech, appeared to me during all my experience in Italy and at internationa) conferences as a very lively catcher willing and able to handle every- thing thrown from the outfield. I found that our diplomatic missions under a proper conduct of the Department of State require not only faithful fulfillment of orders but also wise initiative on the part of any diplo- mat worth his salt. Another misconception as to diplomacy is that it is a profession of deceit. While I was serving my ambassadorship an Amer- ican woman of large wealth came to my ta- ble and with amusing effrontery said to me, “T had hoped that my son would enter dip- lomatic life, and indeed that he would have a secretaryship under you because you seem to say what you mean. But of course all diplomats have to be more or less dis- honest.” This is a fancy which flies headforemost into the face of common sense. I discov- ered in three seasons of extraordinarily ac- tive diplomatie work that a diplomat can have no greater asset than the belief among representatives of other nations that he tells the truth. An ambassador or minister who can say unqualified Yes or No, who is believed because he has taught the others that he is dependable, and who, in addition, has no secret foreign policies to hide, is pos- sessed of a force and power which often can be used to drive opposition founded on secrecy and intrigue off the range. At another time I will tell what I know about the supposed villainies of that bugbear, old- fashioned, secret diplomacy, so much abused by those who really knew nothing November !,1924 about it, and often so effective to preserve peace; but just now I want to point out that I found that, in the main, diplomats, even those of the nations of Europe which are supposedly engaged in networks of in- trigue, told the truth. I noticed with a good deal of interest that the older and more seasoned these men were the more they had learned that the time al- ways comes, sometimes in an emergency, when the best card they hold in their hands is the faith others have in their word. I do not mean by this that European diplomacy is not full of pitfalls for us. It is. It is to a degree not realized by anyone except shrewd American representatives who have been into the labyrinth of the old hostilities, of the ancient racial, national and economic conflicts of Europe. We have not the chance of the proverbial snowball of reforming the poker game of Europe by sitting in as a Ev. We can set something of an example y minding our own business and giving our friendly good offices and advice when it is asked for and when there is a chance that it may be followed. We can maintain our present foreign policy, based on fair play, and one which needs no secrecy and intrigue to support it. We can keep our influence and power by keeping our detachment from the maze of Euro ue Facies detachment is the chief and, indeed, in our unwillingness to maintain vast armies, almost the only source of our power or influence on Europe. The Danger of Taking Sides Those who agitate to have us draw poker hands at European tables merely to satisfy a desire to put fingers in other people’s pies, or because of the simpering notion that war will be wiped out, utterly fail to realize that we are not equipped by training or experi- ence or political system to avoid becoming a pawn rather than a player in the game. They fail to ask themselves what effect taking sides will have upon the vast foreign elements in our own country who naturally retain some of their racial loyalties. I have refused to draw cards too many times in Europe not to know how eager intriguing forces are to get us into a situation which our sentimentalists call sitting around a table for a frank discussion and settlement of European ills, not to know that the mo- ment we entered the game we would be asked to take sides, that once we took sides we would be snarled up in a hundred coils of war snakes and intricate European par- tisanship. I have been in too many situations where, even minding my own business and trying to help peace, the press of two nations whose interests conflicted were vying with each other to enroll us on one side or the other of conflicts of interest. I want to make it plain that diplomacy abroad may be anything but a game for the good and innocent, but I want to make it equally plain that individual diplomats are usually men who, even if it were not by their good inclinations, will by policy avoid deceit, because deceit discredits them. Above all I want to emphasize the fact that, because American diplomacy stands on its own legs and has no undisclosed purposes, no Amer- ican diplomat has anything of consequence to conceal. The idea that our diplomatic life requires weasel ways belongs among the fairy stories, Of course the confidential messages be- tween the President or the Department of State and our diplomats are guarded by code. It is true that most of the messages sent in and out of the United States go over the cables of other countries, and I have known numbers of European diplomats who were frank in stating their belief that we suffered a great pas a aan because our messages could be delayed and perhaps read by certain European powers. I do not doubt it. We, like other nations, have elaborate codes, but these official codes are sometimes broken. Some of the Euro- pean powers have staffs of experts who take as many copies of stolen messages as can be obtained and endeavor to unravel the code. Mary of these experts are recruited from the ciass of mathematical or puzzle- solving cranks who have grown lean and sallow poring over arithmetical tricks, number squares and other unproductive hobbies. In certain foreign offices there are equipments so perfected that once in pos- session of the diplomatic mail pouch of (Continued on Page 120)

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JOHNER ARMONICAS Clash’s Around the World and Mediterranean Craises | © and fam. 31, 1925; 122 daye $1250 up; } axe Se pmmer Cruise (Norway, Spain, Ita! 2 . $550 «p Specially chartered siqucl smarders, tac ee Tates. Specify program yr * PRANK ©. CLARK, Times BSulliding, New York THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 118) some foreign country, this pouch may be cut into ribbons, seals broken, contents read and destroyed and within a few hours a whole new set of letters reproduced with seals attached, and all inclosed in a diplo- matic pouch with lead seals; and none of this reproduction can be told from the original. I was once shown a pretty little instrument like a tuning fork but with the two long needlelike tines of the fork close together. This could be inserted into the tiny space where the bottom or top flap on the back ef the sealed envelope met the bottom or top edge of the turn-over. If one of the yrongs were slipped inside the fold of the inclosed letter and the fork was twisted around and around, the letter could be rolled up into a tight cylinder, which then could be drawn out sideways, read, rein- serted and unrolled back into place. Paul Pry at His Work Leaks do happen and spies do occasion- ally pry into the diplomat’s desk. In Rome during a certain period I used to close my desk drawer. at right with a piece of flat paper balanced on the top lip of the locked | drawer. If anyone who did not observe | that bit of paper unlocked and opened the | drawer the paper would fall unnoticed into the bottom of the drawer as it was opened. I always found the paper in the bottom of the drawer! But fa always the whole subject of secrecy, leaks and the work of spies as being a subject almost funny because so much exaggerated. Once when fortune put into my hands the best of evidence of the existence of an elaborate spy system, I said to the statesman who was supposed to profit by it, ‘Tell me honestly, does it pay?” *‘Alas,”’ he said feelingly, ‘I fear no. It takes up my time, and the sum total of con- flicting information averages up usually to zero!” | While I was in Europe as ambassador | | was constantly offered the services of spies EVENING POST and fixers. I interviewed them myself be- cause I have a weakness for meres to charlatans. Some of them are good fello and break the monotony of the real business of the world just as Americans who skim around Europe and come into the diplo- mat's office with benevolent cure-alis, with- out any consideration of details or cost, help to color the day with their lovable earnestness. The spies always wish to work for the United States at some imposing figure. Fifteen minutes of conversation cuts that figure in half. Usually they leave will- ing to work for nothing because they figure if they can have employment of the Amer- ican embassy they can sell our information and supposed secrets to someone else. At one time a woman, who, we will say, pretended to teach languages to some of the employes of my embassy, used her viva- cious Central-European personality and her occasional presence in the American embassy to market secrets to others. I used to see to it that she was provided with plenty of high-colored material which had no foundation whatever in fact. I have often wondered what the poor woman or the nation that employed her thought of me or the United States. The junk of in- formation she carted away in all serious- ness would prove that in America we were all harmlessly insane. International Suspicions In truth the whole subject of secrecy, spies and in of the peanut variety has pes excited in me more amusement than anxiety. It is difficult to take one’s serious work seriously and at the same time regard the average childishness of most interna- tional conspiracy with respect. The whole field of story-book di lomacy, of secret agents and beautiful lady y spies, of midnight thefts of documents and eyes peeping under the blind is filled, however, with regrettable alarms and furnishes deplorable suspicion. After the Conference of Genoa I said to a meeting of foreign press correspondents that it was not the intrigue which does the November 1, 1924 greatest damage in international relations— it is the unfounded fear of Nation A that Nation B and Nation C are engaging in in- trigue. I said also that the experiment of so-called open diplomacy instead of always helping to cure these mutual fears and dis- trusts has proved often an opportunity to the press to add their own ghosts to those which flit in unreality before the eyes of frightened diplomats. The Truth About Oil At both conferences in Europe at which i was present the subject of oil was one great bugbear exaggerated to an absurd degree by the press. No one doubts that there is an international race for the oil re- sources of the world. Oil is ready money. Oil is the new fuel of sea transport. Oil may decide the power of this navy over that navy. Nevertheless, whenever an international conference is found, there also is found a whole nest of ridiculous newspaper stories about the intrigue for oil, and I cannot re- member a single instance in which the story was not a false alarm. Those who are really wise in regard to the international a for oil know certain facts wholly overlooked by the innocent and earnest little eyes who see fire where there is not even a wisp of smoke. Three of these facts I set down here be- cause I learned them well: One. The value of undeveloped oil fields is grotesquely exaggerated in the public mind. The trath is that the cost of develop- ment is often problematical and sometimes prohibitive. Two. Usually the oil field about which there is the most noise is one sought or held by some concession hunter who has no money to develop his concession even if it is worth anything. Of courst it is to his inter- est to advertise his claims as being of untold value. What he really is hoping for is to sell his pig in a poke to one of the big oil com- panies. It is the concession hunters doing (Continued on Page 123) PHOTO. BY UNDERWOOD & UNDERWOOD, N.Y. C. Entire United States Delegation at the Lausanne Conference on Near:East Affaire. Left to Right, Seated — Rear Admiral Mark L. Bristol, VU. 5. WN. Richard Washburn Chiid, and Joseph C. Grew, United States Minister to Switzeriand. Standing, Left to Right — Lieutenant Wheeler, U. 5. N.; Mr. Heck, Mr, Amory, Mr. Gillespie and Mr, Belin

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(Continued from Page 120) business on a shoestring and not the big oil companies of the world who create the clamor and the idea that governments and their representatives are interested in no question unless there is oil in it. Three. In the main, recent diplomacy of the world has had less to do with oil re- sources than the average man supposes. The reason for this is that the big oil groups of one nation and another find that it is usually more possible, more peaceful and more prompt to negotiate their participation in oi] resources among themselves, not at in- ternational conferences but in a private dining room. Now it so happened that I represented the United States at the seats of the two conferences where the subject of oil stood up larger than ever before. At the Confer- ence of Genoa the oil resources of Russia were advertised in the press; at the Con- ference of Lausanne not a day passed with- out some correspondent coming to me in a mysterious manner and saying *‘ Mesopota- mian oil.” I used to feel sometimes a kind of appe- tite for intrigue and almost a wish that I might be involved in oil. It gives a man a sensation of importance, but alas, I never struck it. Concession Hunters I read that a great oil company of Amer- ica had engaged a palace in Genoa for the coming struggle for Russian oil. Unbe- lievers were shown the palace! Reports were printed that a great oil company offi- cial was speeding overseas to be present. Few were the days when the press of Europe or America did not print the story that some nation or another through its secret agents had secretly made a secret agree- ment with the secret Russians about secret oil. I was represented by some kind corre- spondent as fighting with all the devices of diplomacy and intrigue to gain for America the last drop of oil in Russia. Now for the truth. The palace languished without tenants. The oil official mentioned was going not from but to New York. I saw no representative of any well-known oil in- terest, and received no communication from any from beginning to end. There was one exception. He came to see me to ask whether it would help me to have a repre- sentative near at hand. I replied with a large fat No. The terrible agent of the terrible oil interests did me the honor to say that I was quite sensible. I have nothing but fondness for that man. I saw one con- cession hunter who told me, much to my humiliation, that he had nothing to sug- gest. The only thing I did remotely con- nected with oil was to make it plain to my friends who represented other nations that there must be no agreements with Russia which would damage American rights, hu- man rights or property rights, whether such rights concerned missionaries or soap sell- ing, free speech or vacuum cleaners. The Open Door I have heard the minister of foreign af- fairs of one of the two great European powers pound the table and say, “‘Oh, but I am disgusted by all this talk of oil—sordid oil! I have not done a thing about oil, and one would suppose I dreamed oil and lived on oil!” I replied, ‘I trust you will find calm. As for me, my chief concern is to conceal the fact that I have had nothing to do with oil. The only thing I can say in my defense is that I have obtained unrighteously in oil everything any other diplomat has ob- tained here unrighteously—precisely noth- ing.’ So likewise when we were dealing with Turkey. When I restated without notice and without specific instructions our policy of the open door for the Near East and fora peace-preserving principle, it must have been a tremendous surprise to Secretary Hughes and President Harding to have an opposition rs accuse them of making a move for oil; it might as well have accused them of writing Uncle Tom’s Cabin in the interests of a high tariff. I received no instructions to help any oil interest in Lau- sanne, and the only oil man who wanted any- thing of me was a concession hunter who desired to be introduced with recommenda- tions to Ismet Pasha. I said to him a well- fed No. He went away very angry and I have never seen him since. I heard that there was quite a line of these concession hunters at the bar of the uptown hotel who were treating some of the correspondents and telling them quite against the proof of THE SATURDAY EVENING POST the out udding that peace could be had with- onor but not without oil. All this goes to show, as I have said in | speeches, that much greater enemies of the diplomat than the temptations to engage in intrigue are the ghosts and jack-o’-lanterns which often arise even in the press of his own country. Intrigue exists no doubt, and a good dip- lomatic representative will have his eyes open Usually open ears and eyes and a osed mouth are worth more than a whole staff of spies, and yield more dependable impressions than those fire alarms in the press which have multiplied rather than diminished since the clamor for publicity in diplomacy. One of the difficulties of pub- licity is that green or uninformed or un- scrupulous correspondents refuse to accept truth when it is dull or fails to meet their hunger for sensation. I know correspond- ents aplenty who are made of fine stuff and who have enough experience to realize that international relations, particularly those of the United States, are maintained usually by frankness or created by pains- taking and sometimes monotonous ne- gotiations. But I know at least three correspondents—one a Frenchman, one an Englishman and one, I regret to say, an American—who are clever enough and mis- chievous enough to have in their records | fabrications which have caused damage of no small measure. Of three instances of great mischief done by these men, two were founded on a desire to unseat prime min- isters; the other was a long campaign con- ducted by a man who liked to feel that he could influence world affairs and was will- ing to engage in perverted cleverness to do | it. These men are well aware of the power | of a mere assertion running across the cables of the world to set more fires than truth can quench in a long period. Relations With the Press The American diplomat, I have con- cluded, is usually scared of correspondents. Perhaps this fright is unfounded. In Rome whether times were dull or intensely excit- ing I never failed to see any correspondent who wanted to see me, and if I add up my total of gain—gain in getting information, gain in giving it fully and frankly—this gain almost makes me forget trivial losses .. PHOTOGRAPH BY EWING GALLOWAY, N.Y. C. The Ferry at Szechuan, in Remote South Central China PAP roe een MILITARY BINOCULARS FRENCH AND GERMAN 6 & 8 POWER $19.50 Postpaid Leather Case and Carrying Straps Included Finest Military Prismatic ulars, All new or practically new. Many of these binoculars were received di- rect from the ALLIED REPARA- TIONS COMMISSION. All are guaranteed perfect. Glasses of this type usually sell at $40.00 to $50.00 These glasses are of the wide angle type day and night lenses with pu pillary adjustment. 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Hide Ugly Wires When henging small pictures and wall decorations, use the dainty litte Moore Push-Pins Glas: Heads — Stee! Potats Moore Puss-tess Haagers — iene with the Twist"’ Points Save Walls 10c pkts. Kverywhere MOORE ~ « PIN CO. Philadephia, Pa. | ish. | partment constitute a mass of orders to | disclose; | stance where I was commanded to conceal. action, offers you his remarkable aew | THE SATURDAY such as an absurd story that I was being sued, or the intimation that my relations with President Coolidge had not been as cordial as those with President Harding. Summing up my impressions as to the | fears of the American lady who would not | let her son go into American diplomacy be- | cause of its supposed deceitful nature, I would say that she also talked mere gibber- My instructions from the State De- I cannot remember a single in- A wise American diplomat under these con- ditions and with a proper amount of courage can make a nod of his head pass for better currency than some treaties. A single nod is | sometimes an expression of agreement be- | tween two people; documents are worth nothing because they a good many signed fly in the face of economic or social facts. There is a fetish in these days to make international relations by documents. If these documents merely embody loose, im- | practical idealism or if they fail to express a common interest they are like most legal contracts which require the services of a sheriff—- more of a lie and an irritation than an instrument of concord and peace. The economic life of the world cannot be created by red seals and signatures; where there are no fundamental reasons for peace and no instinct for peace permeating the human fabric of nations, it is useless to engage in the hypocrisy of engrossing peace on vel- lum. International relations are based on not debates; on good will and on common interests which are increasing slowly but surely and which we desire to advance, but not wn the flapdoodle of those who assert that this or that is so or practical merely because they wish it were so or practical. If anything helped me in Europe and gave me the confidence of European statesmen it was the kind of honesty re- quired to state just such facts without hesitancy. Shirt Front and Soda Mints Alas! The same American lady who thought her son would be corrupted by di- plomacy, fell down. When she spoke of financial aid for Europe and I asked her whether she would advocate the only wa increasing our taxes, she replied, “Well, perhaps not, but we ought to hold out the hope, because that would keep a kind of grip on Europe. It would make us more popular and able to exercise our moral | influence, wouldn’t it? | And therein I point out, because this | lady is also a voter, is most of the philoso- phy of the species Benevolent ignoramus EVENING POST cross-bred with the species Benevolent holier-than-thou blackmailer. When I went abroad I was told by a col- lege president, “‘ You will find in your posi- tion there is, as Roosevelt called it, too much plush.”” He meant the business of pomp and trappings, entertaining and be- ing entertained; he meant too much shirt front and too many soda mints. Some men believe—and I am one of them—that in official life the gains of enter- taining are often exceeded by the losses. I have seen good hard-fleshed, hard-minded men come to the Senate or into the cabinet and grow fat and lolly-headed by sitting night after night at the right of the hostesses and burbling after coffee to a circle of listen- ing shell-like pink ears. And it is possible for a diplomat to make the same mistake. He will usually have adequate opportunity and it will be in a new social atmos- a with brilliant settings, flavored by istory and with a variety of personalities representing many races from the far cor- ners of the world and with the thought, the customs and civilizations of many lands. It is a fact that these contacts are not waste, and this will tend to lure the Amer- ican diplomat into the idea that this bright and distinguished company is really more important than it is. I look back to Europe with gratitude toward the many friends I made and trust and love. I have no pa- tience with American snobs who believe that titles necessarily imply decadence, or standards of manners and customs of the Old World represent in the main a lack of virility. I am deeply grateful that I have had the opportunity to see the bright, colorful pageants when kings and queens entertain each other. But I am equally certain that all this creates such a fascination that the American diplomat may be deceived. For, after all, the court and its social orbit are not the country, and to spend all one’s days in the capital and with the deco- rative set is a sure way to be blind to what the foreign country means, to be deaf to what that country is thinking and saying. Almost my first public act in Italy was to take a new destroyer of the American Navy and visit the ports of the Italian peninsula. As a journalist I had seen too many diplo- mats who little by little are sewn up in the capital in a kind of cocoon. Feeling the silky comfort of this position they became more and more detached from any contact with the peasants in the fields, with the minds of factory workers or the thought of shopkeepers in the towns across the breadth of the land. Then a great danger arises that the ambassador or minister, seeing nothing Novemter 1, 1924 beyond the high wall of the nobility, cap- italists, politicians, and being fed, day by day, on flattery, which in some countries is applied with studied skill, really becomes a man with a very narrow vision. Some men cannot avoid losing their de- tached point of view. I know one for whose opinion I would not give two cents in regard to the European situation. He is more vio- lently partisan in favor of the nation which has cocooned him than its own most ex- treme representatives. Indeed this cocoon- ing is the greatest danger the American diplomat faces today. The two ways to avoid it are to buckle on every day a good- natured but thick armor against flattery and the sense of being important. One of the greatest minds on interna- tional subjects which we have recently produced became as drunk with this honey as any drone bee. First-Hand information The second way is for the diplomat to travel. I sometimes think the most useful days I spent for the public service in Italy were not in Rome but from Sicily to Genoa, from the Trentino to Calabria. By know- ing the spirit of the people, by showing my interest in knowing them I gained wide and varied friendship. I could often foresee events, I could know the leanings of the country, and it was more difficult for some politician in Rome to fool me about Italy and the Italians, and it was more difficult for any interest unfriendly to the United States to fool the people of Italy. The plush side of diplomacy has its value, but the good, hard and useful busi- ness of diplomacy is to keep good reiations secure with the people as well as the gov- ernment, with the whole and not with a corner of the foreign country. Good in- formation, as Root said to me, is necessary to peoples if peoples are to have more and more to say about the foreign policies of their governments. Therefore, except for actual negotiations, the most useful service of a diplomat is to keep his own govern- ment and the people informed, not of the hearsay whisperings of the dinner table but of the facts, and to keep the government and people of the country where he occu- pies his post supplied with information which will stand up against the intrigue of those who would damage our reputa- tion by misrepresentation, who would either trick us into entanglements or as an alternative represent us as selfish and uncodperative. Editor's Note—This is the first of a series of arti- cles by Mr. Child on the American Diplomat and our Foreign Affairs.

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COPYRIGHT BY UNDERWOOD & UNDERWOOD, N.Y. C Guarding St. George's Patace During the Genoa Conference

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comparisons between foreigners and the people of God’s country. “Gosh, but old Cedar Street would look good to me right now!”’ he remarked for- lornly one afternoon as they were crossing the Place de la Concorde in Paris. “You're hopeless, Toodledums. I sup- pose you’d rather be p!aying rummy at the club right now with Ed Chambers and Jim Eaton and the rest of the bunch than see the most magnificent sights in Europe.” “There’re worse scouts than ol’ Ed and Jim, I can tell you,” retorted Andy, his face wan at mere mention of their names. “You'll go a long ways, Tweetie, before you meet anybody like home folks.” Camilla cried ecatatically, “Oh, but think of all we're seeing! “T am,” Andy gulped. “It’s great, like you say. I admit it, and I’ll try to stick it out.” Mrs. Johnson was in the seventh heaven. This was her first real flutter. Until the sale of the business early habits of thrift had imposed their restraint, even after Andy grew prosperous; but now she felt she could afford to shop without skimping. Andy was willing—told her to “Fly at it, the sky’s the limit.”” She dragged him all around the fashionable shopping district until he rebelled. “I just can’t go into a store and let ’em take down everything they’ve got in stock and then walk out without buying a nickel’s worth,” he declared. “That’s the trouble with you men,” an- swered Camilla sweetly; ‘‘you’ll take the first thing they show you. They don’t ex- pect you to buy every time, Daddy Dumplin. They don’t mind.” “All right. Then you go shopping alone and I’ll rubber around somewhere. Maybe I’ll run into somebody from home.” So Tweetie spent many hours just looking and half of every afternoon at fittings. Moreover, she made some agreeable ac- quaintances—two at an expensive dress- making establishment and several others at a relief tea to which she took the wretched Andy. They were women ac- customed to spend a few months abroad every year, or were now residing per- manently in Paris. They belonged in a bigger world than she had ever known and her contacts with them opened new vistas of activities. Camilla arranged to organize a local committee to carry on the work in which they were interested when she got home. Just what put the idea into her head of taking a war orphan back with them would be difficult to determine precisely. They were on a motoring trip in the south of France when she sprang it suddenly on Andy. He was aghast. “Where on earth did you get that notion?” “T’ve been thinking about it a long while, Honeybun—ever since we came here. I want somebody to love.” Johnson eyed her uneasily. “Then why not wait until we get back? You can pick out one of those children at the babies’ home.” “No, I don’t want a baby. They’re too much of a strain at our-age. I want a boy about ten or twelve years old.” Andy perceived that she had been re- volving the project for some time. “Well,” he said sulkily, ‘“there’s lots of choice out at the orphans’ home.”’ Camilla made a gesture of repugnance. “TI can’t stand those children. They're all so—oh, you know what I mean. They’re little animals. Nobody knows anything about their parents. That baby camp, now—half those babies have been left there by women who weren’t married.” “Those kids can’t help it,”’ suggested Andy mildly. “Well, I wouldn’t have one of them under any circumstances, so there’s—no use in talking about it.’ She spoke with nervous irritability. Her husband regarded her with affectionate solicitude. “Look here,” he said, “why not take our time to think this over? You’ re tired out and run down, and maybe — -— “In other words, it’s just a whim. Is that what you mean? If you don’t want me to have somebody to lové, just say so and be done with it.” He was greatly surprised, and anxious too. This was the nearest to an outburst he had ever seen in Camilla. THE TWEETIES (Continued from Page 19) “It’s up to you,” he — gravely. “You'll have to take care of him—all the work will be on your shoulders. The ex- pense part of it won’t amount to much. I’m willing. Yet I think you'll be making a mistake to take one from here, Tweetie, when we could easily ——”’ “If I can’t take one from here I don’t want any at all,” she answered decidedly. “These poor people—just think what they’ve been through. It’s the least we can do to help them.” “All right, go ahead and do just what you like. But I don’t think it would be ors to the family to adopt a strange child who —— “Gracious, who said anything about adopting him, Andy? I didn’t. Of course not; it would be too much responsibility. I just want to enjoy him for a few years and give him an education—give him a chance in life.” “Supposing he don’t turn out like you Oo “Then we can send him back. That's the beauty of not adopting him.” It was so like Camilla to leave herself a way out that Andy grinned “Have you got anybody in mind?” “Mrs. Turner says she knows of one that would just suit me.” So she had already worked out a definite plan before sounding him! He chuckled, for that was her invariable custom. She had often spent hours discussing projects with Andy and advancing arguments to win his consent, only to reveal, after win- ae his assent, that the thing was already one. After the first shock of the proposal he entered into the arrangements willingly enough. Indeed, he even grew enthusiastic, being the sort of man who does everything whole-heartedly. The couple had often talked over the possibility of adopting a child, but nothing ever came of this talk owing to Camilla’s reluctance to undertake the responsibility unless she could secure one of her sister’s, a radiant tot who was the darling of the entire connection. “What’s the use of talking like that when you know as well as I do there isn’t a chance in the world of getting Myrtle?” Andy would demand. “If I can’t get Myrtle I don’t want any,” Camilla would reply. He had consequently made up his mind she did not really want any. Now he de- cided that it might be an excellent thing for her. He was decidedly dubious about a child of alien blood; but after all, that — her lookout, and hers would be the care of it “All right; when we get to Paris we'll fix it up.’ They set out with Mrs. Turner to look at the boy she had in mind. “He seems to be a fine kid,” Andy ad- mitted, after a long and silent and carefully nonchalant inspection of the war orphan. “‘He’s perfectly sweet,’’ exclaimed Mrs. Turner; “and you can see for sg she his uncle and aunt are like. are such amiable people. From what ar ave been able to find out about the family, they are all hard-working and respectable too. You need have no anxiety about that, Mr. Johnson.” “*Fine!”’ he replied. ‘‘He seems shy for a boy that age though.” ““You must remember that he has never talked to anybody except the people i in the village, and ‘French children aren't Amer- ican. “That’s so too. Ours are apt to be mighty fresh and smart-Alecky.” “Well,” inquired Mrs. Johnson, with a beaming smile, when they were alone, “are you satisfied?” A lingering sense of caution made him hesitate a moment. Then the joy in his wife’s face decided him. “Sure. If you're satisfied, I am." The legal formalities staggered him. First there were the American regulations, but he got around those by classifying Jacques as a student and making himself responsible for his education and keep while in the United States. Then there were the French regulations to be met. The boy would be required for military service when he attained the age, and it developed that the consent of all the relatives concerned had to be won. Andy surmised they would be only too glad to get rid of the expense, but it transpired that the uncle and aunt THE SATURDAY EVENING POST held Jacques in peculiar affection and con- sidered him a future asset. So did several | others of the connection, The result was that Andy had to spend some money before all the required signatures were obtained; but in as much as the total did not amount to much when translated into dollars, he raised no objection. He signed various pao in which he undertook to provide or the boy during a period of years, to educate him, and either return him to France when called for military service or make the usual arrangement to avoid it. It took him the better part of a month to get everything in shape. ‘‘ All set at last,” he reported to his wife. “Gee, but won’t I be glad when we're headed home!” The Johnsons’ return with a war orphan created quite a sensation in town, An | evening newspaper sent a reporter out to | get a story from Mrs. Johnson and a photo- | graph of herself with little Jacques. And or a month she was kept busy lugging the child around to teas and bridge parties to exhibit him to her curious friends. The men joked Andy about it until he grew rather touchy on the subject, espec tially after Ed Chambers and Jim Eaton had sent a pro- moter to see him who was peddling stock in a washing-machine company. However, the excitement soon died down | and taking care of Jacques became a mat- ter of daily routine for Camilla. When it subsided to that basis she found the child more trying than she had expected. “T don’t understand him,” she com- plained to Andy. “With most children, you can get near them —sort of know them. But Jacques is so strange.” “How?” “Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes the way he looks at you—do you think he is a | sneak?”’ ““No-o, I don’t think so. He’s peculiar, though— -too shy. He won't look me in the eye. “And he doesn’t know how to play.” “Poor little shaver,” said Andy; “he’s | never had a chance. Maybe when he learns | to speak English better he'll be different. 4 “T do hope so. Sometimes -— “Sure he will,” “French kids are awful ~~ just like our own kids. Camilla was busier than she had ever | been in her life. In addition to Jacques’ care, she was engaged in directing the work | of a committee she organized upon her re- | turn to raise money for a milk fund with which Mrs. Turner and others of her Paris acquaintances were associated. These la- dies were laboring in behalf of the children of a Balkan country. Camilla didn’t know precisely where this country was, but the statistics she received were heart-rending, and when she carried around to the clu some of the photographs Mrs. Turner sent, she secured a dozen volunteers on the spot for a relief bazaar. Nobody could look on the pictures of those emaciated little wrecks without feeling the urge to y° somethin, “Oh, the heartlessness of some poopie!" she cried on her return home one night, her eyes blazing. “And with all their money too!” “What's the matter now?” “Why, Mrs. Witherspoon! I went to see her today to get a subscription for my fund, an she coolly said she wouldn't give an hing.” ‘Did she give any reason?” “Not a word. She just put on that cool, superior manner of hers and told me she did not see her way to helping.” “‘And old Witherspoon the richest man in town!” exclaimed Andy. “Oh, it makes my blood boil! I just looked at her like this—and if it had been anybody else, I'd have = her a piece of my mind, I can oe “Better go slow,’ dy cautioned un- easily. ‘‘We don't want a fuss with the | Witherspoons. He's chairman of the board at the bank, you know, and —— “Yes, I know. That’s the only thing that stopped me. I didn’t want to say anything that might make trouble between you ron Mr. Witherspoon. But as far as that woman herself is concerned —well, it beats me, and that’s the truth.” They put Jacques to bed, and then Andy showed her a letter he had received in the afternoon mail from the boy’s uncle in | France. It stated that the crop had been cried ad heartily. I used to | watch 'em in the Champs- Eysées, and they | Corns Lift Right Off Drop a little “Freezop-" on a touchy corn or callus for a few nights. Instantly it stops aching, then shortly you lift i right off Doesn’t hurt a bit. You can lift off every hard corn, soft corn, corn between the toes, and the “hard-skin”’ cal luses on bottom of feet. Just get a bottle of “Freezone” at any drug store, anywhere. Edward Wesley and Co., Cincinnati, O. Everybody loves to play PARCHEESI You can buy Parcheesi most places where toys and games are sold. If you can’t it at he store, complete set will be ma to od paid upon receipt of $1.00. Address Depe 5. SELCHOW & RIGHTER co. 620 Broadway, New York MEND YOUR TOP WITH sTi KeTiTe The gum side sticks instantly and permanently to open or enclosed auto tops. Goods match your top and side curtain material, Mends al! holes Nine years tested and approved. Carry for safety Repairs tubes and eee hose in emergent cie Outfits 25c and 50c, Long we across bows at dealer's; or postpaid from 3143 Main St., Cincinnati THE CINCINNATI AUTO SPECIALTY co Nes MONEY ALL YOUR OWN Football games, movies, Christmas coming — do you ever have money enough to go ‘round? YOU_ CAN. tarn it each week by selling The Saturday Evening Post to your friends (in U.S. AJ. We'll help you start.

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130 60 cents a pound Buy it in your home town The Super- Quality Long THE SATURDAY EVENING POST and Sane tne! Sealed in Every Box RALINGER’S Original Salt Water Taffy has a delightful smoothness in the mouth. Every taste is a new pleasure. You never get tired of the 25 assorted flavors. Eat your fill of Fralinger’s and you'll still have a good appetite for meals. Fralinger’s isn't too rich. It doesn't interfere with digestion, and you can enjoy it to the full without regrets. Give the kiddies a big share too. Fralinger’s isa wholesome treat for them, made of absolutely pure materials, and sealed up fresh and clean at the Boardwalk. The full flavor stays fresh as the day it was made. Send ten cents for a box of ten full-size Tasters, mailing the attached coupon. Buy a full pound box at your favorite candy counter. FRALINGER’S; Atvantic Crry, N. J. Five Stores on the Boardwalk If your dealer can’t supply you, order from us direct, 60 cents a pound postpaid. a complete failure, he was sick with rheu- nation and his wife had fallen and broken her leg. Bis guess we ll have to send them some- | thing, said Camilla. bo you think he’s telling the truth?” Andy ventured “Of course. There’s nothing improbable about anything he says there.” This was true enough, and next day Johnson bought a money order and sent it off. In due time they received a delightful letter of acknowledgment and thanks, and | when Christmas came around, a lace hand- kerchief arrived for Camilla. Meanwhile Jacques was attending school | and rapidly learning our language. He | showed great aptitude at this, and sur- prised Andy one afternoon by a flow of | profanity that would have done credit to | the best golf club in the country. “Where on earth does he learn such | things?” Camilla gasped. “From the other kids,” replied Andy, | not without a sneaking pride. “‘Shucks, bey nothing, Tweetie. When I was his | age I could cuss like a stevedore.”’ “Oh, how can you stand there and say such a thing! And laugh about it too! I think it’s dreadful.” “If Jacques never does anything worse than cuss a little, I'll be thankful. Come here, son, and tell me how you got along today.” The boy approached timidly. He was always ill at ease and distant with Andy, but displayed much affection for Camilla, whom he sometimes hugged until she could hardly breathe. “Let’s see your report. bo on What the teacher wrote was favorable. Moreover, he later told Johnson in private that Jacques was an exceptionally bright child and, with the right handling, ought to do well. Six months passed. Another letter reached them from France. It seemed that ever since her accident the aunt had found work in the fields beyond her capacity, and the husband’s earnings alone were insuffi- cient to feed so large a family. Could Mr. Johnson advise them what to do? “He’s really doing his best,” declared Camilla, on the defensive when she saw the expression of —_ s face. “And honestly, when I think of all he went through in the war, I marvel he has the pluck to try at all. If ever anybody deserves help, it’s those people.” “Nobody can deny that,”’ he assented, and he wrote back, suggesting that the wife open a small shop. The work of run- ning it would not be beyond her strength and she could take care of her young and growing family at the same time. He sent them a hundred dollars to stock it. By this time Jacques was as much a mem- ber of the family as if he had been born in it. Camilla fussed over him like an old hen with a lone chick. It is true that the French boy sometimes puzzled her and she could never get very close to him, yet he filled Been a good | the void in her hungry heart and she did her duty by the child eagerly and lovingly. As for Andy, though disappointed that Jacques did not romp and play and get into mischief like other boys of his age, he felt for him a certain tenderness born of pity. The next letter from France gave them a jolt. “What do you know about that?” in- | quired Andy, tossing it across the dinner | table. Camilla picked it up with foreboding. “Why, I understood he didn’t have -a relative in the world closer than his aunt and uncle! They told me his father was killed in the war and his mother died of the | flu in 1919.” “And now here’s a sister,”’ said Andy. “Older than Jacques, too. How is it we | only hear about her now?” They stared at each other. “Tt’s very strange,’”’ remarked Camilla. Then, stubbornly resolved to put the best interpretation on the news, she added, “Still, I can easily understand how it might hapven. Those people can hardly read and write, and maybe she didn’t know ——”’ “But why didn’t the family tell me when I was getting their consent?” insisted Andy. ‘I got everybody else’s.” hat alias remained unsolved. It was | plain from the letter, however, that Melie nsation for the loss of her expected = as Johnson did not know brother; | | what her ‘egal claims might be under | French law, e opened a correspondence November 1, 1924 that ended with a payment of a hundred dollars. Neither he nor Camilla begrudged the money. They would cheerfully have parted with much more to keep ante, without friction with his family. After that they settled down again to a tranquil life. Jacques grew like a weed, suddenly arriving at the downy-cheeked age long before they expected he would. A boy is always awkward and at his worst during this period of his growth, and he frequently got on Camilla’s nerves. Never- theless, she took as close care of his well- being and happiness as she could have done if Jacques had been her own son. It gave her plenty of work, yet she found time to attend to her public duties, which had considerably increased since their re- turn from Europe. With first-hand in- formation, gleaned on the spot, it was natural that Mrs. Johnson should have pro- nounced opinions on international! affairs and our foreign policy. She had listened attentively to the conversation at the teas and other gatherings she attended abroad, and in numerous confidential talks with women of high social standing who had been engaged for several years in various forms of relief activity, she had acquired a considerable store of statistics. She was in whole-hearted agreement with the view- point of these ladies, and seldom did a day pass without Camilla taking up her pen to write a letter to the Daily Call about Amer- ican duty to stricken mankind. The biting sarcasm she employed against the State Department delighted the Call’s readers and the paper published everything she wrote. And then came a series of complications that turned their little world topsy-turvy. The uncle wrote that the shop had proved a complete failure. They had lost all the money Mr. Johnson sent and were in debt. His wife was sick again. What to do? They had embarked in this enterprise on his advice, so surely he would not leave them to perish. “T see,” said Andy bitterly. “It is all my fault. What I want to know is, where is this thing going to end?” Then they began to receive complaints about Jacques. Camilla was horrified by a visit from Mrs. Walker, who asserted that Jacques had stolen her little boy’s bicycle. She flew into a fine rage, took a high tone and ordered Mrs. Walker out of the house. However, that same evening the bicycle was discovered behind a pile of lumber in the chicken yard. Jacques sullenly denied all knowledge of it. “Don’t dare to stand there and lie like that,”’ cried Camilla, “when you know you’ve been at me for three months to buy you a wheel!” “T wish we'd done it,” said Andy glumly. “I was afraid he’d get run over by an automobile, else ——- Oh, Andy, what'll we do?” “Search me. I just can’t figure him out at all. He seemed such a nice, quiet kid, and now —— They were in despair. Andy went to interview Walker and managed to patch up the affair without charges being brought, but it cost him considerabie trouble and deep humiliation. Nevertheless, they for- gave Jacques, who promised to do better in future even while stoutly maintaining his innocence. One night Camilla met her husband at the door with a face so white that he could only stare at her, afraid to ask what the trouble was. She drew him into the dining room and made sure neither of the servants was within earshot before she told him. Two mothers had called during the after- noon to inform her that Jacques would not be allowed to play with their children. “And while they were here the teacher came to say we must take him out of school, for they can’t let him stay there any longer, after what’s happened,” she sobbed. “Oh, I can’t believe it—I can’t—it’s too dreadful!” Poor Andy just sat motionless, in a cold stupor. He was shaken to the depths of his being. At last he rose and summoned Jacques, whom he questioned alone in a bedroom for an hour. The boy flatly contradicted the charges made against him, but ay knew he was lying; and as he stared helplessly at the white-faced lad in front of him, who displayed no indignation and remained coolly watchful, he realized with a sick feeling that he was bad to the core. “What does he say?” inquired Camilla through her tears. (Continued on Page 133)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST November 1, 1924 What Is Statler Trying To Do? He is trying, in his five hotels, to make hotel service better and better, and always better. That is what he has been doing for eighteen years. He is trying to eliminate perfunctory service, ungracious service, every kind of unsatisfactory or non-satisfactory service, from any Statler em- ployee to any Statler guest. He is trying to build up, in all Statler employees, a realization of the literal fact that good service to guests is the one and only way to success for anybody in this organization. He has made progress, year by year, along these lines. He never expects to make humanly-rendered service 100% perfect, 100% of the time. But he does guarantee your satisfaction, in these terms: Guarantee of Statler Service: We guarantee courteous, interested and helpful service from every Statler employee to every Statler guest; but should you, at any time, fail to get such service, and should the local management fail to satisfy you, I myself will undertake to do so. G7008abLN ieund Guae te Buffalo, N.Y. HOTELS STATLER Hotel BUFFALO : 110¢ rooms, rico . baths. Niagara Sonn Across Pennsylvania the street i the new Statler Gans ge wi i on ry ‘fac lity for New York modern service. The old Hotei Ss es Washi nd The largest hotel in the world Sta t at — n - - —with 2200 rooms, 2200 baths. ee and Statler~operated Sereetn dircctly oppoate, the salneiinebeniomatens CL ay be . A 3, Pennsylvania Railway Station. 100% Euclid, at CE. 1a sath A Statler-operated hotel, with DE T RONT: Ooms, TC00 all the comforts and con aths. G ( ‘incu 13 Park veniences of other Statlers, and Ss ) the sneend. % with the same policies of cour- sT. e UIs: ) Washi S _ teous, intelligent and helpful ‘a oe a at a a d service by all employees. Every room in these hotels has private bath and running ice-water; in every room is posted its rate, printed in plain figures.

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(Continued from Page 130) ‘Denies it, of course. But we can’t keep him any longer, Tweetie.”’ “No, I suppose not. And to think I kissed him good night! That a—a child of his age——— Oh, oh, I just can’t believe it! It’s too dreadful!”’ “There, there, don’t take on so. We've done our duty by him; this isn’t our fault. But if we don’t send him back quick some- thing may happen that we can’t fix up.” Next day he informed Jacques of their decision. “All right, if that’s the way you want to treat me. I'll be glad to leave you,’ he retorted. Johnson’s first impulse was to buy a passage for the boy, escort him to the boat and put him in charge of one of the ship’s officers or asteward. Judge Maillot pointed out the risks involved in this arrangement, however. What if Jacques, who was very intelligent and resourceful, should give his guardian the slip? Or what if he were to be guilty of some act that might land him in trouble and thereby embarrass the Johnsons? “TI guess I’ll have to accompany him myself,” said Andy glumly, dreading the voyage and the unpleasantness he foresaw on the other side. A week before the date of sailing he received another communication hem France. “Well,” he said brusquely to Camilla, “his father has turned up now.” “His father? Why, they told us he was an orphan!” “It seems the father wasn’t killed after all—a prisoner, or something. Anyhow he has turned up again and 4 wants five hundred dollars for loss of Jacques’ services and affection.” A certain harsh note in his voice made Camilla tremulous. “What will you do?” “Do?” cried Andy. hell first!” “Oh, Andy!” “You bet I will! And I'll take that kid back to his hopeful family, and I’ll tell them what I think of them all—that’s what I'll do!” He did not reply to this letter, but boarded a slow steamer with Jacques and sailed for Havre. In view of what had happened it seemed to Andy a simple and me justifiable proceeding to return the boy to his rela- tives. It did not turn out that way, however. When he took Jacques out to his native village in a motor car there was vast surprise. As soon as they learned that he planned to leave him furious protests broke out. Monsieur Johnson had con- tracted to provide for the boy during a term of years, to give him an education and in every way extend the care that he would to a son, Then what was this—this talk of dumping a helpless child back on their hands just because he had tired of him? They flashed the contract on Johnson, they called in an avocat, the house became a mass meeting. He was hopelessly beaten, and returned to Paris with Jacques beside him. By this time he could not look at the boy without loathing. And he saw ahead of him endless formalities to be complied with, and possible litigation. He consulted a lawyer. The latter was inclined to take the uncle’s view of Johnson’s obligations and earnestly ad- vised him to compromise with' the family before the negotiations had a chance to drag out. “If you don’t,” +he said—“ well, did you “T’'ll see him in ever get a bill from a hotel over here when , you had neglected to arrange about prices — beforehand? “Go ahead and try to fix it up,” replied Andy, with a shudder, and returned to the hote to stand watch over Jacques While the man of law was dickering with the uncle, Jacques’ long-lost father arrived at the hotel for a conference with Johnson. He had just learned of the American’s intention and came to warn him that it could not be done. The fellow looked like the sort of father Jacques might have. There was something unwholesome about him, and a certain watchful slinking in his manner that convinced Andy he was the boy’s sire. “Go and see my lawyer,” he said. “I don’t want anything to do with you at all.” “What?” cried the other, in fairly good English. “You do not intend to pay me nothing?” “You’ve said it. intend to pay you.” That’s just what I “We'll see about that!’’ retorted the father, a threat in his voice and eyes. “That’s all I want to hear from you! | Get out!” “Listen to me, mistair—you’ll be sorry for this. If I tell’ everything I know —— “Everything you know?” repeated Andy, puzzled. “Ha, I thought that would wake youup!” “What do yeu mean? “T mean that I do not intend to be defrauded. You will pay me or, you will suffer the consequences.” “Well, go on. Consequences of what?” Jacques’ father glanced at him with sly malevolence out of the corner of his eye. Then he frowned. “Bah! I know all, m’sieu,” he exclaimed | impatiently. Andy waited, maintaining his composure } by an effort. Something in the man’s manner made him want to swing a fist | against his mouth, but he could not have said why. “Educate my boy, hein? Fine! Tell | that to simpletons!”’ | here, what on earth are you driving at?”’ | rit tell you, mistair. If you're as in- nocent as all that—bah, I won’t believe it!”’ | “I’m waiting.” “Fourteen, hey? Jacques was sixteen years old last November.” “Then they’ve lied to me again,”’ broke out Johnson angrily. “He is sixteen, just the same.” “Well, what of it?” Such obtuseness appeared to madden Jacques’ father. He cast caution to the winds. “What?” he exclaimed furiously. ‘ You do not see yet? Then I will tell you. Madame—do you think she was interested in the boy to educate him? He has told me of her embraces and ——— He got no further. Andy gaped at him a moment in wild unbelief ~4 amazement. Then he burst into loud laughter. ‘Get out!’’ he commanded, almost good- naturedly. “I see that poor little Jacques isn’t the only degenerate member of your family.” But the father was deceived by the mild- ness of tone. He started to amplify his idea, For one brief moment Andy listened, then for the first time in his life completely lost control of himself. Without a sound or | a movement of warning, he threw himself on Jacques’ father and, hurling him to the floor, choked and belabored him to a pulp. The outcry the victim made brought a valet de chambre, and a host of other employes close on his heels. They dragged Johnson off and carried the unconscious visitor into the hall. Somebody. sent for the gendarmes, and both Johnson and Jacques’ father were put under arrest and taken to jail. The next fortnight always remained a | nightmare to Andy. He had to appeal to the American consular officials in Paris, and only for a certain discovery the police made, things might have gone hard with him, This was the discovery that the man who had tried to blackmail him was a war deserter, for whom the police had searched two years. There were half a dozen petty crimes alleged against him. But he was undeniably the father of Jacques. With this information as a basis, John- | son’s attorney began an investigation of | the entire connection. Their reputation | turned out to be decidedly unsavory. The | aunt had not broken her leg; she had not | started a shop; the sister whose appeal | Andy had answered proved to be a distant | relation of the bow’s aunt by marriage. ‘Hot with indignation, Johnson called on Mrs. Turner. “Yes, we were badly deceived in this | case, Mr. Johnson,” she confessed, ‘and | I am very sorry. But I would like to point | out the large number of cases where the orphans we supplied have turned out well. Yours is the worst on our records. Of course some have been sent back, but the majority ——”’ | What she said was true enough, but | Andy derived slight comfort from it. “And I beg you will not judge the French | people from these—these — “I’m not a fool, ma’am. I wouldn’t | judge Americans by a couple of drunks at the Casino!” he protested. “That's it exactly,” said Mrs. Turner sweetly. ‘And now,” she cooed, “won’t you let us find you another boy—one we are sure of?’ Well, he got rid of Jacques and a peeee from everybody who might possibly be | THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Sits gracefully on top of your radio set Out of the heart of a Sonora— a new radio speaker LL the clear tone, rich volume, and sharp enunciation of the Sonora phonograph has been willed to this new radio speaker by transferring bodily the famous Sonora tone chamber of all-wood construction. All-wood, but not solid wood, for, like solid metal, thick or thin, solid wood will add vibrations of its Own. Instead, ply upon ply of thin, seasoned wood is moulded around a form as perfect as the science of acoustics can make it. Each wafer- thin layer, coated with a sheer film of gum, is set at cross-grain to the next, for sound wayes follow the fibres of wood, and by opposing successive net-works of these fibres, no track is left open for tone to escape. Thus is every unnatural vibra- tion shorn from the crystal-clear stream of sound which pours from the Sonora tone chamber. Purity of tone cannot be de- scribed in words, nor can volume and clearness of enunciation; but of the thousands who have now heard the Sonora Radio Speaker actually reproducing, hardly one has failed to comment with sur- prise upon the marked superiority of this instrument. ’ ry Make for yourself a thorough, fair test of the Sonora Radio Speaker in comparison with any other on the market. Dealers all over the country are prepared and eager to demonstrate whenever broadcast- ing is in progress. However, should the dealer in your city be not yet stocked with Sonora Radio Speakers, send us this coupon now and our response will be immediate. SONORA PHONOGRAPH CO., Dept. A, 279 Broadway, New York, N. Y Gentlemen Please send me one Sonora Radio Speaker, price $30, carriage prepaid C] Check or cash enclosed, or, C) Send C. O, D. Name Address Shipped 20 any foreign receipt of pr ountry parcel post prepaid an Re liable dealers wanted CLEAR AS A BELL Radio Speaker Can be plugged into any Radio Set No extra batteries required New York Sun scores a scoop with a Sonora Radio Speaker The extraordinary clearness of tone reproduced by the Sonora Radio Speaker was strikingly demonstrated when, during the Democratic Convention, ‘the typesetters of the New York Sun set type directly from the official announcer’s voice, as amplified by the Sonora instrument. “The Sun” scooped every other paper in New York by at least one ballot. Radio Engineer for WCX has pur- chased two Sonora Radio Speakers “Gentlemen : ‘In the exacting test that I have given the Sonora Radio Speaker, | have found that it is superior to any that | have so far listened to. The tone is perfect: a deep, rich, mellow uality which appeals instantly to the ear of the listener. Y 7 ‘I recommend the Sonora Radio Speaker to anyone who is contemplating the purchase of a device of this kind for is receiving set for three reasons: tone quality, clearness and beaury. Yours very truly, (Signed) Merrill R. Mitchell, WCX” One order for 5,000 Sonora Radio Speakers! An initial order for five thousand is typical of the enthusiasm which the Sonora odio Speaker has eroused among the peopie whose livelihood depends upon buying only merchan- dise that people will like immediately. The New York department store which placed this order ‘plugged in” five of these speakers to the same radio set, and these, enunciating in perfect unison and harmony of tone and volume, kept customers informed of the prog- ress of the Democratic Convention.

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THE SATURDAY { Section of unstropped blade magnified ny sensitive teeth invisible to " Temperature That's why even new blades pull. eth back into line and rescores a new blade if stropped before using is ilarly it will last indefinitely. em out of line Strop Your Blades— Speed Your Shaves y‘ 1 can shave with a stropped blade in half the time it takes you to shave istropped blade—and you get cleaner shave. with an ut a smoother A man just doesn’t know, when he thinks it’s too mnuch trouble, and takes too much time to strop before shaving. stropping with Twinplex is simple and skill required. Just a few turns and oth edges are as keen as a barber's razor. Why man! You spend twice the time needed for stropping just spors an unstropped blade quick -—no voing covet he Misse Twinplex won’t revive old blades—but what it does to a new blade will astonish you, both in quality and number of shaves. Send For Stropped FREE Blade reror and we will send you a stropped We would just like to show you what n do to a new blade Tw vm x isl4 years old sold by best dealers all over the world. Drop in at and take a kk with a long service —over a million a nes rby store Sold guarantee I'WINPLEX SALES CO. 1611 Locust St., St. Louis New York Montreal ok at one Chicago London 00 For Double $500 Edge Blades gl ' a> For Velvet Smooth Shaves Strop Your Blades on a Jwinplex Siropper | losing control at last. | Andy? What would people think? They | Maillot after lunch at the club, EVENING POST concerned, no matter how remotely. It cost him five thousand dollars before he sailed for home, but the sense of freedom with which he boarded the steamer was worth the money. Having apprised Camilla by cable and then b fetter of the satisfactory outcome of the business, he looked for an eager and joyous welcome home. Instead, he found her a picture of woe. “What’s the matter now?” he asked anxiously. “It’s Stella.” Stella was the housemaid. **What about her?” When she had told him Andy exclaimed, “Gosh, I’d never have believed it possible! | There’s one girl I would have banked on o” anywhere. What does she say about it? “Oh, some cock-and-bull story about being engaged to this man and expecting to marry him right away, and then he got killed by a truck.’ “‘Well, maybe it’s true.’ “Stuff and nonsense! That’ s what they all say. he conceded. “ All the “That's so, too,” | same, we can’t leave the poor kid in the lurch. We'll nave to stand by her.” Mrs. Johnson was so dumfounded that | she could hardly find words. “Stand by her?”’ she said at last. “What on earth are you talking about? That woman goes out of this house when her | week is up.” Shocked beyond measure, Andy pro- tested: ‘“‘But, Tweetie, listen! We can’t do that. I feel sure Stella’s a good girl; but no matter whether she is or not, we can *t turn her out like this at “She goes out of this house when her week is up or I do,” Camilla shrilled, “Are you crazy, might say that you Oh, I have no patience with you!” He could only stare at her. Was this Camilla—this woman with features con- torted by anger and voice raised to furious fishwife pitch? Suddenly his anger boiled up, but he conquered it. He went out without a word, his face pallid. Mrs. Johnson discharged Stella, as she had threatened. The idea had occurred to Ardy that he might ease matters for the unfortunate girl by quietly slipping her some money, but a little reflection con- vinced him that the possible consequences to himself made it too risky. So Stella went forth to hunt another job and face her crisis alone. About a month later, encountering Judge Andy dropped into a seat beside him. “Well, what’s on your mind, Andy?” “Nothing.” November 1,1924 “You haven’t been lately. Is it that boy?” “No. Shucks, I’ve forgotten that kid.” They smoked a while in silence. “Funny thing about women. I just can’t figure ’em out, Judge,” remarked Johnson. “Why try “Oh, An’ te —-- “They aren’t all alike, you know,” ven- tured the judge, ‘‘although they’re more of one pattern than men, no matter what a lot of people say.” “Well, what I can’t get,’”’ said Andy, his brows puckered in a frown, “is how a person with lots of sentiment ———”’ “Perhaps you mean sentimentalism,”’ suggested the judge in a gentle voice. “What’s the difference?’’ Andy de- manded. The judge laughed and placed his hand affectionately on Johnson’s knee. “Do you know Mrs. Witherspoon?” he asked. “Sure.” “Well, speaking of sentiment, there’s a woman, ‘Andy, who — It was two hours later when Johnson separated from the old judge, and then it was to walk down to the Mexican quarter. He spent the rest of the afternoon there. At dinner he was curiously quiet. Now and again he shot a swift look at his wife. “Well?” she queried. A certain con- straint had risen between them of late and she was uneasy. ““Do you remember Stella?’’ he inquired lamely. “Don’t be silly—of course!” “Mrs. Witherspoon has given her a job and is going to keep her on.” Camilla heard this in silence, but her hands trembled as she tried to cut her steak. “IT suppose you mean by that “Wait! Don’t get mad, dear. I don't mean anything. I'm just telling you. ‘Well, what if she has?”’ “She’s been keeping up five Mexican families all through the winter—all during those hard times. Judge Maillot says he has never yet looked up a case of poverty without finding that Mrs Witherspoon had beaten him to it with help.” Camilla put down her knife and fork. Something told her that she had lost her long, long struggle, but there still remained a weapon. She started to cry. “Oh, of course! I knew you'd say that! Why don’t you say it right out? If that nasty stuck-up thing —— “‘Hush, Tweetie! I didn’t mean to “You did too! If you didn’t, what did you mean?” “T only meant,”’ replied the miserable Andy, “that if I were you I wouldn’t knock her.” looking yourself Moonlight on Puget Sound, Washington

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 135 ifferent from all others! d A \ | = oe a i | Ww YI 7 + ¥ j | 5 | 4 | ie | | “ \ 4 Le Ae it i r ‘ ay; ‘ Ai ¢ _ 4 Se 7 ls y \ +? bt j qj iit 5 Be a 4 J a | j » * j i 3) ———— | iy r Storm Window. * a, Two thin panes of s A Several Layers of | glass with air space LA Blankets. between. Double Walls of a i] House. The storm window, the twe walls of a house, and the several layers of blankets with air space between, all illustrate the same double wall principle used in Duofold for more effective warmth retention. ) —a fabric in two thin separate layers greater warmth and protection with light-weight comfort. Health Underwear for Men, Women, Children and Infants Two thin layers with air space between are more effective in keeping warmth in and coid out, than a single layer thicker than the two combined, That’s why Duofold can be made in com- paratively /ight weights and still provide the extra warmth and protection so accept- able during winter’s bitter cold. The two layers also help to avoid the sud- den chills, due to dampness in underwear. Duofold’s inner layer which absorbs perspira- tion from the body, is always completely cov- ered with a drier outer layer. Especially when you go from heated buildings into the out- doors, the sudden change of temperature cannot have the sharp, chilling effect on your skin, because the cold air can’t come in im- mediate contact with the darnp fabric. Duofold is weil-made, thoroughly satisfy- ing in all its qualities—with the unequalled additional advantage of its light two-layer fabric. Made in two fabric combinations— 1. Both layers of cotton. 2. For those who prefer the added protection of wool—the outer layer made with wool for warmth, the inner layer made of cotton for comfort. The wool can’t touch the skin. For a taste of genuine winter comfort plus greater protection to your health—ftry Duo- fold. Nothing else like it! Sold at most good underwear departments and haberdasheries Send for free samples of fabric and names of local dealers. DUOFOLD HEALTH UNDERWEAR COMPANY Mohawk, New York DRegeeaeyae

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136 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST November 1, 1924

THE TOKEN PACKAGE A delicious assortment of bonbons and choco- lates or all chocolates. 1, 2, 3, and $ Ib. sizes. $1.50 per lb tiie GOLDEN j ANNIVERSARY | PACKAGE | ty Assorument of the finest chocolates in colored j metal box. In.) and 2 ib. sizes. $1.75 perld

The BEVERLY PACKAGE | { *‘America’s Finest Dollar Box’’

O [ t] AnessataSen ts 1th. box—$1.75 and how many of the others have you tried? | } d er it \ FY ‘ ; \ He” many times you buy one of these Huyler’s t\ aN ackages, or some member of the family brings i 8 y & i wn one home, or it comes ceremoniously as a gift— but you | Fe are pleased, always. y At the left are shown the twelve favorite packages of | i P 8 es the Huyler’s public. Look them over. See which of these | EVERY candies you remember tasting. Has habit kept you to | | HOUR CHOCOLATE : b4 D4 H] Assorted hard candies in 4, COVERED one or two when you might have been enjoying all || t and 2 Ib, sealed tins— PEPPERMINTS twelve? | With a pencil check the kinds you have tried. Double check your favorite and let us see the results. Write us a letter and tell us why your favorite is your favorite. These are not idle questions. We realize we are asking a personal favor from you, but we really want to know what you like best and we believe many of our friends will take the time and trouble to tell us. If we know, we can be sure of producing new favorites for your satis- THE faction. 4 PERSIAN PACKAGE i] box vou willfinda delicious contains many Huyler’s fa- ; ; 3 J i} assortment of the finest vorites—honey sougat, a Huyler’s store or dealer, we will send them to you ; c noc ‘ nige es and. ines mete d Suras anaes, eraees oelece d ° h k d P 1 } Soepmneet Pee will enjoy To strings, ordan almonds, and irect. Just put a check or money or od ” your etter. oe Sa Bee, 01.73 anon, 81-93 per On orders of $3.00 or more we pay shipping charges. - 9 . — America’ foremost fine candy | SWEET CHOCOLATE Equally good for eating, oS | drinking or cooking. 10c, ‘ bi 15e¢ and 40c cakes . ‘ | t ‘3 2 1} | i eR RTM iE hl ; ' J ASSORTED ; i oo oe: oll 18th Street & Irving Place, New York City ole nut meats —wainut, . NTS a, Brazil, filbert—choco- : | ship olp ice covered. In | and 2 Ib. Frank DeKlyn Huyler § Coulter D. Huyler = David Huyler | * th. box —40c sizes—$1.75 per Ib. | yaa r President Sec’y & Treas. Vice-President H , » " Packed im this smart metal

THE TIDBIT PACKAGE

—<—<— ORTOP EF ROTA

ee

Ifyou cannot secure any or all of these packages from

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(Continued from Page 23) about this, assuming that the bags would take a 30 per cent duty; but on account of being ornamented with beads and embroid- ery the duty is automatically raised to 75 per cent. Added to this are the transpor- tation charges by rail and steamer, and the insurance. Altogether, the beaded bags he bought so blithely in Paris at a little more than a dollar apiece, American money, stand him fully three dollars apiece laid down in his home town. He knows by now that big profits are out of the question, but there is still a chance for a fair margin. The owner of the leading department store in the home town is a personal friend and a member of the lunch- eon club, and to him the retired merchant goes with his proposition. “‘T picked up a little lot of goods when I was in Paris,’”’ he says, ‘‘and if you’re in- terested I can slip the stuff to you at way below the market price. It’s a couple of thousand beaded bags that you can retail easy at six or seven dollars apiece. I'll let you have the bunch at four dollars apiece.” It is now that the retired merchant’s opinion of himself suffers a disastrous slump. “Good Lord, Henry,’’ says his friend brutally, ‘‘I thought you were smart enough to keep out of things you don’t know any- thing about. So near as I can judge there are just about ten thousand individuals in the United States who have lately discov- ered a new way to get rich, by buying stuff in countries where the money is debased and bringing it to the U.S. A., where the money is worth a hundred cents on the dollar. Every day I’m having job lots of Eu- ropean bargains offered me by amateur im- porters, and usually the bargains are about 30 per cent higher than the regular market price. I'll look at your plunder because it’s yours; but if you expect me to buy it you'll have to forget the profit you expected to make, and figure instead on the loss you’re willing to take.” The end of the story is that the retired merchant's trip to Europe cost him nearly double; and all because the display in the curiostore window on Rue de Rivoli tempted him into tackling what is possibly the most complicated business in the world— that of buying merchandise in one country to sell in another country Paris seems to be the one city in the world able to maintain itself successfully as a tourist center and a market place. Every great department store in the world has some sort of Paris connection for buying, the larger ones having their own offices and resident buyers, and the lesser ones depend- ing on commissionaires, such as | have described in the foregoing incident, who at- tend their clients’ affairs on a percentage basis. Besides these there is a constant stream of amateurs who drop into the mar- ket, buy one time only, and manage usually to lose money for themselves as well as to make things harder for those who operate on a businesslike basis. Mr. Podger in Paris There are something like fifty commis- sionaires in Paris who represent American wholesale firms, mail-order houses and department stores. The commissionaire does not usually do actual buying for his principals. His function is to receive the heads of departments who are sent to Paris, take them around to the various factories, tell them where they can get most favorably the merchandise they want, and see that shipments are made according to contract. For these services his usual charge is 7 per cent on all purchases made. This looks like quite a good price to pay for the services he gives, but as a matter of fact the firms which maintain their own Paris offices are usually under a greater expense than that; in some cases the ex- pense of an exclusive Paris buying office will run as high as 15 per cent on all pur- chases made in a year, which is consider- able of an item to add to the price of the goods when laid down on the counter for sale in New York, Indianapolis or Seattle. A familiar figure around the commission- aire offices in Paris is the small-town mer- chant who likes to feel he is in the swim. Mr. Amos Podger, leading jeweler of Blanktown, Nebraska, was one of them. Three years ago Mr. Podger’s physician told him that he ought to get away from the store a couple of months every year, and recommended a trip to Europe. Mr. Podger visited Paris and liked the sensa- tion so well that he invented an excuse to make the trip an annual affair. Mr. Podger has a Paris office at the small cost of fifty dollars per annum, which is the price charged by the commissionaire to dis- play Mr. Felea's name on a glass plate on the door. Whether the plate remains there the year around or is only tacked up for the period of Mr. Podger’s annual visit is a question that need not be investigated. But in any case Mr. Podger gets his money’s worth. On his business stationery and in his advertisements in the local newspaper back home he can announce truthfully that he has a Paris office, and prove it by a pic- ture of the building. Besides that, what is a little expense compared with the pleasure of being able to mention to one’s fellow townsmen that one is just preparing t to run THE SATURDAY THE LURE OF THE PARIS LABEL over to Paris to see how things are going in the European branch? This season Mr. Podger was interested in buying imitation jewels for sale to his clients in Blanktown who cannot afford the real thing, but like to have it appear that they can. Accompanied by the commis- sionaire’s young man interpreter he climbed the four flights to the factory of imitation jewelry in the Place des Victoires. Great excitement prevailed when the interpreter told the proprietor that he had brought a buyer from America to look at his line of samples. The proprietor explained that the line was not in. It was out. The sales per- | son was at that moment showing the line to Paris dealers. But if the monsieur would only consent to wait a few minutes all would be arranged. These remarks being trans- lated into English, Mr. Podger stated that he would wait. The proprietor hurriedly summoned half a dozen boys and girls from their workbenches and sent them scurrying out on a wild search for the sales person who had the line. Putting On the Brakes Directly one of them triumphantly re- turned with the sales person, who proved to be a lady. She was middle-aged and of very lusty build; she came swinging up the four flights of stairs with a forty-pound sample case in either hand and arrived in the office without a sign of fatigue. The monsieur wished to look at bracelets? Rings? Beautiful buckles of rhinestone and silver? Voild! All are here in charming patterns and quite more cheap than in any other factory in all France! This sudden and direct attack was al- most too much for Mr. Podger. He wished to buy some jewelry, certainly; but he did not wish to buy it right off the bat, so to speak. He wanted to stay in Paris a whole month like a regular big-league buyer; and if he invested his entire thousand dollars the first day there would be no excuse for lingering the rest of the time. He took the rhinestone bracelet the lady sales person forced into his hand and regarded it gravely. “That's a pretty nice piece of goods, all right,”” he said at last, “but I’m afraid I couldn’t use it. You see, I sold a real dia- mond bracelet to a lady customer of mine last Christmas, and if she should see an imitation one in my stock she might be put out with me. A man like me who caters to the best trade in town has got to be pretty careful,” The speech was translated to the lady sales person. ‘One can see that the monsieur is a skill- ful merchant,” she said admiringly, “and the real diamond bracelet he sold last Christmas must have been trés beautiful. But all the more reason for buying this imi- tation one! The wealthy lady herself might wish to make a gift to some friend, and what would be more gentil than a facsimile of her wonderful bracelet, only in rhine- stones?’ So enthusiastic was the sales person over this solution of the question that she seized her order book and started to write down the item. Mr. Podger stopped her in time. “No, ma’am, my mind is made up,” he said; “and when I make up my mind it is final. The last time I was in Chicago one of the biggest jobbers in my line told me he believed a good share of my success came from my habit of making up my mind and sticking to it. I wish you could see my store. Solid mahogany fixtures and all plate-glass showcases.” EVENING POST Yous -with this most winning of all musical Instruments CHree! This beautiful book shows how easy it is to learn to play a Buescher. In dt you will find the first lesson, Cornet The Buescher Saxophone harmonizes per- fectly with your piano. It puts the dash and swing of a full orchestra in your home. Never before such a wonderful versatile instrument as the Saxophone. It expresses every mood; it meets every demand. It sounds like stringed instruments, but is stronger and mellower, it sounds like brase in- struments, but is softer and sweeter. It supports and blends with voices or other instruments, yet gives beautiful effects in solo. Every young man and woman should be able to play a rT]. B TyueTone SAXOPHONE Surely you can play —Don't let anyone tell you that you can’t. You don't need to be talented. You don't need to “know music.”” You don't need a teacher. You can ‘pick it up’’ yourself. A few min- utes a day of = and in a few weeks you, too, will be playing the ular airs. The ease with which it comes to you is charming BDA YS’ TRIAL-EASY PAYMENTS. ‘Try one of these sweet-toned Seniiees in your own home for six days without obligation. If perfectly satisfied, pay for it on easy termé. Pay while you play BUESCHER BAND INSTRUMENT CO. Everything in Band and Orchestra Instruments 298 Buescher Block, Elkhart, Ind. Buescher Band Instrument Co., 298 Buescher Block, Elkhart, Ind al | ar | Gentlemen: { am interested in the instrurnent checke Prombx Trumpet Mention any | Write plainly, ints Address, Town and State in margin below

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: THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ew — he FLORSHEIM SHOE | Wearing Florsheim Shoes is a pleas- ure that every man should enjoy—it means corfect appearance—comfort -—-and economy thru long service. Most Styles $10 Fall Booklet ‘Styles of The Times’’ on Request THE AUCOBY Sevle M- #60 One of Mang Seyles Tue FlorsHerm SHor CoMpANy OManufacurers - CHICAGO } DECKER ELECTRIC BENCH GRINDER $38 (/ tn. Cenada +t 8) “We BLACKS DECKER MFG. Towson, Nid.,U-$.A. Lyman Tube Bldg., Montreal, | | the interpreter, ‘ | water under the pressure of | backing Poll prett | keen buyer myself, as anyone traveling in “The shop of the monsieur must be won- derful,” responded the sales person through ‘and he can easily sell t the beautiful merchandise from so fine a place. Now this line of rings I have here for the petits fingers of young American ladies, nuine imitation stones and only twelve rancs each ——-”’ Mr. Podger was fast on into hot is deadly ~ rr aaateds He seized the only straw in sight. “Yes, your gate are all right,” he said, the door, “but I’m a pretty my territory can tell you, and it’s one of my Saeed se not to buy anything till I have around, and maybe I’ll come back again, but right now your prices look a little high, and so bong jour, madam, till I have time to make up my mind!” This speech got him out of the office. Halfway down the four flights the sales person raced past him, carrying her two sample cases, hot on the trail of the Paris dealers she had been calling on when sum- moned by her principal to wait on the buyer from America. Next day in the office of his commission- aire Mr. Podger was heard to remark that the French are a nice people all right, but aot very businesslike. ' have said the Paris commissionaire does not usually do actual buying for the firms he represents. He does not want to; it may lead to unpleasant complications. | On one occasion a big Middle West depart- | certain goods; ment store decided to cut down expenses in one of its departments and instead of send- ing the department manager abroad, the Paris commissionaire was instructed to buy explicit directions being | given as to styles, colors and prices. The | commissionaire carried out his instructions | to the best of his ability, and in due time the goods were shipped to America. The results were hardly satisfactory. Back came a letter from the firm criticizing the commissionaire’s taste, judgment and sense of proper values. The writer said practically nothing in the shipment was up to standard. The prices were beyond rea- son. The firm might possibly be able to sell the goods sometime, but would doubtless suffer a severe loss on the transaction. From the tone of the letter the commissionaire had visions of losing the firm’s account and | it was a sufficiently important one for him to try to save it. He took boat for America the next week. The Showing Up of Mr. Smith Arriving at the big department store he found the head of the department out, but tock occasion to spend a couple of hours talking with some of the other employes who knew of his connection with the firm. After getting the information he wanted he went upstairs to the office of the general manager. That gentleman was none too cordiai, speaking in rather pointed words of the commissionaire’s evident incapacity in — ng out a plain and detailed order. ut how do you know I didn’t follow orders?”’ said the commissionaire. ‘You haven’t examined the goods, have you?”’ “No, I haven’t examined the goods per- a answered the general manager, ‘but Mr. Smith, the department head, has reported that he cannot dispose of any por- tion of the shipment except at a heavy loss on account of the poor selections.’ his was the answer the commissionaire had been angling for. “I don’t see how Mr. Smith or anyone else can tell whether the merchandise is salable or not,’’ he said, “when it hasn’t even been put on the counters for sale. Right this minute the boxes are lying un- opened in the stock room, and that is where the stuff has been since its arrival, a month ago!” Which was indeed true. Mr. Smith wanted his trip to Paris and was taking any means at his command to prove to the firm that no one could buy Paris goods profit- ably except himself. He is now with an- other house. Surely Paris deserves its well- known reputation for wickedness when people thousands of miles away will do unscrupulous things merely to get a chance to visit it. Another department manager took dif- | ferent means to insure his yearly trip. It seems that the women’s garments he had been buying in Paris cost more than the domestic product when the customs duty and other charges were figured in; and | there was an increasing tendency among November 1, 1924 the store’s customers to buy American- made goods. The average woman liked the idea of a-Paris label, but she was not willing to pay several dollars per garment extra for tke distinction. So marked had this tendency become that the firm began to consider the advisability of concentrating on American-made garments, merely buy- ing a few imported garments each season from some wholesale importer in New York. If this were done it would, of course, cut the department manager out of his semi- annual European trip, and the idea was so insufferable that he resolved to fight to the last ditch. He went to the president of the firm with strong arguments to show that a grave mistake would be made in passing up the French market when all competitors were showing Paris models, and he added that he had certain plans in mind which he believed would work out profitably. The a asked what the plans might be, ut he gave an evasive answer, only saying they were not altogether matured and could not be until he shopped around among the Paris manufacturers once more. The president is a man who believes in giv- ing his subordinates full play, judging only by results at the end of the year; he told the department manager to go ahead with his plans and take his regular Paris trip. Trickery Discovered Before going abroad the latter spent some time in American manufacturing centers and bought quantities of garments modeled on foreign lines. Afterward in Paris he bought sparingly, te)ling the firm’s commissionaire who accompanied him among the manufacturers that the prices were too high for the pocketbooks of his customers back home. He also made a trip of a few days into Southern France, the reason for which he did not divulge to the commissionaire other than saying it was for a certain business purpose. A few weeks later, when the department manager had returned from his European trip, his purchases of American and French goods began to arrive. With the latter came an enormous box with nothing on the outside to indicate its contents other than a stenciled mark stating that the contents had been made in France. All his purchases were assembled in a private stock room where the department manager busied him- self for several days, only stating to his assistants that he was preparing a big sale that would make competitors sit up and take notice, besides making good profits for the house. All might have gone smoothly except that one day the president on a tour of the premises happened to look in this stock room at a moment that proved extremely awkward for the department manager. Paris garments and Hoboken garments were spread out on long tables ready to be price-tagged for the forthcoming sale. Two seamstresses were getting ready to go to work under the department manager’s in- structions. The mysterious box from France had been opened. In it were one hundred thousand labels bearing the names and trade-marks of various celebrated Paris manufacturers; and the two seamstresses had been engaged to sew these labeis on the humble and inexpensive American-made garments. Before being asked to resign the depart- ment manager was given a chance to ex- — his peculiar course of action. Smitten remorse he confessed that the thought of losing his regular trips to Paris was more than he could stand. It was not, he said, that he had such an extra good time in Paris, because he attended rather strictly to business while there. Rather it was the a nenpoet feeling of irnportance he got out of ing an international character; of aston- — casual acquaintances with his knowl- edge of big steamships; of having his sub- nates look up to him as a man important seme to be sent abroad. The mysterious box full of Paris labels was the result of his trip to Southern France, where he had found a craftsman operating a small shop who was either ig- norant of French law or willing to take a chance on the production of counterfeit trade-marks. The department manager was asked why he went to the trouble of hunting up a Frenchman to make these labels when he could probably have found someone equally accommodating nearer home. “That was the clever part of the scheme,” replied the department manager with a (Continued on Page 141)

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4 GREAT Swedish gymnast and trainer, after 25 years of experi- ence, finally came to the conclusion that the special development of leg and arm muscles was unnecessary. That the thing of primary importance was the development of the trunk muscles. Leading physical directors and sur- geons today say that not only is this true—but that 90% of the exercise we take is actually useless for these vital muscles. They explain, furthermore, that when these muscles are continually drawn in and constricted at the waistline, they tend to relax. They weaken—as the muscles of your arm would weaken if held in a sling. That is why they advise today, not only special exercises designed particu- larly for the strengthening and develop- ment of the trunk muscles, but the wearing of suspenders. HE President Sliding-cord Suspender, by its special self-adjusting feature, adapts itself to every movement of the body. It per- mits that thorough physical freedom and ease which we know today is essential. This explains why the President Sliding-cord Suspender not only gives unusual comfort, but assures a constantly even hang to the trousers. President Suspenders Middle- about the waist line THE SATURDAY aged - -- « he LEO PRE mt o* a You will appreciate this with business as well as evening clothes. © Furthermore, the webbing comes fresh from our own looms. It not only possesses a large amount of elasticity, but it keeps its elasticity over a long period of time. The President Suspender line today includes not only this self-adjusting President Suspend- er but, for men who prefer it, a straight “ cross- back” style. Also extra heavy, wide-webbed suspenders for out-door work. These suspenders all carry the President label and guarantee. The long-wearing quality of their webbing, made in our own mills, will appeal to men everywhere. President Suspenders are made in a great variety of styles, both in cotton and in the silk finish. They vary in price from 50c to $1.50. No matter what style of suspender you want, look for the President label! It means physical freedom, added comfort and longer wear. PRESIDENT SUSPENDER COMPANY SHIRLEY, MASS. REG. U.6. PAT. OFF. Look for this label no matter what style of suspenders you want. EVENING POST Long before they reach their forties many men develop the figure of physi- cal middle age. Actual statistics show thot 80% of the men in a class recently examined at a leading university fell far below the normal standard of physical de- velopment. THE “CROSS-BACK” STYLE President-made and carrying the famouh President guarantee band. For men who prefer the straight “cross-back” type. It is built to give a high degree of elasticity and to THE PRESIDENT SLIDING-CORD SUSPENDER The ideal suspender for physically active men. Notice the flexible, self-adjusting back which permits motion of any kind without tension either on the trousers or across your shoulders. 50c, 75c and #1,00, keep this elasticity. The President label means greater comfort and longer wear. ’ For heavier work purposes, there is also « Police style, bearing the President label, with a long-wearing quality you'll appreciate

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST November 1, 1924 The most ¢ history are the clothes men demand MY h nol equal COMN- lathes? A good many uld like to know! ymfortable clothes in fort in ander million men HERE IS UNDERWEAR tailored for 1925—not 184.4. ‘itted on living models —and fashioned to keep that fit as up-to-date and thoroughly comfortable as a semi-soft col- lar, as perfect fitting as full- and keeps its gentle springi- wg S pring fashioned hose. ness like an elastic band. comfort men insist on in clothes why don’t they get it in under- HE. today . clothes they’re hidden that binding in one after a few [s it because the old taults can persist bagging in a wear’ lust place, other, wee ks’ We think the real answer is that dxi/ding a permanent fit into an elastic fabric 1s no And yet--several million men agree with us that it has been done. CAasy job. + * x \ Carter uniom suit is more than just a two-legged bag to keep warm in. It’s a kindly, flextble, resilient second skin that fits every contour as though made to order, Tailored on living models that’s why Carter’s fits when you take it out of the box. And the easy, springy Carter-knit fabric holds that fit through month after month of wear. \ The details help: double- sewed buttons that are there to stay, roomy with a special flap that keeps its shape, specially lap-over, ete., ure to seat designed cuffs at wrists and ankles, flat- budded seams that won’t irritate the ten- derest skin. The result is a real triumph Into every genuine Carter suit is Look Sor it when you buy underwear label. underwear these are the places in ordinary underwear where sagging, binding, result from its fail retain its original shape Give it a chance to make you comfortable, too! The finest materials that money can buy, tailored so expertly that the garment never pulls or binds, naturally give long life. That's why with Carter’s—unlike cheaper suits—the first season is never the last. The William Carter Company, 605 High- land Avenue, Needham fees ¢ Mass. sewn this Carter’s Union Suits for Men AEG US PAT. OFF

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(Continued from Page 138) last flash of pride. “The labels all say Made in France. If anyone ever tried to get back at us we could say we advertised —_ the strict truth because the labels really were made in France. Where the gar- ment was made is no one’s business!” Lest the foregoing should rouse distrust in the mind of the public, or excite a sense of cupidity in others, it should be explained that the Washington authorities have re- cently put out a ruling making it neces- sary under penalty that the label and the garment must be of the same declared na- tionality. I have mentioned the hard-boiled atti- tude of the Paris commissionaires in refus- ing to place orders for foreign clients unless the money is in the bank and securely tied down, The commissionaire is in a peculiar situation. If, as sometimes happens, a for- eign buyer comes into the French market, excitedly contracts for more than he needs and later decides to cancel part of his order, French law holds the commissionaire re- sponsible. Let us assume, for instance, that Emil Robinson, of Saskatchewan, makes a trip to Paris and orders ten thousand dollars’ worth of ladies’ kimonos for his department store, said kimonos being promised for ship- ment in three months. Mr. Robinson has not brought that amount of money with him, but assures the commissionaire through whom he makes his purchase that he will send the balance over on his return to his home city. When Mr. Robinson gets home, however, he finds business has been so slack that it is going to be a hard matter to spare the money, and so he writes or cables to cancel half of his purchase. This is precisely what the commissionaire cannot do, for in France when a contract is signed between buyer and seller both sides are held inexorably to the bargain. Mr. Robinson’s ten thousand dollars’ worth of kimonos is finished as per schedule and de- livered to the commissionaire, On the tenth of the following month the bill is presented for payment by a messenger from the manufacturer’s bank. It is useless for the commissionaire to protest that Mr. Robin- son wants only half the number of kimonos and that he, the commissionaire, cannot pay the bill, for in such a case the messenger returns to the bank and the wheels of the law are set in motion. In three days the messenger returns again, this time accom- panied by a government accountant who makes a demand for the commissionaire’s books. If the books show that the commis- sionaire has not enough money on hand to pay for Mr. Robinson’s kimonos, as well as for all orders he may have placed for other clien_s, his license is immediately revoked and he is out of business for all time. Hard-Boiled Commissionaires This may appear a high-handed proceed- ing to Americans and other nationals who are used to more easy-going ways; but like many other peculiarities of French business there is sound economy behind it. The theory is that any individual or firm giving orders to factories without adequate back- ing is a menace to the business community and as such should be debarred from further operations. Anyone who has ever had to do with export knows how virtually impossible it is to enforce a private contract across in- ternational boundary lines. We had the lesson pretty well driven home in the United States in 1921, when some hundreds of millions of dollars’ worth of American- made goods rotted on the wharves of for- eign seaports because the purchasers could not or would not receive them. In France the man on the ground is held responsible. No wonder, then, that the Paris com- missionaire sometimes seems hard-boiled to the foreign trader who wants to buy goods in France in the informal manner to which he is accustomed at home. During February of this year a buyer dropped into | the office of an American commissionaire in Rue Montmartre and announced that he had brought twenty thousand dollars with him to invest in French goods, the money being in the form of a letter of credit to the Paris branch of an American bank. Natu- rally, the commissionaire was pleased at the prospect of a new client, and spent sev- eral days taking the gentleman around to different factories where he could inspect the kinds of goods in which he was inter- ested. Finally the gentleman said he was ready to buy, and agreed to let the com- missionaire handle his purchases. “That’s fine,” said the commissionaire. “What time will it be convenient for you to THE SATURDAY go up to your bank and give instructions that your money can be withdrawn only with my consent?”’ “If you mean by that,” answered the buyer, “that I’ve got to tie up my own money so I can’t take it out whenever I feel like ic, I guess it won’t’be convenient to go at all.” “But that is the only basis on which I would care to handle your business,” said the commissionaire, “and if you go around to the other offices you'll find it is the same way. I have to be responsible, you see, to these manufacturers from whom you are going to buy goods; I’ve got to protect myself against anything that may happen.” The buyer protes that it was an un- businesslike proceeding, but as there seemed nothing else to do he finally agreed. His dollars were changed into francs and he was ready for business. During the next week he went around with one of the commis- sionaire’s interpreters and placed orders = up to the amount of his cash in ank. Then of a sudden the franc took one of its upward turns, almost overnight going from a value of about four cents, American money, to nearly six cents. On a certain morning the buyer dashed into the commis- sionaire’s office in great excitement. “Look here,” he said. “I’ve changed my plans. Instead of buying merchandise I’m going to take my profit on the francs and call it a job.” “But you've already ordered your mer- chandise,”’ answe the commissionaire. “What about that?’”’ “Cancel the orders, of course,” said the buyer lightly. “If you insist on your com- mission I'll pay it, but I’m not going to let a chance like this get away. You just call up those manufacturer fellows and tell them I’ve changed my mind!” Introducing Miss Rudd He was hurt, indignant and disappointed when the commissionaire explained with eat firmness that this was the one thing in the world which could not be done. It is the hard-working women’ buyers from the great American department stores who are probably the most satisfactory from the standpoint of the Paris commis- sionaires. I was on one occasion permitted to accompany Miss Rudd, of the Big Store of California, on her tour of the Sadies" blouse and waist manufacturers. Miss Rudd has been with the Big Store for more than twenty years, working slowly up from cash girl to the head of the blouse and waist section. It was her first trip to the Euro- n market and for her a tremendous event. If she bought successfully she would be sent over every year; if not she would | probably spend the rest of her life as a mere | private in the ranks of the Big Store’s | employes. Miss Rudd went at her work in a man- | ner befitting so great a crisis. At the stroke of nine she was in the office of her firm’s commissionaire in Rue Montmartre. She had been invited to the theater the night before by some people she had met on the boat coming over, but had declined. “You can’t sit op bail the night,” said Miss Rudd sagely, “‘and be in the best shape next day to grab off the bargains.” Miss Rudd had expressed a desire to look at a real swell line of waists and blouses first so as to get an idea of the latest Paris creations, although she confessed that the Big Store’s clients were mainly among people of moderate means, and accordingly the commissionaire’s young man interpre- ter conducted her to a manufacturer of the premier class. The office was in a sixteenth- century mansion now given over to business purposes, which one entered through a great carved doorway, across an inner court and up a stairway of feudal proportions. The office itself was decorated in pale gray with divans of the same color, and mahog- any tables on which to display the firm’s creations. “T’ll tell the world,’”’ murmured Miss Rudd admiringly as she sank into one of the divans, “this joint sure is all class. Nothing but!” Her emotions did not entirely possess her, however, for a moment later when a polite young French salesman appeared to | inquire her wants she was all business. “You can show me what you've got in the line of blouses,’”’ she said, “but I warn you before I start that I’m no fancy Fifth Avenue buyer. I can’t sell a blouse for more than twenty dollars, retail. I’ve got to make a profit, too, remember.” = EVENING POST THOUS NEED 2%, STYLE 585 | ce oat Compo Model H I S S H O E ~ “ Tras Arch Sanport Are you on your feet constantly? . ° ° Do they get terribly tired? Tuis remarkable Packard Compo Model has a scientifically shaped, built-in steel truss in the arch which supports the bones of the foot in exactly the right place, eases the strain on nerves and muscles and gives comfort almost beyond belief. The leather is a silky textured kid—soft, pliant and elastic, yet as toughand long wearingascalfskin. Matchless Packard shoe-mak- ing makes it a fine shoe. We'll be glad to give you the name of a Packard dealer. M. A. PACKARD COMPANY Brockton, Mass. Most Packards retail from $8 to $10; a few styles higher.

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142 THE SATURDAY ( : P Clear up the Voice of your Radio ! ' * | I’ THE voice of your radio is to be clear, the vital contact between tube and socket must be perfect. The exclusive features of Na- | Ald De Luxe Sockets insure perfect contact. | Instead of one point of contact, Na-Ald De | Luxe Sockets have two with each tube termi- | | nal—both on ends and sides—making broad dependable duo-contuct. Tube does not have to be removed and sandpaper used to clean the duo-contacts— they are easily cleaned by rotating tube three | or four times. Upper contact cuts into side of terminals, scraping off corrosion while the iower one wipes over bottom of prongs with- out danger of scraping filament wires bare. Na-Ald Sockets are genuine Bakelite, Alden Processed, which insures highest insulating qualities and lowest Loss. You can obtain Na Ali Sockets et radio, electrical and hardware stores everywhere. Be sure you have Ne Aid Sockets in.the set you build or buy Send for free copy ef radio booklet “What to Build.” ALDEN MANUPAUTURING COMPANY Also makers of the famous Na-Ald Dials Springfield, Mase. ALDEN PROCESSED | A-A L [ SOCKETS AND DIALS Phantom view of Na-Ald Socket showing duo-contact - WHY BUY IMITATIONS MADE OF COTTON AND CHEAP WOOL INSIST ON GETTING TIMS CAP 100% PURE WORSTED GUARANTEE WITH TIM’S LABEL IN EVERY CAP P . LOOK FOR IT Mild Weather | Cold & Stormy Weather Muffler Buttoned Around Cap Muffler Buttoned Around Neck For Boys, Children and Men ON SALE AT LEADING STORES TIM’S CAP CORPORATION, 50-52-54 WEST 17TH ST., NEW YORK U.S. Pat 1,061,884 EVENING POST The young Frenchman, who spoke very good English, stepped to an adjoining room and called a couple of girls, who n bringing out armfuls of blouses which they spread out one at a time on the table for Miss Rudd’s inspection. Another girl, very chic, hovered in the background; and whenever Miss Rudd showed more than passing interest in es B peeey this girl slip it on and par about the room, vastly conscious of her charms. One par- ticular blouse appealed to Miss Rudd’s taste and she demanded the price, which the young salesman quoted at one hundred francs. Miss Rudd seized her pencil and pad and jotted down some figures. | “A franc is a nickel,” she said. “That makes the blouse cost me five dollars. The duty will be 35 per cenit. Add about an- other dollar for freight. Say it costs me eight doilars laid down in the Big Store. Gee, that ought to be a big seller. I guess I can use about two dozen.” The young salesman prepared to book the item. The chic girl approached in order that he might look at its number, when Miss Rudd emitted a loud cry. “Hey, wait a minute,” she said. “Isn’t that a bit of lace inserted in the front of that blouse?”’ “Certainly yes, madam,” responded the young salesman enthusiastically. “Just a aca | of lace to give it that so distinguished ook!” “It may give it a so distinguished look,” said Miss Rudd severely, “but it also makes it cost me pretty near three dollars more. Plain blouses go through the custom- house at 35 per cent duty. Any bit of lace on them raises the duty to 90 per cent. We'll just forget this item.” “But, madam,” protested the young salesman, “what is a few dollars more or less per garment in a rich country like America?” “That’s a good line of talk, young man,” answered Miss Rudd with great energy, “but you haven’t worked twenty-five years behind the counter, like I have. Just be- cause I’m in Paris I’m not forgetting that most of the customers I sell to have to work just as hard for their money as I work for mine. Three dollars is a lot of money. Now let’s see what blouses you've got without those 90 per cent doo-dads on them!” In the end Miss Rudd left without buy- | ing anything, but setting a few numbers down in her notebook which she said she | might come back later and order. The Hectoring Type of Buyer The next place was more in her line, be- ing an establishment that manufactures popular-priced waists and blouses. To reach it one had to enter a narrow alley and climb three flights of stairs. The office was about ten feet square, with a kitchen table on which to display goods, a couple of wooden chairs for elients, and no chic young lady to show off the garments. The | woman in charge was about Miss Rudd’s own age, tall and angular and very business- like. She could yo no English and Miss Rudd could speak no French; but it was evident from the first that they understood each other. Both were bent on getting on in the world, but looked for no other method than to do their work as well as they knew how and to make themselves profitable to their employers. When two people understand each other it is usually easy to do business. Through the interpreter Miss Rudd asked the Frenchwoman for blouses in certain colors and at prices she could retail at five dollars |} each, “And tell her,” added Miss Rudd bravely, “that this is my first trip to Paris and it means everything in the world to me | if I can just make a success of my buying this first time.” The Frenchwoman went to work with surprising interest. Running into the back room she brought out a great armful of blouses which she piled on the table and went through the lot looking for those which Miss Rudd might retail in the Big Store at five dollars apiece. Prices were | satisfactory, but unfortunately none of the blouses were of the colors Miss Rudd wanted. When this objection had been com- municated through the interpreter the Frenchwoman ran again into the back room, where she couid be seen talking to the foreman, Directly she came back bring- ing a large portfolio in which were pasted bits of cloth in all conceivable colors, and spoke rapidiy to the interpreter. “She says,”’ the latter explained to Miss | Rudd, “that she has obtained permission November 1, 1924 to do something a little out of the ordinary. If you will pick out the colors you think you can use, the factory will make up spe- cial sample blouses so you can see just how they will look. She will have them ready Saturday.” Miss Rudd picked out her colors and got a 6 to leave the office. “T just knew,” she said amiably to the Frenchwoman in parting, ‘that your po- liteness wasn’t only from the teeth out!” At lunch time Miss Rudd ate heartily, but declined the interpreter’s invitation to share a demi-bottle of red wine. “It’s not that I am a prohibitionist or anything like that,’”’ she remarked sagely, “hut they say wine jazzes you up a little, and if you’re going to make good in this business you’ve got to keep your feet strictly on the ground.” It was in one of the places we visited in the afternoon that we had a glimpse of another lady buyer whose methods were distinctly different from those of Miss Rudd. It was one of the big places, with several rooms for receiving clients, and through a doorway we could see this other lady buyer at work. She was at least twenty years younger than Miss Rudd, and also more forceful of manner. Two French- men who spoke English were waiting on her, and one of them held up a ladies’ sport sult. “You mean to say,” she demanded, “that you've got the nerve to ask seventy- five francs for that suit? I'll give you sixty-six.” “But, madam,” said the Frenchman, “that would be quite impossible.” Tariff Considerations “Impossible nothing,”’ responded the lady energetically. “I’ve been in this game long enough to know what kind of profits you foreigners make. I’ll give you sixty- eight francs, but not a cent more. At that price I’ll order a hundred suits. What do you say, yes or no?”’ To show that her offer was final she got up from her chair as if to leave on the moment. The two Frenchmen consulted together feverishly with many excited ges- tures and shrill cries of protest one to the other. At the end of their conference one of them bowed to the lady buyer. “Tt shall be as the madam wishes,” he said gravely. ‘ Her order shall be executed for one hundred of the sport suits at sixty- eight francs each.” he door was closed and we heard no more, but the incident made an impression on Miss Rudd. “My goodness,” sh2 re- marked unhappily, “I wish I just had the nerve to talk that way to these people. I’m seared to death I’m not getting the right prices.”’ In her ensuing interview with a salesman of the house she tried half-heartedly to beat down the figures on blouses, but without success, and she fell back on the enly method she knew, which was to examine the materials minutely and to take care that she selected nothing that would be beyond the pocketbooks of her clients in the Big Store uack home. Constantly she consulted a paper that she held in her hand, on which she had written: ‘“Cus- toms duties on blouses, plain or hem- stitched, 35 per cent. Same garments with embroidery, 75 per cent. Same garments with lace or feathers, 90 per cent.” “All I’ve got to say is,” she remarked once, “that the who invented these customs duties didn’t care how much grief he was fixing up for us poor buyers.” At the finish of her day’s work Miss Rudd had bought a sizable amount of merchan- dise for the Big Store and had steered care- fully away from fancy refinements. “The firm has always been pretty good to me,”’ she remarked to the interpreter, “and I’d hate to think I wasn’t making good on this trip.” The interpreter assured her that he be- lieved her selections would prove satisfac- tory. “But gee whiz,” said Miss Rudd, “you saw how that girl this af:ernoon beat those Frenchmen on their’ sport suits from seventy-five francs to sixty-eight. I didn’t pull off anything special like that!” The interpreter’s reply was backed by an experience of many years in foreign busi- ness circies. “IT know you didn’t pull off anything special,”’ he said. ‘But neither did she. She ordered one hundred sport suits at sixty-eight francs. And that is precisely what she will get. Sixty-eight-franc suits!”

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

the Largest oe Complete Home or >I] _ Designed by the Research Laboratories of eating Equipment Sunbeam Cabinet Heater is revolutionizing heating methods in the five to seven:room home |

Heats by Circulating Healthful Warm Air By an entirely new method an improvement that revolutionizes home heating—the Sunbeam Cabinet Heater will flood your home with an ibundance of fresh, warm, healthful iir. The great improvement in this Heater is due to its circulation of heat into every part of every room. It draws the cold air in through wide openings at the bottom, heats it to any temperature you desire, forces it out the top, and circulates it through- out the home. Heats theWhole Home Upstairs and Down Because it heats by circulation, the Sunbeam Cabinet Heater heats the whole home evenly and comfortably, upstairs and down. Warm air is constantly flowing from room to room, and the farthest room is warm and cozy on the coldest days. Ventilates as it Heats All the air in the Sunbeam-heated home is kept in constant, gentle cir- culation—-always changing and always fresh and pure. There is no stagnant air and there are no drafty corners or doorways. The Sunbeam Heater ven- tilates as it heats. No Basement Necessary Because it is small, neat and attrac- tive, the Sunbeam Cabinet Heater can be set up in any room—it needs no basement. Its beautiful finish harmo- nizes with the other furniture in any room. Not a stove—not a furnace —but a Heater SIN whose low first cost and low operating cost will greatly reduce the cost of heating your home. It burns either hard or soft coal or %: mam AIR RI wood, 7 A E

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Low First Cost The Sunbeam Cabinet Heater Is made of the finest materials, by skilled workmen. Its heating parts are built like those of a Sunbeam furnace will last a lifetime. its low price i made possible only by large S4 ale pro duction It is the most economical ind satisfactory heating plant you will ever find Low Fuel Cost Because of its scientific construction this Heater extracts all the heat from the fuel—nothing is Wasted. It gives tnaore heat than two or three stoves, yet uses a third less fuel » |} ‘ For the Sake of Your " > Own Comfort This ° Winter find out how the Sunbeam Cabinet Heater can give you more heat and better heat than you have ever had before, and do it for less money. W< will gladly send you detailed intorma tion, and without any obligation ¢ you, our Engineering Department wil prepare a complete heating pla showing the best location tor th« Heater in your home Send for the Complete Story ee eee ee se ? The Fox Furnace Company Elyria, Ohio Please send me, without obligation, your sketch blank, so that | can heve your Engineering Department give me a free heating plan for my home | | | | ! ! | ! send me illustrated literature | ! Name | i treet | | ! City tate bccmananensmen dete mecnanus ene ate chem abanen el

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144 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST November 1, 1924 z —s 4 BS | ee ee | ay £. emors | ff é Eas Cooking for Gasless Homes RE you one of the millions of house- wives without gas for cooking? Then surely you must have wished, time _ and time again, for the cooking speed, the cleanliness and the comfort of a clear blue gas flame right under your skillet, kettle or oven. The genius of modern invention makes your wish come true. It has produced the Nesco,‘‘the Stove with the Blue Gas Contact Flame.”’ This oil cook stove with its wonderful ROCKWEAVE BURNER and its ROCKWEAVE WICK brings to gasless kitchens all the labor-saving benefits of gas and at much less cost! Only the Nesco has the Rockweave Burner The ROCK WEAVE BURNER isa scientific marves. Using kerosene, mixed wth eir, « makes its own gas which gives a clear blue, direct con- twet flame. The Rockweave Wick is non-buraable, needs no trimming and, with an occasional cleaning—a sim- pie operation—lests a long, long time, Simply turn the handle on a Nesco and light with a match—no priming neces- sary. You soon have a clear blue gas flame that contacts with and spreads out under your utensil. It fries, bakes, broils, toasts clean, roasts, boils or simmers as you wish. The ROCKWEAVE BURNER burns twenty-five hours on a gallon of kerosene. It does not smoke or smell. Get your Nesco now and begin to enjoy it! Made in several sizes and styles and sold by dealers in every state. If your dealer does not carry it, accept no sub- stitute, but write us and we will tell you how to get a Nesco. NATIONAL ENAMELING & STAMPING CO,, Inc., Milwaukee, Wisconsin OIL COOK STOVE with the blue gas contact flame

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THE SATURDAY LA FOLLETTE’S PINK TEA (Continued from Page 17) the leadership in a national political cam- paign to wrest the American Government from the predatory interests which now control it, and to restore it to the people.” The significant feature of that opening statement lies in the unqualified assertion by Senator La Follette that the American Government is now controlled by predatory interests. That is the keystone of this new third-party doctrine. What these preda- tory interests are, and whether they do actually control the Government, we shall inquire into later, subjecting that sweeping statement to the acid test of fact. ‘‘Con- trol’’ is a big word. He does not say that these predatory interests attempt to con- trol the Government or that they put up a stiff fight to control; he confidently and positively asserts that they do control it— that they have swallowed the Government, bait, hook and sinker. A little farther on he reiterates and amplifies the same doc- trine: “They ’’—the people-—“ know that their Government at Washington is now, and has been for a quarter of a century, in the hands of small but powerful groups, acting to- gether and controlling it in their own interests.”’ These predatory interests [sic], these small, powerful groups act together; they play one another's game like a well-coached football team; and acting together, they control the Government at Washington and have so controlled it for the last quarter of a century. Thus the candidate of the third party. These assertions are worthy the most careful scrutiny and examination, for they form the basic foundation upon which rests the entire superstructure of the La Follette policy. The predatory interests produce what he calls the system, and this system is in control; the Washington Gov- ernment is nothing more or less than a servile tool in their hands. And now to see how these assertions square with the facts. To begin with, what is this monster called a predatory interest? Are all interests predatory? What is meant by these combines, monopolies, trusts, and the like, which Mr. La Follette lumps under the head of “special privilege’? Are there any good combines? Or are all combina- tions and poolings of business interests bad, predatory that is, living by preying on others—vicious and subversive of good government? Restraint of the Trusts By way of answer, let us survey briefly that sector of our economic history which brought these modern industrial monsters into life. In the latter half of the nineteenth century, with the development of rail- roads, coal and steel, the telephone and the telegraph, East and West were brought to- gether. Business men, owners of small in- dependent plants, began to consolidate, to pool their interests; they began to form combinations, trusts. They discovered that by so doing they could produce in greater quantity, with a higher grade of effici iency and at a lower cost. That, in a nutshell, is what a business combine means. The forces of coal and steam and steel brought about those combinations; they were the inev- itable results of the time. Now some of these combinations were good and some cf them were bad. Some of them were based on the soundest economic principles, such as the reduction of waste, introduction of uniform processes and the use of scientific methods. These were the good trusts. When, however, they strove to wipe out their competitors, restrain trade and balloon prices, they were bad—predatory. in 1890 the Sherman Antitrust Act was passed to deal with these predatory com- bines. As that act, however, comes outside the last quarter of the century designated by the third-party candidate as a period of complete government corruption under the control of special privilege, I shall not dwell upon it, except to say that the Sherman Antitrust Act is still in active operation to- day, despite the trusts and combines. But let us skip to the period covered by the twenty-five years during which the preda- tory interests are alleged to have been in control of the Government at Washington, acting together, for their own wicked ends. In 1914, with the Government in the hands of these interests, controlling it for their ends, President Wilson indorsed the plan of the Federal Trade Commission and the Clayton Act was passed. Doubtless some nefarious scheme on the part of these predatory combines in control of Mr. Wil- son and his administration to grab ‘Gn more! But such an assumption is wrong. It was the express business of the Federal Trade Commission to sift out the good business combinations from the bad, and to suppress abuses, discriminations and _ re- straints of trade. This Federal Trade Commission, ap- pointed by the President and the Senate, is in active operation today. And corporation lawyers from all parts of the land are con- stantly journeying to Washington on be- half of their clients to ask the commission whether such-and-such a business combine would be construed as against the Sherman Antitrust Act or as in restraint of trade. The official who heads the commission has the ee of the third-party candidate himself, who pledged the commissioner his hearty support should the latter run for Vice President at the last Democratic Convention. And yet this Federal Trade Commission, whose avowed object is to clip the wings of the trusts, was established in 1914, by a Government which the third-party. candi- date declares was in the hands of predatory interests which, acting together, controlled it for their own base ends! Alone on the Burning Deck What zanies and morons these ‘“con- trollers’’ were! If they were, indeed, the big toads in the puddle, why didn’t they order their servile agents in Washington to repeal the Sherman Antitrust Act, repeal the Clayton Act, abolish the Federal ‘Trade Commission and all other regulatory meas- ures in restraint of trade, and to. pass laws which would permit them to swell up as big as they pleased? Instead of this, they let the Government put the reverse contro] on them. Why? The inference is clear. They submitted to regulations, to restrictions, because they couldn’t help themselves; because they were not in control. The bal- ance of power was on the other side. The Government at Washington was not con- trolled; on the contrary, it controlled. What, then, is one to believe? That there has been only one honest .man, one defender of the faith, in Washington for the last quarter of a century? The solitude of the boy who stood on the burning deck whence all but him had fled is nothing to the high and lonely isolation of this last one of Nature’s noblemen in polities who has stood for twenty-five years ringed around by a solid phalanx of “servile agents,’’ the controlled minions of predatory groups, acting together for their own purposes—if | one can swallow such a fairy tale. But actual facts reveal that there now are and have been in the past plent. government officials who in point of he esty, intelligence and patriotic devotion to their country, in war as well as in peace, compare very favorably with the third- party candidate—but they do not herd in the same political outfit. In short, when Senator La Follette makes the assertion that ‘‘the Government at Washington is now, and has been for a quarter of a cen- tury, in the hands of small but powerful groups, acting together and controlling it in their own interests,”’ he is again using words loosely and negligently and without due regard for the truth. His statements do not square with the facts. We might cite other cases which contro- vert his assertion. There is, for example, prohibition, which was fought tooth and nail by all the “ predatory” liquor interests throughout the length and breadth of the land—and nevertheless prohibition passed. “The heart of representative govern- ment lies in the Congress,” said La Pollette in one of his speeches before the Senate. “Tf it is corrupted, corruption enters all the life currents in the body of this Govern- ment.”” Was Congress, ‘‘the heart of rep- resentative government,” in the control of powerful interests, acting together for their own ends upon that occasion? Common sense rejects such a fantastic conclusion. But Senator La Follette is a pronounced wet, and it is possible that he would not consider the powerful liquor combines which fought prohibition ‘predatory in- terests.”’ And then there is the Child Labor Amend- | ment, fought by certain very powerful | \————— EVENING POST 145 fo, ele knit jackets & vests § for men & boys THEY HOLD THEIR SHAPE CAsk your dealer for a co fog fl to be Well Date on or write for a FREE copy to ~ PECKHAM~FOREMAN INC. of NEW YORK 1909-1915 PARK AVE. Something New! A Semi-Soft Toe Shoe | The Latest Ralston Creation T successfully combines the smartness and shape-retain- ing qualities of the ordinary hard box shoe with all of the comfort which men expect to | find only in soft-toe styles— | a decided improvement. i Send for Ralston Style Packet and — |} name of the nearest Ralston dealer. Ten Dollars, Nine and Fight RALSTON SHOEMAKERS 952 Main St., Brockton, Mass. The “ Tudor” Model

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THE SATURDAY

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EVENING POST manutotaaine: interests—and still it was | p $ poured by a government presum- ably in the hands of a few big predatory outfits which control it for themselves. And there was the Mellon Tax Bill, alleged to be the Multimillionaire Boys’ ae —de- feated also! What were those servile agents of Mammon, the controlled Government at Washington, =— down there? Why didn’t they joe Ay E all? And the Bonus Bill—p ruly, these “interests” which a twenty-five years have held the Government of Washington in their hands [sic] are not much good on their controlling job. If they cannot hang up any higher records than that in this business of con- | trolling where their own vital interests are | econeerned, they cannot be the big-league pennant snatchers the third party adver- tises them to be; they had better retire to the tall timbers and learn the first elements of their game. So much for the basic proposition of the third-party candidate that this Govern- | ment for the last twenty-five years has been controlled by predatory interests act- ing together. The only trouble with that | assertion is that the interests don’t act to- gether and mo | don’t, in fact, control. It is | another one of those vague and glittering generalities, thin, watery soap bubbles of | theory which explode under the pin prick of fact. And yet it is this very weak and wabbly substructure which the third-part per bres uses as a foundation upon whic | to rear his entire superstructure and policy. | Reiterating this, he says in his official statement: “To break the combined power of the | private monopoly s, < pom over the political and economic life of the American people is the one paramount issue of 1924.” Reducing this rather vague general- ization to concrete terms, the sentence stands: “To break the Republican and the Dem- ocratic parties, both of which are controlled by vicious predatory interests, acting to- gether for their own purposes, and to sub- stitute therefor the Progressive—La Fol- lette-- Party, is the paramount issue of the 1924 campaign.” Indubitably, there is a paramount issue here involved, but which side the voter takes depends upon the nature of the con- | structive policies which the third a offers in its new Declaration of Independ- ence as a substitute for the present scheme. Those policies we shall now analyze. | The Constitution Attacked In his recent hour-and-a-half speech at Madison Square Garden, New York, Sen- ator La F ollette declared that the Progres- sive Party differed from the two old parties | in two important respects; the first was a | political difference, and the second was an economic difference. Let us examine the political difference first. It consists of two proposed amendments to the Constitution. The first amendment reads: “We favor submitting to the people, for their considerate judgment, a constitu- tional amendment providing that Congress may by enacting a statute make it effective over a judicial veto. “We favor such amendment to the Con- | stitution as may necessary to provide | for the election of all Federal judges, with- | out party designation, for fixed terms not | exceeding ten years, by direct vote of the | people.” he second amendment reads: “We favor such amendments to the Federal Constitution as may be necessary to provide for the direct nomination and election of the President, to extend the | initiative and referendum to the Federal | Government, and to insure a popular refer- endum for or against war except in cases of actual invasion.” The full significance of these proposals does not emerge directly from the text, but their inner meaning is ably illuminated by the United States Solicitor General, James . Beck. Commenting upon the first amendment, he says: “Please observe that this is a double- barreled shot at the Constitution. It seeks to destroy the independence of the Federal judiciary by making them depend upon re- current elections; and it further destroys the Supreme Court as the lighthouse of the Constitution, and gives to Congress the full power to pass any law it desires to pass, whether it be consistent or inconsistent with the grant of power made to them by the Constitution, If this were adopted the | states would exist only by sufferance of

November 1, 1924 Congress. In a speech before the American Federation of Labor, delivered on June 14, 1922, Senator La Follette thus explained the program which he made the chief plank in the platform of his so-called y. Hesaid: ““T would amend the Constitution so that it would provide: That no inferior Federal judge shall set aside a law of Con- gress on the fp that it is unconstitu- tional; that if the Supreme Court assumes to decide any law of Congress unconstitu- tional, or, by interpretation, undertakes to assert a public policy at variance with the statutory declaration of Congress—which alone under our system is authorized to determine the public policies of govern- ment—the Con may, by reénacting the law, nullify the action of the court.’”’ Continuing his explanation, Mr. Beck says v Not merely would he thus destroy the organ of our country which has given to our form of government its greatest strength— I mean the Supreme Court—but it would effectually destroy the power of Congress and the Executive under a representative form of government; for he has repeatedly advocated the proposition of the initiative, the referendum and the recall.” The Method of Destruction “Senator La Follette affects to believe that in a nation of over 100,000,000 of people, scattered over a territory as vast as ours and with an electorate as heteroge- neous as ours, it would be practical, when- ever a portion of the people so desired, to dispense with Congress by having the peo- le themselves enact a law, and that the Sxecutive should be displaced by a recall whenever, in a moment of caprice or pas- sion, the people were temporarily dissatis- fied. Experience has shown that in such referendums only a minority vote. It would therefore substitute the rule of the minor- ity for that of the majority. The stability 7 om Government, which is the admira- tion of the world, would be effectually destroyed. “This, in effect, is a challenge to our whole system, and it is difficult to under- stand why the Progressive Party did not indorse the platform of the Workers’ Party, led by William Z. Foster, and of the Social- ist Party, which not only advocates this method of destruction of the Government but boldly proclaims the ultimate purpose of this revolutionary program. “The fundamental principles of the Con- stitution are not many and are easily under- stood by anyone who will give the time to considering them. The first is representa- tive government. The Fathers did not be- lieve in any form of a direct democracy. History had taught them that mobocracies are as short in their lives as they are violent in their deaths. “The second great principle of the Con- stitution was home rule. The people of this country, having suffered from the conse- quences of distant rule and of absent mas- ters, did not intend, in creating a central government for certain clearly specified national purposes, to subject themselves to the paced te of an all-centralizing Federal Government. In a country as vast as ours, ranging from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean and from the Lakes to the Gulf, with states, sections and communities differing somewhat in interests, ideals, conventions and habits, the uncontrolled power of a central overnment would become intol- erable. Even under the present restricted grant of power to the Federal Government, the control of the people from Washington too often creates profound and at times just dissatisfaction.” It is significant to note in connection with the third-party proposal to elect the President by a direct vote of the people, with the accompanying referendum and recall, that our federated labor unions, even the most radically disposed, which believe in the overthrow of capitalism and the ownership of all industry by the workers, do not elect their high executives by a direct popular vote of their members, but by the representative method. Why do even these radical organizations put this check on di- rect or popular will? Because they have found, by painful experience, that represen- tative government, with its checks on shifting popular emotions and popular de- sires, is more safe, more solid and perma- nent, and permits to a much greater degree the continuity of action necessary to suc- cess, than does a government which is con- stantly subject to dissolution by every (Continued on Page 149)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST |" \ \ \"\ a \ YS \ Ny \ \ \ i \. Ta ae ER RY \wy \ \\WARA N\\ ss a 4 "7 ) ae eee ee | Te - ET ae er, aan } = i war Sohal Send 20c for the famous Peter's assortment package — plain — almond — croquettes RP eter often worked deep into the night To perfect that fine rare chocolate | that bears his name today- EARLY and late—in his little kitchen in Vevey, Switzerland—Peter kept hard at it. He had conceived the idea of blending milk and | chocolate into a delightful food-confection. SS But he got his blend—the same fine, rare flavor you get in Peter’s today—smooth ‘and I} rich—a flavor that only Peter’s has. \j Milch cows of the highest grade supply IH But more difficult still, he was after a per- fect blend—he was determined to get a blend that combined the richness of the milk with the flavor of the finest chocolate. Only after endless experiments—only after he tried every known cocoa bean did he finally obtain the six choicest that pro- duced the blend he wanted. the milk for Peter’s daily—and this pure milk is blended into Peter’s hourly—fresh from the farm. If you haven't tried Peter’s Milk Chocolate, you should, for it’s different— distinctive —good. You'll like ec the fine, rare flavor of —) it. Ask for Peter’s if PETER CAILLER KOHLER SWISS today. Jf CHOCOLATES CO., in vA 129 Hudson Street / New York, N. Y | enclose 20 cents for the Peter's assortment pac kage Name Street City

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST November 14,1924 Men Like the Freedom of a Tom Wye Freedom. That's it. Room to stride and swing your arms. No bunch or bulge under your coat, Ne hampering weight, but plenty of warmth. Stylish enough for any man, any day, anywhere. Ihat’s Tor Wye, the knit jacket for men. The exclusive Tom Wye stitch makes a fabric that’s form-fitting and shape-retaining. TOM WYFE, Inc. Two and four-pocket models in handsome solid colorings, blazer patterns, squares, checks, plaids, blends and beautiful heather colorings. Also, smart brushed wool jackets in many colors. Look for the Tom Wye Label. At Haberdashers’, Sporting Goods Stores and De- partment Stores. Winchendon, Mass. NIT JACKET

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(Continued from Page 146) shifting wave of popular opinion. The labor unions that tried out this theory dis- covered they couldn’t get their work done under popular or direct rule; their leaders were jerked in and out of office in the midst of some important enterprise; there was no permanency, no continuity of action; and eventually the labor unions gave it up. It was another one of those theories which wouldn’t work; it blew up under the acid test. And yet for the Government of the United States, admittedly more compli- cated than that of a labor union, with a far greater need for continuity of purpose, if the country is to be kept stable and pros- perous in its intense industrial life, there is proposed by the third-party advocates this direet-action policy of plump ’em in and plump ’em out which failed signally when applied to labor unions and was superseded by the present representative scheme. Thus, on the political side, the changes urged by the Progressive candidate tend directly to break down the present represen- tative system of government inaugurated by our forefathers, and to substitute for it a system of direct government by popular or mass will—which system has been a failure, both in efficiency and in perma- nency, wherever it has been tried. We now come to the second, or economic, feature of the third-party program which differs radically from the policies of the two old parties. This is likewise socialistic in nature. It is the principle of government ownership and control of railroads and of all public utilities. In a speech before the Senate Senator La Follette said positively: “T am for government ownership of rail- roads and every other public utility every one.”’ This means that not only the railroads but gas, coal, electricity, telephones, the telegraph, street cars and scores of other independent industries, now successfully operated by private initiative, would come under government control, with the result that there would be clamped down on this country’s back a stupendous bureaucracy, operated from a central source. These socialistic doctrines, political and economic, form the piéce de résistance in the menu offered by the third party to the pub- lic. And that is what this new Declaration of Independence amounts to! But in point of fact, these propositions are not new. They have been offered in various guises every four years by the Socialist Party, and every four years they have been repudiated by an overwhelming majority of the voters, who have refused to take this bogy of bloated predatory interests as anything else than a joke. A Soft Refusal Yes, our economic régime is based on capitalism and individual initiative; that’s why it is still a going concern. And it is noteworthy to observe that certain of those Old World nations which have tried out those doctrines of government ownership and direct control by the people have crashed with reverberations that have rocked the two hemispheres, and are now begging the loan of our capitalistic dollars, whose trade-mark is E Pluribus Unum, to pull them off the rocks. Outside of these outworn Old World creeds, born of misery, oppression, class strife and hate, the third-party candidate has no program to offer. He is a critic, but not a creator. He can destroy, but he can- not construct. One reason why it is impossible for the third party to get together on a sound con- structive program is because it is composed of diverse, warring elements, all fighting among themselves like Kilkenny cats. There are, for example, the communists, whom La Follette repudiates. But they do not repudiate him. They are for him, strong. ‘They thrice did offer him the kingly crown, and he did thrice refuse’’—but very, very softly. He could afford to refuse, for he knew he had their votes anyhow. The communists are for him because he is playing their game. His policies repre- sent the thin entering of the wedge, by means of which they intend eventually to split wide open this whole present form of representative government. In addition, there are the socialists, whose avowed candi- date he is. And behind these two frankly radical groups stands what Roosevelt called the lunatic fringe, composed of all the esoteric reds, parlor pinks, discontented bellyachers, crackpots, Greenwich Village THE SATURDAY philosophers and hot-air artists of various hues, who have jumped aboard the carryall of this prophet of the new era with joyous ballyhoos. In odd contrast to this group of fanatics and political morons, yammering and grind- ing their teeth, is another group, composed of honest elements, discontented with pres- ent conditions and ready to support almost anything simply as a protest. Among these latter are some farmers. But these farmers believe in competition, which another group, the socialists, would suppress. And finally, huddled by themselves under the Progres- sive banner and holding their garments carefully away from their wild, frowzy- | haired communistic brethren, is a group of honest, sincere men and women, former | Republicans and Democrats, with liberal | leanings, who have rebelled against the re- | actionary bosses in the old parties. This is the protest vote. Just how big it | is nobody knows. Some of these were the original Progressives, followers of Roose- velt. But this latter group does not believe in communism, nor socialism, nor govern- | ment ownership of public utilities, nor the displacement of our present system of rep- resentative government by direct popular control—all of which are the frank goals of the radical groups. And there exist still other warring elements. The Discomforts of Straddling The third-party candidate is a wet, yet he hopes to lure under his pennant all the women who fought for prohibition. He is an irreconcilable isolationist, yet he asks all the women who believe in the League of Nations or some form of world coéperation to vote his ticket—and some of them are going to. He was a stubborn obstructionist during the entire course of the World War, yet he asks the World War veterans and their mothers to believe he is fighting their cause. These mutually hostile groups the third- party candidate does not attempt to unite | on any common remedial program; he | cannot unite them, for they are all ——— } in different directions; and the open avowa of a remedy which would suit one group would inevitably alienate the other hostile groups, which would forthwith take to their heels. He must therefore content himself with panning the present System—spelled with a sinister capital S—and wit the utterance of vague generalizations which each group can translate to please itself. Thus he holds his adherents together, not by the bold enunciation of big common issues, but by their own prejudices, hates and fears. It was for this reason that Senator La Follette, in his speech at Madison Square Garden, New York, enunciated no definite constructive program for the cure of our present problems. He could not afford to doso. He contented himself with making a violent assault on the old parties; he set up a straw figure, a bogy, a chimera of his own obsessed imagination which he named the System; that bogy he attacked with all the ammunition he had in his arsenals after which he sat down. And that is the characteristic of the third-party campaign speakers; they pan the old parties—and then they sit down. Now panning the old parties is all very well as a preliminary; it is part of the established technic of procedure during campaign, a kind of warming-up exercise, the opening number on the program, so to speak. But the star portion of the program consists in getting across to the audience the constructive policies by means of which the orator believes the country can be saved. The first part comes under the head of old business; the second, or constructive, part under the head of new business. But there is - new business in these third-party love feasts; when their cam- paign leaders have finished berating the present régime, their bolt is shot; they’re through; they quit; they sit down. And they do it because their candidate is strad- dling so many mutually antagonistic forces that he dare not mention a constructive remedy for fear of being unhorsed. How can he enunciate a program which will please at one and the same time the socialists and the strong antisocialists among his adherents, the wets and the drys, the pacifist boys and the World War veterans? To do 30 would be to split his variegated crew asunder, divide it into warring fac- tions. 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150 THE SATURDAY

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EVENING POST matter of a definite constructive program, soft-pedal his theories on government own- ership and concentrate his heavy artillery on the two parties. But to a thoughtful voter, seeking a way out of our present difficulties, all this provides very windy nourishment. During a speech at a recent third-party mass meeting, a World War veteran arose and said, “I don’t like Senator La Foliette’s war record as an obstructionist. How do you defend that?” The speaker side-stepped the real issue by replying, in ringing tones, “Well, I’m proud of Senator La Follette’s war record and I prefer it to that of Forbes.” The speciousness of this logic is compar- able to that of the boy who, with his small brother, was arraigned before the bar of justice of his mother. “Johnny,” she began on the first culprit, ‘‘why did you tell me that lie?”’ “Well, I didn’t,”’ defended Johnny; “and anyhow, Bill is a bigger liar than I am!” t is not within the scope of this article to discuss in detail the shortcomings of the two old parties—that has been attempted in previous articles—but only to analyze the major propositions of the third-party program; to point out that it is top-heavy | on the negative, critical, destructive side, | and that on its creative, constructive side it is a very feeble rushlight indeed. But in behalf of the present parties, with all their failures, follies and faults, there is this much to be said: Under the present form of representative—not direct—govern- ment by the two-party method, and under the fundamentally sound economic prin- | ciple of business conducted by private in- | itiative regulated by law, this country has jogged along with a considerabie degree of comfort, stability and prosperity for the better part of a century. Party organizations, at bottom, are sim- | ply instruments in the hands of the voting | citizens to get their beliefs into action. | And a nation, only 49 per cent of which votes at a national election and exhibits less active interest in their legislators than in a dog fight across the street, cannot ex- t that government to be 100 per cent onest or effective. The only marvel is that, with 50 per cent of our men and women too indifferent to vote, we manage to get along as well as we do. Waat All the Women Know But even with this grave handicap, we have survived a bitter and bloody Civil War; we have participated with credit in a great World War; we recovered speedily | from a financial depression while European | governments were still flat on their backs, and today we are the creditor nation of the world; we have no bread lines; our labor- ers receive the highest wages ever paid upon this earth; they are able to save, as scores of immigrant banks in our foreign quarters amply testify; they are better clothed, better educated, better fed, better amused than the laborers of any other country in the world. And the fact that we have accom- plished all this by means of a two-party system, operatedaby less than half the vot- ing electorate, argues that there must be some intrinsic soundness, some integrity and practical merit in the system itself. A tree is known by its fruits; and this tree, putting forth such fair fruits in the sight of all nations, cannot be so completely rotten at its core as its enemies in the third party would have us believe. It is, beyond cavil, true that both the old party organizations are infected by spots of corruption; and a third or a fourth or a | fortieth party would likewise be infected if neglected by the voters. For it is not by any blanket formula or quack nostrums of government ownership, nor yet by tearing down the old gods and setting up strange | untried new ones, that a self-governing | people can be saved. his truth the women have already learned. In their four years’ experience in city and state affairs, they have discovered that there are crooks in the Republican Party and crooks in the Democratic Party; and their common sense tells them that there would be crooks in a third or a fourth | party. They have also learned that the only way to clean up corruption is to start in at the bottom, get hold of the voters, make a house-to-house canvass and rouse each in- dividual to a sense of his obligations. They know that it is a continuous warfare, first to put in good men and then to hold them November 1, 1924 in—and the hardest job of all, the most dis- illusioning and heartbreaking is to educate the voters themselves. But it is the only way. Party corruption, op pa cor- ruption, cannot be cured by the gospel of socialism or any other gospel save that of education, eternal vigilance and hard, plug- ging work. And the truth is not in anybody who promises to cure present problems by a blanket formula or by socialistic quack nostrums advertised as a remedy for all human ills. Permanent cures are not ef- fected that way. How do all these theories, programs and policies touch the women? The truth is, they touch the women more deeply than they touch the men. For in the end, it is always the women who pay. In wars, labor strikes or business depression, it is the women who get the short end of the stick; they are the buffers, the shock absorbers. No matter how black the financial sky, how flat the purse, the women must carry on. By hook or crook they must dish up three square meals a day, cheer the men, stave off the creditors, run the household, _ feed and clothe and discipline the chil- ren. It has been said with some truth that woman is a natural conservative. But if she conserves, it is because she has to in order to maintain any footing at all with man, the natural hell-raiser. In government, women desire peace, not a devouring sword. They want stability, solidity; the substance, not the shadow; permanence, not chaos; construction, not destruction. In a word, they want—safety. Not for themselves; for the race. Pete, the Porcupine Luckily, this conserving, guarding, pro- tecting instinct is stronger than any individ- ual woman or class or species; it runs like the bright crimson thread of life itself through all the evolutionary planes, from the bottom up to the top. A woman in Montana, keeper of a small summer hotel in the mountains, owned two t porcupines. She called them Mary and ete. In due course of time Mrs. Pete pre- sented her husband with twins. One morn- ing, not long afterward, the mistress, from her back doorstep, observed that there was a domestic battle royal being waged by her pets in the adjoining field. She took her field glasses, crept up and trained them on the pair. Pete, it appeared, was engaged in a mad endeavor to slaughter his offspring by a series of slashing frontal attacks, which Mrs. Pete gallantly repelled, holding her infants first on one side, then on the other, the while she dug frantically a hole in which oe hide them from their father’s brutal blood ust. Both were good fighters. Pete took the offensive. Watching his chance, he would dash in and try to grab an offspring, but Mrs. Pete was too quick for him. She would yank the child behind her back and then lay down a barrage of porcupine quills, landing them expertly around Pete’s eyes, where they would do the most harm. She was, in fact, definitely trying to blind him. Under this barrage, Pete would retire to the supporting lines, spitting rage and porcu- pine quills; but presently he would rally, dash out again and attack on the other side. So the battle raged. The woman watched until she marked that Mrs. Pete had the better of the argu- ment and stood in no need of assistance from her sister on a higher plane; then she put the glasses away. Later, Pete wan- dered in, in a state of complete moral de- bacle. He was a ludicrous spectacle. Mrs. Pete had planted her shafts well. She had stuck his face so full of quills that he could scarce see out of his eyes. . Well, Pete,” said his mistress sympa- thetically, “did you get licked?” Slowly Pete turned on her his swollen visage, his bloody, baleful eye, and his ex- pression said plainer than words, ‘I'll tell the cockeyed world I did!” The trouble was that Pete’s remedy was worse than the disease. He had a problem; certain of his inalienable rights were being infringed upon. But he did not rationalize his trouble; he sought direct action, vio- lence, destruction; in short, he used porcu- pine brains. It is safe to predict in the November election that any party, program or policy based on similar destructive ideas will meet alike fate at the hands of the women. They will shoot it full of quills.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST November 1, 1924 Pertinent Information for Advertisers and — Advertising Men The Ladies’ Home Journal has the largest woman’s magazine circulation in the world by more than 300,000 copies. For the first six months of this year its average net paid circulation was 2,412,688. This is 327,352 more than the next largest and 496,957 more than the third largest. These figures are NET PAID—not copies printed. The circulation of The Ladies’ Home Journal is bought by readers on editorial merit solely. It is never sold through schemes—cut rates,“clubbing”, premiums and deferred payment plans never being employed. It carries no subscriptions in arrears. The significant appreciation of this outstanding size, scope and method of obtaining The Ladies’ Home Journal circulation is revealed in its adver- tising patronage. This is also by far the largest of any woman’s magazine in the world. T H E eee D I ; THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY INDEPENDENCE SQUARE, PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA

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THE NEW ALIGNMENT THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 9) La Follette is an old man now, verging on seventy, and he has spent his life in championing certain ideas that have be- come an obsession with him; but he has never allowed those ideas to intrude in any way when it came to keeping his own fences up or preserving his own political status. When politics has been required La Fol- lette has been a politician. And his work in this campaign, his procedure, and his poli- tics show that. Always an intense individ- ualist, he has enforced his individuality by skillful application of political methods. And he is more of an individualist now than ever. He is a skillful and an experienced per- son. Witness his discreet platform, which goes only so far in its radicalisms—far enough to hold all but the extremists and not so far as to offend the timid souls. Wit- ness his early and vigorous denunciation of the reds and the communists. He was too cagy to stand for the extremists, because he knew that such a stand would imperil his vote getting with the great bulk of the peo- ple of this country and make him vulner- able to direct and devastating attack. Witness also his careful holding back of his real motives. Like the practical person he is, he has said nothing about the forma- tion of a third party as yet. He has insisted he is running on a third ticket. His plan is to wait and see how he comes out in this enterprise, and then, if the voting response is sufficient, to go about his party plans. Coolidge has nothing on him when it comes to caution. A Canny Crusader The reason there is such a wide conjec- ture over what La Follette’s strength in this country is is because nobody knows what La Follette’s strength is—La Follette least of all. He has made some tentative attempts at the presidential nomination within the Republican Party without any results that flattered him. Mostly, he has stuck to his native state of Wisconsin, and has had uni- versal strength there, but always as a Re- publican—nominally, at least. When he started on this adventure, even after he had the nomination, he did not go out himself to make the test; not the cautious La Follette. He sent out his running mate, Senator Wheeler, to go over the ground as a sort of an advance agent, to determine and sound out the sentiment. After Wheeler had made his testing rounds and the results seemed at least promising to La Follette, he announced a grand tour for himself. Until Wheeler had made that round La Follette contented himself with two speeches, one on Labor Day over the radio, and one in New York, and both were mild as mother’s milk. Doubtless he will warm up during the last days of the cam- paign, but only as far as his political judg- ment dictates, A canny crusader, and never for a moment with his mind off Robert Marion La Follette. All over this country, in sections that seem amenable to such manipulation, the Democrats are helping the La Follette ticket. They are helping him shove his petitions, select his candidates, furnishing him candidates, indeed, and in numerous devious political ways are putting water on the La Follette wheel. So far there has been no protest from La Follette—not a word. Despite his numerous denunciations of the old parties, he is entirely willing to accept this sort of aid from the oldest of the parties. There can be no political criticism of that, and is none. Politics is politics; but this widespread notion that La Follette is superior to politics, and is wholly con- cerned with idealisms, seems a bit incon- gruous in view of these circumstances. Davis had a slow start. The circum- stances of his nomination delayed him con- siderably, and his record as an Eastern lawyer with many corporation affiliations did not help him any. Moreover, he was not known in the West and had no Western appeal. He had hard work remaking an organization out of the shreds and patches left of the Democratic organization that was overwhelmed in the 1920 campaign. He found his party practically issueless, save as to the Washington investigation revelations, and the Democrats were not wholly unscathed by those. He made a trip across the country, or partly across, and was received with great respect. He is a good speaker and a man of striking and appealing personality. But he got nowhere in particular. He registered only with the regulars. Davis had, and probably has, no de- lusions over his part in this campaign. He knew at the beginning, and should know at the end, that his was the off chance of election. Possibly even so level-headed a lawyer as Davis has been susceptible to the hypnosis of a presidential campaign. It generally gets them. Very few men run- ning for President preserve their equilib- rium, They all see visions and dream dreams until the stark realities of election day awaken them. However, as the cam- paign progressed, Davis, sensing the fact that his conservatism got him nothing be- cause the conservatism of the country was largely centered on President C oolidge, be- gan to liberalize himself. I don’t know how far he will go before he finishes, but the chances are that he will go quite some distance. He shows signs, as this is written, of getting off on the liberty tack, and that might land him anywhere. Conditions in New York Politicians sometimes force those chances on their candidates. For example, there is the case of Governor Al Smith, of New York, who did not want to run for governor again. The politicians made him run, The pressure on Smith to act as a salvager of some of the wreck was too strong for him to resist, and possibly the promise that in his own state he will get so many votes that the ghastly mistake—as some Democrats look at it—of not nominating him in od New York convention will be apparent to all. That vote giving and getting will be | an easy matter. The so-called Republican organization in New York City and the | Democratic organization are practically interchangeable. Neither is representative. Neither is more than a political machine for the uses of those who manage it. It will be no trick at all to get Smith a million | Se PY RIGHT BY RANAPAR ST Lone-Pine Vista, High on Mountains South of Paradise Valley, Rainier National Park EVENING POST Her earnings, your profits For the picture of this content- ed, comfortable worker we are indebted to the Apex Hosiery Company, Phil- adelphia. 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iS4 THE SATURDAY Avoted Accidents Be Safe Not Sorry! ior lit STROMBER “Si. Electrically Driven—Z 7 WINDSHIELD WIPER { INTIN BOLUS IN OPERATION SLY INSTALLED ~FCONOMICAI POWERFEA)I ELPWITRICALLY DRIVEN FROM THEI STURRAGE BATTER terten® v kaching enmuine that habe n choikks tthe n Writes or: ur dealer Stromberg Motor Devices Co. 62-East 25th Street Ol trent Ge $100 Or More For You This Christmas If you could make sure now that your joy in the Christ- mas season would not be tinged with worry about the first-of-the-month bills that follow—if you knew now that you'd have the extra money for just the Christmas gift that someone you care for would cherish—wouldn’t you look forward to the happiest Christmas you’ve ever had? If You Begin Now It can be. There are three reasons why: The Saturday Evening Post, The Ladies’ Home Journal and The Country Gentle- man. Every year thousands more people find in them the ideal answer to the “What shall I give?"’ question. By forwarding such ~ gift orders, along with the new and renewal subscriptions that folks will give you, as our local representative, you may easily make P) $100 or more between now and Christmas. You need no experience, but you do need to begin now. Just send this coupon for full details. Gibeatecmptt qrine ikem atic thacsiyhhnnanpibaniapeenamennnaaena alll THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY 264 Independence Square, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Gentlemen: I surely could use an extra $100 for Christmas. Please tell me, but with- out obligation, how I may earn it Street City State mm mem ee ee me me ee ee ee ee ee ee ee ee ee ee ee ee ' ! i ! i i 1 Name ! i ! EVENING POST more votes than Davis in New York, but what will that profit Davis? And why should the people have either respect for or confidence in the party organizations that operate in that fashion? As it stands as this is written, Coolidge is the known quantity, La Follette is the unknown quantity and Davis is third in consequence. The political situation is un- precedented in this country. There are surface indications that La Follette has a large support among the voters in various sections. It is reasonably certain that he will carry Wisconsin, with thirteen elec- toral votes, and North Dakota, with five. He has possibilities in many other states— Minnesota, Montana, Washington, Iowa and elsewhere. Davis will get the South and has his chances in the Rootes states. Coolidge is in a — to get the East and enough of the West to give him his elec- toral majority. The entire situation revolves around La Follette. As I have said, nobody knows his strength, not even himself. If he suc- cessfully capitalizes the discontent, the radicalisms, the protest element, he will come out of the election in a commanding position and with enough votes at least to throw the election into Congress. If his apn of these elements is success- ful, if it is not merely noise and blather and can be translated into votes on election day, Wednesday, November fifth, will see an America that will be facing a new situa- tion, and with a dark-brown taste in its aggregate mouth that will persist for a long time, If, on the other hand, there is not so much substance as there is froth to the La Follette sentiment, then we shall have wit- nessed another political experiment that will be a marker for the greater adventure in politics that is surely on the way. Re- gardless of what happens on election day, eventually the logical political, alignment will come. Eventually the people of this country will separate themselves into two November 1,1924 schools, or parties, of political and economic thought. Eventually we shall have a radi- cal party and a conservative party. he radical party will comprise the now widely scattered radical elements that are operating in various guises, and will attract the numerous citizenry who are continually seeking for a change. The conservative party will be, at its best, a liberal party that will perpetuate politically the forward- looking, sane conservatism that has made this country what it is. There will be no place for a Tory or die-hard party, albeit there will be some Tories and die-hards left to accommodate themselves to the new situation. The political conditions in this country are not at all representative of the political thought of the country. We have a Repub- lican Party that is part liberal and part conservative, and we have a Democratic Party that depends for its main support on the South, and operates elsewhere with radical or conservative opportunism as the exigencies may seem to require. This political realignment is dictated by the present party conditions and demanded by the logic of the situation. The normal, essential, reasonable political requirement of the United States is an opportunity for the people living in them to vote for men and measures that shall represent the real economic, governmental, social and polit- ical thought of the country. Every man and woman of us is, at heart, either a conservative or a radical, and every man and woman should have a chance to vote in accordance with that underlying conviction instead of being tied down to a preference between the nominees of the two old parties; or a party that, if it comes, will be founded upon the obsessions, fanaticisms and fads of Robert Marion La Follette. Sooner or later the thing is inevitable. We shall be voting for men this time. That’s something, anyhow, especially as the choice isn’t particularly difficult if the best interests of the country are held in mind. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (More Than Two Million and a Quarter Weekly) IS fully protected by copyright and nothing that appears in it may be reprinted, either wholly or in part, without special permission. The use of our articles or quotations from them for advertising promotions and stock-selling schemes is never authorized. Table of Contents November 1, 1924 Cover Design by Pearl L. Hill SHORT STORIES PAGE Told to the Sporting Editor— Horatio Winslow ght ROR sete Aare ee The Conover Crowd— Robert S. Winsmore mone ae The Tweeties— George Pattullo ; ee saa. bb ee ee Rusty Roustabout— Herbert Ravenel Sass bh at bine? 9 ig a Inside Inflammation—Octavus Roy Cohen orig wont Who are the Cultured?— Mary Brecht Pulver ) deren ae ARTICLES Our American Diplomat— Richard Washburn Child PT a ET CI The New Alignment—Samuel/ G. Blythe é cy eae Cea Theories and Thanksgiving— Charles Moreau Harger ‘ Sb eas La Follette’s Pink Tea— Elizabeth Frazer 6 Tae Tormented Men—James Stevens . . Pe ee ee Tue Lure of the Paris Label—J. R. Sprague oa Re ae The Value of Land and of Railways— David Friday es 1 97 The Roar of the Crawd—James J. Corbett . . , fuk >a SERIALS Still Face (In six parts)—-Clarence Budington Kelland 6 3 eae The Pines (In two parts)— Ben Ames Williams a ye oes as MISCELLANY Editorial ba 0 SO ga hae eg Tg aa, ede ey ge che «6 Short Turns and Encores .... . a POS ; ; Chay (eae . 28 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, inclcsing if possible your address label from a recent copy. 249

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Atwater Kent Loud Speakers bring out the best from any set. Skilled engineers and master workmen have November 1, 1924

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773 | Bon Ami for mirrors ry Principal uses of Bon Ami— Sor cleaning and polishing Brass, Copper and Nickel Ware Bathtubs Aluminum Ware Fine Kitchen Utensils White Woodwork Glass Baking Dishes Windows Mirrors Tiling White Shoes The Hands Linoleum and Congoleum N half a second, little mirror, you'// sparkle too! question about it, Bon Ami is a marvel for mirrors— big or little. With a damp cloth, put a thin lather of Bon Ami all over the delicate surface. Wait till it dries. ‘Then, polish it off with a clean, dry cloth—and that’s all! Quick, simple, safe, Bon Ami simply blots up the dust and streaks. That’s the reason it’s unequaled for cleaning and polishing windows, mirrors, white woodwork and so many other things around the house. Then, too, it’s so soft it can’t scratch. ‘Try it for all the things listed above and see for yourself what a gentle, thorough cleanser Bon Ami is! And it never reddens or roughens the hands. THE BON AMI COMPANY, NEW YORK Cake or Powder whichever you prefer **Hasn't Scratched Ye"’

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Get your Kodak out An ideal time for picture-making is autumn. Whether a hunt or a hike, have your Kodak ready for the pictures you’re sure to want. Autographic Kodaks $6.50 up Eastman Kodak Company, Rochester, N.Y., 7%e Kodak City