The Saturday Evening Post 1924-12-13: Vol 197 Iss 24

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THE _ EVENZ@® POST - Fou: -anklin i N DEC. 13, 1924 3 | cts. THE COPY Alice Duer Miller—George Weston—Nina Wilcox Putnam—Hugh MacNair Kahler Ben Ames Williams—Richard Connell—J. P. Marquand—Richard Washburn Child

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“COUNTING HIS PENNIES” HIGH IN ENERGQ) EASILY DIGESTE or w ige24

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Getting what you pay for in clothes Whatever clothes you buy, you pay for what you get. In Adler Collegian Clothes you get all you pay for. Careful hand-stitches, hid den within the coats, make the collar hug close to your neck. They give that soft, dressy roll to your lapel. They keep the chest and shoulders fitting smoothly. That’s why we use hundreds of hand-stitches in making your Adler Collegian Clothes. We sew seams with silk, be cause silk “gives” to strains and tugs. We use the best sew- ing-silk that we can buy. The “front” of the coat, hidden under the outer layer of cloth, in Adler Collegians oF clot oles is of high-grade pure linen, be cause nothing except linen of such quality holds the style after it 1s once tailored in. We use the cold-water shrink- ing process, because there is no other way to take all the shrink out of the cloth defore it is made into clothes. The steam- shrunk suit may seem all right until it gets caught in a shower and then... goodbye fit! It’s probably gone forever. We use high-quality buttons that will not break. We sew them on with strong linen thread, double twisted and waxed. There is nothing skimped in our clothes. We give you full measure, all wool, new style, fine fit, comfort, long wear, The prices are just about what g per cent of the men in America prefer to pay for their clothes. Most of our suits sell at $3 and $35, up to $50. Tuxedos at $45 to $55. Overcoats at $3 to $75, and thereabouts. We shall gladly direct you fo a clothier near you who sells the real Adler Collegians i ee Davip ADLER & SONS COMPAN’ Milwaukee, Wisconsin NEW YORK OFFICE CHICAGO OFFICE Fifth Ave. Blag. Medinah Bldg. 200 Fifth Ave. 237 So. Wells St

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST December 13,1924 > A, ee i - : i 4 is hth itt Eee AY Ste Pile Roe athe Repetto ee ee ee J RIALS me Me) BS * & - ag a ae A i. ; es boa Me Wes ¥ 4 3 +5 ¥ = ee pe * : f ¥ : & Se af te 3 i Les - - 5 | 3 - i ~ ' -! . fy 3 “i 2 of . . ~~ THE WAY YOUR NEW TUXEDO OUGHT TO LOOK The shoulders should be wider; there's just a suggestion of the waist line; the coat is narrower at the hips; trousers are wider These dinner coats are comfortable and good looking the way we make them Fine all-wool fabrics that wear; expert needlework; exquisite linings Every well-dressed man needs a dinner coat ‘You can buy ours economically jL___HART SCHAFFNER & MARX __]}

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Published Weekly The Curtis Publishing Company Cyrus H.K. Curtis, President C. HK. Ludington, Vice-President and Treasurer . Collins, General Business Manager Walter D. Fuller, Secretary Williem Boyd, Advertising Director Independence Square, Philadelphia London: 6, Henrietta Street Covent Garden, W.C. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 6 rieseciressess Founded A’D' 1728 4y Benj. Franklin Copyright, 1924, by The Curtis Publishing Company in the United States and Great Britain Tithe Registered in U, S. Patent Office and in Foreign Countries George Horace Lorimer EDITOR Churchil! Williams, F. S. Bigelow. A.W. Neall, Thomas B.Costain, Thomas L. Masson, March 3,1879. Additional Entry at Columbus, O., St. Leuis, Mo., Chicago, ML. Indianapolis, Ind., Sexinaw, Mich,, Des Moines, le., Portland, Ore., Milwaukee, Wis., and St. Poul, Mine Entered as Second-Closs Matter at the Post-Office Department, Ottawa, Canada Volume 197 Oc. THE Copy PHILADELPHIA, PA., DECEMBER 13, 1924 $2.00 THE YEAR by Subscription Number 24 By Alice Duer Miller ILLUSTRATED BY MAY WILSON PRESTON yg Ma i mS “The Only Tears That Will be Shed are Shed Here Eefore Me—So Much Better Than Oceans Shed After the Event"’ ELL, Casley thought, as he folded his long spare body into a seat in the front row of the balcony, it came to this: If a man could not feel any emotion at the first night of his first play, he might as well die. Much of his six feet of height came between his knee and his hip; the railing of the balcony was uncomfortably close; he crossed his legs with difficulty and leaned back, folding his arms. “Isn’t it thrilling?’’ murmured his cousin Gertrude, laying her hand for a moment on the hard muscles of his forearm. He did not answer her at all. He had realized from the first that it was a mistake to bring Gertrude. He had not, as a matter of fact, invited her to go with him; she had simply assumed that it would be a comfort to him to know that she was beside him in a crisis. Besides, she believed that there was a certain intellectual prestige in attending first nights; and she cherished a secret ambition to be the center of a literary group, which, as she was handsome, well off and not very intelligent, was both natural and possible. He had said to her several times in the slow clear draw] that his lecture rooms knew so well, “It will bore you, Gertrude. It bores me.”’ But Gertrude had laughed with the manner of one well able to take a joke, and had bought an emerald-green silk wrap with a corn-colored liniag, which seemed to her the correct garment for the beautiful inspiration of a successful playwright to wear on the production of his first play. But Casley had not been joking. One of his crosses in life--or perhaps one of his sources of secret satisfaction, for people gain comfort from strange causes — was that no one ever could tell whether he was in fun or not. His play bored him; worse thar. that, he hated it—hated it as a man hates a woman to whom he remains bound in some horrible drudgery of daily life long after he has ceased to love her. Like most creative minds, his interest was only in creation, and to be kept working at his play in a manner wholly routine, technical and uncreative filled him with a2 sort of mental nausea. At thirty-three he was a full professor of history in a sma!] but respected college His specialty was the Tudor period, his book, “Owen Tudor: A Parvenu,” having been widely read even outside of academic circles. In fact, he was a conspicuous success, except for the fact that he had discovered that he hated teaching and that from the point of view of his own enjoyment of life his choice of his profession had been mistaken. One day two years before, he had been lecturing to his class and had found himself saying: ‘The life of Catherine Howard, the fifth wife of Henry VIII, is lacking in the political significance of that of her cousin, Anne Boleyn, his second wife, but is as tragic and more dramatic. The miniature beauty of the great house of Norfolk, while still a child, inspired an eternal passion in the heart of a buccaneering young relation; was married by the king when she was eighteen and beheaded when she was twenty, under circumstances ~—”

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4 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST He thought suddeniy, “Why shouldn't I write a play about her and get out of this infernal drudgery — teaching history, about which none of us knows anything, to a lot of young barbarians who don't want to know anything? After all, if Drinkwater has made the historical play possi- bie, this is more romantic material than any he has used.” He felt an interest in the idea such as he had not felt in anything for years, That very night, for he was a man in whom thought and action were closely connected, he set to work He wrote the play in three weeks, and for a third of that time— the first third—he had been almost happy. Then his confidence in it had begun to decline. His clear, unego- tistical mind saw that it was not a good play. Nevertheless, he had sent it off to Wilfred Weyburn, the most likely of any of the producers to accept it; and it had been accepted. No one was more surprised than Casley. It was character- istic of him that he mentioned the whole incident to nobody, and the first knowledge that came to the faculty and president of Boonten College was when a picture of Casley in cap and gown, walking beside a police dog, appeared in the Sunday papers, with a flattering caption he youthful profewcr and his favorite pet and his new play. The photograph was years old and the dog belonged to one of the students—who was suspended sub- sequently because the dog attacked the night watchman hut the publicity of the Weyburn office was not famed for its accuracy so much as for its continuity and grace. The president, meeting him the next morning on the campus, called out jovially —for the modern president likes to think he has a variety of creatures in his faculty, “What's this, Casley? I did not know I had a playwright on the staff.” “1 doubt if you have,” answered Casley with his slow, sad, crooked smile. But the thing had moved on. Contracts had been sent to him, had been signed, a check had reached him, and finally the stage of rehearsals and rewriting had come. For just a few moments, when he heard the play first read by the company, al! Casley’s confidences in it had returned, Sitting at a bare rickety kitchen table, on an empty stage lit by one tall relentless electric light, the company had fluttered the pages of their small oblong part books and stumbled a little in reading, with many ‘Oh, is that mine? about The typing is so bad ——”’ But even so, the first sound of trained actors pronouncing aloud in their clear authorita- tive accents those lines which heretofore had vibrated only in his own mind gave the words a new and more vivid meaning. For a few moments it seemed to him not only good but great. This happy phase, however, had passed ky the second rehearsal. Weariness and disgust had succeeded, until now, on the opening night, Casley felt that nothing would have brought him there at all except a certain wearied loy- alty to Wilfred Weyburn, who had been steadily kind and encouraging, and who had spent a sum on the production the interest on which would have paid Casley’s salary for the rest of his life. The critics were beginning to come in—sure sign that the rising of the curtain was not far off. Casley was so remote from theatrical life that he did not even know them by sight, did not guess from their entrances and from the position of their seats that they were critics. Gertrude, however, pointed them out—the great height of one of these, his bulk increased by his flapping overcoat. Casley caught a glimpse of his profile as with a quick character- istic droop he slipped his hat under his seat and sat down in one long motion; the finely modeled nose and the queer contradiction between the tragic slant of the eyes and the fixed slight smile of the mouth, as if the face were divided between the masks of tragedy and comedy; another, tread- ing the aisle as a horse turned out to grass treads spring pastures. Gertrude settled into her place and with a wriggling movement of her shoulders shed her green wrap. “Oh, look, Benedict!” she whispered. ‘‘There’s Mr. Caldecott, of the Weekly Sphere. He’s a great friend of mine—at least I've met him. I’m sure he’ll give you a good notice. Isn’t it nice he came?” “Unlike us, Gertrude, he is obliged to come,” answered Casley. A new and disagreeable thought had come to him namely, that Weyburn would want the whole play re- written the next day in accordance with all the criticism. He covered his eyes with his arched hand; that, it seemed to him, was simply impossible to face. When people told him how to rewrite his third act—and everyone who had been at the dress rehearsal except himself seemed to be in December 13,1924 possession of the knowledge of how this should be done—he cut them short; not, as they supposed, because he felt insulted at the implied criticism, but simply because it is impossible, as psychologists tell us, for the mind to con- centrate on anything that possesses no interest. An idea occurred to him. If he did not see the play perhaps his mind would come fresher to the task tomorrow. “Gertrude,” he said, “I assure you this is a dull play. Across the street there is a farce which everyone says is entertaining. Suppose we slipped away ——”’ “Benedict, you’re delicious,” said Gertrude. Very slowly the lights began to sink, silently, to borrow from the poet, as the darkness comes when the day is done—silently except for the audience, which, having been standing outside and in the back of the theater, now, with faint murmurs of surprise at this indication that a play was to take place, began to crowd the aisles in a concerted effort to get to their seats all at the same instant. The curtain rose on the offices of the great house of the Duke of Norfolk at Lambeth. Here Catherine Howard, the daughter of a younger brother of the duke, was being brought up, or rather was growing up, utterly neglected by the old dowager duchess, who was at the moment entirely occupied with the good fortune of another step-grandchild of hers—Anne Boleyn, who had just upset international relations, home politics and the Catholic Church in Eng- land by marrying the king. Little Catherine seemed unlikely ever to be of the least importance to anyone, and was allowed to run wild under the nominal charge of one of the old duchess’ waiting women. Before she was fourteen she had fallen into the power or under the influence of a musician called Manox, who taught her to play on the virginals, and seems to have made love to her in the best tradition of music teachers. From the clutches of this wicked man, Casley showed her rescued by the hero of the piece, Derham, a distant rela- tion of the house of Howard, a soldier in the duke’s train, a brave man and certainly a loyal and devoted lover. He supplied the neglected girl with all the little luxuries of dress, for which her beauty must have been eager, especial mention being made of an artificial flower called a French fennel, which she was unable to wear as the gift of Der- ham, but which a lady of the household was induced to say (Continued on Page 126) The Past Wives and Present Sweethearts of Members of the Company, Bank Presidents and Poets and Ladies of Fashion All Swept By

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Sssssssssshhhf: 9 By Richard Connell ILLUSTRATED BY RAEBURN VAN BUREN Alm Adventure of Larry Carraway, Journeyman Reporter . . bs r Plauen -- ap As Larry Moved Along Main Street He Became Aware That it Was Different From Other SmatisTown Main Streets, After All mysterious stranger with the large freckled ears. Peering from the train window, Larry was wondering why trains stopped, or even hesitated, at Billup. Then he spied the mysterious stranger. To view those extraordinary ears—that must be the reason for the train’s halt, Larry decided. Not that Larry cared where or why the train stopped, or how or when; it was taking him away from New York—that was the important thing. He had a ticket, but offhand he could not have told the destination printed on it; perhaps it read to Butte, Montana, or Boise, Idaho, or Bisbee, Arizona. It mattered not to Larry. The night before he had pulled the rubber tent over his typewriter in the city room of the New York Lance and had walked forth into the cool evening, no longer a star reporter, but a nomad. Six years of thrilling, gruelling work Larry had done in New York. “Must have a change,”’ he said—‘“‘a sabbatical year.” So, being an impulsive young man, he took it. “‘Now to see the world without joining the Navy,” he remarked as he strolled down Park Row. Toa taxi man he said, “‘ Please take me to a railroad station.” “Which one, buddy?” asked the driver, who at heart was a democrat. “Use your own judgment, sir,’”’ replied Larry, sinking back on the seat and feeling the luxurious abandon of a man on the brink of new adventures. At the railroad sta- tion Larry opened a wallet in which were one one-hundred- dollar bill and one fifty-dollar bill—his last week’s salary on the Lance. He poked thé yellow hundred through the ticket wicket. “Give me a ticket, please,”’ he said. “‘Where to, Jack?’ asked the ticket seller, another democrat. “I’m not fussy, sir,” answered Larry. ‘ Just a hundred dollars’ worth of ticket on the next train out.” And the ticket seller, being a typical blasé New Yorker, born and raised in Escanaba, Michigan, sold him a ticket and put him down as a lunatic or an embezzler, which are too common in New York to merit comment. So now the train had halted at Billup, and there on the platform was the man with the freckled ears, staring fixedly at Larry, while Larry stared no less fixedly back at him. Then the man on the platform did a peculiar thing. He suddenly gripped the lobes of his ears with two large, knuckly and not overclean hands, making earrings of his fists. Fastening an intent, expectant gaze on Larry, the man began to flap his elbows up and down—once, twice, thrice. ““This,”’ said Larry to himself, ‘seems to prove the theory that there are more cuckoos than clocks.” |: WAS at Billup, Ohio, that Larry Carraway saw the He of the freckled ears stopped his cryptic gestures. Another native was approaching along the platform, a puffy, pinguid man with a neck like a plate of waffles. The puffy one, with great gravity, saluted, the freckled one. Larry saw the waffle-necked man grasp his ears and flap his elbows—once, twice, thrice. “More than one city editor has told me I'm a bit mad,” mused Larry Carraway. ‘Perhaps I am or I wouldn't have turned itinerant reporter. Well, if I am loose up- stairs, I’ll certainly feel at home in Billup. Perhaps there’s a newspaper here—the Daily Padded Cell. Might as well start my career here as anywhere.” So Larry Carraway, demonstrating once again that he was a young man whose guiding principle in life was Obey That Impulse stepped off the train and into the town of Billup. The waffle-necked man was gone, but the freckled-eared one was still there, draped over a packing case. He un- folded his lean length as Larry approached. Once again he made that strange sign—fists gripping ears, elbows flap- ping, once, twice, thrice. “When among nuts,” pecan.” So he grasped his own ears and flapped his elbows, once, twice, thrice. The freckled one glanced hastily, furtively about the deserted platform. Then in a low impressive voice he addressed Larry: “The sun riseth in the east.” Larry nodded. “Yes, and it sitteth in the west,”’ affirmed Larry. “East is east,’’ declared the man, in a whisper. “West is west,” said Larry. “North is north,’ whispered the stranger. “South is south,”” whispered back Larry. The stranger held out his hand, his little finger crooked. Larry seized the hand and shook it firmly. The stranger pulled away as if he had been stung by a bee. A dark dis- turbed look rushed over his face. “Where is thy grip?”’ demanded the stranger. “Right there,”’ said Larry. ‘That old pigskin bag. You can take it up to the best hotel—if there is one.” Alarm and suspicion were written large on the face of the owner of the ears. He recoiled from Larry. Then he turned and fled up the main street of Billup. Larry watched his long-legged figure till it vanished. Then he picked up his bag. “Yes,’’ decided Larry, ‘I’m going to like Billup.” Main Street, Billup, did not exactly stand out. To Larry it looked very much like the main streets of Eagle Grove, Iowa, Dowagiac, Michigan, Bamberg, South Carolina, and other small towns where journalistic missions had taken said Larry to himself, ‘“‘be a him. There was a drug store full of cardbcard maidens inviting the passer-by to drink Pep-U-Up, a bulky bank building, a department store with bolts of calico in the window, the Happy Hour Movie—Today—Her First Sin— Today —and then, down the street, a careworn frame structure with a sign on it that made Larry turn his steps in that direction. The sign read: THE BILLUP PALLADIUM-INTELLIGENCER Roscoe Legg, Ed. and Prop. As Larry moved along Main Street he became aware that it was different from other small-town Main Streets, after all. The difference was to be felt rather than seen. It wasn’t that the natives glanced curiously at Larry's city clothes and blue collar; that was to be expected. But they also glanced with strange sidelong glances at one an- other. He saw two men, obviously old inhabitants, pass each other. Larry could have sworn that they were brothers twins, even—but they did not speak. Instead they fixed on each other baleful glares and contempt twisted down their mouth corners. Larry sensed afeud, Certainly there was none of that loud neighborly familiarity one noticed in Eagle Grove, Dowagiac or Bamberg. In Billup there were no hearty salutations “Hello, Jake! How are your beans getting along?"’ “Hey there, Elmer! I hear you was to Buckeye Lake Sunday.” “Hello, Luke, you old son of a gun!” “Morning, Matt. How's the boy?” It seemed to Larry that some cloud, some self-conscious sullen cloud, hung over the town. It weighed down on Main Street, and was even perceptible in the rather pretty side streets. In the office of the Billup Palladium-Intelligencer, Larry discovered a man who clearly was Roscoe Legg, Ed. and Prop. Mr. Legg was plump and unkempt, a smallish man with ink on his ears, thumbs and shirt. His askew hair was white and he had bright genial eyes. He was engaged, when Larry entered the office— which looked as if a tornado had just left it—in answering the telephone, taking a want ad about a stray cow, bawling directions to an invisible printer, chewing gum and trying to keep the wind from blowing some galley proofs out of the window. Larry heard him saying: “Yes, I got it. dine—-hang this wind Spotted heifer—answers to name Geral- Bill, set that shoe ad in upper and lower, do you hear?—reward if returned to Amos Pratt yes, yes—spotted heifer—shut that door, please-— Bill, come a-running with the proof of that editorial about (Continued on Page 153)

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8 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST OUR FOREIGN POLICY By Richard Washburn Child VEN at solemn European con- BK ferences, where supposed prizes of diplomacy are at stake, mo- ments come wher. some delegate in an informal atmoephere takes the screens of discretion from truth Said one of them to me on such an occasion: “If 1 may express myself with your American forcefulness, Europe and your own country have suffered less from any hard- boiled reluctance in your foreign affairs than from those who counsel various forms of soft-bviled foreign policy.” Even if close contacts with our American foreign policy might prejudice a diplomatic officeholder, voluntary retire- ment from an ambassaclor’s post gives some measure of detachment and opens the way to telling, as one American would tell another before the open fire, how much he had seen of the workings of our foreign policy; and how much is grows nonsense out of all the nonsense we have heard about it. I assume that we ali kave the same point of view. We wish to preserve our own peace and contribute to any work- ing plan to preserve universal peace that is really a workable plan. Furthermore, we all wish to preserve the legitimate interests of the United States and prevent en- croachments on those interests whether they concern the safety of Americans or their property abroad or at home. To the full extent of our power we desire to contribute to friendly negotiation and peaceful settlements of disputes provided we do not become unwelcome meddlers and busy- bodies in other nations’ affairs. We have every wish to codperate—all of us. The first piece of gross nonsense therefore—and everyone has heard it from those who go reckless in words-—is that a part of us, from some villainous or stupid motive, are trying each day to avoid fulfilling America’s duty to the world. Whenever a group arises which disagrees with the foreign policy of the United States, represented by those who are conducting it as they have been instructed to conduct it by the great majority of the American people, then out from baffled wrath and from those whose suggestions are not taken come streams of aecuszations of meral, intellectual or emotional delin- quency. Anyone with diplomatic or foreign experience, and without any political partisanship in our foreign af- fairs, knows well enough that flood of phrase making and how by adding those phrases into a grand total the sum is exactly the double cero of nonsense The Puropean diplomat was right; our danger and the danger to the general wellare of the world comes from those who are agitating for various and diverse forms of foreign policy —soft-boiled. it would be absurd to say that our present foreign policy is 100 per cent wise and perfect. Any administration, no matter how wise it may ve, fails to seize every last advan- tage or to foresee every emergency. In my own corner of the game I can see now that I made mistakes, sometimes by concessions and lack of persistence, sometimes by fail- ure to. coneede and to conciliate. I learned constantly something more as time went on, and one of the things I learned in Europe was that the foreign policy of a nation, particulariy our nation, does not consist merely of adopting a scheme or signing a paper, as some of our sentimentalists would have us believe.’ A Ridiculous Charge JREIGN policy first of all is made up of active inter- national dealings of great variety, done on good principle and on the basis of aound morals. Therefore the first example of the nonsense spread about by those who have some new scheme or international program not yet accepted is the ac- cusation that the United States, because it has not adopted the scheme, has no foreign policy. If anyone doubts the nonsense of this, let him go to Downing Street, where British foreign policy is conducted. The British, for in- stance, are members of the League of Nations; but the moment you went to the British Foreign Office and stuck your nove inside the door you would know that the League of Nations is not the who'e of British foreign policy, that it occupies even at the best but a small fraction of time and interest in the great press of business of British foreign policy. If you went to the Quai d'Orsay in Paris and took a second look you would see that the League of Na- tions was not all or half or a quarter of French foreign policy. If you go to Europe and browse around in the capitals and read the newspapers and go out to dinner with the dis- tinguished and the humble, you will hear and see less of the League than you will see and hear among agitators in the United States. You will hear a reat deal about other phases of foreign poliéy ef other nations—you will hear of Italy's treaty with thie country, of England’s Russian pol- icy, of French policy and occupation of the Ruhr, of the Dawes Commission plan, of conferences, of reciprocal arrangements as to trade, travel, usages and all that weaves one nation’s life into that of another. The conduct of such business, nation with nation, and the principles on which this business is done constitute foreign policy. No single plan or program, no scheme or proposal, no experiment or Utopia, no matter how inspired or blessed by good will, or even by practical sense, has dis- placed the usual old-fashioned conduct of foreign affairs— the international business of the world, the relations of one nation with another. Who would say that the British would have no foreign policy were it not for the League of Nations? Who would say that if it were not for member- ship in the League the French Foreign Office would close its doors? These questions show how ridiculous it is to say that the United States has no foreign policy. One might as well say of a restaurant that served no huckleberry pie that it had no food. As time has gone on, this talk about a lack of foreign policy and about isolation has grown increasingly vehe- ment and silly. I have waited until after a national elec- tion to show how silly such phrases are, because I desired to avoid the phrase of “ partisan politics” so often directed at those who express the will of the majority by those who have met opposition in the presentation of some minority plan. I agree with them that there should be no petty partisanship in our foreign policy, though I cannot see why the determination of vital questions in our foreign policy should not rest upon the well-educated verdict which often may only be reached after sincere intense partisanship, just as the verdict against the League was accomplished. The Strength of Our Position UT if I have any political partisanship, certainly it is not of the kind that masks itself under religion and right- eousness in order to undermine the reputation and efficiency of my country’s foreign policy; if I set forth anything here that may be called partisan, I trust it will be founded upon facts, upon the realities of a world as it is, and not upon fads—upon plans that are based only in an imag- inary world as we might wish it to be. I will try to confine my example to those matters of United States foreign policy with which I have had intimate contact. I will try to show that among all America’s moral obligations, one of the first is to be intelligent, and that intelligence and achieve- ment have taken us much further toward fulfillment of our duty to the world than merely running after phrase makers and impractical idealists until our tongues hung out. Long before the Armistice was signed I made speeches and wrote articles suggesting that the United States might stay away from the Peace Conference when that confer- ence took place. Habit—thinking of mankind was all against that idea. Who ever heard of a war when any vic- torious nation in it failed to come to a peace table? Never- theless, in June, 1918, I urged my idea upon some of the advisers of President Wilson. I received some sympathy from the friends of a man who had kept us out of the war, and had given as one reason that it was our duty to keep at least one powerful nation in the position of detachment, so that the war-ridden world could turn to that nation for unprejudiced guidance. Wilson, having apparently lost that position of arbiter when we made a belated entry into the conflict, had an opportunity to regain it by staying away from Paris. In June, 1918, I said before the Council of Foreign Rela- tions in New York: “Our greatest usefulness to the world will be in the service we may render as a judge when we are asked for that service. It is folly to throw that; position away by be- coming a party to the suit. It is not necessary to attend a peace conference to make known our views or even to pro- tect ourselves, and our power of moral persuasion will be much greater rather than less if we keep free from the intrigue and conflicts which are foreign to our interest until we are asked for our good offices in adjusting these disputes. “The moment our delegates appear in the position of offering suggestions or of forcing our moral views upon others they may depend upon meeting counter proposals that we enter unnecessary embarrassing entanglements. These counter proposals will either be framed so that we eannot accept them and therefore appear as unwilling to accept responsibility, or they will be framed to lead us into the snarl of European polities so that we may be the cat’s- paw for one nation to use against another in selfish and sordid causes.” I had the painful experience in Paris during the Peace Conference of watching the fulfillment of my fears and the tragedy of lost opportunity. Out of that whirlpool of December 13,1924 intrigue came a broken man. Out of it came a treaty of peace which future generations may say was a betrayal of armistice unequaled in the history of the world. So far as protection of our interest was con- cerned, it is only necessary to point out that our State De- partment has been busy ever since reminding other foreign offices that our association in the war gave us certain rights which we will claim. So far as wisdom of settlement is concerned, the result was principally an adjustment of indemnity so unworkable that its constant revision has ever since occupied and dis- turbed every government and kept armies of occupation moving backward and forward and maintained a running sore of economic disturbance vexing conquerors and van- quished alike. Secondly, it was a Balkanization of Euro- pean states, which has erected a new European diplomacy no less fretful, no less dangerous, no less freighted with racial animosities than the old. Thirdly, it was the source of false hopes, based on the glow of prospectus and faith in high principles, but now so baffled by the failure to pro- vide foundation that the saddest experience I had in Europe was to find everywhere cynicism and distrust of all new suggestions. After all, as Mussolini says repeatedly, ‘The want of the world is not for plans and programs and policies, but for daily action and constancy in getting things done.” We all may have a tender regard for the goodness of inten- tion and warmth of heart of those who seek short cuts to guarantee peace or design new institutions for interna- tional codperation. But in the meantime the realities of international relationship face our State Department, and it is actual performance according to principles and not mere prospectus which makes a foreign policy. On that basis rather than by the test of phrase making our foreign policy under Hughes has been the most vigorous and has achieved more than any other in the memory of living Americans. When the Disarmament Conference was called by Hard- ing in Washington, I had already gone to my post in Europe; but through my contact and talks with the Presi- dent I knew what was in the mind of the Administration as to that conference. I found two opinions among the statesmen and people in Europe. One was that the United States called the conference from selfish motives in order to put something over; and the other opinion was that a set of impractical idealists had forced the President to hold a con- ference and present to the Old World a moral preachment and another set of false hopes, probably doomed to be rejected if fortune was good or to be accepted if destiny had decreed another excursion conducted by American dreamers up a blind alley. Secretly, foreign governments and foreign thought regarded this American leadership with alarm. Two Constructive Achievements SHREWD statesman of the newer school who has conducted a small European power through the troubled waters left by the Peace Conference said to me: “IT assure you, nothing will happen. Those who are innocent as to the true workings of international confer- ences do not realize, as those of us who have had experience realize, that conferences are merely show windows. What is vital is never decided in the open at conferences, and noth- ing is easier to break than a conference. One great Euro- pean power, as you know, has developed the utmost skill in strangling conferences. It never can be made to appear in the show window with its hand on the throat of the con- ference, but it has developed the perfect technic of throw- ing doubt, despair, suspicion and weariness into an assembly of nations, and yet appear all the time as ardently desiring the success ofthe enterprise. There is only one way to defeat these tactics; it is necessary to have a definite demand for action, and the very moment the conference is opened to hit everyone square on the nose with that demand.” Hughes did exactly that; he did it when the average statesman was convinced fully in his secret heart that the conference at Washington would be a harmless feast of discussion, yielding no particular nourishment and no dan- gerous indigestion. There were forces of other kinds present to give out suggestions as to disarmament, but nothing ever surprised European diplomacy more than the Hughes declaration delivered at the outset and in effect requiring the conferees to sign on or say no. Let us not forget that the two postwar steps of practical idealism, the two important examples of international co- operation weighed in terms of results and not in terms of talk, have not comefrom the leadership of the League or the inspiration of the League, or from the foreign policy of any other power, but from the United States. The first was the tiie, (Re

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Washington Disarmament Conference, the second was the adoption of the Dawes plan and the refinancing of Germany. In each case, as my neighbor the farmer said to me the other day, speaking of our foreign policy, it was shown that “the show counts for more than the billboard pictures.” In each case, as another man has said, “‘ We did not attempt to teach vegetarianism to tigers by a correspondence course.”” As to the accomplishment of the Dawes plan, there are innocent and gullible persons who will be taken in by those who say that America should have taken the step officially. Nothing could be more amusing to those who know, as I do by close experience with conferences and foreign offices, business men, common people and diplomats in Europe, that the whole hope of success in straightening out the reparations question depended on taking that question as far as possible out of politics. Issues Removed From Politics HAD not been an ambassador a year bef ore I was writing to President Harding and to Secretary Hughes that the great obstacle to settlement was in the fact that premiers and foreign ministers, delegates to conferences and diplo- mats were all looking over their shoulders at their own parliaments; that so long as reparations, collections and occupation remained political questions in political hands, nothing could be done. It was so dangerous a subject to politicians that even the League never blinked an eyelash at moving armies in the Ruhr. I was certain that no govern- ments could make loans to Germany, that no single group of national bankers could do it. Any clear thinking would show that only where a security could be issued which THE SATURDAY EVENING POST would sell to men and women on the streets of several countries was any settlement in sight. And there was no ehance of arriving at this business solution in the atmos- phere of politics where every official was affected by the attacks in his own parliament, chamber or congress. The accomplishment of the American Government, after nearly three years of planning and waiting, in taking the settlement out of politics and putting it, as far as possible, into the hands of business men, was a tremendous achieve- ment of diplomacy. The critics who say that we should have insisted on taking official action are merely saying that we should have insisted on dragging the settlement deeper into politics, backward not forward. We had spent tedious years in raising it as far as possible out of that mud. Those who now complain that we did not jump into that wallow from which we were trying in all good conscience to extricate our sorely troubled friends appear to me as some- what green in practical international affairs. I only know that when I found Owen D. Young in Paris on my way back to the United States, and realized that a man whose ability as a conciliator and whose resourceful- ness are not exceeded in any man I ever knew was there on European soil, before my eyes, representing the desire of America to help, and had come free of all political tags and ties, I threw up my arms in celebration. Dawes, Young and Robinson represented the nonpolitical influence and power, without which I had learned the old sores of repara- tions and occupation would never be healed. Hughes had won a long, hard, quiet game, played straight through the petty clamor of those who were babbling that he had isolated America— by those who once having been drunk on phrases demanded phrases as sots demand their liquor, who even now prefer to have America beat herself on the chest YES, THERE 15 A SANTA CLAUS! rather than to have her intelligent and to have her get results. It is a curious fact that a deeper appreciation. of the services of the United States in maintaining peace and as a friendly conciliator is to be found in Europe than is to be found in the people of our own country. During my three seasons in Rome few weeks went by when I did. not talk with a fellow diplomat of some smaller European na- tion or of some South American >epublic on the subject of the services we were rendering or would be requested to render as a friendly arbitrator. What the Far East Wondered BELIEVE there is no indiscretion in saying that I was consulted as to the possibility of obtaining an American arbitrator in the Meme! dispute long before the League of Nations set forth this European arbitration in its show window. I was asked as to the qualifications of the Amer- ican— Mr. Norman Davis, who later became the successful representative in the settlement of this dispute. At the Genoa Conference more than one proposal was made to me that important arbitrations should be undertaken by America or her representative. One evening when my friend, the learned, wise old min- ister of Siam at Rome, was dining with me, he turned to me with his dry Oriental smile and said, ‘‘ We are wondering in the Far East whether the United States could have brought Japan and China to a full settlement of the Shan-tung and other questions at Washington if the United States had not maintained her detachment from the pooling and intrigue of international bodies.” Far away, across the world from his hemisphere and mine, the minister of one of two South American republics (Continued on Page 136)

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HEN Everett Jenkins finally worked his way through college try driving a delivery wagon fer the University Laundry Company, the George interest in what the W Hollingsheads, who took a polit THE SATURDAY EVENING POST D OF THE FAMILY By J. P. Marquand ILLUSTRATED BY RAEBURN VAN BUREN December 13,1924 ” “Of course they don’t,” said Angela. ‘‘ Well, what are you waiting for?”’ “Don’t you think,” said Everett, as though some premonition prompted him, ‘‘if they don’t know you’re here, you oughter be going home?” ige people did, were natu raily impressed ‘Really it’s remarkable aid Mra. Hollingshead She was at the time a twisted-gold armchair ir the drawing-room at Ho lings head Hill. Like the uphalstery and the hangings, she had a lightly faded look; but, like them too, she stil! pe weessed an seated undeniable distinction He was always such a pe- culiarly quiet boy,” said Mrs Hoilingshead. ‘Sometimes—-of course, it but almost ean't be true might think that he disliked us.”’ sometimes one That was ali that Mrs. Hol lingshead thought, and she knew it was just afancy, for she knew too well that no one could dislike the Hollings New pecpie, wulgar stucco actively heads brokers in new clean sorts who were ilias, Westerners -—all # eager climbing folk beginning to throng to South- Inlet, did their best to It was growing hard but west meet her to keep them in their piace; no matter what altered in a hanging world, the Ho'lings- heada were atill the Ho lings- heads, something apart admired, but never actively to he disliked Why is it the things we have fargotten, those little slurred over affaira of life, have a way of eropping un? Little dic Mrs Hollingshead know that it was and she wha had inapired Everett to drive a laun- dry wagon to pay for an educa- tion. Yet that is the way it was. Without knowing it, with hardly a word, she had even chenged his taste for fiction and caused him to drop Horatio Alger’s stories for more realistic works to be ihe alone Rien Bure a] Angela turned and looked at him. For a moment she said nothing, but her silence was more eloquent than speech. Everett became aware for the first time in his career of a social gap that had to do with his bare feet, his peeling nose and his unbrushed sandy hair. “No, I don’t think,” said Angela at length, and somehow it seemed to Everett that there was nothing more to say. There was a significance in Angela’s remark which was lost upon her then. She never thought at all of Everett’s si- lence, but continued to speak with the clear-eyed frankness which belongs to youth. “I wish,” she said ‘“‘we had someone to play with some- times.” “Golly!” said Everett. “Don’t you?” “Of course we don’t,”’ said Angela. “Golly!” said Everett. don’t see why.”’ In those days there were lots of things that Everett did not see. “You’d look quite nicely,” said Angela, “if you had on shoes and stockings.” “Say,”’ said Everett, “you don’t call the things you have on stockings! You oughter see the ones I wear Sundays.” “If you weren’t a common little boy,” said Angela with a little sigh, ‘1 suppose I could play with you sometimes.” Everett’s mouth fell open in sheer and innocent astonish- ment. “Say,”” he answered, not common!” “Oh, yes, “y “ “Te you are,” said “Yes,” said Mrs. Hollings- head, “it really is remarkable, considering all his handicaps De you know, George, sometimes I've thought even his eyesight was not quite good.” Mr. Hollingshead set down his teacup gently. The way he handled delicate china was always a pleasure to watch “Why, what the deuce? What do you mean, my dear?” “| mean,”’ said Mrs. Hollingshead, ‘that when he is in the village he never seems to see us.’ “Now that’s odd.”’ And Mr. Hollingshead permitted him- elf toamile. “ Maybe——look here, maybe he’s cutting us.”’ Of course it absurd. Sometimes he did say the abeurdest things. He was always so correct—quite per- feet. Even though he had been doing without his man all never a flaw marred his dress, and never the lightest irregularity of speech or gesture interfered with his manner. It ali made it the more amusing when he hose to be ridiculous... There was no wonder that Mrs. that wes surmimer, Hollingshead amiled also “George,” tremendously amusing.’ ‘Thank you, my dear then, for some reason, he she said, “do you know, sometimes you're * said Mr. Hollingshead; and turned and looked out of the French windows French windows that South- west Inlet had ever seen. The sun was growing low and was lacing soft rays of goid light across the garden path outaide and gilding a row of iron statues and the roof of a summerhouse. Mr. Holiirgshead's father had laid out the garden, and peeple used to drive to see it on Sundays. “f'm glad you find me s»,"’ he added in a slightly altered tone, ‘ when things aren't quite so amusing as they used to be,” the first m ( NE has te go back to those more amusing times to reach the beginning, as far as when Everett ins was a caddie at the Inlet Country Club. Though back Mr. Hotlingshead Shrugged His Shoulders. in the Best Regulated Lives —You Understand ?"’ it’s something less than twenty years, it seems very long ago. There was a swish of dresses then, a patter of hoofs, a billowing of sleeves, and a decorous regard for form which has somehow gone from life. It grows increasingly difficult to think that only a fraction of a lifetime has passed since it was incorrect for anyone of Angela Hollings- head’s years to go to the Inlet Country Club unaccom- panied by a governess. Only a fraction of a lifetime, but that was before the Inlet was grown as commuters know it now. Angela discovered her opportunity to get away when Miss Jay was looking for Geoffrey, who had disappeared previously from a starting point somewhere between the jig-sawed gingerbread summerhouse—even then the Hol- lingshead grounds were becoming slightiy stuffy—and a cast-iron deer that stood beside an arbor-vite hedge. She was a little girl then with a frilly dress and spotless white slippers and socks, and straight brown hair that hung halfway down her back. To look at her, she seemed much too young to perform one of woman’s commonest func- tions—bringing bitterness and disillusion to the world of man. From the door of the caddie house that afternoon came such a wild bellicose sound of little boys busy matching pennies that Everett Jenkins, who had just lost all his own, was the only one who perceived Angela with her golf bag in her hand. Though he had never spoken to her before, he knew who she was, for everyone knew the Hollingsheads. He was even shocked, as anyone would be, to see Angela venturing near such a vulgar place. “Caddie,” said Angela, ‘“‘come here and take my bag! Don’t you see I want a caddie?” “Golly!"" exclaimed Everett. know you're here?” Does—does anyone “My Dear Feltow,"" He Said, “‘There Come Times Angela; “nearly everybody's common. Give me my brassie, please.”’ Was he common? Try as he might, he could not get over the matter-of-fact way she had said it. It kept turn- ing in his mind, lingering, growing as they walked across the turf, altering to a dull pain every time she spoke. From the sixth tee Angela sliced her ball. As they went after it together toward a patch of trees, Everett led the way moodily and poked his toes beneath the grass. What was it that was growing in his mind? He wished that he could show her that he was far from common. “Oh,” said Angela suddenly, “‘what is that round thing on that bush?” Everett turned in the direction she was pointing. “Don’t you know?” he asked wonderingly. ‘‘Haven’t you ever seen a hornets’ nest before?” “Why, what a funny thing!” said Angela. my mashie, please.” “Your mashie?”’ echoed Everett. ‘‘Don’t be so stupid,” said Angela. I’m going to hit it.” “Do you want to get stung?”’ cried Everett. hornets are bigger’n bees, I guess. They’re bigger’n “Are you going to give me my mashie?”’ asked Angela. Everett’s back stiffened with sudden resolve. “No, I’m not,” he said. Angela ought to have known better then, but it was like the Hollingsheads never to know. Instead of thinking, she brushed impatiently at a strand of hair that strayed across her forehead. “You don’t know who you’re talking to!” she cried, and snatched a club from the bag on Everett’s shoulder. “Hey!” shouted Everett. ‘Don’t hit it!” He didn’t believe she would, but she did. Her club went crash, clean into the hornets’ nest, and just as she struck he heard a voice. “ny sive me “Don’t you see? “Say,

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” “Angela!” it was calling. ‘‘Angela!’’ But Everett only half heard it, for his mind was taken up with other things. As her club went down, he jumped, his face aflame with inspiration. He jumped between Angela and the hornets’ nest and snatched the club from her hand. “Run!” he shouted. ‘Hurry up and run!” Angela was already running. Only a glance over her shoulder showed her what was happening. Everett had struck the hornets’ nest clean off the bush. It had dropped a dozen feet ahead of him, and it was evident, quite evi- dent, that the hornets laid the blame on Everett. It was a small nest, but it was large enough. No one was there to follow him or to see the deed he did, and Everett was the only one who really knew. When he emerged from the trees his face was swelling, but his mouth was closed in an even line. “Oh!” cried Angela. ‘“‘They bit you! They bit you all over!”’ A painful grin contorted Everett's lips. “You bet they did,’’ he answered; “but they didn’t get at you.” “Oh!” cried Angela. “How horrid! dear, here comes mamma!” Yes, she was coming. Everett saw her coming, and stecod up very straight. In those days everyone in the Inlet knew Mrs. Hollingshead. She was gliding over the golf course like a bark in a freshening breeze, with her long dress dragging and whipping behind her. To Everett's fevered gaze, her broad sleeves billowed like clouds, and her white lace sunshade bobbed before her like a sail. Everett stood stock-still. For a moment, for just a slight passage of time, the pain he felt seemed lessened. What would she say to him when she knew? A sudden em- barrassment came over him. Bound To Succeed, Tom the Bootblack, Work and Win—all the episodes he knew best would be like nothing. No hero in juvenile fiction had done a deed like his. “Angela,” said Mrs. Hollingshead, in a cool and even voice, ““‘what have you been doing here with—with ——”’ Mrs. Hollingshead was Icoking at Everett. She was so near that he could see the rings on her fingers and her face beneath her veil. “Mamma,” said Angela, “he didn’t use to look so badly. I hit a hornets’ nest, mamma.” “ Angela,” said Mrs. Hollingshead, ‘“‘come back with me this minute.” And Oh, THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “You needn't be so cross, mamma,” said Angela. “He's been over with the hornets so they wouldn't bite me.” But Mrs. Hollingshead did not understand. She never even tried to understand, when Everett spoke stumblingly, for his mouth was hard to open. “I was glad to do it, ma’am,”’ he said. Instinctively Mrs. Hollingshead placed her parasol be- fore her. Already Everett was a grisly sight. ““Who are you?” she asked. “I’m Everett Jenkins, ma’am.”’ “Oh,” said Mrs. Hollingshead, ‘“‘the real-estate man’s son. I should run on home now, if I were you.” That was all that Mrs. Hollingshead said—quite all. Everett stared at her with blinking eyes, and something was happening to his faith in worldly things. Mrs. Hollingshead had turned away, as though nothing had been left undone, and Angela had followed. They were retreating over the green turf, leaving him alone. “‘But, mamma,”’ Angela was saying, ‘‘don’t you under- stand ox And floating back to him came his one reward, Mrs. Hollingshead’s voice. “Of course,” said Mrs. Hollingshead; “but people like that don’t mind pain quite the way we do.” ai HAT was the beginning of something to be forgotten, but he never quite forgot. In those days it was hard to forget the Hollingsheads, and Southwest Inlet was too small. Twice a day the Hollingshead station wagon would go whirling down the street with a pair of bay pacers tug- ging at the reins. Mr. Hollingshead himself used to drive them, with a groom on the seat behind. “There they go!” people would whisper. “There goes Hollingshead! See the feller on the back seat? Lookit! He’s got a feather in his hat!’’ Those were the deys when they used to go, brilliant and beautiful in the sun. Those were the days when the Hoi- lingsheads were distinctly the Hollingsheads, when they kept ten servants indoors and at least eight more outside. “There goes Hollingshead!” they used to say. ‘‘ Lookit! See him cut the corner? Golly, don’t he go!” Now, when there’s not a horse left to take the road and the automobiles go past in an endless, tireless line where once hoofs slapped out their rhythm, even now the Inlet remembers sometimes. “Don't you wish,” an old man sometimes says, “that Hollingshead would go by? Funny—remember? It used to seem like he was always racing.”’ j That was Mr. Hollingshead—always, always racing, whether he drove the station wagon or the wagon of his destiny. But no one ever knew that all the while Everett Jenkins was plodding on behind. By the time that Everett Jenkins got through high school, Mr. Hollingshead was not the only one who drov to the morning train. A vanguard of commuters was already beginning to arrive, and sharp-faced city-clad men were buying plots around the golf club, and sometimes as many as four or five automobiles would draw up with the carriages beside the station platform. Times were already changing. The tide already was coming in when Everett met the Hollingsheads again. Everett Jenkins was eighteen by then, with something about him that one began to notice without knowing exactly why; something in his face and in his frame and in the set of his eyes and mouth. Already he was the sort that one picked out for work, half consciously, as though some destiny had marked him with capacity to carry. It may have been that and nothing more, that indefinable attribute which the sons of Martha bear, which made Angela remember him one afternoon when she was riding Everett heard her horse coming behind him and stepped aside from the dusty road. It was a long while since he had seen her; but when she stopped, in spite of all that had happened since, it was strange how the years rolled back “Hello,” said Angela. She had on a black riding habit which was buttoned very tight. Her hair, still straight and unruly, was done up in a club behind. She had grown until she was almost as tal! as he, but somehow she was still the same. She was sitting sidesaddle, with her foot swaying quickly in the stirrup, looking at him as unembarrassed as though she had spoken to him yesterday instead of five years before. “Hello,” she said. ‘‘Don't you remember me? I'm the girl you caddied for, don’t you remember?” “Yes,” said Everett slowly. ‘“‘Oh, yes, I remember.” It was strange how clearly it came back to him. He felt her eyes on him and felt his face grow red. “Give me your hand,” said Angela. “You're walking toward town, aren't you? I might as well get off and walk too.” Irresolutely Everett looked at her, and Angela smiled (Continued on Page 66) f\. Van OuREA — “But You Don't Hate Me Now." It Was Too Fanciful for Truth. Was There Any Wonder His Voice Trembied When He Answered

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“Oh, Fred" She Bxctaimed, Her Hand Upon His'Arm. foundation of his toilet, walking around the room in an old silk dressing gown which was rather short, perhaps, but otherwise of undeniably smart lines, he little dreamed of the things which were going to happen to him before he went to bed that night. This, of course, is true of nearly al! of us; but as you will presently see it was particularly true of Major Browning as he started to dress himaeif that morning And so he set about his task unsuspectingly—one might even say innocently-—laying out a fresh shirt upon the bed, changing his cuff links, putting his garters in a clean pair of hose, taking his trousers to the window—a black pair with delicate gray stripes—to make sure that they were free from wrinkies. Here the major’s innocence disap- peared, at least temporarily, for thinking that a slight baggi- ness existec around the knees, he laid the trousers over the back of a chair, unlocked his trunk and noiselessly drew out first a short ironing board, which he wasn’t supposed to have; and then a small electric iron, which was most dis- tinetly contraband in Mrs. McKenna’s boarding, house. This tron he connected to the socket of his reading lamp, and when it was sufficient!y hot he dampened a cloth in the pitcher of bis washbow!, wrung it out till it was nearly dry, and started work upon his trousers. If you had beer there then you might have suspected that the major was in his element, so engrossed, so satisfied he seemed to be in his work, bringing the iron down and wriggling it around with a pressure that almost had affec- tien in it, and lifting the cloth from time to time with breathless interest te see what was happening beneath. But for all his attention to his work, he wasn’t so absorbed that he didn't hear Mrs. McKenna’s door open and shut at the ether end of the hall, and as though by magic he whisked the board to the back of his wardrobe and hid the iron by placing it in his empty washbasin and carelessly draping a towe! over it. “Is she going toe rap, I wonder, or is she going pahst?” he breathed; and although en the one hand he knew he would have to be careful how he opened the coor because of the shortness of his dressing gown, on the other hand he gave his mustache a good quick twizzle—an ove: hanging mustache it was, gray, and with a military droop; one of those mustaches which suddenly assumes importance when iow major was dressing himself; and as he laid the THE LL DRESSED UP ILLUSTRATED RALPH PALLEWN COLEMAN the voice behind it says “I was having my bahth at hahf pahst eight this morning.” Mrs. McKenna’s step came nearer, nearer, and then passed by, although for a moment it seemed to hesitate outside his door; and when he was satisfied that his land- lady had gone downstairs the major resumed his ironing, glancing now and then at Mrs. McKenna’s picture, which held the place of honor on his dresser—the picture of a plump little lady who looked as though, in her youth, she might have spoken with a lisp; the picture of a lady who apparently still had her coy moments, and whose name the major had been trying to change for the past three. years. “Funny how stubborn they can be,’’ he thought as he glanced at the photograph again before putting the iron away. ‘The devil himself seems to be in them at times. Once bit, twice shy, though, I suppose. You never can tell what their Number Ones were like.” He went on dressing then—black silk hose and patent- leather shoes, the immaculate shirt duly crowned by a stand-up cullar and one of those ties, slightly puffed, which in simple justice can only be called cravats. Then came the striped trousers, a black waistcoat and a morning coat—a coat of a dull rich black which was cut with a most exquisite curve all the way from the two lapels to the sides of the tail, the latter coming down to the backs of the knees. And then—and not till then—the major put on his spats; dark gray spats which had been tailored as pre- ciously as the coat; spats which were at once a sartorial benediction and a climax beyond which the art of gentle- men’s dress could no further possibly go. “There!” he thought, giving himself a final look in the mirror before descending. ‘I think she would have to goa rahther long way to beat it, even though I say it myself!” Whether or not by this he was referring to Mrs. Mc- Kenna, if you had been there when he went downstairs to his breakfast you might well have marveled how the widow—how any widow in fact—could have resisted the major, so striking, so imposing, so every inch the gentle- man he looked; although, of course, if you had known of certain arrearages of board which were continually rising and falling between the major and Mrs. McKenna—rising and falling like the tides of the sea, though generally nearer the flood than the ebb—you might have had some clearer understanding of the matter. SATURDAY EVENING POST “If You Onty Knew How Pleased I am to See You!" December 13,1924 =By George Weston “‘Good morning,”’ said the major in his dignified voice as he entered the dining room. “Good morning.” “Morning.” “‘G’morning, major.” The younger ones often joked about him behind his back, but on the quiet they were ali a bit proud of him and the tone which he imparted to Mrs. McKenna’s boarding house. And yet, you know, there was something utterly absurd about it—a gentleman like the major in a boarding house! Instead of this stuffy basement in one of New York’s innumerable side streets, he should have been breakfasting in some baronial hall in War- wickshire, some princely chateau on the Loire, some enchanted terrace on an Alpine lake—at Lugano, for instance, or even Stresa at a pinch. One might even have thought that thiswas why the major sighed to him- self when Leila brought him a sad-looking orange and a knife that was none too sharp. But it wasn’t of the orange; or, more largely, it wasn’t of his breakfast at all that the major was thinking. He was thinking, and frown- ing, of Tomlinson. “If that old fool would only die, as he ought to have died yeahs ago,” the major was telling himself, “I'd soon settle up with Mrs. McKenna, and then I could talk to her-—ah— ah—as she properly ought to be talked to, and no more nonsense about it!” But Tomlinson, as though for spite, was still hanging on; if anything, was growing more youth- ful, more alert—yes, even more handsome, with his ruddy face and silvery white hair. Indeed, it was said at Prince & Banion’s that he had lately been seen dancing at Rochambeau’s with a girl who was young enough to be his granddaughter, and that no one there was shaking a sprightlier foot than he. “Damned old fool!”’ thought the major. ‘“ Dahncing at his time of life, and—ah—ah—running around with chippies!” Mrs. McKenna came in then and took the chair by his side, looking as though she might easily become coy right then and there, for which perhaps the shortness of her nose and the length of her lashes were at least partly responsible. “Well?” she said, smoothing down her lap a bit before she draped her napkin over it. “A beautiful morning,” said the major, “and you are looking as chahming as ever, I see.” “Now, major,” she said, shaking her finger as widows sometimes will, “I have a mirror in my room, and I know how old I look.” “That may be true,” said the major gallantly, “but I know how young you make me feel.”’ And, indeed, she had that highly desirable effect upon him; he was only speaking sincerely. But when you owe a lady forty-seven dollars and fifty vents for board it is hard at times to get her to take you seriously. She is more in- clined perhaps to think that she is receiving compliments in lieu of cash, and that unless she is careful each sweet speech will cost her so much a word. This at least was what the major thought—a guess which brought him again to the unreasonable longevity of Tomlinson. So with one thing and another, it wasn’t with any too blithe a spirit that he finally picked up his hat and stick and sallied forth to do his daily battle with the world. The street outside was as shabby as the house which he had just left; but the mement the major stepped out on the sidewalk he shone like a diamond in a tarnished ring, so that you forgot the setting for looking at the stone. Beau Brummell on a stroll from his chambers, Mr. Turveydrop about to show himself in the park—these are the more famous ones whom you might have recalled if you had seen the major then, especially when the cop at the corner saluted him as he turned into Fifth Avenue with the lordly air of ownership, as though the place belonged to him and he had come to get the rent.

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Early shoppers looked at him, probably wondering which of the Vanderbilts he was. Young clerks who prided themselves upon the cut of their clothes regarded him studiously, as apprentice stonemasons might gaze at the Cathedral of Milan. In the distance loomed the depart- ment store of Prince & Banion, and surely if he only owned one, just one, of the properties on the Avenue, this was the place that ought to have belonged to the major. There was the same class, the same dignity, the same perfection of appearance in them both. Indeed, it was almost sacrilege that when the major reached it he had to go around the corner and walk in through a doorway marked Employes’ Entrance. But bread and butter is bread and butter, and in the major went, disappearing for a time from public view, but presently reappearing on one of the upper floors, hatless now and without his cane, a fitting high priest to serve the gods of fashion in Prince & Banion’s Gentlemen’s Own Shop, which—as the opening announcement had stated years before—‘‘was not to be mistaken for the stereotyped men’s department of the average large store, but was rather an Aggregation of Smaller Shops where Gentlemen of Exclusive Tastes will be strongly reminded of Bond Street and Certain Restricted Areas of the Rue de la Paix.” The major began to busy himself at one of the clothing cabinets. Tomlinson evidently hadn’t arrived yet. At least he wasn’t fussing around all over the floor, as he gen- erally was on a Monday morning: “‘Now, gentlemen, we must have a banner week this week. We are out to break all records with a bang!”’ No, Tomlinson wasn’t there yet; but Rogers was there. Trust Rogers for never being late—he, the only possible rival to the major if anything ever happened to Tomlinson. Presently the elevators began to grind out their daily grist of customers, and still Tomlinson didn’t come. Ex- traordinary! The major’s pulse went up a beat. Perhaps the old boy was sick at last. Perhaps that—ah—ah—that chippy at Rochambeau’s had been too much for him. It was young Bellamy who brought the news. Young Bellamy was really there for local color, being dressed like an English buttons and having beer. picked for his red cheeks and trusting appearance. But he was useful for running errands around the store; and it was from one of these excursions to the basement that he came hurrying back to the Gentlemen’s Own Shop and could hardly wait for the elevator to stop before he blurted out his news. “Mister Tomlinson’s just been brought in dead!” he gasped to the major. “Brought in dead?” repeated the major, not far from gasping himself. ‘“‘Are you sure, Bellamy?” “Yes, sir! Horse-radish truck knocked him down on Forty-eighth Street, and they say it was heart disease *cause there’s hardly a mark on him. They got him laid out now in the basement, and I just seen his feet stretching out from under the sheet, and his nose sticking up under- neath the cloth and everything!” The major’s first reflection was peculiar. “Thank God, I put on a clean shirt this morning!"’ he told himself. But his next thought was more intelligible, and reflects a truth so old that a Latin proverb of great antiquity is largely built around it. “Poor old Tomlinson!’’ he sighed. “A fine old boy! A shame to think he had to go like that.” mu HE clown must laugh and the mourners dine and the world roll on its appointed course, though Tomlinson or a dozen Tomlinsons are suddenly started on the great ad- venture. And so at Prince & Banion’s the elevators kept coming up to the Gentlemen’s Own Shop and grinding out their daily grist of customers—customers who never sus- pected that where two or three clerks were gathered to- gether they were paying tribute to one who had recently been Tomlinson, and now was who you will. But after all, he couldn’t have lived forever; and soon, inevitably, the question of his successor arose. “I suppose it’ll be the major,’”’ whispered Wiley of the Little Shop devoted to Golf Toggery, ‘or do you think that Rogers has a chance?” A question, this last, which was beginning to echo in the major’s own mind, “Rogers wouldn’t do though,” he tried to persuade him- self while showing a customer the latest thing in tweeds; “not the type; not the personality. A good salesman—a fairly good salesman—yes. But not impressive enough; not hahf impressive enough for floor manager.” He looked over at Rogers, who was also busy with a clothing customer— Rogers, the slow, the cautious, his eyes twinkling behind his spectacles—more of a glitter though than a twinkle, the major always thought. A neat dresser—a fairly neat dresser—-but oh, absolutely not to be spoken of in the same breath as the major! “Too much teeth, too, when he smiles,”’ thought the latter, bringing out one of the latest effects in invisible herringbones—-a beautiful thing. “Always reminds me somehow of a mugful of porcelain.” Glancing over again at his rival then, he caught Rogers looking at him—caught both the glitter and the teeth. “Old fool!” thought the major, bristling. ‘Does he think he can scare me, showing his teeth like that?” Apparently Rogers’ customer also expressed a desire to see something in tweeds, for Rogers came over to the cabi- net from which the major was drawing and, as luck would THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 1 have it, they both took hold of the same suit. The next moment, if you had been there, they might have reminded you of two fine old bulls that had already lifted their tails and were about to paw the earth at each other —of two noble old rams that would rather lock horns than eat Indeed, there is no telling what might not have happened if Rogers’ customer hadn’t simplified the situation by say ing, “No, I don’t care for these; let’s see some serges.”’ “Thank you,” said Rogers to the major, before trotting his customer off to see the serges. “Not at all,” said the major. I’m sure.” That had hardly passed off when the general manager stepped out of the elevator—-a heavy-lidded, quickly mov- ing, baldheaded little man. It is doubtful if any of the customers knew who he was; but oh, didn't the clerks know! A sudden hush seemed to fall upon them who were waiting on customers. The general manager walked quickly forward from the elevator—emissary of destiny and footman of fate. From under his heavy lids he glanced at Rogers and Rogers’ pulse quickened. He glanced at the major then, who was waiting to give a customer his change, and thé major nervously smoothed his drooping mustache. The customer went and the general manager advanced to the majer, Triumph walking by his side and Fortune clashing her golden cymbals just behind him. “Very sad about Tomlinson,” said the general manager almost under his breath. “Yes, yes, very sad,” said the major, and wished with all his heart that he could think of something better. “I've just sent him home—to his brother's, where he lived. No family, I’m glad to say.” He hurried back to the elevator then, not even giving Rogers another glance. The major regarded the promo- tion as good as made; and it was soon apparent that the other clerks did too. In the afternoon Rogers was missing for more than half an hour, and at first the major thought that he had gone home to hide his chagrin. But he hadn't He came back at last with cheeks slightly flushed, and instead of going to the Gentlemen's Suitings, where he be- longed, he took up Tomlinson's old position near the ele vator entrance—not only that, by heaven, but if he didn’t begin receiving the customers, drawing them to him, as Tomlinson used to do, by an inquisitorial lift of the eye brows, and then briskly commanding, ‘Silk underwear yes, sir. Oh, Mr. Hirschman, if you’re not busy. Silk underwear for this gentleman, please!” “What the devil? What the devil?” muttered the major to himself, feeling the whole world slipping under his feet. (Continued on Page 104) “Oblige you any time even those The Old Router’s Heart Beat With Pride, and He Read the Stories Over and Quer While He Ate His Breakfast

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MAN by the name of Mancini, who t owned a steam sawmill, bought a tract of well-grown spruce on the Georges River in the below Fraternity. He hought it from Wiiky Por terson, who had heired the valley ILLUSTRATED ar THE SATURDAY EVENING POST By Ben Ames Williams KOERNER w. H. a. December 13,1924 ljOUS do anything—cook, wash, sweep, sew. You will see how she makes little pieces of lace out of threads, so carefully. Always doing something. Yes, she is a fine little girl.” Mrs. Dunkin sniffed and said forbiddingly, ‘ Well, land upon his father’s death thirty years or 80 before, and who lived in Bangor; «© the village knew nothing f th until Mancini came to look over the ground with a view to harvesting the trees. The river at this point is of fair depth, and has an equable current as far as the mill pond a mile or two below; and Mancini decided that the simplest method would he to float his logs down this stream, setting up his to receive them at a point near the road. He secured from Farr Dunkin permission to install his mill on the margin of the river at the foot of Farr's pasture Mancini was a pleasant gross-fleshed man in his middle years with a heavy mustache, its black streaked with iron gray, and an ap pealing mop of gray hair above his swarthy counte- nance. He had an ingratiat- ng manner, and he talked te Mra. Dunkin so pride- fully about his daughter that she was persuaded to take Mancin! and the girl to board during the period of the lumberman'‘s oper- ations Mancini's exotic appear- ance interested her, and the fact that he had a daughter upon whom he quite o- viously bestowed all his affection appealed to her sympathy. That these alien figures shou!4 come to dwell fer a while in her stiff old New England farmhouse did not seem to her incon- gruous; she was inclined to look forward to theér stay with an active antici- pation Mancini spoke of his daughter as “my little girl,”’ and this led Mrs. Dunkin to think of her as a child. transaction mili I’m sure that’s very nice.” She was wondering whether this was all part of a plot against Ned; but for the life of her she could not remember whether Mancini had seen the young man on his former visit to the farm. At any rate, she de- cided, she could not turn them out tonight. It was late, they were doubtless hungry; she had a fowl cooking and no one to eat it, and there was nowhere else for them to go. The Dunkin house was an old one, and more ca- pacious than the usual farm dwelling thereabouts. In winter, only two or three rooms were in use; the others remained sealed and cold. But in the summer- time, when there was no problem of heating, it was possible to use them all. Mrs. Dunkin put Mancini in a room on the second floor, and his daughter be- yond him; and she stood near with inscrutable and forbidding curiosity while the girl opened her bag and began to unpack her be- longings. They were, Mrs. Dunkin observed, immac- ulate and perfectly kept; and she went downstairs to the kitchen already a little softened. Bianca came down a few moments later and helped with the preparation for supper. She did not ask what she could do. If she had done so, Mrs. Dunkin would have protested that she go into the other room and sit down. But the girl stood for a moment survey- ing the scene, and then found tasks for her hands. Mrs. Dunkin grudgingly admitted to herself that the girl was handy and helpful She had always regretted the fact that she had no daughter, for a daughter is company upon a lonely farm. She and Farr had only their son Ned; but though Mrs. Dunkin held him above all the world, it was, nevertheless, true that he had to be much abroad about the duties of the farm, and she saw him only at meals or while he worked at household chores, or in the evenings around the lamp Farr Denkin was a mild and gentle man and Mrs. Dun- kin had little of the harshness which is so often an attribute of the women of such a community, so Ned had grown up as a mild and gentle boy. He was now a mild and gentle young man; a young man better than six feet tall, with a lean and adequate strength. But his eyes were softly blue and his cheek was as fresh and smooth and as deli- eately colored as that of the loveliest girl, and his light beard, smoothly razored, failed to mar its texture. His fair hair was curly, and since it was infrequently cut, it was apt to tangle itself into a glinting mass upon his head. He might fairly have been called beautiful, and this word, when applied to a man, is more apt than not to be a term of opprobrium. But to the eyes of his mother he was a treasure which she jealously protected; and if Mancini had been a little more particular in his description of his daughter, it is un- iikely that Mrs. Dunkin would ever have agreed to take the man and the girl to board She and the Young Man, as the Summer Progressed, Had Become More and More Friendly For when Mancini and his little girl drove into the farm- yard, this daughter—her name was Bianca— proved to be a young woman of an extraordinary and lustrous beauty. Her heavy dark hair had a sheen like satin, and her eyes were black velvet, and her tawny skin bloomed like a rose, and her lips were a red curve of delight. She had that maturity of figure so often an attribute of the women of her race; and the light dress she habitually wore, awk- wardly cut enough, accentuated rather than dimmed its radiance. Her voice, when she spoke to Mrs. Dunkin, was slow and rich and touched with a faint accent; this for all the precision of her speech, which testified to the fact that Mancini had given some pains to her education. Ned was busy in the lower field at the time of their arrival; and Mrs. Dunkin had a period of frantic thought, in which she strove to find some pretext for changing her mind and refusing them the hospitality for which Mancini had bargained. But she got no further than to say disapprovingly to the man, “Seems to me your daughter is quite a young woman, for a little girl, Mr. Mancini.” The lumberman beamed, his face widening in a broad smile. “She is a fine girl, Bianca,” he exclaimed, as though Mrs. Dunkin had meant to praise her. “Yes, you are right, ma'am. And she'll be a help to you too. Oh, Bianca can and ready with a pleasant smile when a body spoke to her. Ned came in a few minutes before the meal was ready; came in through the shed from the barn with a pail of milk, his garments saturated with the odor of the barn and his boots begrimed. Bianca observed him with a faintly amused attention; and when Mrs. Dunkin formally pre- serited them to each other, the girl smiled again. Farr ; Dunkin and Mancini were talking beside the lamp in the dining room and Mrs. Dunkin led Ned in to shake hands with the lumberman. The young man was ill at ease; he knew as well as another that his presence offended sensi- tive nostrils, and his confusion was so great that he scarcely looked at Bianca or her father at all. When the presenta- tions were accomplished, he changed his boots and overalls and washed his face and hands in the pan in the sink. The fact that Bianca was in the kitchen during this operation made him blush from heels to head; and the girl saw that his ears were red, and hummed an amused littie tune under her breath. For all her poise and dignity of manner, she was not oblivious to these manifestations, nor unused to them. The supper was a stiff and formal occasion. Mancini did most of the talking that was done, Farr Dunkin oc- casionally arguing a point with him, taking the opposite side with that instinct for contradiction which is so strong in any man conscious of his own inferiority. Mrs. Dunkin

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 13 did the honors, with an occasional “ Would you help your- self to the beet pickle, Mr. Mancini?” “Can I help you to any more fowl, Mr. Mancini?”’ Farr Dunkin could never carve a chicken, so Mrs. Dunkin always presided at their board. After the dishes were done, they all sat for a little while, and then Bianca suggested to her father that they had best go to bed. Mrs. Dunkin lighted lamps and showed them the way upstairs. After Mrs. Dunkin came back down, she overheard the indubitable sound of the girl’s persistent and joyous laughter overhead; and this created in her a curious uneasiness, a curiously guilty feeling that the two must be laughing together at her, or at her husband, or at Ned. This suspicion roused her pride. She no longer thought of sending her lodgers away. She would keep them at least until they learned a proper respect for decent people! Mancini was, during the next week or ten days, ex- tremely busy. He departed after breakfast and seldom returned till nightfall. Bianca stayed at the house, quietly effective and ingratiating; and Mrs. Dunkin found herself compelled to a reluctant liking for the girl. Mancini had not overpraised his daughter. She took the task of setting the house to rights quite off the older woman’s hands; and Mrs. Dunkin, after testing mantelshelves and chair rungs for dust day after day, conceded that the girl was thor- ough. Once or twice she protested at the other’s activities. “There’s no call for you to work,” she said one day. “Your paw’s paying your board, you know.” Bianca smiled, with that flash of white teeth which al- ways by contrast accentuated the brilliancy of her coloring. “But if I do no work, then I am idle,” she protested, “and that is an unpleasant thing to be.” “T declare,”” Mrs. Dunkin confessed, “I thought you and your paw might be more work than I can stand; but seems to me I have an easier time than before you come.” She found, indeed, that she had time on her hands. Bianca was never idle; when there were no other tasks for her, she was busy with fine needlework, of a delicacy that fascinated and delighted the older woman. Mrs. Dunkin found it pleasant to have someone whom she could talk to when she chose; and Bianca seemed willing to listen and to respond with those half-formed phrases which indicate un- derstanding and sympathy and fan the conversational flame. By the time the mill had been installed, down by the river, half a mile from the house, Mrs. Dunkin and the girl had reached an almost friendly footing. During this period, also, Ned had somewhat recovered from his first affright at this stranger in his home. Bianca inevitably found him attractive to look upon; she spoke to him now and then, led him into conversation, curious to discover whether he had an inner charm to match his outward beauty. She was discreetly impersonal in these advances, quick to take warning from the stiffening of posture with which Mrs. Dunkin marked her disapproval. Nevertheless, she managed to put Ned more at his ease with her, and once she succeeded in making him smile, and once she led him to laugh aloud by her comment on the oddity of the figure of a neighbor, passing in his wagon. It is true that he cut this laugh off short as though it were an offense; but if the thing were a sin, the sin was done and no recalling it. So while Bianca won Mrs. Dunkin, she also won Ned; and at the end of a week she had his dumb devotion. On her part, she liked Ned; but she appraised the young man with a good deal of accuracy. One night after she and her father had gone upstairs, Mancini asked her shrewdly, “Is that young man down there, that Ned now—is he crazy about you yet, little one?” Bianca smiled. “He is very nice,” she replied; ‘‘but nice like a piece of sugar; so beautiful and so soft. I do not believe there is any fire in that young man at all.” “He is strong,”’ said Mancini. “‘I saw him help us move a timber today. Very strong, yes.” “Strong for lifting great logs, perhaps,”’ she agreed, looking at her father sidewise with mischief in her coun- tenance. ‘‘ But there are other uses for strong arms—or so I am told.” He cuffed her good-humoredly on the ear, like a great bear admonishing a cub. “Behave yourself better, young woman,” he warned her. “That is not the sort of talk that comes weil from a girl who has been convent-bred.” “How do you know what they teach in a convent?” she demanded, head on one side. “And besides, if you beat me, I shall undoubtedly run a knife between your ribs one day, my papa so fat.” “Then your papa will spank you as he used to do,” he retorted. ‘‘ Now go away to bed so an old man can sleep.” It was Farr Dunkin who was originally responsible for the coming of the Mancinis; lhe who had agreed to the in- stallation of the mill, and who had persuaded Mrs. Dunkin that they could board Mancini and his daughter. But like most weak men, he had a habit of complaint; and when he found that Mrs. Dunkin and Ned on the one hand, and Mancini and his daughter on the other, were settling into a comfortable enjoyment of the arrangement, he sought to pick flaws. He said more than once, wagging his head, that things were not coming out as he had thought they might; and he predicted vague and undefined misfortunes. When Mancini’s crew came and built two shanties in the edge of the wood lot beyond the pasture, he declared that. this was the disaster he had foreseen. There could be no doubt that Mancini’s men were un- prepossessing. There were three of them, and they bore the inhuman names of Kollock and Wrench and Squeb. The fact that under Mancini’s driving direction they per- formed miracles of labor, did in a day tasks that would have occupied Farr Dunkin for a week, could not mitigate the circumstance that they were unpleasant neighbors. Kollock was a huge, broad, dark-skinned, silent brute, with a face which seemed to have been pressed tegether from top and bottom, so that his nose popped out in a pig- like fashion above his moth-eaten mustache; and his eyes were small and beady and his hair grew low across his brow. Wrench, who handled the team of horses used to drag heavy timbers or logs, was smaller than Kollock, and fair-haired; but his face was pock-marked, his right eye distorted by a scar so that he seemed to squint, and his (Continued on Page 98) And at First They Stood Before the Girl Like Culprits, Onty Wrench Venturing to Defend Himself Against Her Reproaches

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14 THE JENINE SATURDAY EVENING POST December 13,1924 WHAT? Bolshevism and Business—By Isaac F. Marcosson “§ROM nationalizaton of industry to the matter of if imports and exports is a natural step. It means that in this appraisal of Russia we have reached another significant soviet milepost set up in the Foreign Trade Monopoly. Though it shows Bolshevik endeavor at its best, there is at the sarne time the usual clumsy bureau- eracy, the chronic artificiality of support that marks busi- under communist rule, and, what is more characteristic, the utilization of every government agency for political purposes Amazing as industry, they constitutes Bolshevist procedure Ness have been the revelations of finance and are eclipsed by the jig-saw puzzle which international economic relations. An essential part of this complex is the finest little business brace game of modern times, otherwise known as the Russian concession. No reasons, all typical of the soviet mentality, which is just another name for evasion, subterfuge and misdirection. First of all, Russian trade without an iron stewardship, backed up in turn by all the tyranny which is synonymous with the political dictatorship, would be at the mercy of individual efficiency and enterprise. A few well-organized firms, employing ordinary free merchandising methods, could put the whole government scheme out of commission, once given the chance. Hence the imperative need of a copper-riveted monopoly which dictates terms and puts fear into the heart of those who oppose its path. The second reason is that through the trade monopoly all foreign political policies are tied up with whatever soviet economic penetration goes on in outside countries. The third reason lies in the opportunity afforded by the artificial manipulation of exports to create a good im- pression abroad. As you will presently see in detail, the operations in grain—and to a much lesser degree in other products—which gave the government its much advertised favorable trade balance have been nothing more or less than a piece of jugglery that violates every sound economic principle. The fourth involves the all-important element of price fixing. If you know anything about the nationalization of Russian industry, you also know that the cost of pro- duction, due to general inefficiency, duplication of effort and factory slacking, is abnormal. If Nature took its course, as it were, Russian products could not begin to compete with German, American or British goods in the markets of the world. other similar proposition anywhere ap proaches it in richness of diverting detail. It is as elusive as the whereabouts of the Fountain of Youth or the secret of per petual motion Soviet foreign trade falls into three periods. The first extended from late i817, when the Bolsheviks came into power, until 1921 During this epoch of militant communism, when civil war and blockade reigned, exports went al- moat to zero. Ail the resources of the country were engaxed in a desperate struggle to consolidate the Bolshevist ! rue With the advent of the New Economic Policy and the London Trade Agreement in 1921 began the second era, during which the Bolsheviks entered upon a cam- paign for recognition, trade agreements and credits with which to build up a atreng economic foundation for their socialist state. The Foreign Trade Mo- nopoly, under which exports reached their apex, was the principal by-product of this cycle Vaneshtorg for Short YOLLOWING the conference fiascoes at Genoa and The Hague in 1922 came the third and present phase, in which the Bolsheviks threw recognition as a com- mercial bargaining asset to the winds and mobilized most of their efforts on a hunt for cash abroad. This offensive continues, as the Anglo-Russian Treaty, entered into last August by Ramsay MacDonald, During the past two years a fal- lacious favorable trade balance has been maintained at the expense of both the pocketbook and the appetite of the peo- ple-—mainly the peasants at home. It is worth adding that during al! the three cycles of soviet trade, the principal ex- port all along has been pernicious prop- aganda. Clearly to understand the manipula- tion of imports and experts for political shows, The Foreign Trade Monopoly makes the peasant, who is by far the principal con- sumer, pay for all this costly overhead in everything he buys, so that the output sold abroad, such as it is, can be brought down to something like a fair level for competitive purposes. The Big Seven IFTH and last is the invariable po- litical impulse which animates every soviet endeavor. To comprehend this, you must again be told that the big seven—Stalin, Zinoviev, Kamenev, Bu- kharin, Tomsky, Rykoff and Trotzky who rule Russia are able to do so because, as I pointed out in the preceding article, they occupy the commanding heights. These strategic points are the dictator- ship of the Communist Party, the na- tionalization of industry and the Foreign Trade Monopoly. The loss of any one of these positions would impair their mas- tery. Control of foreign trade and all its subsidiaries, therefore, is a link in a close- knit interlocking system which enables the government to impose its will. For a considerable period the Vnesh- torg carried on alone. With the expansion of the New Economic Policy, and particu- larly the resumption of economic relations with Germany and England, a subordi- nate agency—a state import and export trading office—Was established. It is more frequently referred to as the Gostorg, a contraction of the Russian words mean- ing gcvernment and trade. If the Vnesh- torg is compared with the Department of Commerce, then the Gostorg may be likened to the Bureau of Foreign and Domestic Commerce, save that it has more latitude. The Gostorg has a corporate form in that it has a capital of 30,000,000 gold rubles. Like the soviet industrial trusts, it has merely borrowed the terms of cap- italism, and for all practical, or imprac- tical, purposes is a tool of the Foreign ends--and this is the crux of the soviet foreign-trade policy — you must get some idea of the machinery engaged. The cen- tral institution is the so-called Commis- sariat for Foreign Trade, which is a branch of the govern- ment corresponding broadly with the Department of Com- merce in the United States. It has much more drastic powers and infinitely more authority, however. The head of the commissariat —the People’s Commissar for Foreign Trade, to give him his full title—sits in what we should call the cabinet. The commissariat—called, for short, Vneshtorg, from two Russian words meaning foreign and trade—controls all foreign business. it exercises a complete monopoly on exports and imports and establishes what amounts to a peaceful blockade. No alien government or individual can do business in Russia without operating through it. It names and directs al! the soviet trade delegations overseas, allocates raw materiais whether for sale or for the nation- alized industry, issues trading licenses, appoints regional economic committees and is the arbiter of grain exports, which constitutes the bulk of soviet business abroad. Why this monopoly? There are various illuminating COPYRIGHT BY IZNESTIA, MOSCOW The Third Internationale Receiving a Flag of the Paris Commune, Left ta Kalinin, President of Soviet Russia. In the Center is Cost, the French Communist Delegate Who Brought the Flag. At Extreme Right—on Top—is Enukydze Every soviet trade delegation camouflages a propaganda offensive. I can best-—or worst—illustrate this with what has come to be known as the Berlin episode. During the spring of 1924 a particularly dangerous German communist sought by the police took refuge in the offices of the Bolshevik trade delegation in the German capital. Disregarding his plea that he was on foreign soil, they broke into the premises, took him prisoner and made a thorough search of the establishment. They found in- disputable evidence that Moscow was not only financing but helping to arm the German Communist Party with a view of bringing about a revolution. I might add that similar attempts are being made in France and England, to say nothing of Egypt and India. If the truth were known, it would be disclosed that the Reds had a finger in the Chinese war which began in September, especially in connection with the activities of Chang-tso-lin, the war lord of Manchuria. The utter demoralization at Canton is entirely due to Red agitation. On Top at Extreme Trade Monopoly, which guides the pol- icies. It specializes in the export of wheat, bariey, rye, oats, timber, flax, hemp, fur, hides, skins, bristles, butter and eggs. It imports cotton and wool, semimanufactured goods, technical equipment for factories, electric lamps and foodstuffs. Now for the third agency which figures prominently in the war on capital. It is the Commissariat for Internal Trade, formed during the spring of 1924, and is the link between the government and the sovietized codperatives. In backing up the codperatives it became one of the weapons brought to bear on private capital and enterprise. You may possibly recall that in my article on the New Economic Policy it was pointed out that, at the behest of the government, the All-Russian Central Union of Con- sumers’ Coéperatives instituted a boycott on all privately owned shops because they had garnered 85 per cent of the retail business. This menaced the communist structure. The codperative establishments, together with excessive rents, taxation and intimidation through the State Political Police, are all being employed to put the private dealer (Continued on Page 89)

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TR YY siaden seen that look on a woman’s face when she suddenly remembers forty miles away that she forgot to empty the pan of drip-water under the ice box? She looked like that. “Well, how about some nice roses, then? The Scott Key roses are that shade of red,’’ hopefully imparted the young man backgrounded by the season’s choicest floral offerings. For the third time the young lady in the velours hat shook her head and wildly eyed THE SATURDAY EVENING POST FIC IN SENTIMEN future plans and particularly where she'd be for the two weeks after she left Lucerne. Wasn’t there some way the florist ———- You see, her birthday happened to be on the twentieth of December. While the florist was cogitating on this one the telephone rang. A feminine voice on the other end of the wire wanted a rush center piece for a small luncheon she had suddenly decided to give. After the florist had offered several sug- gestions and the lady had finally everything in the glass case of the flower shop. ‘“Dahlias?’”’ suggested the young man. “Now we have some beautiful specimen dahlias in wine red——”’ Her smile be- came weakly pa- tient but violent. Then in desper- ation she made her confession. She wanted that light-red shade of chrysanthe- mums, and noth- ing else would do. The young man who had sent her the flowers would be at her home in half an hour. Not being aware he was coming at all, she had given ail the blooms to a friend who was having a party. Now she simply had to duplicate his gift, and have a vase of the same kind of flowers in the room when he called. ‘It’s really too early in the made her choice there was a pause. “And I hate to trouble you, but could you have two bottles of olives sent along? We haven’t a soul to send.” That same afternoon a young debutante called up, ap- pealingly asking what the florist thought would be funny in the way of floral fa- vors for a dinner they were giving as a joke to some boys. Oh, not really flowers, you know. An hour later there tripped up the seem a long and far-fetched way from the bubbling glass raised high, to so natural and unsullied an institution as the harvest of roses, daffodils, violets, and the like, which line the refrigerators of our blossom shops and make up our national industry of flowers. But the relation is not such a flimsy one as it may on the surface appear. In the old days it was nothing to have one Broadway beau order two thousand dollars’ worth of orchids or other blooms for one single party. There was somethirg in the expansive character of the evening festivities to come which mellowed all his plans beforehand. The sky was the limit when it came to decorations. Those were the days of the Oriental-garden effect upon which a host was willing to lavish thousands of dollars; of the miniature jungle copied with lavishness and care, with a living green carpet for jeweled slippers, and tropical birds to add their cadences to a mounting concatenation of conversations. That was the time when the cherry tree bloomed beside each snowy napkin. The host did not care what nor how. He wanted it to be beautiful and extravagant. What the Modern Florist Sells UT this era of the prince of a party giver haa passed. The days of the fine old spender are no more. The boot- leggers’ régime has not proved a gilded one as far as the old beauty and splendor of decoration are concerned. The former lavish type of metropolitan fioral business has passed on—even as Delmonico’s, Rector’s, Murray’s, Churchill's and other places of cherished memories have been relegated to a golden past. What has happened next, then, in the florists’ business? Selling sentiment to Americans may sound as chimerical a project as shooting a rocket to the moon. Yet this is one of our newest and most energetic industries. If you're interested in figures, here is a set: Americans bought senti ment this past year for a sum estimated at two hundred and fifty million PHOTOS. COPYAIGHT BY UNDERWOOU 4 UNDERWOOU, 4. ¥ seasonforthem,” said the sales- man. ‘‘But— please wait one minute. I will see whether I cannot locate some for you.” He stepped to a telephone, called a wholesale dealer in “mums.” The answer to the question put was negative; there were none of that variety coming into the cut-flower market of New York. A second call—to a New Jersey grower of odd varieties who disposed of his blooms direct to retailers. Yes, the grower had just beyan cutting a few daisy chrysanthemums—and he'd sold four bunches of that shade to a Madison Avenue shop that morning. A third tele- phone call revealed that this shop had two bunches left. “T’ll send right around for them’’—and as the salesman hung up the receiver a waiting boy dashed out a side door on his way to Madison Avenue. History Written in Flowers LITTLE later a comparatively calm young woman walked out of the store with a large box under her arm—still having ten minutes left of her desperate half hour. Inside the plate-glass window a young salesman metaphorically rubbed his hands and sighed a deep sigh of content. Count that day lost when the florist of today doth not do his six kind deeds. The other morning while all was comparatively quiet a youth with a Prince of Wales shirt came in and while pur- chasing a boutonniére made it known he knew a young lady who was traveling abroad. On the tenth of November, he confided, she would be in Paris, on the twenty-first of the month in Marseilles, on the thirtieth in Genoa, and on December tenth in Lucerne. And after that he didn’t know where she'd be and neither did she. Now what he wanted was to have something nice in the way of flowers in her hotel room in each one of these places when she arrived. But the big point was he wanted to find out her A Church Altar Ready for Easter. At Right — Society Women Assisting at a Flower Show steps of a resi- dence in the east fifties a messen- ; ger who bore a eo box containing a twelve old- : fashioned bou- quets made of theseason’sfair- est—vegeta- bles. With each were ribbons that swore at each other in the strong language of colors. Consider. the florist of today. He wears the flowing mantle of Romeo Mon- tague; he is the Ladies’ Aid So- q ciety and the tenth wonder of the business world, all rolled into one. He dollars. - . ; Ten years ago me : a » x if you asked the #; — > average florist make Pitt, Sas just what he was , ‘eee engaged in pur- veying he would without doubt have given you a mixed glance, wondered where the catch in the question lay and then answered, “Flowers.” To- day put this same query to any forward- going flora! mer- chant. He will after a moment i of thought re- al ply — well, how can man define that which Web- ster himself de- scribed only as a noble response of feeling? Shall he call it the mes- sage of the rose, the stuff dreams are made of, the love letter that need not be written, the kiss that is blown on the breath of a violet— yea, even the joke that need not be told” Well, anyway, the florist, the modern Quixote, will make it must be able to Gash off touch- ing little messages that will tell it all but never too much. He must be as funny as Ed Wynne if the trade de- mands it. And the worst of it is he likes it! The florist is writing business history. It is an open secret that prohibition has changed the character of the metropolitan florist business. It may known to you he is dealing in that There is a new heroine in the flower shop. Shall we call her Cinderella? She is the girl who comes in on her noon hour and lingers wistfully over the purchase of a single rose. She has taken the place of that famous Florabelle of the novels and the magazine stories who always sent her (Continued on Page 178)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST December 13,1924 Eimer Stared, Unbelieving, Outraged, at the Shameless Intrusion of Mrs. Shaw E'S see. I'll say, ‘Yes, sir, a man fixed Ly the way you are can’t afford to be without this here Little Giant Knitter, the machine that c’n turn out a sock quick- er’n a woman c’n darn one.’ I'll say Uncle Clem’s whisper of rehearsal faded into a pantomime of moving lips and hands. Elmer, sulkily glad to be thus relieved of his usual task of attempting, with predestined futility, to refute the printed argument, let the lines droop on the backs of the fly-blanketed horses and gave himself over to the luxurious and whole-hearted self-pity of his twelve years. He was sick of peddling. He held it responsible for the little puffs that seemed to explode at every plodding step of the team, for the fine haze of dust that hung ir: the still air and powdered the wayside grass and leaves to a hot parched yellow, for the monotohous, complaining clack and creak of the wheels, protesting against the heat that lay close and thick and heavy over the flat floor of the valley, walled in by the field-checkered hillsides. He blamed it for last night's unrestful slumber on a lumpy corn-husk bed just under the slant of a fiery tin roof, for a slovenly breakfast in a blazing kitchen, and, with the deepened bitterness of the new convert, for a social disadvantage of which, till yesterday, he had been blithely skeptical. He had always known, of course, that certain grown-up people saw something discreditable in Uncle Clem's en- gaging occupation. His mother had held strongly to this view, so that Elmer couldn't brag about Uncle Clem to the Ellersville boys whose fathers and uncles stayed ingloriously at home. Uncle Clem himself had sought to impress the notion on Elmer, reminding him that he was sprung of a proud race, the Bixbys, and that one of these days he would grow up to be something much better than a peddier. Until yesterday Elmer had listened tolerantly to such adult fallacies; grown-ups, even Uncle Clem, were ridiculously wrong about so many things that one error more or less wasn't worth disputing. TLLEUVUSTRATEO Br By Hugh MacNair Kahler ERNEST Even last night he hadn’t cared when the surly stranger who'd bought the old Henderson farm had roughly ordered them off the place instead of providing supper and bed. Such things had happened before and would happen again; it was a world mysteriously spotty and various, but in the main agreeable. He hadn't minded the dismal supper at the next house. He'd gone back light-heartedly enough, afterward, to inspect a likely swimming hole under a bridge, and met the boy and girl he’d seen standing in the doorway during that interview at Henderson’s. “G’on outa this, you thievin’, peddlin’ trash!” He could have licked the boy maybe, but it was the girl who yelled the loudest. He could hear her yet; she made a kind of a song of it, in a high, keen voice that followed him down the road. “Thievin’, peddlin’ trash!” Elmer scowled at the plodding hoofs and said it over to himself, as if he were addressing some other boy. The worst of it was that he’d kind of liked their looks; he'd been glad when he caught sight of them paddling in the shallows above the bridge. If he hadn’t been traveling in a pedéler’s van they’d have been friendly like as not. “Turn in yonder, Elmer.’’ Uncle Clem interrupted his rehearsal abruptly. ‘Might as well wash the van—best place for it we'll strike this side of Union.” Elmer nodded without speech and turned the team into a track of ruts between tall weeds. There was a pleasing feel of water in the breath of air that stirred through the thin shade of bass and popple, and the horses lifted their heads a little and seemed to hurry. They splashed through knee-deep shallows to a gravelly shoal. Elmer unhitched them, let them stand in the stream to drink with long, satisfied, sipping noises, tied them in the shade loosely enough to let them browse a little on young twigs, while he helped Uncle Clem wash down the van. Usually this was pure fun—better fun even than going swimming. You stood in cool water that lapped agreeably about your bare legs; you splashed it up on the dusty paint and saw the colors emerge, bright and new, and fade again almost as quickly as they came; you rubbed with a sopping cloth and again with a piece of shammy. Afterward you enjoyed your swim all the more for these preliminaries. But today Elmer’s pleasure was overcast and melan- choly, almost an added grievance. He kept thinking of those children back at the Henderson place. There was a reminder of the little girl’s high, spiteful voice in the hungry hum of the big red-headed horseflies that hovered over his bared shoulders, and: their bite was no more malicious than the sting of the remembered words. He slashed at them savagely with the dripping cloth. Thiev- ing, peddling trash! “Guess that’s more like it,’’ said Uncle Clem, standing back to behold the effect. “Ought to have done it yesterday. Sight of folks goes by looks, Elmer.’’ He rummaged under the seat and produced a cake of Skin- Shine, the Supersoap. “‘ Might as well make a good job of it while we're here.”’ Smeared in a plentiful and aromatic lather, Elmer plunged gloomily into the pool below the ford. Uncle Clem, having assembled the Jiffy Shaver, ministered to cheek and jaws with many experimental rubbings between scrapes. Resorting afterward to Skin-Shine and the pool, he produced the telescope which held his Sunday suit and Elmer’s. “Can't help being peddlers,” he announced, opening this, “‘but we don't have to go round lookin’ like tramps anyhow.” FUHR

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Dressing, still harried by the horseflies, Elmer saw with approval that Uncle Clem’s shirt was decently boiled and stiff of bosom, that the rubber collar above it glittered impressively in the sun, that, instead of the familiar black string tie, Uncle Clem withdrew from stock a daring new one, blue, with white spots. They hitched up gingerly and Uncle Clem drove out. Once beyond the shelter of the popples, the heat descended on them like a blanket and Elmer’s mild pleasure in his respectable attire gave way to a rational attitude toward its discomfort. “Hadn’t ought to ’ve got all dressed up,’ he said. “I’m roasting.” “Git used to it, I guess.’”” Uncle Clem twisted his neck unhappily in the embrace of the rubber collar. ‘“Can’t afford to go round lookin’ like gypsies anyhow.” He gave the lines to Elmer and resumed his study of the knitting-machine pamphlet. The van moved slowly through the deep dust toward the foot of the western hill, where Elmer could see the farmhouses scattered along the turnpike that drew a scar across its face; inviting home- steads, set in the grateful green of orchards and shading elms and maples. Elmer identified them from memory easily enough. The nearest one, at the corners where the flats road joined the pike, was Hub Massey’s, where they’d try to sell that knitter; the next one, on the way north, belonged to Mrs. Libby Shaw. Elmer’s eye slanted shrewdly at the sun. It was possible that they’d finish at Hub Massey’s in time to be at Mrs. Shaw’s by noon. A comforting thought of broiled chicken and young corn appeased his discontent, and his glance came back to Uncle Clem with a deepening respect. He wondered whether that same thought had prompted the van washing and the resplendent rubber collar. Broiled chicken and, conceivably, green-apple pie —— “It says something pretty good in here,”’ said Uncle Clem. “Never thought of it just that way before.” He read aloud from the canvass.

Every agent should bear constantly in mind that all the advantage of position lies with him, and should never fall into the absurd, dispiriting idea that the customer controls the situation. The agent might be likened to a general who approaches battle fully armed and ready, with a considered plan of attack, against an opponent who has had no warning. He is like a debater who has pro- vided himself in advance with every argument in favor of his cause, who has learned to refute every possible argu- ment against it; while the customer is like one who has had no notice that there is to be a debate, who knows nothing of its subject or of the arguments on either side, and who, besides, has had no training or practice in disputation. Under such conditions, surely, every ad- vantage lies with ——’”’ “Huh!” said Elmer darkly. “Man ’t wrote that never tried to sell goods to Mr. Massey. If he had I bet he'd own up ’t there was one customer 't had some practice at arguin’. Clean talk a body’s ear right off, Mr. Massey would!” Uncle Clem nodded. “Great hand to argue, Hub is, for a fact, but we make out to sell him somethin’ most every trip. One thing about Hub—he’ll always give you all the time you want. Leave him talk himself tired and you can sell him, same as anybody else.” Elmer frowned. If Hub Massey was going to talk himself tired this morning, there wouldn't be any question of broiled chicken and green-apple pie. They’d stay at Massey’s for dinner and have the truck that old bachelors lived on when they did their own cooking—baker’s bread and milk, mainly, fried ham if you were lucky! The prospect displeased Elmer as the van stopped in the shadow of Massey’s big white barn and the owner, riveting a broken tug strap in the tool room, gave them his customary greeting: “Might ’s well save your breath, Bixby. You couldn't sell me a gold dollar for thutty cents this morning.”

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 17

“Don’t carry 'em in stock,’’ said Uncle Clem, de scending; ‘but I got somethin’ 't you need a sight more Yes, sir, a man 't’s fixed the way you are just can’t afford to git along without one of these here Little Giant Knit- ters—machine ‘tll turn out a new sock quicker'n a woman c’n darn an old one. Yes, sir t “That shows you ain't thought much about it, Bixby,” said Massey. He emerged, carrying the half-repaired tug—a lean man, deeply sutt bitten, his melancholy mustache seeming to lift and stiffen with the joy of combat. “Shows you ain’t made a study of women the way | hev, or you wouldn't come tryin’ to tell me how quick they e’n darn a sock. Do it same as they go at everything shilly-shally and fuss and no git-thar, fiddlin’ round with a needle an’ a chiney egg, ‘stead of sewin’ the hole up sensible, same as a man would. No, sir * Elmer listened with a reluctant, critical approval of Mr. Massey’s technic. Uncle Clem had no chance to swim against the flow of speech that burst from him. It made Elmer think of the way the first rush went through the head race of a gristmill when the sluice gates were prized up. “ Absolutely c’rect, Mr. Massey. That's jest what I was tellin’ Elmer here, drivin’ over.’’ Uncle Clem had recourse, Elmer noted, to his favorite device of feigned agreement. “Yes, sir, I says to Elmer 't a man 't showed as good sense about womenfolks as you, Mr. Massey, 'd be mighty glad of a chance to git a first-rate knittin’ machine without havin’ to marry one.” He chuckled gently. Massey brushed the interruption aside. “Show’s you ain’t thought about it, Bixby, not deep, the way I hev. If it was jest a case of marryin’ a knittin’ machine, I'd 've got one a long spell back, same as a sight of men do ’t figure women ain’t changed since they was young. Figure they're gittin’ a good thing, same as it says in the Bible—not only a knittin’ machine but a whole (Continued on Page 117)

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His Affections Reached Out Strongly to Mrs. Libby Shaw as Her Neat, Generous Figure Appeared in the Doorway and Her Amiable, Deliberate Voice Greeted Him

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S iT says in that famous Dago poem A about heli that General Sherman wrote, ‘A friend in need don’t stay that way if you are a friend at ail’’---or something Anyways, act- TLLVU STRATED Br THE SATURDAY EVENING POST By Nina Wilcox Putnam LASSELL CHARLES December 13,1924 way only long enough to match a sample of Duck’s Teeth Crepe for ma. there was the aspirin sitting on the mourners’ bench, the same hat in the same hands, the same hope- ful grin on his face. ing on the poet’s advice ia how i come to rush right to Ai Goldringer when i got into that awful mess over Lady Viv- let Armington. On account I figured here is Al he’s starring me in the a good many years now, and what with my artistic tantrums, which, being a onscientious ac- treas, why I have had them at reg- ular intervals; with my hatred of publicity when | don’t get enough of it, my sudden bursts of intelligence when it comes to salary and et weil, | thought, if Al Goldringer don't understand and sympathize with me in this rible crisis in my life, why my name ain't Marie La Tour; and any- ways, he'd better littie in- my troubles; he's got a half-million contract with me this year and if L decided to have & success- been pietures ter- take a terest in dollar ful nervous amash instead of a Rete “You see, I’ve lost no time tak- ing your advice,” he says, getting up and bowing when I made my entrance. ‘I’m trying Goldringer again.” “T'll bet you are!’’ I says. “Trying him be- yond endur- ance!”’ With which crack I walked right on into the private office, to which I had blane mange, as the French say, at all hours. Inside was Al, the usual amount of cigar in the regular place, and from around it he let out a grunt. “Shut the door quick!”’ he says. “There is a pest outside, a boy that ain’t got no home. I’ll have to be buying a new bench already if he don’t quit soon. How are you? Sit down.” “Oh, Al, I’ve come to make trouble for you,” I says. “Trouble?” he says. “‘ You think you can make trouble for me? amashing nervy success, where will he get off on income-tax day? Besides, he is a friend of mine. I like him so good I am willing to put him to no end of bother. Well, I realized where when a lady is going to tell a man the awful trouble she is in, it doesn’t hurt her case any to take a few extra pains about looking attractive. A little waterproof make-up and a new French hat will never make him feel any leas serry for her. And so I acted according, snapping into a snappy costume of the new nutty brown. Then | pinned a nice fresh oilcloth gardenia on my left shoulder, sprayed myself with that new French perfume jazz Mine Boquet and started out the front door of the palatial home I and Jim had built on Long Island and long green, but we have learned to refer to it as our little place. Well, anyways, I come down the humble doorstep of real Tarrarah marble, to where my new Risctto-Duplex was waiting te be stepped into and on, and there who would stop me for the third time but a certain young shadow actor For several weeks this lad had been hanging around, making himself as hard to get rid of as a forkful of spaghetti. He was a handsome kid, and long before he unlouded the news to me I realized he had the idea he would sereen good. Whereas more then likely he would only screen good if it was one of these heavy Jap screens and he omitted to come out from behind it. I had already pointed this out to him twice, and I was getting tired of being held up like that ail the time. ‘What, you here again?’ I says. “Say, listen, buddy, run along and get a nice job washing dishes, where the is regular. Or learn to be a plumber and get rich.” “Oh, T say, Miss La Tour, if you'd only listen!” he says. “I really do want to get into the motion pictures so hadly !" *So badly is just the point!" I says, fed up to the point where my temper was were thin as a modern stocking. now money “Mra, Smith,’ The Says, “May I Ask How it Happens That Lady Violet is Visiting Here?"’ “Now I’m telling you, John Actor, I don’t want to be bothered any more. I've seen altogether too many picture aspirins in my day, and I’m not encouraging them to mis- take my house for a booking office. If you're really a ham, go find a delicatessen store and trim yourself up with cloves. But don’t let me catch you hanging around here again. I have no jobs to give out. If you want to warm a casting director’s bench, try Goldringer’s or Silvermount; but in future please kindly remember this is private property.” The kid flushed up at that and commenced to back away. “I'm sorry,” he says. “I don’t mean to be offensive, really. But I did hope you might listen to me. It’s so deuced hard to get a start in the movies when you don’t know how.” Well, as long as he put it that way, why I got remorse over my harsh words too. I held out my hand. “Well, I'm sorry I was short,” I says. “‘ Will you shake for good luck? You see, a person like I, which is in the fore- most place on the screen, why you’ve got to understand we are bothered to death by inexperienced people wanting us to get them in the pictures. Honest, you better give the idea up.” Well, to that he says never, and I says I can lead you to believe me, but of course I can’t make you accept what I say. And then I stepped into the Risotto and was whirled away in a cloud of dust, or would of been, only it’s a paved road, leaving the poor kid standing there, his hat in hand, looking forlorn like the end of the first reel in pretty near any extra superfeature. Well, I don’t know was he twins or one of these dual personalities you read about, but how ever he managed it, when I got to Goldringer’s office, having stopped on my Listen! I got so much trovble al- ready. You can’t possibly! What d’you think that low-life Silvermount has done with that foreign woman, eh?” “Whatter you mean—Nasha Mola?”’ I says, interested right away. “That's her!”’ says Al, punishing the butt. “She’s the one!” “Well, just remember you refused to sign her on at any price, Al,’”’ I says. ‘And you laughed yourself sick when Silvermount gave her that five-year contract. You said you always knew she’d be a flop, and you got good judgment.” “Apple sauce!” yells Al. “I’m not, she ain’t, there’s the whole business! A Diamond in the Mud is going over big!” “Huh! That’s her new picture, the one by Wiener- schnitzel, the Viennese roll, ain’t it?” I says. ‘What is it doing?” “Close to a million dollars!” Al hollered in agony. “And I could of signed her for a measly six hundred a week, only I was a fool. I thought these foreign dolls was all trash. Oy gevald!” “You had a better reason then that, Al,’’ I says. “You claimed the only kind of stuff she could do was these parts about a girl that trips through life until she falls, and that you thought the American public wouldn’t stand for it. Come now, Al, you’ve never made nothing but clean pic- tures, and you ain’t lost anything by it yet.” “One million dollars—she calls it nothing!” says Al. “T lose a chance like that, and you say you can make me trouble! Ha!” “You win,” I says. Al suddenly become more calm, but awful serious. “I’m going to tell ycu why I am worried this way, Marie,” he says. “You are my friend, see, so I can trouble you with my worries. Now don’t get excited and think I am not satisfied with you personally. Believe me,

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you and Pickford have got positions in the pictures nothing can touch. But you ain’t.my only unit. When a rival pulls a novelty like this Nasha Mola, I also got to have a foreign sensation at once. The exhibitors demand it.” “Yes,” I says, “that’s right. I suppose you really had ought to dig up some vamp with a trick name, if only for the publicity. Ain’t there anybody you can think of?” “I can think of them,” says Al, “but only in my imagi- nation. Nasha is alone in her class. What I need is a equal sensation—a knock-out, somebody who will be ex- actly like Nasha, only entirely different. But where will I get her? I got to or I’m a back number. Besides, I have more troubles yet.” “Hot bozo!’’ I says. “‘Hurry up and get through! Say, boy, you haven’t any real troubles! Didn’t you make five million dollars last year? Aren’t L. V. Mason & Co. back of you solid? And don’t their man MacIntosh work hand and glove with you?” “Right!” says he. “Perfectly right, all but the details. Firstly, L. V. Mason ain’t behind me like it should be. I been trying to get old man Buckman to say that L. V. Mason & Co. will carry the new program, and the only way they are solid behind me is in the head. Then sec- ondly, their man MacIntosh, that they got setting up- stairs here, says nothing doing unless we get something as good as Nasha. The gloves he’s working with me is boxing gloves. “What that guy don’t know about pictures! But pictures on dollar bills, that’s different. Them he knows! And thirdly, I didn’t make five million dollars; I lost it! Yeh, you're right—all except for the details!” “Oh, so it’s the backers want a novelty put out!” I says. ‘Well, when them Wall Street babies start handing out apple sauce, I don’t blame you for getting worried. You sure have got my sympathy, Al; and now maybe you will let me have a little of yours.” “Sure!”’ says Al. “‘l suppose you got to have your dressing room reupholstered from pink silk to blue on ac- count pink makes you nervous, or something!” “No, Al,” I says. “‘This is real trouble. It’s over Lady Violet Armington, this English beauty that you seen the pictures of all over the Sunday papers yesterday.” “Her?” says Al. ‘‘Yeh, she’s some kind of a society swell, ain’t she?”’ “Some kind of a swell!” I says, indignant. ‘‘Why, she’s the original one! Next to the Prince of Wales, she is the classiest English person ever come to this country! She’s not alone beautiful and young but rich and related to crowned heads and everything!” “Oh, that’s the one, is it?” says Al. “Sure, I know now! Well, what’s she done to you?” “Nothing!” I says with a gasp. ‘‘ But I met her coming over on the boat three weeks ago when I was bringing them new dresses back from Paris. She was on the Cant- detainia, and we got to be real chummy.” “So?”’ says he. ‘What's the complaint?” *‘ Al, I asked her to come and visit me at my home down to Rosemere sometime,” I says. “‘ You know how a person will throw off them invitations without really expecting they will ever get taken up. But Lady Violet’s gone and done that very thing. She’s been up to Newport, staying with the Vanderbuilts or somebody, and now she’s written me a letter saying she'll be with me Monday.” “Well, supposing so; what's wrong?” says Al. “Everything!’’ I says. “‘You see, Al, just knowing her on the steamer that way, why I kind of let her think I was pretty doggy myself. Even over in England they know that Rosemere, Long Island, is class. Also, I sort of men- tioned the Astors and Belmonts and such people, and she got the impression I call them Vincent and Ollie. Hot bozo! I never dreamed she'd actually come there, see, and here I am without even a bowing acquaintance in the town outside of the grocer and other members of the credit association.” “Well, well!” says Al. “ Ain’t there a social leader there needs money? If so, maybe you could arrange some- thing.” “Not a chance!” I says. “The society leader in that town is Mrs. Buckman, the wife of your banker, and maybe she don’t know it! She’s got one son, and she’s so scared some girl will get him she builds fences around him. They’re awful stingy, awful proud and—hot bozo, maybe I ain’t in wrong with them, though!” “How so?” “‘T met her in the dressing room over to the Casino and took her to be the matron,”’ I says, feeling kind of shaky as I remembered it, even. ‘‘I asked her for some face powder and shoved a quarter at her. She was kind of THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 19 large, with gray hair and no hat or make-up, and I just naturally made the mistake. Then as I shoved the change and request in her direction, I caught sight of the diamond bar pin she had on the chest of her plain black dress! Oh, mamma!” ““Ha-ha!” says Al heartiessly. ‘I'll bet she took the two bits, didn’t she?”’ “Of course not!’ I says. “But she took offense all right. I'll say | queered myself for life in her set, for what the old dame says goes in our neck of the woods. No, the natives aren’t going to help entertain any house guest of mine. I sure am up against it, Al. I simply got to show Lady Violet a good time. I have got to give a big recep- tion for her, like I told her I would, and I don’t know any people to ask to it. That’s why I come to you.” **Me?”’ says Ali, all upset. “I can’t go to no receptions, Marie. I’m much obliged, but I ain’t got the time.” “No; but you've got to furnish the guests for my party,” I says. “Oy gevalt!"’ says Al. “I don’t know who could I get out. Maybe the lodge would attend in a body, but I can’t guarantee it.” “No, no!" I yelled. “‘Thanks very much, but what I’ve got to have is a big crowd of swells—five hundred at least, assorted ages and sexes. I got to have aristocratic moth- ers, society girls and boys, middle-aged married couples, members of the younger married set and a few handsome dogs.” “Say, are you crazy, or what?” says Al. “I don’t know such people!”’ “Yes, you do,” I says; “or your casting director does. He hires them every day.” “What you talking about?”’ says Al. *“*Extras,” I says, “atmosphere people, with good ward- robes. Al, if I wasn’t to give a big reception attended by a crowd, I’d just plain die of mortification after what | have led Lady Violet to expect. She'll only stay over the week-end, see, and she'll never know the difference. I want you to get me a big crowd of extras and a good direc- tor to handle them—Ike Welch would be the one; he knows how to keep his mouth shut, and so do you. He can rehearse the scene over at the studio so’s they will all be good. I don’t want any hitches. Will you ao it?”’ (Continued on Page 78) ae ao “Mr. DeVaux, Meet Lady Armington,"’ I Says, Helpless. And as I Done So I Got Stopped Short by Lady Violet's Face

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20 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST December 13,1924 The Graveyar HE anchor chain roared down, the Cana- dian Government supply steamer Lady Laurier swung to her hook; and so, after three days’ groping through blind fogs, there we were at Sable Island, the destroyer. The wickedest island in the world, it has for centuries taken heavy toll of the ocean’s best in ships and men. All tawny and olive, I saw it, stretched in an immense crescent of twenty-two miles right across our bows. A strange sight, that was, through the lifting fog, to come upon out there one hundred and eighty miles east of Halifax, in full Atlan- tic. Just a heap of sand is Sable Island, treeless, omi- nous, forlorn. And there hundreds of ships have gone to Davy Jones’ locker with losses of life and treasure in- calculable. Aboard and on shore, keen activity tautened every nerve. For this was boat day, the big quarterly event. “Lots doing now,” said Captain Travis. “‘ Nobody’ll go to bed this night till two or three. Every minute counts now!” “A Hard Place, Mister!”’ O IT did. Fair weather bade all hands work swiftly while they could. In an hour some shift of wind might lash up such mad tem- pests of surf as to make ap- proach suicidal. Once the Laurier tried in vain for sev- enteen days to land supplies. Occasionally not one civil day will come in a month. So every calm moment is golden for the fifty people of the life-saving establishment, the island’s only population. Winches clattered, boats swung down, tarpaulins whisked from pens where be- wildered cattle beilowed. Then the ship's launch took Sable Island, Death Ships and Lives—=By “‘Sable’s dangerous because she lays so close to the sea, without no high land,” a steward told me. “Ships sail right on her without suspectin’ trouble, 'specially in a fog. And currents run all ways round her, buildin’ up new shoals. Them currents often sets ships far off their reck- onin’. Funny, but wreckage or bodies on one side o’ the island most generally come ashore on the other. A hard place, mister!” The bars make it perilous indeed. They stretch out so far from the island’s ends that vessels have come to grief twenty miles from any visible land. The total danger line exceeds fifty miles. Hardly a rod of all that distance but has gulped down ships and men. A monstrous maw, that! Its most recent ship-swallowing exploits have been the de- struction of the racing schooners Esperanto, 1921, Marshal Foch and Puritan, 1922. Some may remember, too, that the famous Valkyrie died there in 1893. But no more, now, of wrecks. We shall soon see wrecks enough. Difficulties of Landing “TAKE a long jump, sir!’’ a sailor bade me. I smashed down on coal bags in a boat. Black dust flew. Oil barrels dangled. An agitated bull in a crate bellowed as he swayed down. Then the launch picked up a long line of overladen boats, and away we lifted, shoreward. Bronzed and clear-eyed stalwarts were the islanders in the outcoming lifeboat—good specimens of Sable folk. The Canadian Government maintains them all, with a grant also from England of four hundred pounds a year. There are two light keepers, four life-saving-station keep- ers, three Marconi men and a squad of patrolmen and surfmen, all under a superintendent. Their equipment is the last word in efficiency: self-bailing lifeboats, Lyle guns, breeches buoys and rockets, life cars and mortars. Nothing in the way of apparatus is lacking at Sable. As we surged shoreward, very far to east and west dim lighthouses were visible; a wireless mast; and nearer, among ragged dunes, buildings of the main station. Tiny figures crept along the beach, horsemen galloped, carts churned the sand. Inquiring seals bobbed, regarding us with eyes of wonder. The launch cast us free. Seamen bent immense oar blades. With a mighty heave and roll we struck the sand. Amid babels of greeting, out the men tumbled knee-deep in swooping brine. Sailors with sinewed arms carried the women passengers ashore. I scrambled for it, and made land. Jumbled impressions crowded-—-a tremendous beach backed by grass-topped sand hills; shaggy-maned ponies hauling wagons with broad, sand-defying tires; the bull being dragged and driven to lunge into the surf; islanders in oilskins and rubber boots unloading huge bags of coal. Very far up the beach they toiled with those bags; for only last year a ship landed fifty tons, and during the night a bit of wind came on. By morning every lump had van- ished. A hungry sea forever gnaws at Sable. We labored up a breach in the dunes. Hard going, for the fine sand mounts ankle-deep. Sable Island sand creaks the water; and even as an | 1 island lifeboat came crest- ing out to us, unloading began. Headed for the Istand The Light on Sable Istand The Saper's Wome. Ne Driftwood Shack, But a Proper House

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Trap like frozen snow. The ghosts of buried sea rovers seem protesting the tread of living folk. We passed storehouses built of ships’ timbers, and glimpsed a lifeboat buried so deep that only the scull, or steering iron, still projected. That shattered boat had lain there only a little while. “But the sand swallers everythin’ up, here,”’ an islander told me. “‘That’s why we can’t keep real count o’ the lives lost. Once the sand ketches bodies, they soon sink down, same as ships do. On the south side you can still see the ribs o’ the Amelia, wrecked twenty-five years ago, and the bones o’ the Ada Yorke, that struck in 1866, but ’most everything else has gone under. The Foch was all swallered up in no time. All we got out o’ her was a few pounds o’ butter. An’ the Puritan hit in a heavy blow. We only see her once afore she disappeared. She must ha’ gone into a hole on the west bar.” A sweltering glare half-blinded us. Sand, sand, every- where sand. A Sahara in the sea! Over the dune crest, along a vague road skirted by wreck-timber fences, I found proof of the island’s prowess as a killer. For there the Rocket House, through wide doors, showed far more than lifeboats arid apparatus. There old ships’ lanterns and fit- tings were eloquent; and so were name boards and life belts in profusion—mute testimony of sea tragedies be- yond all telling. Faded and worn, storm-gnawed and sometimes nearly obliterated, there you find boards inscribed Olympia, Lord Bury, Golden Bow, Silverwings, Voorburg, Stella Maris and scores of others. There on life belts you read Apache, Skidby, Belgian King, with many more. Your glance falls on a belt where dim letters half-reveal La Bourgogne, Havre. If that belt could only speak! Children and Cranberries UT dinner was awaiting us at the superintendent’s house, across a real hayfield, small and sandy, yet boast- ing grass, wild peas and yarrow. Behind the dunes you find a little peaty soil, only an inch or two thick, yet able to grow grass and maintain the islanders’ gardens. Children and cranberries, however, are the island’s best crops. Some years Sable exports fifty barrels of cranberries; and as for children, half the population consists of youngsters. Healthy ones too; none finer. The superintendent, Harold F. Henry, sharply ques- tioned me. He has absolute authority. One of the island rules is that no one shall land or remain without permission. So he had to find out all about me. Who was I, and why? No stranger can walk these sands without giving an ac- count of himself. Our talk at dinner, of course, turned on wrecks. For these are Sable’s business. Other shores are amateur wreck makers. Sable Island is a pro. “Yes, sir, we have some pretty fierce storms here at the edge o’ the Gulf Stream and the Banks,” a weather-bitten guard affirmed. “I’ve seen the sea breakin’ twenty-five foot high. The bars are worse’n the beach, for there’s a chance of savin’ men on the beach. But if a ship hits the of Unnumbered George Allan England Itlantic bars, there mostly ain’t. Them bars shoal off to two hundred fathom, so after a ship strikes and drives over, she’s liable to founder with all hands. Times, we find a little wreck- age or some bodies ashore and that’s all the sign we ever get that a ship’s hit one o’ the bars.” “One wreck sometimes makes another,”” added a second. “I guess some ves- sels has hit the old b’ilers of the Skidby, that’s still on the bottom off the new sta- tion. And I believe the Esperanto struck the ma- chinery of the old State of Virginia at the west end. Them engines must ha’ caught the Esperanto as she was racin’ acrost what looked like clear water, and ripped her from stem to stern.” Famished Survivors € E SEE some pretty hard sights,” said the first. ‘When the Puritan was wrecked, her cap’n, Johan- sen, come ashore a whole month later. There wasn’t much to him but a skiliton, exceptin’ for his feet. I mind one time three French- men come ashore in a dory. They’d got lost on the Banks. ’Leven days without grub or water. They couldn't shut their mouths, an’ their tongues was all black. We had to split their boots to get ’em off.” “Yes, and that American shacker too,” put in an- other. ‘“‘A shacker is one man alone in a dory. Fred Wilson, his name was, from the fishing schooner Com- monwealth. He was lost six days and nights, with nary bite nor sup. Rowed and drifted ninety mile, sir; and what’s more, saved all his trawl. He made Sable in a nor’west gale. We put out through very bold water and got him. His tongue was black as your boot, sir, and (Continued on Page 161) Sable Istand, the Atlantic Sahara Every Station Has its Little Fenced:-in Garden Tougher Than Boited Owls are the Sable Ponies ' Wreck of the Marshal Foch The Perfect Lady The East Light Keeper's Wife and Family tw

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22 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ©. 2 ER IG Meme _» “Who's Yetting Tom What to Do?" HE Honorable Themas Jefferson "entry took a blue bottle from a drawer of his desk in the House Office Building and went with it to a water cooler. He shook white powder from the half-full bottle into a drinking glass, turned water into the glass and watched the mixture boil and bubble and foam soapily. A look akin to despair flitted across the representative's chiseled features, and then he squared his broad shoulders and straightened to his full height of six feet and two inches. His fine blue eyes set in a glare of reaolution; he brought the glass to his lips and tossed off the agitated drink. He put down the glass, paced to his deak, sat in his chair, put his hands flat upon his rebellicus stomach and stared disgueted'ty through the window at the United States Capitol. The soured expression passed from his face and was fol- lowed by an aspect of brooding and introspection. He gripped the arms of his chair and sat quite still. The label on the blue bottle proclaimed the contents to be a popular headache remedy, but one could pardonably have sup- posed that the representative had poisoned himself and was now awaiting the first dread wrench at his vitals. But now contentment dawned in the representative's eyes. It peeped forth at first with timidity, alert to flee on the least alarm; but it gained confidence with time and it spread and brightened until it had informed the representative's whole countenance with a wan buf joyful smile. “My good gosh !’’ sighed the representative, lifting him- self slowly to his feet. He walked about his office testingly; he shook his head to goad it into action. Satisfied that it had resigned its tyrannous rule and that he might now proceed to the busi- ness of government without coddling it, he dismissed it fram consideration and sat at his desk again and ran through his mail. He yawned often as he skipped through the missives, and when be came to the last one he leaned back in his chair and put his hand over his mouth and made a noise like the cry of a hungry seal. The volume of the uncouth noise scandalized him; he sat up, blinking. He looked through the window again and noted that it was a fine day and a wretched one to be housebound. He shook himself sternly and opened a volume of United States Statutes. He read ‘our times the passage indicated by the paper marker and made no sense of it. He frowned terrificaliy and concentrated all his attention on forcing FLEE Pat In Joe Yorick vu SS TRA TEBE O — | Been 4 ™ won a a By THOMAS McM ORROW a Yr his lazy mind to mesh with the passage. Thereupon his body, so released from the control of the indwelling spirit, rose of its own volition to its legs and strolled about the office, seeking something to play with. It took a silver- headed stick from a corner, struck tentative blows at the floor and then made so free, during the preoccupation of its master, as to set the law book on the floor and to pre- tend to address with the stick a golf ball on this impro- vised tee. It was making a beautiful drive and follow through when the door was opened abruptly behind the disunited representative. He pulled himself together and looked over his shoulder. A stooping little man was beaming at him across the threshold. The man’s gaunt face was red, his large mus- tache was gray, and these harmonious colors were blended in his shaggy eyebrows and scanty hair. In his right hand was a new derby hat; in his left was a sagging suitcase of wicker with ornamental leather corners. “Hello, Tom, ” he cried in a bellow. “How's Tom?” “Come in,” said Tom Gentry. He discovered the stick upon his left shoulder and low- ered it with an ejaculation of annoyance. The red-gray man entered, stepping flat-footedly and without knee action. He put down his hat and suitcase and caught Tom’s right arm by hand and elbow, cuddling it and looking up eagerly as though the arm were a fowling piece which he would discharge at the first target. “Well, Tom, here I am,” he declared. “What do you say?” “Delighted to see you. What can I do for you?” The representative released his arm and lifted the book onto his desk again. “The same old Tom,” said his visitor affectionately. “Always wanting to do something for somebody. Here now, you Tom, you go right on with your work and don’t mind me. Not interrupting you, am I? Just say so, Tom.” “Not at all,” said Tom Gentry. “I was merely ——” His voice trailed off. He sat in his chair and looked sharply at the little man across from him, but recognized nothing in the detail of the man’s undistinguished face. It was a face that was commonplace even to meanness, GRUGER December 13,1924 except as it was redeemed by the guile- less gray eyes. As for the rest of the visitor, Tom knew hundreds of men who wore, when carefully got up, blue serge suits as shiny, collars and cuffs as pain- fully serrated, cravats as washable. He masked his inquiry under a smile that was less than a fair return for the visit- or’s whole-hearted grin; but, as the little man seemed in no haste to reveal his errand, Tom frowned fleetingly and said, ‘Really, Mister, I’m tremendously busy today. Won't you tell me what I can do for you?” The visitor was perturbed for an instant, and then he recovered and said with a touch of slyness, “Letting on you don’t know me, hey, Tom? You don’t remember shaking hands with me on the corner of One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street and Seventh Avenue the Saturday night before election? I told you I was thinking of taking a trip to Washington one of these days, and you said you certainly hoped I would and that I should drop in on you and let you show me around. You said your office was going to be headquarters for the people of our district, and it would be a cold day when you couldn’t make a visitor welcome, and you shook me by the hand and said, ‘Joe Yorick, old friend, if I may call you old friend, bring the wife and kiddies too.’” “Oh, yes, I do remember the general purport of this,” said Tom Gentry amusedly. “So that’s where you know me from, eh? Well, Joe, old friend, I’m tickled to death to see you took up my invitation. And did you—did you bring the wife and kiddies?” “I knew you didn’t forget me, Tom,” cried Joe Yorick, seizing the representative’s hands and wringing them anew. “I bet you are surprised, hey? Here I am, Tom. No, Tom, old-timer, I didn’t bring the wife and family this time, but I will next time, sure. That’s a promise, Tom. Say, ain’t it just great to see somebody from the old home town? Now, Tom, go right on with your work and don’t mind me. I'll make myself comfortable, Tom.” He took a newspaper from the desk, seated himself, and leafed over the pages. “But that wasn’t where I knew you from, Tom,” he said, glancing up. ‘‘That was only where you knew me from. I’ve known you, Tom, ever since you started in politics, and I bet I heard every speech you ever made. I liked you, Tom, and I boosted for you, and I want to tell you it was the proudest day of my life when you shook me

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 23 by the hand and said, ‘Joe, old friend, if I may call you old friend, come on to Washington and visit with me, and bring the wife and kiddies too!’”’ The little man’s genuine loyalty and pride in his ac- quaintance touched the young congressman and he said unpremeditatedly, ‘‘I meant every word of it, too, Joe.” “Don’t I know it?” said Joe Yorick. ‘You're not a man to say one thing before election and another after- ward, Tom. Say, Tom, I know you like a book. Wait till the bunch hears about this! They gave me the laugh when they heard I was going down to Washington on the excur- sion to visit you, but we’ll see who’ll laugh now, hey, Tom? I says to my son, I says, ‘I’m going to Washington and see Tom.’” “‘Ha-ha—oh, yes!’’ agreed the Honorable Thomas Jef- ferson Gentry, wondering what he was let in for. “TI think I will take my coat off, if you don’t mind,” said Joe Yorick; and he slipped out of his jacket, display- ing new red suspenders. “Slept in it last night on the train. Say, Tom, this reminds me of the speech you made in Mechanics’ Pavilion when you came on the platform and you took off your coat and snapped your suspenders and said, ‘What’s good enough for the American working- man is good enough for me!’ Hey, Tom?” He bent over and unlaced a shoe, pulled it off and limped to the desk, shoe in hand. “Nail in it,” he said, scanning the furniture of the desk. He picked up the brass paper cutter and proceeded to gouge at the offending nail. This was too much of a strain upon the good humor of a man who had just passed a hectic night. Tom Gentry said with sudden querulousness, “Now, Joe, won’t you be good enough to put on your shoe and coat again and wait outside until I have time for you? I’m really very busy this morning, my dear fellow.” Joe Yorick weighed this utterance and his face fell. He sat down, pulled on the shoe and reached for his belongings. “You ain’t glad to see me at all,’ he said dispiritedly. “But you can wait outside, can’t you?” “No, I can’t wait outside,” said Joe Yorick stubbornly. “You didn’t say nothing last election about waiting out- side. The bunch were right, Tom. You ain’t glad to see me. No, you ain’t. You don’t look glad. I guess you didn’t mean all you said, Tom.” “But I am glad to see you,” insisted his representative. “IT was never gladder in my life, Joe. Very well, sit down Let me have your coat. and make yourself at home. Here, take your newspaper.” “If you’re dead sure I’m not going to be in your way, Tom,” said Joe Yorick with delicacy. He permitted him- self to be forced back into his chair. Tom Gentry spoke into his desk telephone: “If there’s anybody else out there that I absolutely must see, Miss Murnane, send him in, will you?” A thin and spectacled woman in a blue suit of mannish cut and masculine collar and cravat entered the room. Tom Gentry gave over his nervous tapping on his desk and rose to place a chair for her. She chose one for herself and said good morning in a tone that was clear and cold. She placed her brief case on her lap and opened it smartly. “T am Mrs. Battle,’’ she said. “‘We sent you a letter, Mr. Gentry, asking you to state your position on Peace and Order, but you didn’t answer it. Why didn’t you answer it?” “Have I a letter, Mrs. Battle? I'll look it up.” “No need to,” she said, extracting a paper from the brief case. ‘‘Here’sacopy. Read it and I'll record you at once, for or against. Our association, Mr. Gentry, includes three thousand women’s clubs with a membership of seven hun- dred and thirty-six thousand. Six clubs in your New York district with eleven hundred and forty members. Here's the list. Are you for us or against us?”’ The representative scanned the list. “You are in favor of total disarmament, Mrs. Battle,”’ he said in a wheedling voice. ‘I don’t wish to seem op- posed in any way to such a noble movement, but don’t you think it is unwise, just a very little unwise, Mrs. Battle, to disarm the country completely while the rest of the world is armed? Perhaps I don’t understand.” “There is absolutely nothing to understand about the movement, Mr. Gentry. I will say, however, that we must teach by example and not by precept. The spectacle of this great and rich country totally disarmed will incite enthusi- asm in every other country. We shall oppose all appropria- tions for military or naval purposes. Are you with us?” “‘Oh, entirely,’ said the representative, looking again at the list; “personally and as a matter of principle, Mrs. Battle. It is possible that I may have to be ruled to some extent by the policy of the party.” “We'll whip the party into line fast enough,” said Mrs. Battle confidently. “So much for the Peace side of the movement; now as for Order, which is the positive side. Our executive board has decided that the United States must order the Turks to cease persecuting the Christian Armenians, and must also order the Japanese to give free- dom to the Koreans.” “But—pardon me for asking light— doesn’t this program mean war?” “So You Better Tet! Him Your Proposition and Say Nothing About Votes, and I Will Speak to My Son, Who is a Member of the American Legion, And “Ridiculous!” said Mrs. Battle. without an army or navy.” “Who said war?” demanded Joe Yorick, lowering his newspaper. “We don't want any more war, Tom, not in our district.” “Decidedly not,”’ said Mrs. Battle. “What we want, Tom,” said Joe Yorick, flattered by her indorsement, ‘‘is a good strong army and navy. Right, lady? And then those foreigners will let us alone and we will let them alone. That’s my advice to you, Tom.” “I do not understand, sir,”’ said Mrs. Battle tartly, “why you offer your advice at this time.” “Ask him,” said Joe Yorick. ‘He will tell you he don't do a blessed thing without getting advice from the district. Asked for it, he did. Didn't you, Tom? Remember?”’ Mrs. Battle lifted her thin eyebrows scornfully and turned from him. “What is your answer, Mr. Gentry? Do you propose to stand with us or against us? Your answer will be reflected in the primaries next September, I warn you.” “Now listen, ma’am,”’ said Joe Yorick, amiably toierant “Do you think that Tom here cares whether you and your people vote for him or not? You have got a very wrong idea. All Tom cares about is to be right, and he would rather be right than be President, and I often heard him say so myself. So do not talk to him about votes or he will only lose his temper. So you better tell him your proposition and say nothing about votes, and I wil! speak to my son, who is a member of the American Legion, and ——”’ “Is this person your spokesman, Mr. Gentry?"’ snapped Mrs. Battle. “ Kindly let me have your answer in person.” “In a general way,” said the representative, looking as angry as Joe Yorick had promised, “and without going thoroughly into the subject or committing myself at this time ——” “On the fence,” said Mrs. Battle grimly. “If you have made up your mind before we introduce our measures in the House, and if we are not then committed to another candidate, we shall be glad to support you for re@lection. Our headquarters are in Suite 806 in the Muncie Building, Mr. Gentry. Good morning.” She marched out. “Say, Tom,” chuckled Joe Yorick, ‘that lady ought to have been at the rally and heard you declare yourself. Hey, Tom?” Continued on Page 53) “We can’t make war

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HE day be- fore Christ- mas of the vear 1899. London 24 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST December 13,1924 1 ] gentlemen joined. As for my part, I kept silent and as much as possible was enveloped in f f thogse fous yellow which can make city gloomier other face ol that than any upon the the earth. My work for the Prince had all been delivered, includ- ing the marble bust of Edvina Knollys for the Prince's secretary It was early in the and I wonder ifternoon, began to how | was going to pend Christmas Eve, when a mes senger came with a note from Marl- borough House which read: “The Prince of Wales invites you to Sandringham. His Royal High neas wishes to con- sult you about the the memorial to position of the Duke of Ce bure about to be erected in Sand ringham Church. You are asked by the 2:35 P.M. Pancras to Wolfer- Arthur Ellis is | te travel down train from St ton Station, Sir aleo invited.” Signed: SEYMGUR FORTESCUB ence to me and I was not in the least Notime, obviously, | This was an entirely new exper)- | | prepared for it was to de lost if | was to make the train. Hastily | unearthed my va lise, and my housekeeper bustled about filling it with whatever she could lay hands on ~ Off to Sandringham | ‘ - _ MADE the train only by flash- ing upon the cabman the royal arms on the letter with ene hand and the color of a gold piece with the other. I never knew which it was that im- pressed him the more. Those were the days before taxi- cabs, and one had to figure with the whims of a cynical worldly wise old beast that thought little of royal emblems or gold. Even the whip seemed to leave that aged hackney cold. 1 just managed to board the train, leaping upon the first carriage that my hand could clutch. It was one of the luggage vans, filled with the most care- fully marked trunks, boxes and portmanteaus I had ever beheld. The sporting guests had their racing colors painted upon their luggage so as to make it easier to iden- tify. And such quaint colors they were too! i walked through the carriages until I discov- * ered the friendly face of General Sir Arthur Ellis, the equerry to whom I. breathlessly apologized for my appearance. He was already aware of my visit and invited me to make myself comfortable in hia compartment, not difficult in that luxurious private carriage which the Mid- land Railroad provided for the royal fam- ily. Our first stop was Cambridge. At the second, Ely, the stationmaster called my name, as the Prince wished to know whether I had made the train. At Wolferton, the next station, we were met by the royal carriages, which teok us to Sandringham House. Before mounting the Prince gen- ially introduc ad the guest toone pe SANDRINGHAM. in the background. The Prince, upon observing this, at once invited me to draw nearer and to join them, the Princess and her daughter gra- ciously engaging me in conversa- tion,and the pleas- ant atmosphere and warmth after the long cold drive began to penetrate me and I experi- enced a delightful feeling of comfort. No sooner was tea over than the Prince invited all the guests to the weighing machine at the other end of the room, at- tended by a serv- ant, to ascertain the weights of all the arrivals. This is an old custom maintained in the house since the il- lustrious hosts first inhabited it. The machine was equipped with a another. It was a family party with only a few old friends. The royal ladies were al- ready assembled in the great living hall, a room perhaps forty by fifty feet with the dining hall and the reception rooms grouped about it. In one corner was a large piano and facing it a settee with a table, upon which tea was awaiting the guests. A log fire was crackling cheerfully in the enormous fireplace close to the tea table, near which were grouped the Princess of Wales, her daughter Princess Vic- toria, and Miss Knollys. The Prince courteously presented me to them and to the mem- bers of the household, and tea was served. The Princess poured it out herself. Once the presentation was over, with the required formalities of a low bow from the gentlemen and a well-managed curtsy on the part of the ladies, it seemed to become everyone's endeavor, particu- larly the royal fam- ily’s, to make one feel thoroughly at cach enerenep ncaa po cmensemnnsnanamanstnad ease, The Prin- cess and her daughter made conversation in which the Prince and ‘the other The Sisters — From the Original Model in Marbdte at the Watker Art Gallery, Liverpool Sandringham Church. At Left — Bookplate of King Edward VII at Sandringham Library comfortable arm- chair and, as the servant an- nounced the weight of each one, a book was handed to the guest in which he inscribed his name, address, the date of arrival and, should he care to do so, some remark in a space specially provided. This book is a collection of per- haps the most celebrated names that any human being could assemble, with the odd addition of their weights. It was amusing to see to what extent this displayed the little weaknesses even of the great. Under the rubric remarks one could read apologetic notes like this: ‘‘ Very heavy walking suit’; or ‘Soaking wet—coming in from the rain’; or ‘Just after dinner.’’ Others would write down a few lines of verse or scrawl a funny drawing. Some of these contributions were surprisingly clever and amusing. A House Like a Museum HEN an equerry came to the newcomer to show him the wing of the house where he could lounge or write, read or smoke without disturbing the hosts in their living quarters. This room is an enormous library adjoining the big hall and filled with books to the ceiling in shelves of light oak. The furniture was upholstered in red leather. No more delightful lounging room could be devised. Once the ladies had retired to dress for dinner, the Prince joined his guests for a short while in the library. Adjoining the library was the billiard room with an enor- mous and notable screen, upon which appear the heads of the foremost in every profession of the realm. The walls are covered with sporting prints. The house was a mass of flowers, and the yooms were crowded with in- teresting furniture, bric-a-brac, and objects as- j sembled from all over the globe, such as hunting trophies, huge elephant tusks from India and Africa, priceless gifts from maharajas, kaisers, kings, sultans, chieftains and lesser mortals. Each object had its inscription, date and some ex- planatory remark. It would take too long to attempt to describe these, even superficially. The house is in reality a museum, Upon a word from the Prince that it was perhaps time to dress for dinner, the equerry in wait- ing or the master of the house- hold or one of the gentleman butlers showed the guests to their apartments. The room as- signed to me was in the bachelor quarter, which one could reach through long corridors in a wing

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if ) . « 1) THE newly added. It was simple but comfortable, and when I entered it I found a valet busily engaged over my open portmanteau, distributing the contents. “Pardon, sir, my saying so,” observed the man. “but your valet must have forgotten ——”’ And he enumer- ated a number of objects he had failed to find. An em- barrassment fell upon me, and the closer to the bottom of the portmanteau we came, the more the embarrass- ment grew. There were no white ties, no white waist- coats, and the shirts were innocent of cuff links. The haste, moreover, with which the clothes had been thrown into the bag neither added to the smartness of my ap- pearance nor reflected credit on the precision of my household. I decided to make a clean breast of it all and to throw myself upon the mercy of the man. I told him that I was neither knight nor noble, but simply an artist without a valet, with only an old house- keeper who knew nothing of packing for such a party, and that I must commend myself to his consideration. He departed and, after evidently holding council with the proper authorities, returned completely self-possessed and informed me that everything would be provided by order of the gentleman butler. And truly in a short time all the things arrived and all my lacks were made good. Doubtless that valet had reported my plight to his superior, telling it in confidence to perhaps one other friend. That friend had probably whispered it to some- one else. In any case, my story must have penetrated to the highest quarters. For the next day when we were all walking to church, the Prince noted that I was wear- ing patent-leather boots and remarked, laughing, ‘I hope, Mr. Fuchs, you won’t catch cold in those thin boots.” ‘Pardon, sir,’’ I answered, trying to smile too, “but I was under the impression that at Sandringham eternal sunshine reigned.” With a light tap at the door a servant announced dinner that first evening, and mentioned the particular foreign orders that were to be worn. Different decora- tions were worn upon different occasions, depending upon whom the Prince desired to honor thus. So that upon one occasion the command would go forth, “‘ Danish orders will be worn tonight’’; or, upon another, ‘‘Greek orders will be worn.”’” As to those, however, it was a relief to know that they could not have been omitted from the contents of my bag. Dining in State F I DESCRIBE the life of the royal household at Sand- ringham in some detail, I do it because it calls to my memory some delightful times, and a spacious, happy period in English history which has meant much in my personal life span. The dinner hour was set each day, depending upon the program. Generally the hour was eight o’clock or a quarter past, but some- times as late as A Beauty From Australia. From an Original by Mr. Fuchs special correspondent of the Times who accompanied the Prince on his journeys and wrote the official reports; and Lord Marcus Beresford, keeper of the Prince’s stables, and perhaps one or two other personal friends. The household engaged the guests in conversation, and presently the equerry in waiting addressed each one and showed upon the chart the place he or she was to occupy at the table. In case a lady was to be escorted to the dining room by royalty she was notified at that time; and in the same manner a man singled out for such an honor was similarly apprised. The rattle of the doorknobs gave the sign that the royal hosts were approaching and all conversation immediately ceased. The doors were thrown open wide and the family entered in procession. First came the Prince and Princess of Wales; then the Duke and Duchess of York, who lived SATURDAY EVENING POST 25 in York Cottage upon the estate; Princess Victoria, the unmarried daughter; Prince Charles of Demmark, a nephew of the Princess of Wales, and his wife, Princess Maud; and the Duke and Duchess of Fife, the latter being the Princess Royal. The guests formed a semicircle and the hosts went from one to another, saying a few words to each, until another pair of doors was thrown open and the equerry in waiting announced to the Prince that dinner was served. The procession formed quickly according to the plan of the table and moved into the dining room That room at Sandringham is large enough to. seat fifty people if necessary. It is finished in light oak with panels of tapestries in reds and blues against a light background. The sideboards were then loaded with silver ornaments, mostly cups and other sporting troph- ies, some of them of enormous size, and all with their appropriate inscriptions. These were changed every day. So was the cen terpiece upon the table and the whole flower arrange- ment, in itself a work of art and beauty. The table with its profusion of silver, flowers and candlelight was a pic- ture difficult to describe. The Prince's Jolly Table NCE the guests were seated the courses followed one another in a quick succession, The servants, gor- geous in their scarlet liveries braided with goid, were ai- most as numerous as the guests. Noiselessly they glided about, quietly directed by their superiors. The Prince was always attended by his own butler, who served him even when he dined out. The menu was elaborate and so selected that it must satisfy all tastes. There were two services, two dis- tinctly different dinners, the courses of each being offered to the guests. A variety of ices was served, and with each course a different wine. No guest was expected to eat at a more leisurely pace than the royal family. Asa matter of fact, notwithstanding the elabo- rate bill of fare, dinner never lasted more than an hour. If a guest talked too much he found his plates changed before he had had time to taste of the dishes. The conversation was free and animated, the household always assisting it to an uninterrupted close. The sonorous voice of the Prince carried over the entire table and dominated. When the Prince rose, all rose, and two gentie- men of the household leaped to the doors and stood upon either side while the guests proceeded to one of the drawing-rooms. There the tone was easy and unconstrained. Persona! friends of the family were as free here as they might be in their own homes. Royalty, like everyone else, is fond of laughter and a good joke, and knowing this, some of the guests provided themselves with funny stories. After all, laughter is the best medium by which to dispel the em- barrassment inevitable when we consider the disparity in rank among those present. half past. The etiquette of the house de- manded that the guests assemble five minutes be- fore the appointed time in the drawing-room ad- joining the hall, where the ladies and gentlemen of the household were already wait- ing. That first evening there yas General Sir Digh- ton Probyn, a veteran of the Crimean War, with his picturesque long white beard. He was the comp- troller of the Prince’s house- hold. Captain Fortescue was the equerry on duty, and then there were Sir Francis Knollys with Lady Knollys and daughter, Edvina; his sister, Miss Knollys, lady in waiting to the Princess of Wales; That particular evening Lord Marcus Beresford was so amusing that the entire party was roaring with laughter, so that the Princess was obliged from time to time to ask him to curb his pace and give the company a breath- ing spell. Lord Marcus had a sharp eye for the little weaknesses of others and he was abie to bring them forward in a salient and amus- ing light. Nor did he always confine himself to the ab- sent. Often some of those present had to listen to stories and jokes upon themselves. And if they showed any embarrass- ment, that only increased the gen- eral hilarity. Sometimes guests known to be musicians were Sir Arthur Ellis; Edgar Wallace, a Sandringham House as it Appear: From the Lake (Continued on Page 139)

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26 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST #86. U. 6. PAT. OFF FOUNDED A°D: 1728 PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY INDEPENDENCE SQUARE PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA, U.S.A. GEORGE HORACE LORIMER, EDITOR ‘ By Subscript: Five Cente the Copy From All N P + To the United States cad Possessions, Argentines, Bolivia, Brazil, Colombia, Costa Rice, Cubs, Dominios: Republic, Keuador, Guatemala, Isle of Pines, Mexico, Nicaragua, Penema, Pereguey, Peru, Republic of Honduras, Seivedor, Seeln end Uruguay. $2.00 the Year. Remit by U. 5. Money Order, Rapress Money Order, Check or by Draft, payable ia U. 5. Funds To Caneds — By Subscription, $2.08 the Year. Single Copies, Five Cents— Canedian of U. 8. Funds To Newfoundland (with Labrador) and other Foreign Countries, exclusive of those mentioned above, by subscription, post paid, $6.00 the Year. Re- mittances to be by Postel or Eapress Money Order of by Draft on a bank in the U. 6., pagable in U. 5S. Penda. PHILADELPHIA, DECEMBER 13, 1924 A Popular Program R. COOLIDGE did not wait for the late election returns to core in before addressing himself to the task of the moment—-namely, the interpretation of the He evidently regarded his party's victory as a clear and un- overwhelming vote which will keep him in office. mistakable mandate from the people to reduce Federal taxes as much as is practicable and with the least possible We believe that country is correct and that his program for the reduction delay. ris reading of the temper of the f taxes will have the earnest support not only of the eighteen millions who voted for him but of many of the millions who voted for Mr. Davis. It now remains to be seen whether Congress will expedite the passage of reme- dial legislation There are abundant signs that a new era of confidence The outlook has already put new heart and life into men in every field of and prosperity lies just ahead of us. endeavor; but it is still too soon to say with certitude whether or not the appearances which have kindled such a lively blaze of hope are tangible realities that will man- ifest themselves in renewed business activity, industrial expansion, high wages and widely distributed prosperity. Taxation, burdensome and ill distributed, is the one great obstacle that stands between the American people and the improved conditions to which they are entitled by virtue of natural resources, an unrivaled industrial plant, a tranaportation system without a peer, a stupendous capacity for production by labor-saving methods and an unprecedented ability to serve the world at large cheaply and usefully. Our physical mechanism is a thing to admire and wonder at. Our eeonomic machinery, upon which it in so dependent for efficient and profitable operation, has grave and vitai defects; and what is worse, every attempt to remedy them meets with the bitterest opposition. Congress is not empowered to review and correct every ill-advised system of state and local taxation; but it can, and should, set a good example in the imposition of all Federal taxes by employing scientific methods and by promptiy abolishing or reducing every tax that has worked out harmfully. Newspaper publication of individual income-tax pay- ments for the current year worked no end of petty mischief THE SATURDAY EVENING POST and reflected small credit upon the framers of that clause in the revenue act which was construed to permit the broadcasting of what ought to be private information, sacredly guarded. And yet we do not altogether regret the results of a perverted view of what is and what is not geod public policy; for the published figures, misleading as they necessarily were, bear weighty and quite unbiased testi- mony as to the evil effects of our present excessive surtaxes. The most striking fact established by this publicity is that well-to-do business men, actively engaged in produc- tive enterprise and contributing mightily to the develop- ment of American life, are paying much higher income taxes than recluse capitalists. In other words, he who puts his capital at the service of his neighbors in the form of mortgage money to finance purchase of their homes, or who buys stock in the local electric lighting or trolley com- pany or invests in the industries of his home town, is penalized for so doing. The investor in tax-exempts will declare that, thanks to his willingness to accept a very modest return on his capital, his county is able to borrow funds for its needs on a 4 per cent basis. And yet experience has gradually led taxpayers to wonder if they would not be better off if municipalities had to pay the going coupon rate on their bonds. Interest charges would rule higher, but extravagant and unwarranted municipal undertakings would not be so jauntily assumed. Secretary’s Mellon’s representations as to the extent to which capital is withheld from industry by men of wealth who are subject to confiscatory surtaxes were rather cyn- ically received by many members of Congress who fought his proposal to lower the highest bracket to 25 per cent; and yet a study of the tax figures which have been appear- ing in the newspapers would seem to indicate that his statements were conservative and well within the truth. This feature of Mr. Mellon’s plan should be carried out at once. Moreover, we believe that if it is done the sum total of revenue derived from surtaxes may be so increased that further reductions of surtax will follow as a matter of course. More liberal concessions should be made toward earned Broadly speaking, taxes upon earned incomes A moderately successful man over fifty is likely to derive some substantial part of his income incomes. are taxes upon youth. from his investments. Younger men have had less oppor- tunity to amass productive capital, and taxes upon salaries and professional fees bear hardest upon those who can least afford to pay them. There may not be time during the short session to formu- late, debate and pass a new revenue act. Congress can, and should, make time to amend the present law so that a horizontal percentage reduction can apply to 1924 incomes. British Politics Since the War HEN the war was over, an astute American ob- jenn of British politics predicted that what was then the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland would have a succession of short administrations. It was a good guess. He saw the confusion of party politics. He saw that Mr. Lloyd George's Coalition Government would not be popular very long with either of the two parties which had consented to temporary fusion during the war. The American observer was right in his diagnosis; but for various reasons the verification of his forecast was postponed for more than three years. The Lloyd George Coalition, which was returned with an immense majority at the general election of December, 1918, had no diffi- culty in sticking together so long as the trade boom lasted, and nobody minded how much public money that most extravagant administration wasted on making things pleasant all round. But after a couple of years, when the boom was followed by a slump and fortunes were lost as fast as they had been made, the Conservative Party organ- ization became restive. The break-up of the Coalition in 1922 caused the re- tirement of Mr. Lloyd George a d his Liberal colleagues, whereupon Mr. Bonar Law took office as Prime Minister, and discarded the Coalition Conservatives like Lord Birkenhead and Mr. Austen Chamberlain, who had de- clared their allegiance to Mr. Lloyd George. Mr. Bonar Law then appealed to the country, and very wisely took December 13,1924 as his slogan, Tranquillity and Stability, at the same time giving a pledge not to disturb the fiscal system. At the general election of November, 1922, Mr. Bonar Law secured a comfortable majority; but a few months later he was attacked by a fatal disease and his retirement was followed by the election of his Chancellor of the Exchequer, Mr. Stanley Baldwin, to the leadership of the Conservative Party. Mr. Baldwin thus became Prime Minister. In the following autumn, to the dismay and amazement of his party, he decided to appeal to the coun- try and to dissolve Parliament, in order to obtain from the nation a verdict in favor of a protective tariff, which would relieve him from the Bonar Law pledge. The Labor Party and the Liberal Party united in support of free trade, and the Conservative majority of seventy was converted into a Labor-Liberal majority of over ninety. As the Labor Party was more numerous than the Liberal Party, the King sent for Mr. Ramsay MacDonald, who formed a Labor Ministry dependent for its existence on Liberal support. This it received in as full a measure as could be expected during the session, and was enabled thereby to carry in the teeth of Conservative opposition a free-trade budget, which abolished most of the imperial preferences and other protective duties then existing. Unfortunately for Mr. MacDonald, whose conduct of foreign affairs in dealing with France and Germany was remarkably successful, he was induced by the extreme socialist wing of the Labor Party to commit his govern- ment to the policy of a guaranteed loan to Russia. Against this proposal Mr. Asquith and Mr. Lloyd George pro- tested, and showed themselves ready to combine with Mr. Baldwin. Then the Labor Government got itself into another mess. A communist paper published a letter encouraging soldiers to mutiny. A prosecution was ordered and withdrawn. Mr. Baldwin proposed a vote of censure and Mr. Asquith proposed a committee of inquiry. Mr. Asquith’s proposal was carried by a large majority, and Mr. Ramsay MacDonald, who seems to have been afraid that an inquiry would produce damaging revelations, decided to treat it as a vote of censure. Instead of resign- ing he asked the King to grant a dissolution. There were grave objections to this course. However, the King granted the request. and a general election followed in October. This election was fought by the Con- servative candidates almost entirely on socialism. Their campaign received a great impetus a few days be- fore the polling through the publication by the Foreign Office of a mysterious letter alleged to have been written and signed by the Russian communist leader, Zinoviev. The Zinoviev letter was an incitement to British commun- ists and anarchists to overthrow the government and con- stitution of Great Britain by violence. Its effect on John Bull’s mind was tremendous. All quiet nonpolitical people voted for the Conservative candidates. Liberals were re- garded as weak-kneed people, or as futile Mugwumps, who could not be trusted. The result was that the Liberal Party in the House of Commons was reduced from one hundred and fifty-eight to about forty, while the Labor Party lost some forty seats. Mr. Stanley Baldwin found himself in possession of a Conservative majority of more than 200 over all other parties combined. There is therefore a certainty that Great Britain will have four years of Conservative government, and a proba- bility that it will have eight or nine years. Undoubtedly this huge majority was obtained because the electors wanted a sure bulwark against the Socialist menace. Apart from that, it cannot be said that Mr. Baldwin received any positive mandate, though his own election address indicated an intention to restore the policy of colonial preference and to extend tariff protection to industries which could show that they were suffering undeservedly from foreign competition. Unfortunately, there is some fear that Mr. Baldwin, who himself favors public economy and a reduction of taxes, will be impelled by his Die Hards to support another expansion of arma- ments. This, however, remains to be seen, and we may hope that a general election which has certainly knocked Bolshevism on the head as a political force in England will not be unfavorable to the peace of the world or to the restoration of European commerce.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Those Deadly French Sales People! exhausted their powers on the subject of salesman- ship, a new writer will appear with a work that will put all the others in the shade. This new writer will not waste his readers’ time by explaining that successful sales- manship rests on approach, on personality, on a clean collar each morning or on selling oneself to the prospect. He will not even mention the power of a clear, steady eye or devotion to service. None.of these amateurish things. The master business writer of the future will sell a million copies of his book because he will know where to look for inspiration and example. He will spend a tourist season in Paris, birthplace and home of the deadliest and most scientific salesmanship yet produced on earth. Generations of observers have agreed that the French are a peculiar people, temperamental, artistic, quite too deep to be understood by Anglo-Saxon minds. A different thought is hereby offered in all modesty. The French are a resolutely direct people who know what they want and are willing to use their brains to attain it. Their viewpoint may be summed up in the following: France is a small country, but the most charming in all the world, so charm- ing that no Frenchman willingly leaves it. There are forty millions of French people, too great a number for France to support unless one exercises much efficiency. Alors, one must be hard working, efficient, economical. One must make the most of one’s opportunities. S ME day when all the present business writers have By J. R. SPRAGUE The million or so tourists who go to France each year furnish a major opportunity for relieving the situation of France’s forty millions. One travels to England, to Switzerland, to Italy or even to Germany, but little do those countries profit except in the matter of hotel bills and railroad fares. A piece of glass in Venice, perhaps, or a tooled-leather box in Florence. Paris gets the rea! business. Paris gets the real business because the French are the most skillful sales people on earth, so skillful that one does not see the machinery at work. The technic is excel- lent. One never hears in France that the salesman should sell himself to his prospect. That is quite old stuff. The true philosophy requires that the sales person should sell the prospect to himself. When the prospect is led to have an extra high opinion of himself he will not balk at price, because he feels he should have expensive things to match his personality. Trés simple, is it not? Somewhere in America there are four very beautiful marble statues, modeled after pieces at Versailles. and their presence in this country is due to the resourcefulness and deadly salesmanship of a certain Paris commissionaire. It was a couple of years ago that an American lady spent a season in France and enlisted the services of the commis- sionaire to direct her where she might spend to best ad- vantage the money deposited to her credit in a Paris bank. SPEEDING UP THE TRAFFIC For a couple of months she frequented the jeweiry and dressmaking shops in the Rue de la Paix quarter, guided by the ever-faithful commissionaire for his ten per cent commission; but such things cannot go on forever, and even- tually even the commissionaire had to admit that she was amply supplied with clothes and jewelry. There was, how- ever, something like ten thousand dollars left in the bank account; the lady purposed to sail for home in a week; something had to be done if La Belle France was not to lose those good American dollars. The commissionaire rose to the occasion. Two days be- fore the lady sailed he presented himself at her hotel and begged the so great honor of conducting her to Versailles. He knew the madame had not visited that marvelous royal chateau; which was not to be wondered at, because she had made the so good use of her time at the jewelers’ and the dressmakers’. But he made bold to suggest that she should see Versailles before leaving France. Certainly so. He would be desolated to think that one of his clients, so amiable and charming, should leave Paris without to view the ancient home of that other charming lady, Marie Antoinette. A swift automobile was even then at the hotel entrance. To voyage to Versailles and return wou!d be only a matter of two little hours. Might the commis- sionaire hope that the gracious American lady The gracious American lady assented. She had. no very clear idea as to the nature of Versailles; it sounded like cul- ture, and she had already offered her tribute to culture by (Continued on Page 170)

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2g THE SATURDAY EVENING Convention | SNAPPED my fingers, #0! and turned my eyes Away from all the manners I'd been taught. “I'm sick,” I eried, “of doing as I ought!” ind sovght to flout tradition. Oh, unwise ! I found that life had turned a trifle shady. ‘Twas much more comfortable to be a lady. Margaret Mochrie. Red Riding Hood, Revised phd RED RIDING HOOD deposited her basket containing caviar sandwiches, capon and Scotch on a bridge table and went in to the mahogany bed in which her dear old grandmother was lying. It was ten o'clock in the morning. “Good morning, grandma,” sang the little girl as she bent over to \. «ken her grandmother with a kiss. “Aren't you up yet?’ But the kiss was never given. The child started back in astonishment, almost knocking over a stationary woking set that stood next to the bed. “Why, grandma,” she said, “what makes your face “ strange?” “T've had it lifted, honey, ing at the child’s sweet innocence " yawned grandma, smil- **What else is on your mind?” ‘But where is all your silver hair gone to, grandma?” Little Red Riding Hood was obviously distressed. “Don't you see, dear, I've a boyish bob and a new henna,”” laughed the old lady in entire good humor. “Come again!” The little visitor tock in a deep breath as her grand- mother sat up in bed and locked her knees with two glorious white arma ‘Put, grandma,” she gasped, “you're not at all like you used to be!" “I should hope net,” acquiesced her grandmother, “I've kidded off thirty pounds in jews than thirty days. How do you like me this way?” The child began to ery. She missed her real grandma “Try to laugh that off,” said grandma to herself at this gesture of unappreciation, as she bent over to her table to consult a curious little platinum clock. ‘“ When you get to be as old as grandma,” she continued, ‘‘you'll find you've got to go in « lot for repairs if you want to put up a good front: and you can't be thinking about keeping the wolf from the door, either. Now run out and read the morning paper while grandma tries her luck at her new sunken mud bath.” Edmund J. Kiefer. stretching deliciously Virtue is its Own Reward KINI and gentle-hearted lad, though diffident and shy, Wae Tobti Weinberg, Junior, who resided down our way. "Twas generally said of him he wouldn't hurt a fly, Though why that is a virtue [ am unprepared to aay. Yet Tobil was wenpopuler—I must admit the truth. The maidena of our village treated Tobit with disdain. With coid contempt they ridiculed and snubbed the wretched youln A cireumatance that filled his genile soul with poignant pain. Some Climb for the Old Man From early morn till late at night he’d worry, grieve and fret; He purchased books of etiquette; he studied how to dre 88 ; He took a course on how to charm the weaker sex, and yet Despite hia earnest efforts Tobit wasn’t a success. Al last he hit upon a plan that filled him with delight. “ Determination wins,”” he cried, “and virtue will not down! Success at last is in my grasp. By eight o'clock tonight T. Weinberg, Junior's, going to be the idol of the town.” So Tobit hastened homeward to his mother, old and gray, And when their frugal meal was through he started off to bed. Then Tobit drew a gun and in his artless boyish way He plugged his mother till she was indubiiably dead. Next day he was arrested, which was quite as he hed planned. They placed him in the finest cell; ‘twas called the Bridal Suile, And all the maidens in the town exclaimed, “‘ Ain’t Tobit grand?" And sent him sympathetic notes and dainty things to eat. POST December 13,1924 ENCORES They sent him books and flowers, and they sent him fine cigars ; They sent him knitted neckties that they’d made them- selves by hand; And every day they'd visit him, and, peering through the bars, In rapt lovesick devotion they'd exclaim, “ Ain’t Tobit grand?” Then soon came Tobit’s trial by a jury of his peers. Emotional insanity, I think they called his plea; The fashionable audience could not restrain its cheers When Tobit faced the jury and was told that he was free. A dozen charming maidens, quite the loveliest in town, Entreated him to marry them, so, with a lordly air, He looked them over calmly, then he coolly turned them down, And wed Miss Klotz, the daughter of the local million- aire. Newman Levy. The Salome Sun OME thirty-odd years ago, back near Creston, Iowa, on summer Saturday afternoons when my Dad thought I was and ought to be plowing corn or weed- ing onions, I sometimes used to beat it down to the creek that ran through Taylor’s Grove and sit on the bank watching a big Water Beetle swimming and div- ing around under the water and the little Skooter Bugs skimming over the surface. It was a never- ending mystery, watching them and wondering how they did it. That was in the days when lowa Folks Worked to Live and Lived to Work, when Farmers were Tired instead of Retired, before Long Beach, Cali- fornia, was discovered, when Corn sold for 10 and 15 cents a Bushel instead of a Dollar Ten—when I wished I was a Water Beetle or a Skooter Bug with nothing to do on summer Saturday afternoons but Swim or Skim. Thirty Years is a Long Time and [owa is a Long Ways from this little Corner of Hell out here in the middle of the Yumaresque Desert—but not so long or so far as I thought. This past Summer—anyone who has ever spent a Summer here always spells it with a Capital S, so don’t criticize me just because You have never Been Here and Don’t Know I got tired of all the time thinking about Water by the Drink and watching my Seven-Year-Old Frog hopping around getting Sore Eyes looking for a Cloud and Hoping it might Rain some day so as he could get a Chance to learn to Swim before he Died, so I got me a Well Drilling outfit and started to drill for Water. A lot of Folks thought I was crazy and some of them said the nearest water was in Colorado River, 65 miles away, no matter whether you went up, down or Side Ways, and that I stood more chance of getting Hot Scotch or Lava than I did water and that if 1 wasn’t careful drilling a hole through this sunburned crust I was apt to bust into a big steam chest under us. However, I kept on drilling because I learned a long time ago that if you want anything Bad Enough and try Hard Enough and go Far Enough you will Always Get it Some Day—if you don’t Die trying—and if you do then you (Continued on Page 51) . Jimmie About Ready te Receive His Medicine’: “Aw, Mother! I Want Grandma te Give Me That Medicine Tonight! Her Hands Shake So!" DRAWN BY RALPH CARLYLE PRATHER “Sperma, I've Swallowed So Much of This Three-Mile-Limit Stuff —Hic— Do I See One of Our Brethren Fiuking to Heaven — Hic —or Have I These Delirious Seamen Again?" a = z ——E—— a

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 29 ‘Tomato Soup! Cant you Just taste it / Tomatoes in all their glory! How tempting they look on the vines, as they hang heavy-laden with their rich juices and luscious “meat’’! More tempting still to see one of these perfect red ripe tomatoes sliced in half—an invitation you will find hard to resist. But millions find them most tempting of all when they are blended in that delicious and famous soup—Campbell’s Tomato. mee Just the good of the tomato strained to a mn aa smooth puree enriched with golden butter fresh Ber wen Q. -) ‘ from the country. Enjoy it—today! RR ‘ — aa) N yg hee ee Taste this Campbell's Soup so fine, np) \ > Revel in its flavor. 1 ¢@ y 5 ia Taste this masterpiece of mine, A Sure to win your favor! *y U yr" . ¥ 46 CAMPBELL Soup COMPANY op * 21 kinds 12 cents a can

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THE TER TLCLvuUSTRATEDO ar SATURDAY EVENING POST By HENRY C. ROWLAND December 13,1924 ANTON oTTo FISCHER 4 I Asked Him if He Was the Owner. “Reckon So," He Answered, “How Come YousAll Run in Here?’’ vil Hii. next three days were fair, with variable breezes 4k sometimes freshened for a few hours, then fell light again, but enebled us in a general way to keep i was cutting across to make our next landfall at the lighthouse off the shoals of what is known as the False Cape, some fifteen miles northeast of Canaveral. The pleasant temperature and smooth sea made cruising i delight, and with.the four of us all sailor folk the work Nothing more was said about our mission, supposed or actual, this topic, as if by tacit mutual con- sent Then out of a clear ay came the second complication ind from the same source. We had been standing away all day close-hauled on the starboard tack, with a fresh sou'westerly breeze, and toward sunset I had decided to put about, when Allaire, who had been studying the chart, asked abruptly, “Aren't you getting pretty well offshore, Pom -~ ‘Yes; but 1 don't like to make short tacks on a long Sometimes a shift of the wiud lets you swing back on course.” “Where were you going after dropping me?”’ she asked, South,” ! anewered. This vague answer fired the bomb. “Well, then, you can keep on going south, because I’m going with vou,” We were standing by the wheel, Cyril steering, and as I gianeed at him I did not miss the sudden flare of eagerness in his eves ‘That's not in the agreement," I said. “What agreement?" she demanded. “I didn’t know there was any except that I was to get a third share.” “Call \¢ an understanding then,"’ I said. “Call it what you like,” she retorted; “there was nothing mentioned about my going with you or staying home. I like Mrs. Fairchild and I’ve decided to stay with her. I'll go ashore when she goes ashore.” Now what wae | to say to this? I could not claim that Allaire was in the way or in any manner impeded our our course was negligible being taboe, your activities any more than did Mrs. Fairchild. On the con- trary, she was a help rather than a hindrance, taking her daytime trick at the wheel and assisting with the com- missary. Cyril and I stood watch and watch at night, no lookout being kept or needed on so small a vessel in that clear weather. So here I was, up a tree. Allaire, finding me at a loss, followed up her decision by saying, “I think you are most discourteous and unkind. I haven’t bothered you, have I?” “Not until this moment.” “Then why do you want to put me ashore-—all alone and nearly broke in that millionaire gift shop of a Palm Beach? Why should I spend what little money I’ve got when there's plenty of room here aboard my own schooner? Time enough to land me when you start to take on cargo. Don’t you think so, Cyril?” , Cyril gave me a stricken look, then said eagerly, with the resourcefulness of the born adventarer, “ You bet I do, Miss Forsyth. We've got a lot of cruising ahead before we can hope to load booze.” “What do you mean?” Allaire asked. Cyril took a running dive into a fresh sea of deceit. “Well, you see, Miss Forsyth, we've got everything but money, and you've got to have money to buy booze.” Allaire’s lids narrowed. ‘I understood your plan was to trade these goods aboard for a eargo of rum,” she said. “Ah, that’s just it. We didn’t tell you everything about this scheme for fear you might get discouraged.” He looked at me for sanction, but I merely shrugged. “What's the game, Pom?" Allaire asked in her hard bridge-playing voice. “Just what Cyril says,"’ I snapped. “But he said a few days ago that he knew where he could trade all this stuff down below for rum.” “So I can, Miss Forsyth,” Cyril said eagerly; “but what price, that sort of nigger rum? The big money is all in the imported stuff—whisky, liqueurs and even cham- pagne. When your carrying capacity is limited, there’s no sense in loading up with low-priced stuff.” “Then how do you propose to go about it?” Allaire demanded. “It begins to look to me as if I'd been fooled.” “Well, then it looks to me,” I said, ‘‘as if you’d had a good chance to save your money and live practically for nothing and have a good time doing it. And you can keep on having it indefinitely so long as you don’t kick up a fuss.” “It seems to me that I wouldn’t have had all those things if I hadn’t come aboard. What are you up to any- how?” “Well, it’s like this,” I said: “We're a little syndicate starting in to operate without capital. To get this we’ve got to do some trading first. You supply the schooner, Mrs. Fairchild supplies the trade stuff, Cyril supplies the knowledge of how to go about it and I sail the boat. Cyril and I have also managed to dig up about a theusand dollars between us; but some of that has been already spent for equipment that we couldn’t trade in, cleaning and painting the schooner and some nautical instruments and other gear, and we are going to need what’s left to run on until we get a chance to trade off the stuff we’ve got aboard for tropical products that we can market at a _ profit in the North.” Allaire looked at me as if I had been the black sheep of the family just forced to confess that I had purloined the bonds from safe deposit and bought a wildcat with the proceeds. “Then you mean to say that you’ve got to make this crazy voyage before you can even hope to start earning something?” “Cyril,” I called desperately, and he joined us, looking worried and a bit scared, “will you please explain to Miss Forsyth our plans for trying to make a stake at barter before we can hope to tackle anything that promises more and quicker and riskier money?” Cyril responded valiantly to this passing of the buck. With eager words and vigorous gestures, he outlined briefly our scheme. Allaire listened with a frozen face. (Continued on Page 33)

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(Continued from Page 30) “TI think I understand,” she said. ‘It’s struck me several times that Mrs. Fairchild and Cyril were on the point of telling me something. But I suppose their respect for you as an officer and gentleman kept them quiet. It takes that sort. I believe you told me the other day that when you got your cargo of rum aboard you would have means of defending it. Perfectly true—when you did. And I never saw through it all. Well, I am a fool.” “My eye!” Cyril murmured. “Serves us right for holding out.” “I’m not blaming you, Cyril, nor Mrs. Fairchild. You both wanted to put your cards on the table that first day at Beach City. Mr. Stirling sidetracked you. Like a fool, { jumped to the conclusion that he was trying to keep it possible for me to swear honestly under oath that I had never been informed about the use to which my schooner was to be put in case you got into any trouble. And I thought it splendid of him, and refrained from asking questions.”’ Cyril threw out his hands. “Tt was all my fault, Miss Forsyth.” “It was nothing of the sort. You and Mrs. Fairchild protested from the very start against my being tricked. You’ve been protesting ever since. But this officer and gentleman, war veteran and former friend of mine man- aged to persuade you to hold your tongues.” She turned to me with a yellow blaze in her eyes. “Is that true, or isn’t it?’”’ “‘ Absolutely true,’”’ I answered. “Well, I’m glad that at least you’ve got enough man- hood left in that empty shell of yours to admit it. What do you think of yourself anyhow?” “‘Just at this moment my mind is on something else,” I answered. ‘‘I am more interested in the dirty look of the sky. The hurricane season is not yet over, and I think that we had better postpone our individual affairs and get out of this.” “Yes,”’ said Allaire, “‘let’s talk about the weather. Swell coming up and glass going down, with smoky sunrise and sunset tints. ‘Last night the moon had a silver ring, and tonight no moon we see.’”’ “All of which is exact, like your description of myself, but more important just now. If I let you fool yourself, it was for your own good. As a rum runner, this little schooner would last about as long as a mullet in a school of barracuda. Worked our way, we three are betting all we’ve got in the world she’ll earn some safe and honest money.” “Especially safe,” Allaire said. “Yes, while we happen to be shipmates. But that won't be for long. I will deliver you and your boat at Palm Beach, when you can make what arrangements you like with Mrs. Fairchild and Cyril. I'll take what’s left of my stake and beat it—call it a bad bet. And if we don’t get in or out of here, it’s apt to be a worse one.”’ vii HE whole position was absurd. A girl of Allaire’s position and antecedents, who should have been the one to stand out against unlawful traffic, angry and dis- appointed because the ones of whom it might have been expected desired to keep within the law and to keep her within it. But as the night wore on I found other and more imme- diate cares for consideration. The earlier indications of a change in the weather for the worse had got past me un- observed. Until the morning of that day the thermometer had been above the normal, with cool, bright, pleasant weather and a long swell running in from the southeast. There had been the high, light, feathery, cirrus clouds radiating from the lighter zone on the horizon that might betoken the center of a coming cyclonic disturbance. It was, as I had said, getting toward the end of the hurricane season, this in the Northern Hemisphere from June to October inclusive. The relative frequency of hurricanes, according to my chart, was six for June, July four, August twenty-five, September thirty-two and October thirty-one, and it was now the twenty-fifth of October, so that there would be nothing abnormal about our catching one. Looking now at the barometer, I found that it had dropped another tenth since four o’clock. It was therefore necessary for us to do one of two things—run for some small snug harbor or else get well to sea to ride it out. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 33 This second course would be decidedly unpleasant. As we were at this time only about sixty miles due north of the Little Bahama Bank with protecting shoals and islands, it seemed to me that we ought to fetch into good shelter before the gale broke. The coast of Florida was too far away, and of all places I did not want to be caught at the mouth of the Florida Strait. Wherefore I told Cyril to start the motor and, with the aid of that and a damp easterly breeze that held fairly fresh, I laid a course for the Little Bahama Bank, planning to run in behind the keys and anchor. It is in such cases that even a partisan for sail is glad of a motor drilling along, for as the night wore on the fickle breeze went 2!! round the compass, with light rain squalls, and the glass kept sagging steadily down. No mistake about these symptoms now, and it was with tremendous relief that in the gray, forbidding daylight | managed to wedge in between a couple of small islands and let go two anchors, straddling them out in three fathoms of water. A good snug berth even should the wind whip round and come back at us, in which case the worst that could happen would be to jam us up into the shallows in stili water. I doubted, though, that I was just where I had wanted to get; possibly farther to the westward. The gray morn- ing showed then that the nearest island, only about three furlongs away, was inhabited, for « thin swirl of smoke was rising above the trees that I was surprised to see growing there on such low sand keys. The look of the place did not seem to taliy with the chart, and I was inclined to think that I had blundered, in which doubt I was correct. But at least we were in good shelter. Having got everything snug aboard, I went below for a nap, and on coming up a couple of hours later I found Allaire on deck. She chose to ignore her flare-up of the day before. A wise procedure when shipmates aboard a amali boat. ‘Good morning, Pom. Where are we?" “Somewhere in the Bahamas,’’ I answered. “ Looks to me as if my navigation was like my business methods-—-a bit. crooked in spots.”’ “‘Te’'s Plain I'm Shackted to a Brute, Cyrit. Good-by. Don't Give Up the Ship"’

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34 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “ Well, I suppose that both are subject to error now and then. Sorry to have lost my ternper yesterday. I’ve got no faith in this scherse of yours, but I’d like to give it a try. Time enough to grouse when we crash.” I met this qualified apology halfway. “ All right then, let's consider the case postponed. Per- haps you're right. Cyril may be as far off on his barter caleulations as I seem to have been on my reckonings. But since I've muddied through to a good snug berth, maybe he will muddle through to a good bargain, some- how, sometime, somewhere.” Allaire nodded. ‘There's a hit or miss about this columbiad that has its spice of romance. I see a house over there in the trees. Let's go over and see if we can't swap off a powder puff for a crate of oranges.” The rain squalls were already whipping past, but I hauled the motor dinghy alongside and we shoved off. The two others were still asleep. Drawing near the island, we saw a dilapidated jetty, and then through the trees dis- covered to our surprise the dingy white columns of a big old house set back in pines that looked as if they had once been planted in orderly arrangement. “Ineoneceivable that anybody should want to live in a place like this,”’ I said As we walked up toward the house there rose suddenly the dismal baying of a hound, a lugubrious rather than threatening note, sounding through the wind in the trees and the rain that was now crashing down like the alarm bell of a very old church. Then the dog appeared. A huge Spanish bleodbound, gaunt but heavy and low hung. It circled us in a wide arc, giving voice from time to time, but furtive and cowering. It was white with age about the muzzle and acted as if blind, or nearly so. “Cheerful locking brute,”’ 1 said. “The whole place looka like the dreary echo of a drearier pest,” said Allaire. We noticed then as we proceeded certain evidences of a bygone elegance hard to explain in so remote and dismal a locality. The half-dead trees were parked in formal fashion, with here and there statues or fragments of them in marble, some on pedestals that had settled askew, some fallen and broken. The plump legs of a Diana stuck out from a clump of bay. A Hermes, leaning backward, but stili holding his caduceus, gave an expression of struggling like Laocodn, in the coils of a big twisted grapevine. Moss had grown over what had once been brick paths bordered with blocks of coral stone that must have been brought there from a distance. Through a vista in the trees we saw a ruined fountain choked with vines, and near it a frangipani in blossom. The exotic perfume of this and other flowering shrubs and trees, jasmine and orange blossoms, gave a pervasive odor, sweet, yet in that mournful place, de- pressing, like the odor of flowers onabier. A tumble-down wall that inelosed what might have been stables, if one could imagine any use for horses on what seemed to be an island not more than half a mile across. This also was covered with red hibiscus and bougainvillea that must also have been imported, Seeing nobody, we made our way round the end of the house, which was fianked by a broad veranda of which the planking had in spots completely rotted away, to leave cavernous gaps, The rain leaked down through the roof, and splashed woefully here and there. Some dark furry animal that might have been a cat or a raccoon whisked into a crevice between the long flat English bricks of the foundation, The old hound had ceased his clamor and was now stalking forlorniy behind us, drawing gradually closer, head raised, long ears back and drooping, and we saw that both his eyes were clouded “Gay sort of place, Pom,” said Allaire. “When we get rich trading we might buy it and turn it into a Southern winter resort.” This flippant speech cheered me a little, as did also the general appearunce of Allaire, who was buttoned from chin to ankles in a thin light-yellow slicker, sou'wester to match and hunting boots. The ramshackle old mansion—for it was nothing less— seemed to be double-fronted, though the lagoon side on which we had approached would have been considered the rear, as on passing round we discovered a more formal and imposing fagade with big bleached wooden columns that upheld a portico, The ground stretched out with scarcely any declivity to the wide sandy beach of what must have been a sound, as there was no big swell breaking on it, and we could see the white surf curling over a bar about a mile offshore. A flock of flamingos feeding there rose and winged their heavy way down the beach, then turned south toward the Little Bahama Bank. } So far the only sign of occupation had been the smoke swirling up from a big brick chimney, and of which we caught the spicy aromatic odor. We went up some stone steps to an iinposing door on which was a huge bronze knocker shaped like a dolphin With the curious constraint one feels at breaking the silent and abysmal givom of such a bleached shell of earlier pomp, I struck this sharply, when the old hound, squatting in the rain that came straight down in this shel- tered lee, supplemented the announcement by a deep and solemn bay. Then, as the reverberations from the knocker died away, the door swung open and we were confronted by a very old negro in the tarnished livery of other days that was yet neatly brushed and cleaned, and suggested the idea that our presence had been discovered and our call expected. The face of this old man was not lined or fissured, but its entire skin surface was a complexity of the finest wrinkles radi- ating in all directions, and his deep-sunken eyes that were still bright and keen had a white arcus senilis, wider than any I had everseen, around the iris, and giving to the pupil an expression of peering out through a peephole. His wool also was thick, the hue of white wood ashes, as if powdered, which perhaps it was. He bowed low, making some sort of inarticulate mumble which by its sound suggested a cleft palate, though there was no evidence of such in the shape of his lip, then stood back and motioned us to enter. We did so, and found our- selves in a spacious hall, dark under the conditions of the weather, but of pleasing proportions, and from the rear of which a broad stair wound up to a gallery. The gloom of this interior was enhanced by the wainscoting that seemed to be of mahogany or teak or possibly Flemish oak. The balustrade was of wrought iron, thin rods supporting a polished rail; and the newel post a Corinthian column, and on its top a cannon ball that might have been used in one of the Parrott guns with which Fort Sumter hurled de- fiance at the Star of the West. Over the mantel were fastened a pair of old seventeenth-century cutlasses. Allaire nudged me. “Look, Pom! A genuine Gobelin or I’m no judge of tapestries.”’ “No doubt you're right,”’ I answered, “because if that mirror with the beveled center glass and tne Sévres plaques inlaid isn’t a museum piece, then a former fad of mine was time wasted.” The ancient butler showed us into an adjoining room. We entered it to find a spacious salon of the same pleasing proportions as the entrance hall, but curious in its struc- ture. What appeared to be the knee timbers of some old frigate supported the floor above, at both sides of an enor- mous fireplace and directly opposite. But these oak knees were carven, mermaid caryatids, from which I guessed that they had come from the ward- room of some ancient ship of the line, a tremendous seagoing fighting swell that might even antedate the Revolutionary War. We discovered then that the whole room had been built from the wreckage of a ship. Its ceiling beams had the spring of carlings; not the ordinary deck beams, but slightly curved, such as might have supported the roof of what was known on the early Spanish galleons as the casa and on French vessels of the epoch as the chateau; in plain English, the house built on the poop deck. A single glance around showed the other fittings also to be of ship origin, even to the flooring, which was not par- quet but cabin deck. I leaned down and saw that the crev- ices between the narrow planks—mahogany, I thought— were beveled, and that some morsels of pitch still adhered to them; also here and there a wisp of oakum. And down on this relic of early magnificence trickled here and there water, leaking through from the floor above, over which there must have been a roof that, even if at one time impermeably constructed of split cypress, could scarcely have been expected to last as might the interior of which it formed the carapace. The old butler had withdrawn; and as there was nobody to be seen, we walked over to the big fireplace, in which smoldered some pieces of driftwood, a blaze superfluous so far as warmth was needed, but laid apparently for deco- rative purposes. That old house could not have been dried out if it had been set afire, but hissed itself away in steam. The stately room was nearly ‘bare, and just as a stately ship come in from a long and stormy voyage .with stark evidences of repair and renovation to rig and hull, just so did this old parlor show the stress of past adversities. But there was this difference: That the ship might de con- ceived as having reached her port at last, while this whole residence appeared still to be derelict. It was not even a wreck stripped, finished, left to the mercy of wind or wave or lying gauntly on some uncharted reef. But the owner had either scorned or Leen too slothful to make cheap or shoddy substitutions for treasures sacri- ficed. Instead of availing himself of the funds certainly to, be had from the sale of such articles as the beautiful tapes- try and mirror, and two of the magnificent prelate’s chairs of painted leather, shoved into corners out of the drip of rain, to purchase cheaper articles that might in some way fill the voids, he had left them yawning except where phys- ical necessity demanded service. From the ceiling in the center of the room, where we could imagine a great luster of sparkling crystal prisms to have hung, there dangled now one of the big brass quarter lanterns that might have swung from the high poop of a galleon, and even this tarnished and battered makeshift December 13, 1924 seemed empty. It was inconceivable that any individual could be so indifferent to decay as not at least to repair the roof that covered him with the proceeds of the sale of some precious object, if only for the preservation of what still remained. But while waiting for the appearance of whatever sort of hermit might still inhabit the place, our examination of it was rudely interrupted by such a rushing and a roaring of wind that sounded as if a breaking tidal wave was sweeping over us. The old house shook and shuddered and shrieked in anguish from the salients exposed. Protected by the enormous live oaks, it could have received the shock of no more than the whorls and eddies of the wind; but such was the force of this as to give in that first blast a compression of the eardrums, as when one drops in an express elevator, or a train plunges into the tunnel under the bed of a river. The ashes from the fireplace swirled out into the room. Parts of the house seemed pelted by flying débris, some of it torn away perhaps from the structure itself and whirling in the vortex. A fine mist drove in through the shuttered windows. I had not counted on anything so sudden as this. The hurricane had broken on us with full fury. So terrifying was the shrieking clamor of it that Allaire fell back against me as if sent reeling from a physical violence. Perhaps it actually was that, as the sudden changing of tensions in such a disturbance works curious freaks, suggesting un- known forces in operation, possible vacuum pockets in- terspersed with areas of tremendous pressure expanding like explosions. Not even thunderbolts can be so terrifying as these uncanny freaks of atmospheric equilibrium tor- mented and struggling. “Look! Oh, look!” Allaire gasped. ‘‘The chairs are walking!” It was true. The great chairs appeared to be moving out from their dark corners as if imbued with life and motion or propelled by invisible hands. Worse than that, there seemed to be a horrid undulatory movement to the outer wall of the house, and its complainings were those of a wooden sailing ship writhing in a cross sea. No doubt, like the ship, its construction was treenailed, or trunneled, as sailors say—put together with wooden pegs. The old lantern swung and oscillated. My first thought, of course, was for the schooner. I ran out into the darkened hall, then down to the end of it and up the stairs to the first landing, where there was a small window of heavy glass, set in a bronze casement, the whole evidentiy taken from the stern transom of a ship. Even through the rain that beat on this I could see the shallow waters of the bay frothing and boiling. But the hurricane was beating directly in on the jetty where we had landed, or what had been that flimsy structure, for there was noth- ing now left of it but a few stakes. I could not see the schooner, of course; but I did see our skiff, which had been blown out of the water bodily up onto the bank and was lying capsized in a mass of rhodo- dendrons. It wes difficult to see how the ramshackle old house managed to resist such terrific forces. But a mo- ment’s reflection told me that since it must already have withstood many such in its long tenure, it might reasonably be counted on to hold its anchorage. Also, it was probable, I thought, that the blast of wind was in some way shunted upward over it, just as when we stand on the bridge of a ship in a gale, protected by the weather strip that comes only chest high and piles the wind up over one’s head. No ground tackle would stand such a strain, of course. But dragging astern, the keel would jam in the slowly shelving bottom, and the loose surface water might be merely lashed over the vessel with no damage, for the little bay was too small and the water too shallow to admit of any pounding sea. It seemed rather as if the contents of the lagoon might be blown out of it, as one might blow the tea out of a saucer. Allaire had followed me and now clung to my arm. “Oh, Pom, did you ever see anything like it?” “Never! Good job we put in kere.” “Do you thirk the house will stand? Hadn’t we better get out?” “No; we might get hit by something. The wind seems to strike the bay and glance up. That accounts for the missing shingles on the roof.” “What can this place be? What sort of people live here?” “I can’t imagine. Let’s try to hunt ’em out.” We started then to make a search of the house. Going along the gallery, we tried all the doors, but found them locked; or, to judge from their solid resistance, nailed. There were only the two stories and an attic. Coming finally to a front room on the most sheltered corner, we found this to be on the latch. It was a spacious room, bare except for a big four-poster bed with a canopy of faded brocade, a beautiful secretaire of Dutch marquetry, a big Jacobean armchair and a Louis XVI dressing table of bois sculpté, with the gold leaf tarnished and worn off in spots. On one side of the room was a chaise longue in three parts and larger than any I had ever seen, the upholstery of the finest old worked needle-point; and over this was (Continued on Page 58)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Veg cA good investment The man who owns a V-63 Cadillac has the pleasing assurance that it will continue to serve him efhciently Y long after another car would have to be replaced. f Even though he should drive it two or three times as f long as an ordinary car, he knows he would still take pride in its appearance and performance. motor car satisfaction at lowest cost over an extended : . His Cadillac is an investment — yielding him highest } ‘ period. And when he does dispose of it, its resale value will appeal to him as a further sound reason for purchasing , another Cadillac. 2 J Eight standard and six custom-built body styles—all mounted on the V-63, chassis. ee CADILLAC MOTOR CAR COMPANY, DETROIT, MICHIGAN Division ef General Motors Corporation tn —— The Victoria #3485, f. 0. b. Detroit pute

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Se oe - December 13, 1924 36 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 7 : - Se = ECENTLY a famous aviator stood looking at a flying machine of the vintage of 1912. Vv Finally he said, *‘I wouldn't fly that thing for a million dollars. Br-r-r-r! It makes my flesh But that thing had been and down again creep!” up in the air ILLUSTRATION By Chester T. Crowell BY WILLIAM KEMP STARRETT have always been known to be in the market for good workmanlike killing machines. So putting yourself in the position of the inventor, there is your market—eager, financed, and fearful lest a possible enemy get ahead of it. Weare talking business now, not several times without accident In fact that thing once repre- sented a very notable improve It was day, of ment in flying machines the outpost, during ite safety in the air But it waan't a very profitable Why? Because not many airplanes were Nor i the pop ular demand keen right now. invention al any time. old that season. Aviation is stiii quite a young science So is radio. But the difference in popular demand needs no elu- cidation. It is only reasonable te surmise that some of the in- ventions which today are mile- posts in radio equipment will soon be out of date, but an astonishingly large number of them are profitable. By the time they pass into history their crea- tora probably will have cashed in for quite succulent sums of cas The moral is that profits flow from inventions according to ap- proximately the same rules that govern merchandising — the larger the number of persons you serve, the more money you make With that statement, however, one had better cease generalizing, for there are probably more con tradictory facta to baffle the investigator who tries to lay down general truths about in vention than will be encountered in any other field of human en- deavor. Let us name one of these right at the start just as asample Wouldn't you place your bet on a mechanical engineer in prefer- ence te an artist for the invention ethics. On the face of the known facts, wouldn’t it appear that inventions for use in warfare have an excellent prospect for returning large and immediate profits? Well, some do; but the record as a whole is that they do not, and that record reaches back so far that the memory of man runneth not to the contrary. To cite an example, a very excellent machine gun was pat- ented in England by James Puckle in 1718. I make bold to use the adjective “ excellent’’ be- cause the patent record is still in existence, and includes a sketch that any man can understand if he has the slightest knowledge of such drawings. An American ex- pert who has seen it said: “It is far superior both in detail and execution to the aver- age of those which now accom- pany patent applications from abroad, and would do honor to the best examples of American practice.” The preamble to Mr. Puckle’s patent application follows: “Whereas James Puckle, of our Citty of London, Gent., hath by his peticon, humble repsented unto us that he hath at great ex- pences invent ‘A Portable Gun or Machine called a Defence, thatt Discharges soe often and soe many Bullets, and can be soe Quickly Loaden as renders it next to Impossible to Cary any Ship by Boarding’; and haveing humbly prayed us to grant him our Royall Letters ofa steamboat? Sowould!. But Rebert Fulton was aa artist. And by the way, so was the particular Mr. Morse whom you may have heard men- tioned in connection with the telegraph. The spinning frame which was the corner stone of the textile industry was invented by a barber. But the safety razor seems to have enlisted the inventive genius of barbers not at all. The inventor of the power loom was a clergyman and poet. Eli Whitney of cotton gin fame was a teacher. This list could be extended indefinitely. Where the improbable is the Usual NVENTIVE genius seems to be almost common among poets, artists, lawyers, clergymen, philosophers and gov- ernmental executives. Thomas Jefferson was an inventor. So was Benjamin Franklin. Jefferson invented the swivel chair. Thomas Paine, who is remembered almost solely because of his attacks upon religion, invented an iron bridge. Abraham Lincoln was an inventor. He demcn- atrated a contrivance for lifting flat-bottom boats off sand bars, It seems that Mr. Lincoln, like Mark Twain, had been observing navigation cf the Mississippi River. The point I wish to make, however, is this: If the four- teenth assistant in the garage down at the corner is spend- ing his spare time designing fancy powder puffs for fappers, don't be in a hurry to vote him insane. It is entirely possi- ble that he may be on the way to fortune, for there is a lively market for powder puffs. In fact I know of a travel- ing salesman who whiles away the tedious hours on trains leaigning women's venity cases, He takes out from twenty to forty patents a year and has sold some of them for $1000. in other fields of endeavor it is generally safe to advise the shoemaker to stick to his last, but in the jolly gamble of inventing things the improbable seems rather more than likely to happen On the matter of profit from inventions, however, one has a fair basis of estimate if he will try to determine the number of persons who can use the new article. The story of shoes comes te my mind in this connection. Not so many years ago shoes were stiff, uncomfortable, squeaking Fortunately I Discovered Him in the Midst of His Folly things that often hurt even the toughest feet. Today American shoes are regarded as marvels of comfort wher- ever shoes are appreciated. This development is one of the byproducts of the Civil War. It did not come in a single in- vention. There were quite a number of them, and all were profitable, even though their usefulness was soon eclipsed by later developments. In 1860 shoes were made by driving pegs through the layers of sole leather. That was what made them so stiff. The war brought enormous orders for shoes and almost immediately there followed some inventions for driving these pegs by machinery. Then came an invention for sewing the leather, and once this new principle was intro- duced, various ideas on the subject of how and where to sew the shoes followed. It is not my function to announce which of these ideas is the best. Opinions differ. But the point I wish to make is that developments came thick and fast in the business of manufacturing shoes, and all of them were profitable. Shoes, you see, have a steady market. If you could collect a royalty of only half a cent a pair on half the shoes sold in this country during one year, it would be a sum worth considering. Aviation, on the other hand, has enlisted somé of the finest inventive genius in the world without paying much for it except in honors. Flying machines developed very rapidly with the beginning of the World War in 1914, so that a device which was vital in the spring often became obsolete in the fall. But even after one has given full consideration to this factor, it is still possible for him to miss fire with a per- fectly reasonable guess, I know of no better illustrations for this point than inventions for use in warfare. With due apology, I wish to discuss such inventions from a purely commercial point of view. By that I mean that the reader should have in mind the following facts: First, wars and war rumors have always been numerous; second, nearly all governments spend a very large proportion of their entire gross receipts on their military or naval establish- ments or both; third, the heads of these establishments Patents for the sole makeing and vending the said gun in Eng- land and Ireland, dureing the terme of fourteene yeares; but that he thinks it not safe to specify wherein the new Invention consists; but proposes that soe soon as the Patent shall be passed, the same shall be by him ascertained, under his hand & seale, to be enrolled in our High Court of Chancery, to which the Patent may referr, to make the grant therein certain.” Mr. Puckle also claimed for this gun that the barrels and chambers could be changed “for shooting square bullets against Turks or round bullets against Christians.” It was a discriminating weapon that made nice distinctions. But it was practical. By square bullets the inventor prob- ably meant the sort that later came to be known as dum- dums, for the drawing does not show a square barrel. History as it Might Have Been ‘OW with the date of this patent—1718—in mind, re- view your history lessons for a minute and some star- tling possibilities come to mind. Imagine, for instance, what might have happened at Yorktown, not to mention several other battlefields of the American Revolution, if the Brit- ish redeoats had been equipped with machine guns. Also, you will recall, this gun might have been used very effec- tively against Napoleon’s armies. There are other facts— not quite so definite as those relating to Mr. James Puckle—to indicate that the principle of the machine gun had also been invented on the continent of Europe before the Napoleonic Wars. History records, however, that machine guns made their appearance for the first time in the Franco-Prussian War, which was subsequent to the American Civil War. And his- tory also records that they were not regarded as weapons for offensive use until the Spanish-American War. Mr. Puckle himself, you will observe in his preamble, says that they were designed for defensive work ‘‘as renders it next to Impossible to Cary any Ship by Boarding.” Even he, apparently, didn’t guess that one of these guns might have (Continued on Page 38) a gi —— —— ——— — er =_—_—- ag ae eg .! ~~ —— Corus oe —_

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Christmas Candlelight OLDEN GLEAMS ACROSS THE SNOW ... Laughing G voices in the dusk . .. Princesses and Knights in pack- age-filled motor cars, slowly weaving in and out through the colorful shopping crowds. Your car! A vibrant blue against the merry reds of Holly and Poinsettia—in its lustrous DUCO finish, whose soft velvety | glow becomes more beautiful with the passing of time. | its surface—and the Summer’s broiling sun will not crack nor The bleakness of the Winter’s fiercest storms will not injure mar its satin glory. Next Christmas its siumbrous color will still thrill you! E. I. DU PONT DE NEMOURS & CO., INC. Chemical Products Division PARLIN, N. J. FLINT, MICH. Canadian Distributors: Flint Varnish & Color Works, Toronto 0 OF oF @ | a Ns New (ars The following manufacturers have standardized on Genuine Duco and others will be an- nounced shortly: HUPMOBILE (all models) JEWETT (all modeis except Standard Brougham) MARMON (all models} MAXWELL (all models) MOON (all models) OAKLAND (all models) OLDSMOBILE (all models) BUICK (all Sport Models) CADILLAC (Roadster) CHEVROLET (all de Luxe Models) GARDNER (Special Touring Models) METEOR MOTOR CAR CO. (Standard) NASH (Special Six Touring, Special Six Sedan, Advanced Six Sedan) STUTZ (all six cylinder models) The manufacturers listed be low furnish Genuine Duce on any model when requested: BUICK CADILLAC CLEVELAND SIX FRANKLIN GARDNER LEXINGTON ‘Refinishing Genuine Duco dries almost instantly. It cannot be hand- brushed, but must be applied by a spray gun. In refinishing cars, care must be taken to re move the paint down ty the metal, as only then will Genu ine Duco give its characteristic velvety lustre and durability. Duco automobile refinishing stations are being established rapidly everywhere. Name of nearest authorized refinishing station on request. Schools are equipped to provide instruc tions in application or supply properly trained men. Other Uses Genuine Duco is adaptable to almost any product requiring a lasting finish in color, Due toits quick-drying qualities, it saves materially in finishing time, storage space and investment in finished product. Demonstration on request of any manufacturer It isbeing successfully used on: Automobile Bodies Truck Bodies Automobile Accessories Wood Furniture Metal Furniture Office Equipment Pens, Pencils, etc. Washing Machines Lamps Handles for Tools, Brooms, Brushes, etc Novelties Toys Electric Parts Piano Actions Locomotives Railroad and Street Railway Rolling Stock Umbrella and Cane Handle Radio Cabinets, Radio Parts Gasoline and Oi! Pumps Bath Fixtures and Accessories Medicine Cabinets, etc Toilet Seats Typewriters Vacuum Cleaners - fv Finished a, . © Gm «) buco 4 dhe Look for the DUCO Na meplate

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(Continued from Page 36) been carried over onto the deck of the other fellow’s boat by an English boarding party. It is difficult to understand why military men have usually been scornfu! of new inventions, but the record is too long to admit of very much controversy. They have been scornful, and in consequence a large number, if not mest of the inventors who have tried to serve them, failed. Persons with a jaundiced point of view have wept over the fact that inventions of alight importance so far as the welfare of the human race is concerned usually return larger and more immediate profits than those which ad- vance the worid’s scientific knowledge. But this mournful truth is, as a matter of blunt fact, no reflection on anyone. It merely exhibits the law of supply and demand going about its business as usual. If you should spend ten years in a laboratory improving the flavor of pdlé de foie gras and I should accidentally happen to think of a new kind of saltcellar that would strike popular fancy, the salt- cellar would pay much iarger returns. This would not be an insult to the culinary art; it would merely prove that saltceliars are purchased in larger quantities than pdté de foie gras. One of the most profitable inventions of recent years is a device for cleaning the bowl of a pipe. It was manufac- tured and placed on the market by a man who was already comfortable financially. He liked his pipe, but experienced the usual difficuity in keeping the bowl clean. Also he broke several pockethnife blades. Thereupon he turned inventor. Oddly enough, it didn’t occur to him at the time that this might be a very profitable thing. But more than 1,000,000 of these little articles have now been sold. Sup- pose the profit on each is ten cents, which would not be an unreasonable profit; it would now amcunt to at least $100,000 Another examp' of more or less the same sort comes to mind. In this case the inventor perfected a button for emergency use. You didn’t have to sew it on, because it could be clamped to the cloth. That was a very profitable invention. Not many years ago a weaver who knew a great deal about sailcloth conceived the idea for a new sort of man’s collar. This was entirely out of his line, but he designed it and took out a patent. Then he offered it on a royalty basis to various manufacturers of collars. They didn’t aceept it. He continued, nevertheless, seeking financial support and eventually obtained a successful hearing from a manufacturer who was not in the collar business. That invention is one of the most profitable of recent years; not because it has revolutionized the world—it didn’t—but because so many persons wear collars. However, the pub- lie might not have liked that collar, therefore it would be silly to say that the men who refused it were fools. How were they te know? Gambling on Public Taste |S peeresec of the perennial gamble on public taste, sen- sational things happen almost every month in any large city where clothing is manufactured. In New York, for in- stance, there are many men and women who design dresses. Not all of these designers take out patents; but some do, and they earn their livings selling these patents. The pur- chasers share in the gamble, because they can never be sure just which design will please the women. Fortunately it isn't necessary for either the designers or the manufacturers to guess right every time. Their position is very much like that of a baseball team; they don't expect to win every game, but they hope for a winning average at the end of the season Not long ago a young woman who was employed in New York to sew for a designer of women's dresses decided to try her own hand. Whether she had better taste than others ir this field is a matter of opinion, but the fact remains that her royalties on one design amounted to 20,000. One of the most interesting persons in this field is a woman who resides on a farm near a small town in a state that has very few cities. She designed and sewed clothing for her children. .A neighbor who admired her work sug- gested that she might possibly obtain royalties from these designs if they were offered. Only a few were accepted and they have never been best sellers, but the royalties are larger than the returns from her husband's small farm. You may have observed that during recent years several new kinds of buckles have been in use on men’s belts. There was a time when a belt buckle would not have re- turned very large royalties. In fact one man invented a buckle fifteen years ago that closely resembles some of the present-day successes, but he received so little encourage- ment when he offered it for sale that he decided to try something else, His second production was a new kind of lock and it earned a small fortune. There have been dozens of business successes based upon patents for locks. The world being no better than it is, locks are always in style. Nearly every year one or more persons become rich through the invention of new toys for children. This field closely resembles the clothing trade, because there is no THE SATURDAY EVENING POST accounting for public taste and no way to forecast it. The manufacturer pays his money and takes his chance. Large sums are lost also on new designs for toys. But if just one goes over for a season the inventor need not grow gray- haired waiting for his royalties. January ought to find him fairly wealthy. Not less than half a dozen large fortunes have been made from patents on new kinds of containers for articles of mer- chandise. You have doubtless observed that paper is winning a place along with metal and wood not only for small packing cases but for boxes and round barrel shapes. In most instances paper containers have to be carefully prepared to meet special demands. They must have a cer- tain strength or they must resist water or dampness or both. The conditions imposed will vary far more than you might readily imagine, according to the goods for which the containers are to be used. Every time an inventor meets a new and difficult condition he has served many thou- sands of persons. Specialists are constantly at work in this field both as employes of corporations and free-lance inventors. Some months ago one of these free lances went to New York at the request of his patent attorney to inspect the sketch of his invention. He was a young man employed in a factory at twenty-five dollars a week. The nature of his work gave him an excellent opportunity to observe the various paper containers in which goods were shipped and received. You may correctly infer from this statement that there were several better jobs around that factory than the one held by our hero, but he had been looking at things with a practical eye. The result was a very simple invention for increasing the strength of only one shape of container, As the young man sauntered out, after approv- ing the draftsman’s sketch, his patent attorney said, “I don’t know whether I shall buy a new car this year or not, but that young man will have one.” Playing a Lone Hand HE patent on any article that becomes a fad will usually proveenormously profitable. Many years ago the father of a young family observed that his children wore out the toes of their shoes even ahead of the soles. He devised and attached to the toe of each shoe a copper guard. Every child in the neighborhood who saw this armor-belted foot- gear immediately demanded the same attachment. The copper-toed boot was patented and became very popular. Whatever its value may have been in prolonging the iife of the shoe, its popularity was essentially a fad. In addition to the fact that new basic inventions such as the telephone, sewing machine, steam engine and automo- bile had no market waiting for them at birth, they seldom emerged in a very marketable condition. This latter fact is often overlooked when the poverty and disappointment of certain notable inventors are discussed. For instance, the steam engine frightened and amazed people, but they were already wearing shoes when present methods of pro- ducing shoes were invented—everyone knows that. What they forget is that the first few steam engines were clumsy things; wonderful enough in promise, to be sure, but not able to sell themselves by one demonstration. Inventors overlook this point about as frequently as laymen, espe- cially when they are having difficulty obtaining financial support. Not long ago an inventor in precisely that situa- tion and frame of mind called at the office of his patent attorney to use the telephone. As he hung up the receiver he said, ‘To think that the man who invented that was turned down repeatedly!” “Well, that was not precisely the thing he invented,” the patent attorney commented. “It has been worked on since then.” And so it has. Therein lies the tragedy of the prophet in mechanical lines. He can seldom do it all. Someone else often has to pick up the burden where he drops it and carry on the work. Even so, the financial batting average of men with entirely new ideas grows better year by year. They may— and probably will—find uphill work looking for financial support, but there is very little chance nowadays for them to scare anyone. Many half-baked modern inventions are purchased annually and perfected in vast laboratories under the supervision of scientists and engineers employed by cor- porations. Inventions develop rapidly in these days. On this point a professional inventor employed by a large cor- poration said: “The most important thing we do is so simple that any man ought to be born with sense enough to think of it. We parcel out our work according to our abilities in special lines. But it seems to be more natural for an inventor to play a lone hand. The result is that the amateur wastes at least a third of his time trying to discover something that is already known. For instance, I knew an inventor who con- ceived a very valuable idea for a mechanical labor-saving device that would place certain articles in a box. They had to be arranged just so, but he had completely solved that phase of his problem, when he found himself baffled because he lacked a mechanical counting device that would trip his machine on the number forty-eight. Now those December 13,1924 things were already on the market, but he didn’t know it. So he was making one. They are comparatively simple, but think of the time he was wasting! “I know another inventor who had patiently set to work to discover what effect certain gases and chemicals would have on steel. Why, he might have spent years on such a problem! Fortunately I discovered him in the midst of his folly and dragged him to a laboratory where they already knew more than half of what he wanted and were equipped to find out the rest in a few weeks. A man doesn’t have to do the whole job in order to finish with a bona-fide invention. It is nothing less than amazing that so many thousands of principles and processes are dis- covered over and over again. The very axioms of mathe- matics are known to have been discovered certainly three or four times within the period of recorded history, and more probably a hundred times. “The man who is launching off into absolutely undis- covered territory must, of course, chart nearly every inch of the way; but very few inventors produce new scientific knowledge. They merely adapt to practical use what is already known. They ought to seek codperation, and they could nearly always do it without disclosing their secrets. The real explorers are seldom eager for financial returns, anyway. They generally lose money quite willingly, be- cause science is their passion. Astonishingly large numbers of these men are now endowed. Corporations can afford to support them, because corps of practical men are waiting to turn their discoveries to immediate use. “Benjamin Franklin served a very useful purpose in the electrical field, but he had more sense than to break his heart because he couldn’t cash in. I hope you will not think I’m a Bolshevist, but just between ourselves Robert Fulton produced a very primitive steamboat. Some of the earlier automobiles also were slightly less than perfect. “One of the things we hired hands do in this laboratory is to make sure that an invention works well when hitched up for service. You can’t always be sure until you have tried a few experiments whether the thing ought to be made of wood, glass, steel, tin, rubber or platinum. And even after it works, we keep on tinkering with it. The re- sult is a flock of patents that protect the merchandise even after the basic patent has run out.” Some idea of the commercial importance of this service by employed experts may be gained from the fact that one American chemical company’s patents are valued at $21,000,000. In the metallurgical field one company has patents valued at $11,000,000, and in the electrical there is one group of patents reputed to be worth $12,000,000. These are the largest; but the number of companies hold- ing patents worth $1,000,000 is difficult to estimate. Considering the number and quality of the experts em- ployed by such companies, an outsider might throw up his hands in despair and say, ‘‘ What chance have I got?” But the men on the inside of these laboratories think the out- sider has a very good chance. In fact they are astonished to observe the number of important inventions coming every year from rank outsiders. When Schwab Was an Outsider “T DON’T know why it is or how they do it,’”’ an expert replied when I questioned him on thissubject. “I have about decided it must be the climate. You can bring a Bulgarian cowboy through Ellis Island and just as soon as he learns to read English he will start to work on an in- vention, although he may be forty years old and had not committed a dozen ideas during his whole life in Europe. I think it must be the climate, because immigrants show the same symptoms as natives. Seriously, though, no one will ever be able to corral brains. Intelligence breaks out in all sorts of places. No community or person is immune. We professionals do our best, but the country boys whiz one by us every now and then.” The present ferment in the radio field has had interesting and diverse effects upon professional inventors. Some of them feel quite sure that this is precisely the sort of field in which the country boys will ‘“‘whiz one by us every now and then.” Consequently they stepped entirely out, and intend to remain out. Others are plunging in. The pro- fessional inventors who are shunning radio feel reasonably confident that they could invent things just as fast as the country boys, but they are not sure that they would be months and years ahead of the outsiders. Briefly, they are afraid of interferences. This technical term is used to describe the proceedings that follow when two persons have invented the same thing at about the same time and hearings are necessary to determine priority. The date of invention determines who gets the patent. Speaking of outsiders recalls the fact that Charles M. Schwab, of steel fame, was one. He must have smiled many times since over the task he set for himself as a young married man working for small wages. Briefly, he had observed that there were different grades of steel and that purchasers sometimes got an assortment whether they wanted it or not. He thought it would be a good idea to find out what caused these different grades, so he set (Continued on Page 48)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST EVEREADY FLASH rains & BATTERIES onger aeEA i MASHLIGEt out , é [|] i wm \ UY RM No. 2671—Eveready 2-cell Focusing Spotlight with the 200-foot range. r Eveready Unit Cells fit and improve all makes of flashlights. They insure brighter light and longer battery life. EVEREADY “ATIONAL CARBON COM \ \ AGAIN the Christmas season! Suggestions and counter-sugges- OB... 4::::0:ca; 5 RO EEE eiatewe “Give that.” Here’s the happy solution: Give flashlights. Everybody wants an Eveready. Because it is the perfect port- able light for every purpose and purse; because it is a gift that is good-looking as well as practical and safe; because it appeals alike to young and old; because it does so much and costs so little. Everybody wants an Ever- eady. There’s the Eveready Aluminum Flashlight that fits the pocket. Fine for the Boy Scout. The Eveready Focusing Flashlights, with 200, 300 or 500 foot range. Great for motor- ists and motor-boatists. Broad-beam lights for Mother and Dad touse around the house. Handsome nickel or ribbon black cases. Just take your gift- list to the nearest Eveready dealer. You'll find the right light at the right price and save hours of shopping. The improved Eveready line comprises twenty-two fine flash- lights in four general types. New designs. New features. But old prices—65c to $4.50, complete with battery—any- where in the U.S. A. Buy them from any electrical, hardware or marine supply dealer, drug, sporting goods or general store, garage or auto accessory shop. Manufactured and guaranteed by NaTIonat Carson Company, Ine. New York San Francisco Canadian National Carbon Co., Limited, Toronto, Ontaric

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“TYE time seems ripe to in- quire of literature whether it is a trade, a business, a profession or an art. To myself, 2240707 ¢ 828 4 72 8 BY mM. who have been engaged in it as novelist, correspondent, writer of editorials and editor for for authors—of, say, twelve dollars a day—thus putting ipward of twenty years, it seems to bulk larger than any of these. It is only to be thought of, like the manufacture of automobiles or of steel—as an industry. Expansive ad- ectives must be used, and there are statistics. Wher anything arrives at the point where sta- tisties grow on it like barnacles on a whale, it becomes worthy the attention of our best minds, gage that of the Inter- tate Commerce Commission. Therefore literature in America must be dealt with in a dignified manner, such as bankers use in approaching a new bond issue. One must look st it as at the railroad situation. A combina- tion of two of the country’s publishers would foubtiess bring about an indictment under the Sherman Antitrust Law Is literature a trade? The American Federa- tion of Labor recognizes it as such—which should be conclusive—for recently it extended to the Authors League of America an invita- tion to affiliate. Those authors who agreed with Mr. Gompers were in « bare minority, and the thing fell a little short of becoming an accom- plished fact. This would have given our novel- iata the privilege of going out on sympathetic strike with the Plasterers’ Union, or, probably, of calling upon the Structural Steel Workers to embark upon a sym- pathetic walkout for some literary principle. This incident, it seerns to me, laid the capsheaf upon the respectability of literature—toward which it has been traveling labori- Literature is now as respectable and, doubtless, will er

ously these many years sa bank president. A Union Scale for Authors? T WILL be seen, therefore, that it must possess some of the attributes of a trade, but it is not a trade, because the one sine qua non of a trade is mediocrity. Carpenters are paid fifteen dollars a day—-this means all carpenters. I believe plasterers are in somewhat better case—as to all plasterers. But it would be difficult to establish a wage of mediocrity

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Y By Clarence Budington Kelland them on the level with plumbers’ helpers, because there are authors to whom nobody would pay twelve dollars a day, and there are authors who would refuse to work at all for anything like twelve dollars a day. Until an agreement can be reached to pay those above and below this mean at the mediocrity rate, lit- erature must not be described as a trade. It does not possess the one great quality. Literature does possess some of the important attributes of business; namely, that there are many annual failures in it, which show liabil- ities and no assets. Salesmanship and adver- tising are present; and these, of course, are the life and soul of business. Authors of today re- tain skilled salesmen to peddle their wares, and these salesmen are adroit and well paid. There are a number of them in New York who make rather more out of it than the authors them- selves. They deal on an inchoate stock ex- ehange and their job is to see to it the author sells always above par, and to sell with such discretion that the shorts will never have a chance. And as to advertising, what safety razor or chewing gum is more of a household word than certain of our writing men? There seems to be nobody in the world today who can say with authority whether a book be good or bad. There- fore you may advertise the worst of books as a masterpiece of all time and find critics who will agree with you. Also you may advertise the best of books as the best and find critics who will disagree with you. The business of a critic, it seems, is not to appraise a literary offering on its merits, to judge it open-mindedly and without bias, but to disagree cleverly with other eminent critics. As a matter of fact most of our critics are gentlemen with reputations for play- fulness, who, in their reviews, mention the name of a novel, and then write a column of epigram or humor or satire having nothing to do with the matter in hand. I believe it was Mr. Ruskin who said that no critic could function until somebody else had accomplished something. In his day criticism had not lifted itself to the heights of

BLUMENTHAL December 13,1924 USINESS today. Our modern critics are originators. They are brilliant young men practicing literary ex- ercises with the objective of writ- ing a play. Nor does literature seem to me to be a profession. A profession is something by means of which you hope to earn a living after studying how to do it in college. To havea profession you must have a degree: M.D., or LL.D., or D.D., or the like. It is different from old-tirne appren- ticeship in this: that it has had the social advantages of several years in a university, embracing an opportunity to make the team, become a member of a fraternity, and to have one’s father settle the bills. True, you have to pass an examination to practice, but the main thing is the years of drudgery in college. Because of this, literature may not be described as a profession. All you require to prac- tice it is a certain amount of time, paper and postage stamps. Any author may roll up his sleeves to show his audience there is no concealed university degree and still make a go of it. Some authors made a notable success without ever learning how. They keep on succeeding by the same method. Is Literature an Art? OME of us spend apprenticeships—which, of course, is what all critics are doing—and learn something about writing by doing it. In my own case, not from choice but through lack of editorial appreciation, I served seven years before I learned the trick of it—seven years without selling aline. But that does not interfere with the fact that I was an author from the beginning. An author is a person who has written something. Now, then, we come to the hardest nut to crack: Is literature an art? I think, in the last analysis, whether any kind of work be an art depends upon how vociferously the participants declare it to be an art. Motion pictures are admitted to be an art because the gentlemen engaged in making them declare them in expensive advertisements to be an art, assert in banquet speeches that they are an art, and often demean themselves with that fine, free, joyous, irresponsi- ble disregard of morals which is said to be a necessary adjunct of the artistic temperament. Motion-picture people make pictures only in what spare time they have (Continued on Page 124)

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TLLUITRATEDRD BY CHARLES LL evening thick gray mists had drifted low above the A island woods before a brisk northeast breeze. But ™& toward midnight the wind had lulled, and now the moon hung high and round in a sky where no shred of cloud floated, The air had been swept dry and clean. Very faint and far, yet singularly clear, seemed the voices of the Sep- tember night; voices of many different kinds, dropping softly down through the still moonlit spaces. Mat Norman, his back against the trunk of a laurel oak at the edge of a small meadow of rushes, listened eagerly. The muffled thunder of surf breaking along a barrier beach a half mile away made a sort of background for the voices falling from the upper air and seemed somehow to enhance their distinctness Norman recognized many of them—the metallic chirps of ricebirds, the guttural quok-quok-quok of night herons or Indian pulieta, the mellow calls of plover and curlew, the high-pitched cries of green herons raarveling at the vast numbers of the migrating birds, streaming southward through the night along high invisible air roads, guided by the boom of the surf on the lonely beaches of the coast. Then, suddenly, another sound fixed his attention It was no more than the cracking of a twig. Yet Norman, vigils in the haunts of wild things, was significant. He hoped for a buck of the wut the wayfarer that presently opening of the narrow trail through the rushes Was @ raccoon, a very small raccoon, having ‘only the stump of a tail. In the white moonlight Norman could we plainly, could distinguish nearly every detail. “Lotor the he muttered, smiling; ‘‘Lotor the Wily One, the T Lotor the Little, roaming a long way from home. Now I wonder Hie broke off suddenly. A small dark shape darted along the path through the rushes straight toward the spot where the little raccoon waited motionless; and above it and behind it another dark shape planed swiftly, sound- leasly downward. Scarcely two feet in front of the raccoon, the horned ow! dropped upon his victim, and in the same instant Loetor the Lucky leaped forward. A squeal, a growl, a brief violent fluttering of strong wings beating the ground and the grass; then, as silently as he had fallen on his prey, the big ow! floated upward, empty-clawed. An instant he hovered ten feet above the spot where the growling, on the quivering body of a Next moment the owl was gone. accustomed to nocturnai knew that it sea-isiand race of deer; appeared at the Lucky,” iilleas One raccoon crouched young marsh rabbit THE SATURDAY OR By Herbert Ravenel Sass LIVINGSTON BULL A long time he listened,” Mat Norman, as he leaned, invisible, against the black trunk of his oak, grinned de- lightedly. - “Quick work, Lotor the Lucky,’’ he ex- claimed under his breath; “quick work and your usual luck. It’s a smart coon that can make a horned ow! catch his sup- per for him. Hello! What now?” Behind and just above the raccoon the impalpable air had suddenly taken form. A ghostly big-headed shape hung there momentarily, then dropped apparently upon the raccoon’s back. Wide, powerful wings buffeted Lotor the Lucky; long, needle-pointed claws ripped and raked his hide; a piercing, strangling scream stabbed his ears. Taken utterly by surprise, the little coon leaped sideways out of the path and into the rushes. When, a moment or two later, his quick wits had taken stock of the situation and he bounced out into the path again to reclaim his booty, the big ow! had already lifted the rabbit fifteen feet into the air. Mat Norman laughed softly as his imagination pictured the expression of Lotor’s whiskered countenance. “By Jiminy!” he said to himself. ‘‘That’s an owl worth knowing. I'll get acquainted with the old pirate and keep tab on him. And to start with, I'll name him Eyes o’ Flame, the Harrier of the Night.” He smiled and repeated the imposing title. Norman was a young man then and he had a young man’s fancy for resounding names. Moreover, for an instant he had seen two great round orbs which glowed in the moonlight like live coals. The name that he had chosen pleased him. Three afternoons later, an hour before sunset, Eyes o’ Flame sat in a low dense cedar at the edge of a wide sea marsh and looked out over the level green expanse. Unless something especially alluring tempted him, the horned owl would not begin his hunting for two hours or more. But he was wide awake and fully alert; and his big yellow black-centered eyes, glaring fixedly under the two tall feather tufts on top of his head, kept grim and ceaseless watch upon the wild peoples of the lonely salt flats. The flood tide, pouring in through narrow inlets between the barrier islands and sweeping silently along the deep meandering marsh creeks, brought with it incalculable EVENING POST December 13,1924 Panic Gave Lotor Strength. He Turned and Swam for His Life; Yet Even With the Curse rent UnderHim,He Moved ata Snail’s Pace Compared With the Huge Black Water Beasts Racing On: ward at a Speed Which Might Rival That of a Fleeing Deer hordes of shrimp and mullet. Twenty feet in front of the owl’s _ cedar the marsh grass fell away, inclosing a bare space of sandy mud pitted with shallow holes and traversed by crooked, irregular gullies. Already the rising waters had converted this open space into a marsh-bordered pond from two inches to a foot in depth—a small tidal lagoon packed and crammed with life. The horned ow! waited and watched, his luminous eyes scanning the muddy margins where the water lapped amid the close-growing marsh blades. A flock of fifty-two snowy egrets, winging slowly toward their roosting place, dropped down to the teeming shallows, too tempting to be passed by, despite the lateness of the hour. With languid interest the big ow! watched them at their fishing—slim, graceful, immaculate, striding swiftly here and there through water that covered their golden feet and four inches of their clean black legs. To right and left the long, straight javelin bills flashed downward, lifted again, jerked spasmodically in the air as the mandibles manipulated the shrimp to loosen the horny head parts, snapped shut once more, poised, aimed,'flashed down upon another victim. To Eyes o’ Flame all this was of no importance; but he observed with some quickening of interest that now and then an egret leaped suddenly upward and did a little dar ce in the water as a passing crab struck with clashing claws at the tall bird’s slender legs. Egrets and shrimp were of no consequence in the horned owl’s scheme of things, but crabs sometimes played a certain part in his hunting, and this evidence of their abundance was worth noting. More closely than ever, the round yellow orbs searched the marsh-bordered margins of the pool; but minute after minute passed uneventfully, and Eyes o’ Flame’s gaze strayed hither and yonder, taking in many things, yet finding nothing to stir him to action. A mixed flock of two or three hundred shore birds—cur- lew, yellowlegs, black-bellied plover and Wilson plover— which had been resting on a sand bar in the pool, took wing in detachments as the water deepened under them. An osprey passed over, heading northward. From the oppo- site direction came a regiment of Hudsonian curlew, migrating in a wide curved phalanx like a bent bow. Presently, low above the marsh, swept an army of black-and-white skimmers, flying side by side in a long (Continued on Page 44)

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Centinued from Page 42) double rank several hundred yards across its front, their taper wings rhythmically fanning the air, their scissorslike bille gleaming red in the soft light. Eyes o’ Flame watched them curiously as they passed. So large an army of skim- mers was a rare sight on the marshes, though not so rare on the barrier beach a half mile away, where, in late summer and fall, the scissors-billa might sometimes be seen in hosts of many hundreds as they passed up or down the strand, journeying from one inlet sand bar to another. The big ow!’s head was turned to watch the departing skimmer army. He could no longer see the pool or its denizens. Yet suddenly, with such swiftness that a man’s eye could not have followed the motion, his head pivoted on his shoulders so that it faced the other way. The yellow eyes glowed with a fiercer light; the tall, hornlike ear tufts rose stiffly erect; the whole burly, rather fluffy body of the owl seemed to tighten and grow tense and hard. It must have been a sound that had warned him; yet this sound, if aound there was, could net have been heard at that distance by the keenest human ear. The egrete fishing in the pool did not hear it. A clapper rail, walking along the margin close to the encircling wall ef marsh grass, continued her walk undisturbed. The big blue crabs, moving about in the shallows, failed to take alarm. But Fyes o’ Flame’s marvelous ears had made no mistake Out of the marsh, precisely at the spot upon which the owl's eyes were fixed, beunded a slim, long, dark brown shape. Its first leap carried it with a splash into water which al} but covered its short legs. Its second leap carried it still deeper, to a place where an instant before the claws of a crab had appeared momentarily, striking at something on the surface. Its third leap bore it shoreward again, snarl- ing with anger; for the crab, warned by that first splash, had dodged and darted away in a cloud of muddy water. Another half second and the mink would have regained the shelter of the tail marsh grass; but in that half second silent wings lowered over him, leng claws as sharp as needies and almost as hard as steel clutched his nape and drove deep into his furry throat. With hardly a movement of his pinions, Eyes o' Flame sailed onward and upward Long before the big ow! had reached the ancient live oak which wae hia favorite feeding station, the lithe brown form trailing from his talons had ceased its struggles. The old oak stood in the heart of dense junglelike woods and thickets covering 4 srnall island in the marshes midway between a much larger isiand, which was almost a part of the mainland, and a low, narrow barrier isle along the edge of the sea. The smali densely wooded island in the midst of the green marsh flats had been Eyes o’ Flame’s head- quarters for months. Its almost impenetrable thickets rendered it a safe refuge so far as human enemies were con cerned, while on it and all around it the great horned owl found abundance of game THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Almost in its center was a small fresh-water pool in the middle of a wet meadow covered thickly with tall olive- green rushes, growing in dense clumps and standing as high as a man’s head; and everywhere through these rushes wound the trails and runways of the short-eared brown marsh rabbits which were Eyes o’ Flame’s staple prey. The woods and thickets swarmed with wood rats; in the belt of reeds and other water growths around the island’s rim other rodents abounded; in the wilderness of marsh grass stretching on every side hundreds of clapper rails made their homes. On all these Eyes o’ Flame levied tribute, now and again varying his fare by hunting quail or robbing some plantation henroost on the larger inhabited island across the boggy tidal plains. Yet better than all these, Eyes o’ Flame’s whimsical palate loved the mink; and often, in the dusk and in the dark, he haunted the shadowy margins of shallow pools and creeks where the minks of the marshes sought the big blue crabs which came in from the inlets and the sea with the flooding tide. On this September evening the horned owl was in luck. He had caught his mink without hunting for it—caught it in daylight, before the time for his hunting had arrived. This was a stroke of fortune; he need not hunt that night unless he chose to do so, for here was his dinner ready for the eating. Yet as his soft wings bore him noiselessly to- ward the old oak in the island woods, Eyes o’ Flame, despite his passion for mink meat, was conscious of no eager desire for the feast. Perhaps he had dined more sumptuously than usual the night before. Perhaps the sluggishness of his appetite was due to the fact that sunset was not his accustomed hour for dining, but, on the contrary, the hour at which he prepared to set forth in search of game. At any rate, having reached his dining table—a crotch of the oak where three stout limbs diverged—he did not proceed to rend and devour his prey, but instead stood idly upon the mink’s carcass for perhaps a quarter of an hour while the dusk deepened round him. At last his barred and mottled tawny pinions opened and he planed outward and downward from the oak, swerved in the air and sailed buoyantly up to a bulky nest of sticks, bark and Spanish moss near the top of a pine. In this nest-—-the deserted home of a pair of red-shouldered hawks—he deposited the body of the mink. Then he spread his velvet wings again and faded into the gloom. He had been gone perhaps three minutes when a lump on one of the limbs of the live oak moved. For a quarter of an hour that lump had remained utterly motionless, except for an almost imperceptible movement of its sides which proved that the lump breathed; but throughout that quarter of an hour two beady black orbs had watched Eyes o’ Flame as he perched in the crotch of the oak — watched him eagerly yet patiently, calmly yet perhaps vindictively. Lotor the Lucky was very small, but he was very wise. When he was three months old a cottonmouth moccasin had bitten him. He had recovered, but somehow the A Smati Dark Shape Darted Along the Path Through the Rushes Straight Toward the Spot Where the Little Raccoon Waited Motiontiess; t and Above it and Behind it Another Dark f Shape Planed Swiftty, Soundlessty Downward December 13,1924 venom had retarded his growth. Seasoned veteran though he was, rich in woods lore, expert in all the essential arts of forest life, he was a poor thing to look at—a scraggy runt of a raccoon, scarcely more than half his proper size, boasting only a mere remnant of a tail, lacking four toes which steel traps had taken, walking always with a limp because an- other trap had crushed a hind foot. How he lost his tail is another story and does not matter. It was at the opposite end of his person that his brain was situated, and the important thing about Lotor was his brain. That brain was busy now. It had been busy from the moment when Lotor’s sharp eyes discerned the great horned owl winging silently toward the oak with prey hanging from his talons. In that moment the little raccoon, return- ing along one of the oak’s main limbs after a raid on certain clusters of wild grapes, had frozen into absolute im- mobility. Thirty feet from him Eyes o’ Flame came to rest in the oak; and Lotor, watching through a screen of leaves which hid him from the owl, waited with that vast patience which was a basic ingredient of his wisdom. There was stored away in Lotor’s brain considerable knowledge of horned owls. When this owl did not proceed at once to devour the prey which he had taken, the little raccoon knew that it might be worth his while to keep watch from his ambush; and while he watched, his sharp eyes shot quick glances to right and left, searching the surrounding trees. When, a few minutes later, he spied the deserted hawks’ nest in the pine, the discovery served to fortify his patience. He felt fairly confident now that he knew what the ow! would do, and he was not surprised in the slightest when presently Eyes o’ Flame flew with his prey to the abandoned nest, which he occasionally used as a storehouse, lingered there a half second, then departed empty-clawed for his night’s hunting. Lotor the Lucky waited a few minutes for safety’s sake. On the ground he stood in no fear of horned owls; on the slim trunk of that pine, fifty feet above the ground, the steel-clawed, great-winged hunter of the night would have him at a disadvantage. One of the things that Lotor had learned zbout these monarchs of the owl tribe was the fact that they varied much in strength and courage. He had been living on the little island in the marshes only about a week, having come there from a’much larger island where his tribe abounded; but already he had had one encounter with this horned owl which had given the wily old coon an eloquent hint of the big bird's daring. Hence, for some three minutes after Eyes o’ Flame had disappeared, Lotor remained a mere inanimate knob on the rugged limb of the oak. Then the knob stirred and became again a small stump-tailed raccoon which moved swiftly (Continued on Page 46)

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(Continued from Page 44) along the oak limh and down the tree’s mas- sive trunk. A quarter of an hour later—for more than once he had paused to listen keenly and look about him—Lotor’s eager black eyes peered over the rim of the hawks’ nest in the pine Whet he saw there at first pleased, then disappointed him. His prize lay where he expected to find it; but it was not the prize which he had hoped for--a young marsh rabbit. The victim that Eyes o’ Flame had ieft in his storehouse was a creature which Lotor knew well, but upon which he was not accustomed to prey, because, in the first place, he had never succeeded in catch- ing a mink and had learned long ago that it was waste of time to stalk or pursue them. Yet having climbed fifty feet for this supper, he waz not disposed to reject it hastily. He took the brown carcass deli- cately in his jaws, and with another quick, apprehensive glance around him, bac ked over the rim of the nest. Loter the Lucky was halfway down the pine wher na strange thing happened. As suddenly as though a rifle bullet had touched his spine, he loosed his hold on the tree, turned and dropped, his body twisting frantically, - feet clawing the air. Into the top of a low, dense, wide ‘spreading cassena edhy at the base of the pine he fell with a crash that shattered the silence of the isiand woods; and as the stiff, small- leaved twigs of the bush ingulfed him and closed over him, a great dim shape, wide- winged and savage-eyed, hammered with mighty pinions at the leafy gates of his refuge and struck long trenchant talons deep into the barricade of twigs. Lotor the Lucky, somewhat disheveled and rather breathless, felt the needle point of one of those talons lightly scratch his hide. It was a mere pin prick and it did the coon no harm. But.it was vivid proof of how narrowly he had escaped, and he aprewled motioniess for a minute or two amid the inner branches of the cassena be- fore recovering kis equanimity. Then he jumped lightly to the ground and stood for an instant cons ddering, the mink still hang- ing from his jaws. Above and around him the stiff interlacing twigs and branches formed a barrier which Eyes o’ Flame could never penetrate; but Lotor the Lucky, now that he had the solid ground under him again, no longer feared the owl, and fora moment he wes on the point of stepping boldly out into the open. The impulse passed quickly. Always, Lotor had found discretion the better part of valor. It had been his settled rule to avoid fights of all kinds, and he had won through to old age because Nature, as if to make amends for giving him so small a body, had endowed him with eunning be yond the cunning of his kind and senses sharper than those of most raccoons senses so sharp that somehow his ears had warned him of the big owl's unexpected re- turn, although those velvet wings had seemed as silent as the wings of a ghost. So Lotor the Lucky, who might better have been named Lotor the Discreet, remained for the present within his cassena fortress and gave his attention to the booty for which he had nearly paid a high price; and presentiy he discovered to his disgust that he had risked his hide and his neck for nothing. Had there been water at hand in which he could have washed the mink, he might have eaten at least a part of it; for the raccoon is loath to swallow meat which has not been dabbled and soaked in water with his own paws. But even if he had been able to prepare it in the appreved way, Lotor would probably have lore most of this car- cass to the woods scavengers. As it was, he lefé nearly all of it. It was meat strange to his palate, tough, stringy and rank; and, sceustomed as he was te the choicest deli- cacies of the woods, the marshes and the creeks, he ate only the soft inner parts, then lost interest altogether. Giving the man- gled, furry body a last contemptuous push with his nose, he ambled to the thicket's edge and thrust his sharp-pointed, black- spectacied face out through the leafy barri- cade, The moon, now three nights past the full, had not yet risen high enough to send its yallid radiance down into the woods; but foto *s eyes could see in the dark almost or quite as well as in the ght; and, after a few minutes’ inspection, he felt fairly confi- dent that the horned owl had gone on about his business. Sharp and clear above the low thunder of the surf on the barrier beach a half mile away, the voices of invisible THE SATURDAY myriads—ricebirds and warblers, herons and plovers— floated down to Lotor’s ears. Again tonight the far-called armies of the migrating birds were passing southward down the coast, bound for their winter quarters in the tropics. In Lotor’s brain, as he listened, an idea was born. Those voices dropping down through the darkness were the voices of the fall. The long Low Country summer was over. The aol crisp nights of autumn were at hand. For Lotor and all his kind that lived in the jungly woods along the sea, the coming of the new season was the signal for a change of habit. From now on, as the nights grew cooler, the whiskered, ring-tailed folk of the island woods would roam more widely and more adventurously. From now on their tracks, long and narrow-heeled, almost like the tracks of little men, would be seen in many places where for months no trail of a rac- coon had been found. Lotor, listening to those autumnal voices, felt within him the impulse to roam; and gradually this im- pulse took definite form. The night had just begun. There was ample time for a visit to a certain spot, unvisited for months, but rich with succulent memories. A half hour later, Eyes o’ Flame, the horned owl, motionless on the top of a tall dead cedar at the edge of the marshes, saw a gray hump-backed shape ambling like a tiny bear along an abandoned causeway leading across the marshy flats toward the ocean beach. To the great owl's eyes the night was more transparent than the day. At once he recognized his foe—the little tailless coon that had come to live in his woods, the thief that had raided his storehouse and stolen his mink. Yet Eyes o’ Flame did not move. Bold as he was, he was prudent also, and it was not his habit to trifle rashly with raccoons unless there was some compelling reason for doing so or unless conditions gave him an advantage. Some night perhaps he would catch Lotor again high in the air on the slender trunk of a tree, where he could not meet the big owl's lightninglike onset. Then there would be a reckoning. Eyes o’ Flame bided his time. So Lotor the Lucky passed on along the causeway toward the sea, unaware of the grim, hostile orbs that watched him go; and presently he came without mishap or adventure to the back beach of the small barrier isle to which the causeway led. There he paused for a few moments to take stock of his surroundings. The tide was very high. On both sides of the causeway the waters had spread far and wide across the marshy flats; and the barrier isle itself, the lowest and narrowest on the coast and for most of its length bare of trees, was now nothing more than a low ridge of sand, on one side of which the ocean broke in hissing phosphorescent foam while on the other stretched the flooded marshes. Lotor did not altogether like the look of things. Yet he had seen tides as high as this, and even higher, and always after a while the waters had subsided. The little coon had a certain practical understanding of tides—the fruit of long experience. He knew that although they sometimes rose much higher than at other times, there were limits which they never passed. Ob- viously, this tide had nearly reached its limit and would soon begin to recede. This meant that long before daylight conditions at the spot which he tatenlled to visit would be exactly suited to his purpose. Forget- ting his misgivings, he set out at a good pace along the sandy ridge above the surf. Lotor, for all his wisdom, could not know that a hundred miles offshore a mighty hurricane was raging. He could not know that this far-off storm was driving the waters of the sea against the Low Country coast, pushing them higher and higher, so that, Bs om the flood tide still had two hours more to run, the normal high-water mark had already been passed. There was nothing to warn Lotor of these things, for the clear, almost windless night held no hint of menace; and though he could not help noticing that a heavier surf than usual thundered along the ocean front, he at- tached no significance to it until the EVENING POST continued rise of the waters forced it upon his attention. By that time he had traveled more than half the length of the barrier island, heading for the small inlet near which he expected to feast on oysters. A dramatic discovery woke him to his peril. Ahead of him the sandy ridge dipped and flattened. Suddenly Lotor saw that, where once dry sands had stretched between clumps of low dunes, the sea had broken through. Before him surged a seething torrent some fifty yards in width, where great ocean breakers, tossing their white crests as if in triumph, hurled themselves clear across the narrow island and into the quiet waters covering the marshes behind. Instantly Lotor turned and made off at his best speed along the back trail. Within a half mile he halted, perplexed, even a little frightened. Since he had passed, the ocean had broken through in another place. His retreat was cut off. It was an hour after this that Lotor came to a disagreeable decision. He would have to swim across the inundated marshes to one of the wooded islands behind the bar- rier beach. The little coon was a practiced swimmer, but he did not enjoy the prospect of so long a swim as this one would be—a swim of a mile or more across open spaces too brightly illumined by the moon to suit his cautious spirit. Yet there were no ter- rors in the placid sheltered waters which he must cross comparable with the white tu- multuous terror roaring just behind him and threatening each moment to ingulf him. The barrier isle was disintegrating under him. As long as he could he had held his lace on a knoll of the sandy ridge, still oping that after a while the tide would reach its crest and begin to recede. But closer and closer came those rearing white- maned chargers of the surf; louder and louder roared their savage voices; more and more often long tongues of white water shot forward from the onrushing ranks of the breakers, and swishing past his knoll on either side, swept clear over the ridge. It was plain at last that in alittle while Lotor’s knoll must go; and, wisely, Lotor made up his mind that he would go first. Sidling down the slope of the knoll away from the ocean, he wales delicately across a submerged carpet of short, jointed, salt grass and dro ~ y suddenly d#imost out of sight into still water teo deep for wading. Then, with only his head and a little of his shoulders showing, he began his long jour- ney across the flooded marshes. Lotor the Lucky, being much smaller than most raccoons, was also weaker and less enduring. Pitifully small he seemed on the face of those wile waters under the moon. The eyes of a careless or unpracticed man would not have recognized him as a raccoon, for at a little distance in that dim deceptive light he resembled a floating fragment of water-soaked driftwood; but if a man had watched closely he would have perceived that this driftwood frag- ment was moving not with the tide but against it or across it, and that twice within the space of a few minutes it changed its course, Presently it changed its direction for a third time. Lotor, far from land now, was not his normal cool, calculating self. In this test which confronted him, his cunning, upon which he always relied, was of no avail. It was muscle that he needed— strength and endurance for a long unre- mitting effort which was proving much more severe than he had Guased. hommes he had not taken into accoun* the slow cur- rent setting across the inundated marshes. If he yielded to that current it would bear him he knew not whither, and he battled against it desperately, spending his small strength. He gained, but very slowly, and he knew that his goal was still far away. In his long life Lotor had encountered most of the perils of the woods. The marshes were not strange to him, for he roamed over them often, generally by night, and hundreds of times he had swum the salt creeks which wound everywhere through the level plains of waving grass. But never before had he found himself in such sur- roundings as those which now encom- passed him; never before had he struggled December 13,1924 for his life in waters which seemed illimit- able, waters which seemed to have covered all the world. Lotor was afraid—afraid of the gurgling unending waters, of the current which clutched and pulled him, of the shadowy forms which swept over him now and then in the moonlight, of other vague sinister shapes which he could not see or hear but which he somehow knew to be near at hand. And suddenly the fear that gripped him flamed into mad terror. Close beside him, so close that it seemed almost at his ear, sounded a loud deep sigh, long-drawn and melancholy, yet sibi- lant and therefore menacing like the hiss of some huge snake. Startled half out of his wits, Lotor saw a great plated head thrust up out of the water—a hideous, yellow- brown head, many times larger than his own, naked, big-eyed and reptilelike, yet beaked like a bird of prey. Often Lotor, roaming the barrier beaches at night, had found the trails or crawls of sea turtles and occasionally he had unearthed their eggs buried deep in the island sands. Once or twice he had come upon the ponderous sea creatures themselves, laboriously making their way across the beach in the darkness. But in his terror he did not recognize this monstrous head thrust up beside him as the head of a giant turtle which had come in through an inlet with the storm tide to ex- plore the tidal channels winding through the flooded marsh plains. The huge beaked head remained visible only for a moment, but the dread which it inspired did not so swiftly wear away. Lotor was still quivering from the shock of that apparition when, directly ahead of him and not more than fifty feet distant, the water boiled and swirled, writhed like a live thing, then burst into white seething oam. A black bulk heaved upward from the depths and close beside it another and an- other—three great beasts of the waters, swimming side by side, rushing straight down upon the little coon. Panic gave Lotor strength. He turned and swam for his life; yet even with the current under him, he moved at a snail’s “ened compared with the huge black water easts racing onward at a speed which might rival that of a fleeing deer. Lotor heard the swish of spray close behind him, felt the water surge under him, gave him- self up for lost. Waves drenched his head and face, foam bubbled round him, his small body spun and bobbed in a whirlpool which all but pulled him under. Then swiftly the water grew calm again so that once more it was placid as a lake, save for small ripples and swirls here and there; and presently Lotor saw, yards away and dimly visible in the pale moonlight, the tall fins and black rounded backs of the three big porpoises racing onward at top speed. The strength of frenzy, of wild irresisti- ble terror, which for a little while had spurred him to redoubled exertions, passed suddenly out of him. Great weariness came upon him; his limbs grew heavy, his body cold. No longer able to stem the current, he drifted with it, swimming feebly, barely keeping himself afloat. Suddenly, as though hope and strength had been mysteriously born again, he swung around in a half circle, and with some semblance of his former vigor resumed his battle with the current, swimming not directly against it, but diagonally across it. Far away to his left a low, black, irregular wall lay athwart the moonlit waste of waters. Lotor knew that what he saw was a line of trees. For a few minutes he made good head- way. There were wide stretches where the current moved very slowly; but wherever a creek channel wound through the inun- dated marshes the tide was swifter and stronger; and presently Lotor knew that fate was against him, that just ahead of him lay such a channel. He could see the faster flow of the tide, the swirls and ripples at the surface; and no sooner had he passed from the comparatively shallow water over the marsh into the much deeper water of the creek bed than the current laid hold of him with a grip which he could not resist. Slowly, ruthlessly, it swept him down. He saw the line of trees slipping past him like giants marching across a moonlit sea. Already he was opposite the last of them, and he knew that those pines lined a lit- tle peninsula projecting into the flooded marshes and that the tide was sweeping him past this peninsula’s tip. Doggedly, (Continued on Page 48) he ee Set fos > = i ui) 4 a

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a See, ge AS K THE MAN WHO. OWNS THE SATURDAY EVENING POST corey 5 Ley pee 4 ps Ae Tees ee gan Pe ; NSS OF i A : ? " eh a tet Be Lak ( oy 1: Sh Rech 9 a ai ie panna is bb to nous oe ; can afford to buy the Packard Six— the man who is buying a half-price, half-quality, half-life car every year or two, and the man who is buying a heavy, bulky, complicated car less often. The depreciation cost per year of the long-life Packard Six will be no more. The operating and maintenance costs will be much less. And — The Packard Six will give the added advantages of Packard beauty, distinction, and comfort. Packard Six and Packard Eight both furnished in ten body types, open and en- closed. Packard’s extremely liberal time-payment plan makes possibie the imme- diate enjoyment of a Packard — purchasing out of income instead of capital 47 ONE

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48 Watch This Column **So mach one man can do, That doth both act and know."’ ~MARVELL if ? LON CHANEY Some critics have said that it will be a long time before LON CHANEY eclipses his magnificent work as the hunchback in ‘‘ The Hunchback of Notre Dame.” But you never can tell what an artist like CHANEY will do. in UNIVERSAL’S forthcoming pro- duction of ‘‘ The Phantom of the Opera,”’ from the famous novel by Gaston Leroux, he has a wonderful character which calls for great versatility and talent of unwsuel order. I have never known LON CHANEY to go back, and I am confident that im this extraordi- nary spectacle he will add materially to his laurels. Some of those who will as- sist are NORMAN KERRY, MARY PHILBIN, GIBSON GOWLAND and ARTHUR EDMUND CAREWE. This is a Rupert Julian production, To newspaper men and women, and authars who began their literary careers on news- papers: 1 wish you would submit a story of newspaper life which can be developed into a dramatic moving- picture. There is always some incident in the life of a newspaper worker which is strong in dramatic possibilities. I will pay top-notch prices for one or more such stories, previded they are accepted for production. “The Hunchback of Notre Dame” is just now proving a sensation in England, Japan and New Zealand, likewise other UNIVERSAL productions, particularly ‘‘Merry Go Round, '’ ‘‘ The Signal Tower’’ and ‘‘ The Turmoil."’ Notify your favorite theatre that HOUSE PETERS in ‘‘The Tornedo”’ and “K—the Unknown,’”’ starring VIRGINIA VALLI and PERCY MARMONT, have created a profound impression, and that you would like to see them in your neigh- borhood. Beautifully illustrated Universal Pic- tures bookiet sent you on request. (Te be continued next week) (arl Liemmle President | UNIVERSAL PICTURES 1600 Broadway, New York City THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 46) despairingly, he struggled. For every inch that he gained the current carried him sideways a yard. But at last, when his strength was all but gone, he knew that he had won. The tide had relaxed its grip. He floated now in water that was almost still, and not more than a hundred feet away loomed the black spires of the pines. One last rally of anna and of courage and he was safe. Wearily he struggled on, his limbs like lead—a small, forlorn, gallant figure, mak- | ing its last brave ~ fight for life. From the top of a tall pine at the end of the peninsula round yellow orbs scanned the still, shimmering waters. Suddenly, as though lit by some inner fire, they glowed like small twin suns. At last, after hours of fruitless hunting, Eyes o’ Flame, the horned owl, saw that which he sought—a wet furry thing moving across the water; judging | from its size, the protruding head of a swimming marsh rabbit. A shadowy form floated outward from the pine top; outward and downward in a half circle, noiseless as a ghost. Wide, silent wings darkened over Lotor the Lucky, long claws struck deep into his nape. For a space of moments those wings churned the air frantically; then the place where they had been was empty. Only a foaming and splashing of the water marked the spot where Lotor and Eyes o’ Flame had met once more. Mat Norman, wielding his paddle lazily, glanced at the moon and decided that it was time to go home. The storm tide had “ him up late. All afternoon and evening he had watched the waters rise higher and higher until the miles of green salt flats in front of his house were completely covered. Knowing that the tide would not reach its crest until near midnight, Norman realized that something unusual was taking place, The hurricane season had not yet altogether, but there were no signs of an approaching storm. Norman concluded that a hurricane was moving up the coast well out at sea, too far away to be dan- gerous, but near encugh to cause an extraor- dinarily high tide. EVENING POST The still waters glittering in the moon- light lured him to the landing where he kept his small bateau. For hours he pad- dled over salt flats which ordinarily stood several feet above high-water mark. He was a mile or more from home, paddlin along the edge of a wooded tongue of lan where tall pines ranged themselves in a long line, when drowsiness came upon him. He swung the boat around and retraced his course along the pineland’s edge. Just before rounding the point of the peninsula, he saw dimly in the moonlight a big bird perching on a high limb of a pine. From its shape and size - knew it to be a horned owl, probably the same ow! which he had encountered a few nights earlier and to which, in accordance with a custom of his, he had given a fanciful name. He stopped the boat and sat for a while watching. Old Eyes o’ Flame, he judged, was on the lookout for marsh rabbits driven a their accustomed haunts by the rising tide. Suddenly Norman saw the ow! leave his perch, sweep outward in a descending half circle, swing noiselessly down to the water. The big bird did not rise again; from the spot where he had dipped to the surface came a sound of wildly beating wings. This soon ceased; but Norman saw a commo- tion in the water just at that spot, and in- stantly, with strong thrusts of his paddle, he drove the boat forward. He could hear the tops of the marsh blades brushing against the bateau’s bottom. The water was not more than four feet deep; but not even the tip of an owl wing was visible when he reached the place— only a churning and swirling of the water as though a struggle were proceeding be- neath the surface. Norman hesitated an instant. It might be a small shark that Eyes o’ Flame had struck by mistake; it might be an otter or something else that could bite. He took a chance, thrusting in his arm as far as he could reach. Almost at ag his fingers closed on both feathers and ur. Norman had paddled halfway home when Eyes o’ Flame, the t horned owl, took his leave. For a while he had lain, appar- ently more dead than alive, on the forward December 13,1924 thwart where Norman had placed him, making yee gurgling noises in his throat, his round eyes dazed and glassy, his head wabbling weakly. Soon, however, he strug- gled toa sitting posture, the gurgling soun a gp his eyes became again alert and de- ant. Norman was wondering whether those wet wings would bear the owl aloft, when suddenly the wings opened, the big horned head was thrust forward menacingly, the strong curved bill sna twice with a sharp, metallic sound. Next moment Eyes o’ Flame was gone. Norman watched him fade into the gloom, then glanced again at the little tailless coon, draggled and tousled, lying in the bottom of the boat, his wet fur flecked with blood where sharp claws had pierced his neck so deeply that Norman had not found it easy to withdraw them. Lotor the Lucky had not moved. He lay as limp and still as when he had first been lifted from the water. Though he still breathed, his eyes were closed. Norman shook his head. He was sorry. For years he had known the old bobtailed raccoon, and often he had studied the record of Lotor’s wanderings, recognizing his trail by the four missing toes and the crushed heel which caused the little coon to limp. Norman knew that he would not find that trail again in the wet paths through the rush-grown meadows or along the margins of the marsh plains. The luck of Lotor the Lucky—luck which was really the reward of wisdom—had failed at ast. At the landing, Norman laid down his paddle, and stepping forward past the coon, took a turn of the bowline around a post. The boat’s momentum carried it for- ward a few feet so that it swung broadside against the bank where myrtle bushes formed thickets here and there and live-oak limbs overhung the water. Norman jerked the rope twice to tighten it on the post, then turned. He saw a small raccoon with only the stump of a tail climbing from the boat to the bank. The raccoon moved with consid- erable agility. Limping a little, Lotor the Lucky ambled briskly up the slope and vanished in the shadow of the myrtles. INVENTIONS THAT PAY WELL up a laboratory in his humble home and started to work. Fate moved him into the executive department. There are probably more men playing with science and invention today than ever before in the history of the world. I hap- pen to know one group that is Montes to make gold. No, they are not crazy. They know that it will cost them far more than the gold is worth, but they want to try it, just for fun. Thomas A. Edison has spent many thou- sands of dollars experimenting, and not always with an immediate practical end in view. Invention is both his play and his work. In addition to his many successes, he also has an imposing record of failures— that is, from the commercial point of view. In brief, he doesn’t make a new fortune every time he attacks a new problem. I shall name just one of his failures—in the commercial sense—but it is one that might have broken both the spirit and purse of a less resourceful and hardy person. Mr. Edison has spent a large fortune on motion pictures for use in the public schools—pic- | tures designed to take the place of text- books, at least to some extent, and eventu- | ally they may be used. Who can say? But he thought at the time that they would meet with friendly reception. I heard him | testify on this subject one day on the wit- ness stand—and he laughed about it. Benjamin Franklin had a_ thoroughly amateur sportsman’s point of view as an inventor. He was even opposed to patents and defended this conviction in his auto- biography. He said that every man prof- ited from the inventions of others and ought to be willing to contribute gratis whatever he could to the advancement of science. His stove, in which he took great pride, was manufactured in England without his per- miesion at a considerable profit to the man who infringed what ought to have been a patent; but this troubled Franklin not in the least. However, Mr. Franklin had written a pamphlet setting forth the advan- tages of his stove and when the English manufacturer also swiped his pamphlet without giving credit, the great American (Continued from Page 38) thought it was a low-down trick and said so to all whom it might concern. That touched him where he lived. The record seems to be fairly clear that science has been advanced by men with the sporting nec of view of Benjamin Frank- lin just about as frequently as by men who starved and died for serving mankind. On the subject of martyrs to science one will encounter many interesting and few mourn- ful points of view among scientific men. Recently the professional inventor previ- ously quoted who referred to himself as a hired hand said: “It is sad, of course, that every man can- not complete his work and make it com- mercially profitable; but in some instances the very nature of the task should have iven warning in time to avert tragedy. The human race ought not to be indicted because it failed to recognize instantly and reward generously a man whose achieve- ment was a harbinger of things to come rather than a practical thing. : “To my way of thinking, the really great tragedy is for a man to be so far ahead of his time that efter he discovers a basic principle he has no materials with which to work. That happened repeatedly in aéronautics before the gasoline internal- combustion engine arrived. I den’t want to wander off into a long technical discus- sion, so I will invent an inventor of the type I mean. Let us suppose a man living in the age when the wheel was comparatively new—I mean any kind of wheel. One of the next steps was discovery of the princi- ple of the treadmill. That must have been a startling, tremendous and very important step forward in its day; nct comparable, of course, with the bow and arrow, but still very vital. Now let us imagine our inven- tor looking at a treadmill and conceiving the principle of the bicycle, for they are not so very far apart. The bicycle is quite an achievement. **So now we have our supposititious man fired with @ great idea—and it is a great idea; but what can he do with it? He has very little metal, if any. He has no rub- ber. Steel is not invented, much less, steel tubing. The ball bearing lies thousands of ears hence. Axles and hubs are of wood, ubricated perhaps with water. But he sets to work and makes a bicycle, and it is no good. That, I say, is pure tragedy for the man is so far ahead of his time that he can’t really be sure of even his basic discovery in view of such an unsatis- factory demonstration. There is nothing for him to do but go his way and die. He is right, but he is both defeated and baffled. It seems to me that a man might easily survive and smile if he failed of commercial success and fame but knew he had demon- strated his principle. That in a way is victory. To the true scientist it is the most important victory of all. Not to achieve this personal, internal satisfaction after working with the truth, I say, would be — tragedy. And just such things as that ave happened many times. “If a man wants to buck that game he ought to do it with his eyes wide open and prepare his soul to withstand the shock. If not, let him invent something the world is eager for.” ‘ And what is: the world eager for? One man’s testimony is as good as another’s where all must guess. I can make a few ——. Any improvement on well- drilling machinery is welcomed, and there is always an eager market for appliances to stretch barbed wire while it is being nailed to fence posts. Among the most forward-looking buyers of inventions are American dentists. When something valuable ap they hop on it, with the result that om have vastly en- couraged the inventive genius of their pro- fession. New lighting effects for places of amusement such as theaters find a ready market. Amusement devices of all sorts are profitable. A friend of mine recently sold the patent on a new kind of target for a shooting gallery. Give’ the public some- thing it can use right now and the world is your oyster. But it might be just as well not to make gold, unless for the fun of it. It is not probable that you can manufacture it at a profit; and if you did, just think how many persons would hate you!

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST -@- Dope6e GRoTHERS TOURING LAR FOR ALL-WEATHER DRIVING Widespread comment on the beauty of the : car has not overshadowed public apprecia- ! tion of its really exceptional riding comfort, } smoothness of operation and long life. , Bad weather also emphasizes the value of other features—the unfailing response, in extreme cold, of Dodge Brothers powerful : starter, and the snug protection afforded by | suitable curtain enclosures. A special enclosure with glass windows, which ; will provide closed car appearance and com- i fort, is now available at slight additional cost. DonoGe Brotners DetTRoIT Donse Brotwers (CANADA) LimitTeD \ WALKERVILLG, ONTARIO P Sew AEA wane

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST December 13,1924 — ee i, », ove et | d Loan Pte \ \, Christmas A >. he ae A full set of dependable Champion improve engine performance. spark plugs is a Christmas re- membrance that every motorist will appreciate because he recog- nizes that changing spark plugs once a year is a vital factor in proper Power will be greater. Starting easier. Acceleration faster. Gas and oil will be saved. Mark it on your list now to send a car maintenance. Champions will make certain that the recipient will get greater set of Champions to your motoring friends. Your regular equipment dealer will supply you with the sets of Champions for any engine, at- es pleasure from his car because a —— new set of Champions will greatly tractively packed for Christmas. Champion X for Fords is 60 cents. Blue Box for all other cars, 75 cents. (Canadian Prices 80 and 90 cents.) More than 90,000 dealers sell Champions. Champion Spark Plug Company, Toledo, Ohio Champion Spark Plug Company of Canada, Limited, Windsor, Ontario CHAMPION Dependable for Every Engine age ee Sr a

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~~ don’t need it; and sure enough I got Water at last, down in part-way between here and where China is on the Map. I bought me a Pump and an Engine and stuck about a Mile or so of steel casing and plunger rods down the hole and built me a concrete tank and started her Up and it wasn’t more than a day or so before I had More Water in the tank than most Folks around here ever saw at One Time since the year of the Big Rain—the time the Cloud wandered off in here from the Gulf of Mex- ico or the Pacific Ocean and couldn’t find its Way out and got Lost and Lonesome and finally started to Cry and just Bust Loose all over everybody and liked to have Drowned some of us. You’ve No Idea how Good a Little Water looks out in a Place like this and What a Pleasure it was to get enough of it All Together in 1 Place at One Time to put Both your Feet in at Once. The first few weeks I used to sit on the edge of the Tank All Day Long, just hanging my feet in the Water and Sploshing it around and Looking at it and Listening to it and having more Fun than a Country Boy drinking Soda Pop at a Circus. Folks come Forty Miles just to See it and one Woman said it made her think of Mo- bile Bay when she was a little girl. The tank wasn’t very big—only a Few Feet square—but she hadn’t seen Mobile Bay or much Other Water for a Long Time, since she come out here, so I didn’t argue with her, and I offered to let her hang her Feet in the Tank some time if she wanted to, for Four Bits a Hang, because Water is Worth Money out here, and she said when they sold their Steers and got some money she was coming down and Hang them for a Week if I didn’t Mind. If the Feet and the Water last long enough and it Don’t Rain I expect I will make enough some day to pay for drilling the well. After all the time and Money I spent and the trouble I went to Fixing up for that Dog Goned Frog, I can’t get him to Swim. The day I got the Tank Full and as soon as I’d Sploshed around in it myself First, I called the Frog up and dropped him in the Tank and by Gosh he was the Most Surprised and Astonished Frog you ever See. I didn’t know he had so Much Life left in him. I’ve seen Dogs with tin cans tied to thir tails, Burros with Go Quick poured on théfa, Men sit Down on Scorpions and Get Up Pretty Lively, a Tourist Fali into the Grand Can- yon once, a Mexican Horse Thief with the Sheriff shooting at him, Maud S’and Axtell coming down the Home Stretch, the old Fast Mail on the C. B. & Q. R. R. coming in 10 Minutes Late and Some Pretty Fast Girls in My Time—but the way that Frog come out of that Water made them all look like some Slow Motion Pictures I saw the Time I sold the Glory Hole Mine and Got Some Money and went to Phoenix andSaw The Sights. He acted like he thought I was try- ing to Murder him a purpose and be- fore I could get a Bucket and Save any of it he had Sploshed most of the Water out of the Tank and beat it for his Hole under the Garage. It was 3 or 4 Days before I could get him to come near the Tank again and I am go- ing to let him take his time and Get Used to it gradual and not Throw him in any more be- cause I can’t afford to Lose $8 or $10 worth of Water Forcing him. If he don’t learn hisself before long I am going to send over to Ocean Park and get a Life Guard to come over here for a Few Weeks and Learn him because I’m getting Tired of Folks making Fun DRAWN BY G. FRANCIS KAUFFMAN (Continued from Page 28) of him All the Time and asking Such Foolish questions about seh Can't He etc. when How Could He when he never saw No Water before All his life as Big like my Tank Full is. It aint his Fault he’s Seven Years Old and can’t Swim near as much as it is mine for Hatching out a Frog in the middle of the Arizona Desert, so it’s up to me to do the Best I can for him. One afternoon me and the Frog was sit- ting up on the edge of the Tank, me a Sploshing my Feet around in it and Dream- ing and him a sitting there looking at it and Wondering where So Much of it come from, when all of a sudden I saw him Cock his eyes sideways and look down in the water and I felt something hit my Foot and what in the blankety blue blazes do you suppose I saw swimming and diving around down there in my Tank? My OLD WATER BEETLE —big as life and sure as shooting, cross my heart and hope to die, swimmin around under the water and diving back an forth just as natural as he used to in the creek at Taylor’s Grove back near Creston, Iowa, over Thirty Years ago. How in the Devil do you suppose he ever got here? Thirty years is a Long Time but Creston, Iowa, is a Long Ways from Salome, Arizona, and he would have died from Thirst long before he could have crawled here. He aint got no wings and if he did have he couldn't fly that far—and if he did fly that far in 30 years How could he find my Little Tank of water out here in the middle of the Desert, almost as soon as it was built and about as big and noticeable comparatively as a Fly Speck on the Moon. Don’t tell me there aint No God—or else How Come can things like this Happen? The very Next Day when I went up to the Tank to Splosh my Feet and see my Water Beetle again to convince myself that it was sure enough so and I wasn’t dream- ing, there was Half a Dozen Skooter Bugs skimming around on top of the Water just like they used to do thirty odd years ago back at Taylor’s Grove. What do you Know about that, some of you Bugologists? Sometimes now when things get to Look- ing Blue and I get to feeling Bilious under the Belt and a Little Yellowish between my Shoulder Blades and thinking Oh, what's the Use, I go up to the Tank and Splosh my Feet around in the Water and see the Skooter Bugs and Watch my Water Beetle swimming and Diving around and then I say: “By Golly, Old Boy, You are Onl a Bug, but You Never Quit—AN NEITHER WILL I!” THE SATURDAY EVENING POST SHORT TURNS AND ENCORES Thirty Long Years is Many a Day—and the Desert is Large—and Dry; if a Little Old Bug can Find His Way—THE LEAST | I CAN DO IS TO TRY! — Dick Wick Hall, Ephraim the Grizzly | HIS is the tale of Ephraim, Ephraim the Grizzly Bear, He of the curving talons, He of the silvered hair. Lord of the vales below ; This is the tale of Ephraim Told in the Long Ago. Hot was the sun of August, Cool was the ferny glade ; Ephraim, the monster Grizzly, Lay in the cedar shade. Proud of his bulk and vastness, Proud that his limbs were strong, Ephraim the big and burly Bragged in a ritmbling song: “Great is the might of Ephraim! Broad are his heavy paws, Huge are his brawny shoulders, Strong are his crunching jaws! Feared bY the Wolf and Panther, Feared by the Race of Man, Biggest of all is Ephraim, Chief of the Grizzly Clan!"’ There, in the glow of summer, Poised on his vibrant wings, Darted the tiny Hummer, Swiftest of feathered things, Trilling in elfin laughter Down from the erystal sky, “Boast of your lordship, Ephraim, When you have learned to fly!" Loud on the pond the Beaver _ Smote with a slapping tail: “ Big though you be, old Ephraim, What does your bulk avail? When,” said the craftsman Beaver, ‘When did you dream a dream? When did you build a wigwam? When did you dam a stream?” Briskly the bright-eyed Chipmunk Chirped from the aspen limb: “a are the paws of Ephraim, mall are the wits of him. Dull as a barren mountain, How does he spend his time? Where has he vy a storehouse? When did he learn to climb?” Perched with a green pine tassel Back of his coat of gray, Chattered the bold Camp-robber, Chided the roving Jay: ** Swift is the stroke of Ephraim, | Sharp are his claws — | and still, What is the good of Ephraim? What can he do but kill?” Full to his height, the Grizzly, Rearing to make his mark, Growled as he drove his talons Gashing the cedar bark, “There is the Scar of Ephraim Lord of the snow-topped ranges, | eae tree! Who has the reach of Ephraim? Who is as big as he?” Such is the tale of Ephraim Told in the tents of Men. He that will boast of Bigness, What can he boast of, then? Such is the tale of Ephraim Told where the Klamath glides. They that will boast of Bigness, Naught can they | My Stars, Claude! Turn Off That Radio and Come to Bed" boast besides! | —A. 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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST JOE YORICK STRIVES TO PLEASE “Yes, indeed,” growled Tom Gentry, closing his desk book. He rose and stalked from the room. He found Miss Murnane engaged in transcribing a speech for the Record and he said to her, “I’m going for the day. Go inside sometime before three o'clock and tell the gentleman waiting there bone | I've been called away and won’t be yack.” “‘Andifit’s very important, Mr. Gentry?” “I’m going from here to the Capitol, and then I shall take a short stroll before lunch. There’s nothing doing here, and I need a breath of fresh air. I'll be resting at the hotel during the afternoon.” “T really think you’ve been doing too much night work lately, Mr. Gentry, if you'll excuse me,” said Miss Murnane, sorting her sheets. “The work must be done,” he said, shrugging his shoulders with an air of resig- nation toduty. He was ashamed of himself at once for working a deceit on her, and he said in a paternal tone to his shrewd-eyed and middle-aged secretary, ‘Good morning, my dear young lady.” He walked through the tunnel to the Capitol. He was looking in the rotunda for a gentleman of his acquaintance when he saw Joe Yorick coming through the main doorway. “‘Didn’t keep you waiting, did I, Tom?” panted his visitor, hurrying up to him. “That lady told me you were waiting in the Capitol and then we were going out for a walk. Walking is no treat to me, Tom, though I thank you just the same. I don’t care for walking. You got business to do here, Tom? Go right ahead and attend to it, and I will tag along and see the sights. Don’t let me interfere with you, Tom, will you?” “Oh, certainly not,’’ said Tom Gentry. “That’s right. Well, let us go and look at those doors here that the people are all looking at. What are they looking at?” “Those are the famous Rogers bronze doors showing scenes from the life of Columbus.” While Joe Yorick was studying the pan- els of the door in imitation of a motley group of sight-seers, Tom Gentry sighted a very presentable gentleman ascending the steps outside. The newcomer was as big of frame as Tom Gentry, but without the young congressman’s athletic leanness; be- cause of the masterly tailoring of his lounge suit of black-and-white check, his fleshiness was not evident at a glance. Seeing Tom Gentry looking down at him, his teeth gleamed momentarily under a brown mus- tache as neat as a hat brush, and he waved a cordial hand. Tom recognized Doc Pom- merer, a man whom Tom was proud to know, a good fellow of wealth and leisure who had no evident connection with the official side of Washington life and whose chief pleasure was to do a good turn for a friend. “How is Mr. Gentry this morning?” in- quired Pommerer, clasping Tom’s hand and looking into his face with friendly solicitude and the merest twinkle of foreknowledge in his deep-set eyes. ‘In the pink of condi- tion, I trust?” “Not so good, Doc,” said Tom, smiling a bit sheepishly. “Katzenjammer?” queried Pommerer, permitting himself to smile gravely. ‘To be perfectly candid, Gentry, I was afraid for you last night; I feared you’d remember the evening for some hours afterward. You had a good time, and that’s the main thing; but you know we must pay for our pleasures, my boy. You were in great form last night, Gentry.” . “Yes, I guess I made rather a fool of myself, Doc.” “Oh, pshaw! Whatever became of you after you did that eccentric dance with Middleton, that shipping man? He was far more gone than you were; he was run- ning about the grounds and shouting for you. Straight home, eh? An old head on young shoulders! But you had a good time, and that was all I hoped for when I asked you to come with me.” Joe Yorick had followed as the two men slowly moved toward the center of the rotunda. “Hey, Tom,” he said now, pulling the representative’s sleeve, “what is that fel- low doing to that door? Give a look, will you?” “Yes, yes, I see him,’ pishly, turning away. said Tom snap- (Continued from Page 23) “Who’s that?” asked Pommerer. “An infernal nuisance,”’ grumbled Tom. “T don't know who he is, Doc. He’s been pestering me all morning.” “Why don’t you send him about his business?” “Well, Doc, one can’t exactly do that in politics, you know. I tell you I don’t know who or what he is, except that he’s from back home. Never mind him; I’ll get rid of him.” “T see. What had you in mind to kill the afternoon?” “I imagine I’ll lie down and take a nap. I don’t feel up to much, Doc.” “Pshaw! I’ll run in on you around two o’clock, and if you're not feeling right, I’ll guarantee to mix you a pick-up that will make you as good as new. I want you to come out with me to Middleton’s houseboat in the river off the Basin; Middleton told me to be sure to get you. Oh, by the way, Gentry, how do you stand on that Far East Commission?” “You mean the joy ride, Doc? I’m against that sort of thing on principle.” “Joy ride? I refer to the project to charter a ship and send a commission of sixty congressmen and their families on a four months’ cruise through the Orient. It will equip our representatives with first- hand information, and it’s certain to be an excellent thing for international friendship and trade relations. Suppose it does cost a half million or so—I think it is a perfectly wonderful idea. However, the merits of the thing aside, I wish you would throw it a vote as a favor to me. Some friends of mine have interested themselves in the plan and they asked me to speak to you.” “T had intended to vote against it,” said Tom slowly and troubledly. “It seems to me a sheer waste of public funds. ever, Doc, if you make it a favor —— “‘! was reading about that business in the pou last week,” said Joe Yorick from the ackground. ‘“‘The paper said they will keep tabs on the congressmen who voted for that grab and print their names, and I says to myself, ‘You will not have to keep tabs on Tom Gentry, because he will te 4 that scheme into a cocked hat!’ Say, Tom, I remembered what you said about econ- omy and cutting down taxes, and that paper handed me a laugh. Say, Tom, I could just see you before me, shaking your fists and hollering, ‘The time has come, citizens, to stop this criminal waste of muney out of the American people’s pocket, and if you send me to Washington I'll stop it!’ Hey, Tom?” “My car’s in the street,” said Pommerer impatiently. ‘Let’s go down and take a ride about and talk this matter out in peace.” “I’m afraid it’s no use, Doc,” said the representative pleadingly as they walked toward the door. “'I‘hat loud-mouthed fellow put the thing as most people will see it. It will get the newspapers after us, and besides it’s a very bad time to throw good moe away. Don’t you think so your- self?”’ How- “I’m not pressing you, Gentry,” said Pommerer with a trace of stiffness. ‘I put the matter on the plane of friendship. I’m going over to a conference with the people interested now, and I had expected to be able to vouch for you. I shall be very glad to have you ride with me.” Tom walked beside him in silence. He did not wish to disoblige so excellent a fel- low as Doc Pommerer, and he was sure that he could have promised to vote as re- quested if his thoughts had been permitted to dwell undisturbedly upon the beauty and obligation of friendship. He could have dismissed his scruples as mere ungenerous faultfinding if that confounded fellow had kept uiet. ‘What do you want now?”’ he demanded brusquely. Joe Yorick had pulled his sleeve again as he was crossing the threshold of the Capitol. “Excuse me, Tom, but we got to protect public property. Just look at that door there and see if anything is missing off it, will you?” “Certainly there’s something missing, Yorick,” said the representative, pointing at the panel which was supposed to show Columbus in chains. “Don’t you see the chains are gone? Some souvenir hunter pulled them off and stole them.” “Just what I thought,” exclaimed Joe Yorick. ‘You wait right here.” He hurried off in pursuit of a group of sight-seers. “Now’s your chance,” said Doe Pom- merer, “Let's slip into the car and we'll be away when he comes back.”” They walked | me down the Capitol steps and entered ommerer’s closed car. “Of course, I had counted on you, Gen- try,” inadvisable. Will you smoke? The cigar lighter is there under your hand.”’ He was busy with his levers. “You know I'd be only too glad to do it for you, Doc,” said Tom Gentry loyally. “My feeling in the matter may be only a prejudice.” “Tt is, depend on it, Gentry. You'll per- ceive that, if you consider the thing in a | businesslike way. Isn’t it your experience, | Gentry, that if you wish to do business with | a man, the thing to do is to make him your friend? Unless your mind is closed, Gentry, I should like to have —~ wait for me until two o’clock, and we'll go out to Middle- ton’s and sit around a table and have a sensible talk.” “Stop a moment, Doc,” said Tom Gen- try, looking through the window. “They seem to want us.” A uniformed attendant was running down the Capitol steps. Pommerer drew the car to the curb and opened the door to permit the man to deliver his evidently | urgent message. “You're wanted up above, congressman.” | “What for?” “T don’t rightly know, sir, but the cap- tain told me to hurry down and catch you. It’s something very important, sir, I think, because I heard them talking about taking the matter up with the Secretary of State, and they’re excited.” Tom Gentry descended from the car. “You'd better not wait for me, Doc,’’ he said. ‘‘They’ve been expecting Japan’s answer to our note on that Mexican inci- | dent, and I dare say it has just come | through. See you again, Doc.” He climbed the steps hurriedly and re- entered the rotunda. “Here’s the congressman now,” said | someone; and Tom Gentry was set upon at a dignified old gentleman whose | once b eyes blazed with anger and whose white goatee quivered. “ What is this absurd ac- cusation you bring against me, sir?’’ cried the old gentleman. He was in the van of a ‘soo of ladies and gentlemen who were eve ing hostile looks at the representative. have accused you of nothing, sir,” | said Tom Gentry. “Now, Tom,” protested Joe Yorick dog- gedly, making his way forward, “didn’t you | say this old party here took the chains off Columbus? I pointed him out to you when he was monkeying with the door and pull- ing at it, and then we went and looked to see what he was up to, and you said the chains were gone. You saw him taking them, didn’t you, Tom? Injuring public property, I call it.” “Certainly not,” said Tom Gentry. “I did not see the gentleman take anything.” “What Mr. Wilmot was doing, congress- man,” said the attendant who was guiding the party, “was shaking hands with Colum- bus. You know the custom, congressman. And as far as the chains are concerned, they were stolen years ago, and you must know that too.” “Mr. Wilmot,” said Tom Gentry ear- | nestly, “I am extremely sorry if I have caused you any inconvenience, and I as- sure you that nothing was further from my thought. I implore you not to hold me responsible for anything this person here | may say or do, and I assure on that he | as annoyed | has annoyed me more than he you.” “You are sorry now, sir,’ , said the old gentleman, refusing to cool off so quickly. | “Let me tell you that you will be sorrier | yet, and I shall not permit you to drop this affair. Let me tell you, sir, that my wife’s cousin is the Third Assistant Secretary of State, and I shall take this matter up with | him in a most serious way. You have not | heard the last of it, sir!’’ He turned upon a lady who had been whispering to him and cried petulantly, “Now, my dear, do let me manage this thing! No, I shall not let it drop, I tell you, Julia. Why, the very idea of ——~”’ The lady kept his attention and drew him away and the party retreated slowly out of | said Pommerer, “but don’t let me | persuade you to do anything you think | 53 ‘Letters that ~ tell the | = Story \“ cause they could not shave with : At hard water. | Za “There are many shaving \ all creamson the market but I never \ Sy found one which has the soapi- ‘oo ness and lather-produciiig prop- erties embodied in Williams.” | ~ Mr, C.—Wrentham, Mass, | . . . : “On a recent trip to Bermuda | 4 ®\___I found many complaining be- I had my tube of Williams eee. and it worked * 2 N wo just as well as if ] were home, No ANS trouble at all, and it produced ‘ the same amount of lather,” Mr. K.—North Tonawanda, N. Y. * - + “After using Williams for nS some time I can say without ben »\ hesitation that it is the finest = sai shaving cream I have ever tried. 3} ’ It softens the beard, aliays irri- Se tation and leaves the face. soft, “/\\ silky and refreshed, and not with @~®& ~.\ that dried-up, starchy feeling ! have experienced with others.”’ Mr. B.—Hendersonville, N.C. | “To satisfy my own curi osity, I decided to sce how long a tube of Williams Shaving Cream would last. Shaving every day a beard of more than average stiffness, I took my first shave from the tube on February 1, 1923, and the last on October 6—a period of 248 days, representing the same number of shaves. The result was in every way satisfactory and I satisfied myself as to the superior lasting qualities of Williams.” Mr. W.—New York, N.Y. “T tolda friend about your shav- ing cream with the ‘Uniosable Top for Losable Tempers’ and believe me, before dinner we went = down to Wright’s Drug Store , a where he purchased a tube of ¢ Pe what I consider the best shaving cream manufactured.” Mr, H.—Philadelphia Williams Shaving Cream 2 L- can't come off r 4 QUA VELVA is our newest triumph — a scientific after-shaving preparation. For free trial bottle write Dept. 112-A. > +

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THE SATURDAY earshot, leaving Tom Gentry and Joe Yorick in possession of the field. “Ha-ha!” laughed Joe Yorick. “Does this amuse you?” asked Tom Gentry fiercely. “Did you hear what that old party said about the Secretary of State?” chuckled Joe Yorick. “Threatening you, he was, Tom. Say, he don’t know that you don’t give a hoot for the whole blamed cabinet when you're doing your duty, hey, Tom? He reminded me of that speech you made on Columbus Day in the Star Theater, when you said, at oon send me to Wash- ington, I will pursue that corrupt gan without fear and favor and even if the trai leads into the White House itself!’ Well, naturally, Tom, you not being afraid of the President, it hands me a laugh to hear this old party talking about his cousin. Say, Tom, when I tell the bunch about this they are going to laugh themselves sick. They know you, Tom, hey?” “T imagine they do,”’ said Tom Gentry. He eyed the round-shouldered and heavy- | stepping little man and considered ways to shake him off without offending through | him a voting group of unknown size. “Say, Tom,” said Joe Yorick, “how far is it to Washington’s Monument?” “About a mile and a half.” “ As far as that? That isa long walk, but J ought to go and see it, oughtn’t I, Tom? ..'t let me interrupt your plans, Tom; I will go wherever you go.” “You must see the monument by all means,” said Tom Gentry. “ You should spend the rest of the day there, Yorick. I’m going for a brisk constitutional myself, and I wish you could come, but I know it would be too much for you. You'll be able to walk to the monument, though, if you take it gently. Let’s go.” He strode down the steps and along the ae walk that led to B Street North- west; he expanded his big chest and flexed the muscles of his shoulders as he walked. Joe Yorick trudged faithfully along, but said, ‘‘ Don’t walk so fast, Tom. You know you're a young fellow.” “Nonsense!"’ said Tom Gentry sturdily. “You're going to enjoy this, Yorick. Step out!” He was doing about four miles an hour as he rounded the corner into Pennsylvania Avenue. Joe Yorick had fallen a dozen paces behind, but was evidently too hard- pressed to renew his request for an easier pase, An unlucky encounter with an ef- usive acquaintance caused Tom to halt while Joe Yorick overhauled him, and the two pedestrians were abreast when they turned from Louisiana Avenue into B Street Northwest again. “These street names get a fellow all mixed up,” gasped Joe Yorick as the soar- ing white shaft of the monument appeared before them. “It just goes to show what people get when they do not use brains, but you know how streets are named in a regular city, Tom. Why don’t you intro- duce a bill in Congress to change the names of these streets to First Street and Second Street and Third Street, and First Avenue and Second Avenue and Third Avenue, like they are in New York? I bet a man can’t step out in this city to buy a cigar without studying up his geography, and if he lives on B Street he cannot go home until he can box the compass. So that is Washington's Monument! Well, Tom, I will say it is almost as big as the Obelisk in Central Park.” “There’s no comparison in size between the two at all.” “Get out! Is the Obelisk as big as all that? Well, that just goes to show that a man never really appreciates New York until he sees other places. I must have an- other look at the Obelisk when I get back. So that is where George Washington is buried, hey? What are all those people waiting for?” “They are waiting for the elevator to take them up to the top.” “Yeah? What is the idea of burying Washington on top? That is a new one on me. You ptrerl have to travel to see Look, Tom, there’s steps. Ain't the people allowed to walk up? Let’s walk up, and not wait, Tom.” “Certainly,” said Tom, with sober face, and he strode toward the stairway. As they began the staggering ascent, Joe Yorick initiated a monotonous mumbling which he continued without let-up. “What are you saying, Yorick?”’ “Bight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve,” said Joe Yorick, keeping his gaze on the steps and motioning that he was not to be distracted. EVENING POST They plodded upward. They passed groups of leg-weary people who were walk- ing down to view the divers memorial stones built into the walls of the monu- ment. Tom had time and inclination to stop and to study these stones, and to pore over the inscriptions in Chinese and in Welsh and to puzzle out the names of patri- otic societies long since gone and forgotten. Joe Yorick looked neither to the right nor to the left, but continued with downcast eyes his rising count. “One hundred!”’ he shouted, and drew a deep breath. He seemed to be making heavy going of it. “We'll have to go a little faster, Yorick,” said Tom, smiling with cold cruelty. He climbed faster. The calves of his legs were beginning to make themselves felt, but he was cheered by the reflection that Joe Yorick must soon crack under the incessant effort. He spurted and rounded a turn, dropping Joe Yorick from sight. The sweat started out on him, but he plodded on grimly for the sake of winning free. The slither of Joe Yorick’s feet died away behind him and he believed his fol- lower had given up the exhausting grind. He was somewhat surprised when a hoarse whisper reached him from far down the unending staircase, “Tom! Hey, you, Tom!” “What is it?” he called. “Tom,” said the invisible Joe Yorick, “‘are you sure this is the same building? I have counted up to five hundred, Tom, and I just notice this stairs goes in circles. I think we are lost, Tom.” The news that Joe Yorick was losing heart was encouraging. Tom was twenty- seven and athletic, but he had permitted himself to go soft during the past several months. He felt that he was atoning for his carelessness, and he held himself to the task he had set, though his legs grew steadily heavier and his heart pumped more quickly. He stopped to view every inset stone now; he was sitting below one and dabbing at his forehead when Joe Yorick came upon him around a turn. “Seven hundred and twenty-five,” mum- bled Joe Yorick, climbing like a piece of machinery. ‘Is that you, Tom?” “Say, Yorick,” said Tom, “are you on the level about wanting to walk up?” “It is certainly a long ways,” said the little man. ‘* Maybe we had better go back and take the elevator. Whatever you say, Tom.” “Then we'll go ahead,” growled Tom resolutely. He rose to his feet and began the climb again. “Twenty-six, twenty-seven, eight,’’ chanted Joe Yorick. They reached their goal at last, with Tom Gentry still in the lead. He had drawn on his last reserve to keep in front, and he slumped down onto a bench and sat with heaving chest and aching legs and listened to Joe Yorick mumbling, “ Eight hundred and ninety, ninety-one, ninety-two, ninety- three, ninety-four, ninety-five!” He sank down beside Tom with evident relief. “Eight hundred and ninety-five steps, Tom,” he said, weary but triumphant. “Eight hundred and ninety-eight,” said the officer in charge of the observatory floor, correcting him. “Did you walk up?” asked Joe Yorick. “Indeed, not. But I’ve walked down and I know how many steps there are.” “Do you claim there are more ste going down than there are coming up? demanded Joe Yorick argumentatively. “Of course not.” “You certainly did, and the congressman here heard you. I just counted the steps coming up, and you said there were more going down. Well, my argument is, it don’t stand to reason, and I will leave it to Con- — Gentry here. What do you say, Tom?” “Of all the fool arguments,” sighed the congressman. “Is it possible that you are not sure there are as many steps going up as going down?” “Me?” breathed Joe Yorick aggrievedly. “Not at all, Tom. That is just what I claim. It is this party here who claims there are more steps walking dewn than there are walking up, and what I am saying is he don’t know what he is talking about because he never walked up and counted them. Why, Tom, how could there be more?” “Pardon me,” said a visitor politely, looking from Joe Yorick to Tom Gentry, “you are talking about some feature of the monument, are you not? I have served in twenty- ” December 13,1924 an advisory capacity with the Senate Park Commission, and I believe I am entirely familiar with the structure. Can I help you?” “What we are arguing about,” accepted Joe Yorick, “is whether there are more steps in this building going down than there are going up. What I claim is that there are just the same number, and it stands to reason.” The visitor blinked and stared at Tom Gentry. “The gentleman is a congressman, if I heard you aright?” “One of the best,” said Joe Yorick proudly. “This is Congressman Thomas Jefferson Gentry, mister.” “Good heavens!’’ breathed the visitor, moving away. He returned to his party and spoke to them, and they looked at Tom Gentry curiously. He strove to appear unconscious of their scrutiny, but it annoyed him, and he rose and strode to the elevator. Joe Yorick followed him into the car and stood close to him, looking up worshipingly into his face as the car descended. “You look hot, Tom,” he said. “Wait till we get downstairs and I will buy us both a nice drink. Hey, Tom?” A lunch wagon attached to a decrepit donkey and presided over by a pipe-smoking colored woman was stopped beside the one- story structure wherein tourists waited for their turn in the monument’s elevator. See- ing the appetite in the eyes of the approach- ing Joe Yorick, the colored woman whisked the donkey’s blanket from the cart, dis- playing the erstwhile shielded watermelon slices and segments of coconut floating in water and ready-cut pies and sandwiches. Several government clerks came quickly, to snatch their noonday meal and to save for pleasure what they could of the half hour the Government allowed them at noon. “What are you got for a cold drink, lady?"’ asked Joe Yorick. ‘Wait up, om!” “Sass?” suggested the proprietor. “Make it two,” said Joe Yorick. He took the five-cent bottles of sarsaparilla and pulled at the corks. As they would not come under his fingers, he worried them with his teeth; he broke the corks off, one after the other. “‘Got a corkscrew, lady?”’ “ Ain’t got none,” she said, reaching for a bottle. She tried to push down the cork with her forefinger, and then she tried her little fin- ger, but that one, too, would not go into the small neck of the bottle. “Let me,” said Joe Yorick, taking back the bottle. His fingers proved also too massive, and he went quartering about in search of a stick or a nail, exhorting Tom meanwhile to restrain his thirst. He discovered under the wagon a little negro lad playing in the dust, and he bent down and reached cut, tendering the bottle to the child. ‘“‘Push in that cork with your finger, sonny, will ou? The child pushed the cork down into the liquid as requested, and Jve Yorick snatched the bottle from him and ran with it to the watching Tom Gentry, leaving behind him the little fellow sucking his sud- denly sweetened finger. “There you are, ‘Tom,’ said Joe Yorick hospitably. ‘‘Ice-cold!” “T don’t think I care for any,” said Tom, whose thirst had been effectually quenched by what he had seen. . “Go ahead,” Joe Yorick pressed him. “Here’s mine, Tom. You ain’t depriving me. It’s all paid for, so you might as well enjoy it, Tom. Take it, Tom, and I'll get you a nice sandwich.” Tom took the bottle, and while Joe Yorick was returning to the cart, went quickly to a receptacle for waste papers and dropped the bottle into it. His action was not observed by the kindly Joe Yorick, but it was not missed by the little boy under the cart. It seemed to the lad that he had been unfairly treated in having been iven a bottle of sarsaparilla and then hav- ing it snatched from him, and he crawled out and set up a loud ge “What's the trouble, child?” asked a female clerk. “That big man yonder got mah sass!”’ “Oh, go on,” she said good-naturedly, sizing up Tom Gentry at a glance. “He didn’t take your sass, child.” “He did too,” wept the child. “And he done hid it in that ba’el. I seen him.” “Nonsense!” said Tom Gentry gruffly. (Continued on Page 56)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 55 Introducing Ca “Inez from Hollywood” RE movie stars regular Afolks? Are their lives all tinsel; always artificial? You won't think so after you see “Inez from Hollywood," Sam Rork’s new phetoplay It is a sincere and human drama of studioland and an actress whose real! self is a strange contrast to her care fully manufactured reputa tion as ‘‘Holly- wood's heartiess heartbreaker,” You'll like Anna Q. Nilsson (left) as the vivacious Inez. In fact you may even love her And confidentially you won't be alone if you do. Lewis Stone and Mary Astor are other principals Below — Inez comes to save her sister~—at any cost. Right — Little Fay, innocent of the world and its ways, shows her gifts from the man who had once offered Inez gifts. Ie is Fay’s wedding day—but she can never be known as the sister of “Inez from Hollywood.” Miss Moore’s Greatest Role HANKS to Edna Ferber, Colleen Moore has her most wonderful role in ‘So Big.’”’ And thanks to Miss Moore herself, Selina Peake, the central figure of Miss Ferber’s popular novel, will be remem bered as one of the most real, vivid, and sympathetic screen characters of all time. In the oval on the left is Colleen as the banged-haired, lace- collared belle of yes- teryear. In strange A Drama Filmed on Top of the World contrast is the scene * on the right. The O make “‘Frivolous Sal"’ J. K. McDonald took his entire piquant little school- company to Mount Rainier, Washington, there to photo ma’am of ten years graph the scenes that make this picture one of the most un past has become a usual of the year. It is a gripping story of a mining tow: battered, strained soul with America’s most gorgeous scenery in the fighting for her boy. background. “So Big"’ will be in Ben Alexander, Mae Busch and Eugene O'Brien many theatres during have leading roles in the picture. You will find and immediately after one of your biggest thrills in the fight in an aerial Christmas week. tram-car high over a deep gorge.

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56 Give Him ne

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You will find Brighton Wide-Webs at the better men’s wear counters everywhere—-attractively packaged ’ for the holidays. And along with ~ them you will see Pioneer Wide F Belts, and Pioneer Suspenders —all 2} boxed appropriately tor the season, y Brighton elastic is devised for comfort. A special curing process gives remark- able case~-absolutely no binding; even the most tender legs won't feel Brighton Wide-Webs. And each strand is wrapped with soft yarn to guard against the deadening effects of perspiration and thereby insure double wear,

isp | Jp <5 Siugle Grip Double Grip A Me and up Stc and up . ! oN e edit’? po PIONEER SUSPENDER COMPANY Philadelphia, Pa. For 47 Years Manufacturers of Pioneer Suspenders Pioneer Belts Pioneer-Brighton Garters | been aroused; —— were yes and no. THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 54) The little fellow ran to the barrel and i up ragged papers. Here ‘tis, ma’am!”’ he cried, bringing up the bottle. “T saw him hide it, Carrie, female clerk. “ Of all things!” said the first female, sur- veying Tom Gentry with contempt. ‘The idea of a man like you taking a bottle of sass from a little colored boy!” “Took what?” asked Joe Yorick, re- turning with sandwiches. “Get out, lady! Why, say, this is Congressman Gentry. What would he want to be taking this boy’s bottle of sass for? He got a bottle of his own. Ain't you, Tom?” The representative paled with vexation, seeing himself thrust once again into a ridiculous situation by the officious Joe Yorick. He turned on his heel and strode away. Joe Yorick would not desert him, least of all now when his hero was in a diffi- culty; he followed after him manfully, turning from time to time to menace pur- suers. “How about taking in the Lincoln Me- morial, Tom?” he suggested, pointing off to the left at the stately temple wherein the memory of the great President is enshrined. “You may take in anything you darned well please, Yorick,’”’ said Tom Gentry. He clenched his teeth and strode straight ahead on Virginia Avenue. “Well, I might not have a chance to see yom again for a long time, Tom,” said the ttle man, noting with obvious perplexity that his hero was in a very bad temper. ‘I will walk along with you, Tom.” Tom Gentry looked aside at him with sharp resentment. Tom was ag -minded, and he could not self-respectingly flare = ” said another | at Joe Yorick and send him to the devil; had created this little man and put Be into his mouth. And his combativeness had he would not flee so con- temptible an adversary by hailing a taxi- cab and leaving him at the gutter edge. “I’m for walking, Yorick,”’ he said. “Stop when you're tired.” “]T was tired of it long ago, believe me, Tom,” said Joe Yorick. But he trudged along at Tom’s elbow to New Hampshire Avenue, where Tom | turned to the right and again to the left, | following Pennsylvania Avenue out toward the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal. Tom struck into the tree-shaded path along the bank of the picturesque waterway. The exercise cleared his head and restored his good humor, but it did not reconcile him to the company of Joe Yorick. He waved cheerfully to the voyagers who were trav- eling on the boats of the Canal Towage Company from Cumberland to Washing- ton, but his replies to the comments of his He vouch- safed no word of explanation when he left the canal and started the three-mile hike that brought them to the National Zodlog- ical Park. They had covered nine miles. Something had been puzzling Joe Yorick. His face lightened with understanding when he saw the park before them, but it dark- ened again when Tom continued his un- remitting stride. “Tom,” he said with hesitation, “could I ask you a question? No offense, you know. Don’t any cars run out here?” “ Certainly.” “Well, why don’t we take a car where we are oing, Tom? 7 money.’ “Don't want to valking for pleasure.” * Pleasure,’ ‘ sepented Jen orick thought- fully. And after an interval he said in a low voice, “‘ Does this for pleasure.” As they emerged from the park on the northerly side he said plaintively, ‘Tom, this is certainly wonderful sport and I am having a great time, but hadn’t we better sit down and rest? Tom,” “Don’t let me take you any farther, Yorick,” said Tom, swinging right along. My shoe hurts me, EVENING POST The pace was telling on him and he had had all the walking he needed, but he was sure that Joe Yorick would crack shortly. The little man’s endurance surprised him, but did not disturb him. Tom valued him- self on his physical prowess and was confi- dent that he could walk down a succession of Joe Yoricks. The thing had come to be a contest. He had planned lightly to rid himself of his affliction by walking him off his feet and his pride would not permit him to change his method now. He strode along Irving Street at the regulation one hundred and twenty steps to the minute, skirted the United States Soldiers’ Home and Howard University, and turned at four o’clock in the afternoon into the straightaway along North Capitol Street. Two miles away, the vast and shining building after which the street was named closed the vista. Those two miles were the last of seventeen and they would be the hardest. Tom strove fiercely to increase his pace, though his long and muscular legs were complaining in every muscle and sinew. old your horses, congressman!” cried a voice as he was passing the City Post Office on Massachusetts Avenue. ‘‘ What’s your rush?” Tom stopped and shook hands with the gentleman who had accosted him. It was Otto Ranzenhofer, an auctioneer by profes- sion and a member in good standing of the Tammany district club to which Tom owed his rise im politics. “Been taking a stroll,” said Tom. “So was Sherman,” said Ranzenhofer, glancing from Tom’s inflamed face to his dust-coated shoes. “Been hunting you all over, Tom, and it’s so late now we got to move quick. “There’s a business men’s delegation from the Eskimo Club waiting over at the hotel, and we want you to take us over to see the Postmaster-General.”’ “About what?” “About making me postmaster of New York. Didn't Jimmy write you we were coming? I saw the leader at the club yester- day and he said he was writing you and telling you what to do.” “Who's telling Tom what to do?”’ put in Joe Yorick at his side. “So you want to be postmaster, do you, Otto?” said Tom. “What do you know about being postmaster?”’ “What do you know about being con- gressman?”’ said Ranzenhofer comfortably. “T want to be, and Jimmy Clahan wants me to be, and I guess what Jimmy Clahan wants is good enough for you and me, isn’t it? So come on over to the hotel, Tom, and take the delegation around to the Post- master-General and introduce us.” ¢ ee laughed Joe Yorick. “‘That’s rich! “Who’s your friend, Tom?” asked Ran- zenhofer, glancing at Joe Yorick with heavy-lidded eyes. “Say, mister,” said Joe Yorick amicably, “you are got my friend Tom dead wrong. He don’t wear any man’s collar, Tom don’t, and no political boss can dictate to him. He yields to no man, Tom don’t. Tom’s backing Mr. Morley, the first assistant that’s been thirty years in the department, and you go back and tell Jimmy Clahan, and that’s my advice to you. “Yorick,” said Tom furiously, “you go along about your business. If you follow me another step I'll call an officer and give you in charge. He took Ranzenhofer’s arm and walked quickly away. “Now, Otto,” he said persuasively, “don’t you think it’s a bit too much to ask the Postmaster-General to appoint you? You don’t understand the work of the de- partment, Otto. From all that I hear, there’s a strong public sentiment in favor of this man Morley. When even a fellow like that one back there knows about it, you can imagine how sharply intelligent people are watching this appointment. So, all in

December 13,1924 all, Otto, I really do believe that it would be for the best —— “Hello!”’ grunted Ranzenhofer, looking into Tom’s face with disagreeable surprise. “What kind of talk is this, Tom? Go on and declare yourself; are you breaking with the organization?’ “Not at all,” said Tom neeveuny. “Then don’t talk tommyrot. Pull your- self together, man. The delegation is wait- ing at the hotel and we expect to see you there as soon as you can wash up. Is that an appointment? Very well.” The candidate for the New York post- mastership stalked away in a huff. Joe Yorick sidled up to Tom Gentry. “Not mad, are you, Tom?” he said won- ay co eep away from me, Yorick!”’ Please, Tom,” said Joe Yorick, walking sideways and stumbling over his own feet, “say you are not mad with me. I can’t leave you like this, Tom. I got to catch the five-o’clock train back to New York, and I got something else to do for the next half hour; but I cannot leave you like this, Tom.” “Look here, Yorick,” said Tom Gentry, turning on him, “what in thunder do you mean by hanging onto me all day long? I was never so annoyed i in my life. “Why, Tom,” said Joe Yorick with dreading mouth, “I was trying to make a friend out of you, Tom. That’s why I went around with you, Tom. Didn’t you— didn’t you want me to?” “Yorick,” said his traveling companion bitterly, “if you have not made a friend of me by now, I[ can tell you you never will. All right! Great guns! I’m your friend, but if you follow me another single step I won’t be responsible.” “Thanks, Tom,” said Joe Yorick re- lievedly. “You had me worried for a min- ute, Tom, because you are the only friend I got in Washington, and, thinks I, I will stick by Tom Gentry if I got to go home on my uppers. Tom, you are certainly a walker, and you ought to be in the depart- ment. Well, Tom, old friend, if I may call you friend, will you do me a favor? Go over to the Veterans’ Bureau, Tom, and find out why some smart Aleck cut down my boy’s compensation. Naturally, I did not ask you right away, as you would think that was all I came for, and that I did not come to visit with you like you asked me. I would not bother you even now, Tom, but you are the only congressman I know here, as I moved over to Jersey this spring and I haven’t got acquainted over there “Do you mean to tell me, Yorick,”’ said the representative loudly, “that you haven’t even got a vote in my district?” “You are a great joker, Tom,” said Joe Yorick, chuckling. “What do you care about votes, hey, Tom? Well, here are the apers, if you will take them. I will just have time, if I hurry, to go over to Wash- ington’s Monument and walk up those steps again. I am not a man to be stubborn, this time I will count carefully and see who is right. They close the monument at half-past four, don’t they?” “Did I hear you say,”’ said Tom Gentry slowly, ‘that you are going to walk up to the top of the Washington Monument again? Good Lord, man, what kind of in- fernal machine are you?” h ae you go again,” said Joe Yorick indulgently. “Don’t you remember when we shook hands that night you asked me my business and I said I was a mail carrier? Sure you do! Fifth grade and silver star, Tom, and that is why walking is no treat to me; but I enjoyed that walk with you, Tom, and don’t you think I didn’t. You are certainly full of fun, and the bunch will have a good laugh when I tel! them how you took me out for a walk. Hey, Tom?” “I give up,” said Tom Gentry. ‘‘Give me. the papers. Good-by, Tom, old friend!” cried Joe Yorick, running for a street car on Massa- chusetts Avenue.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 57

= ees we SRAAL

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Make the boy happy with a Da-cote sled HAT’ S the matter with last year’s sled? Not a blessed thing ~if you go over it with bright red Da-cote k name Next tackle the wheelbarrow or the old metal bed or that kitchen cabinet that is saying good-bye to its factory finish. The veriest novice can flow Da-cote on a shabby surface and get fine re- What you paint today will be drytomorrow—and will look like new. There’s much virtue in a can of Da-cote Enamel. New things pop up like magic under &s rejuvenating tou h. sults, [SSS ee ee | Partial List of Da-cote Uses: | Machinery and cools Toys | Benches Hat-racks Safes Sleighs and sleds Water hydrants Andirons Flag poles Ladders Start a Da-cote campaign. Twice as much fun as buying new things. Send for hand- vomely illustrated Da-« booklet of Da-cote uses—"*Doiag Things With Da -cote.”* Get ready now—get Da-cote at the paint or hardware store. Black and white and ten standard colors, remember. Eee —-- i +e nts Ls ps | — Murphy Varnish Company ote NEWARK CHICAGO N.J ILL. SAN FRANCISCO MONTREAL CALIF CANADA THE SATURDAY | thrown one of those priceless coverlets made | of the separate breasts of a multitude of eider ducks, so fine and dense and soft as to be in texture between fur and feathers. On | the stained, discolored wall hung a mirror of bombé glass in a Florentine frame. “My word!” Allaire whispered. ‘This room alone would assay at about a hundred thousand dollars.” “Don’t tell me that this old carpet is Aubusson,” I said. “It is, though. That rare early rose, if you were to put a vacuum cleaner on it! Only a connoisseur could see through the dinginess and stains of all this stuff.” “And the house falling apart,” I said. “But where’s the owner, and what's to pre- vent some pirate putting in here and help- ing himself to a fortune, though not one person in a thousand would recognize it as such?”’ Leaving these riddles unsolved, we con- tinued our search. But the place was aban- doned, temporarily at least, unless the furtive proprietor had nailed himself up in some room. The first squall whirled furiously off, though the wind still blew with cyclonic force. Looking out through a momentary brightening, I was relieved to see the Tinker—lying about where she had been, though slued a little and with a slight list that told of her having taken the ground. But there was still no chance of our getting off to her, and I wondered a little when that would be. We went and found the old butler in the kitchen, a sort of cookhouse in the rear and built also of heavy ships’ timbers with solid oaken knees. He appeared to be preparing some sort of food in an iron pot with three legs; pepper pot perhaps. He looked up at us with a sort of simian grimace no doubt intended for a smile. But he could not speak; seemed unable to make more than the most inarticulate of mumbles. To all our questions he answered with little nods and what we took for reassuring gestures of his apish hands. It was a relief at any rate to know that the schooner was safe, though hard aground. The latter did not worry me, as I thought it probable that she would float as the pres- sure of the wind eased or its direction changed to drive the water back in again. I went out then and struggled down to inspect our dinghy, and was not surprised to find that it had been badly strained and opened up along the garboard strake, so that it would take some considerable repair to make it float again. There was no other boat that I could discover; but even if there had been, I did not believe that we would be able to get off aboard the schooner that day. Allaire had stayed in the house and I did not teil her we might have to be its guests for the night. Apparently the proprietor had gone off somewhere and was prevented from returning, if indeed he intended to re- turn shortly. I had no idea as to where the nearest neighbors might be found. We had not intended to visit this part of the Ba- hamas, and my chart was the small-scale one of the Atlantic Coast from Halifax to Haiti. That furious day wore through in some fashion. The old butler, as if taking it for granted that we were to be respectfully en- tertained, offered the best afforded by the establishment. At about midday he served | us the food that we had seen him preparing, | badly,” which proved to be, as I thought, a pepper pot of sorts, though it would have needed an analytic chemist to discover the in- gredients. It was appetizing, well sea- soned and rich, with gumbo and rice; and with it he served us baked yams and a sort of spoon dish, coffee; also ship biscuits and guava jelly. He also set before us an old silver-mounted decanter of excellent wine that Allaire pro- nounced Chambertin. “Our mysterious host does himself not so I said, making an effort at cheer. Allaire did not respond to this. Not only was the constant roar of the wind and creak- ing of the house getting on her nerves but — I imagined, the slim prospect of getting back aboard the schooner for the night. Presently she asked, “ How are we going to get off aboard, Pom?” “T'm afraid we can’t until Cyril is able to come in for us, Allaire.” Weil, I’m not going to spend the night | in the fearful place if I have toswim for it!" EVENING POST BARTER (Continued from Page 34) “There is no use swimming for it unless the wind eases,”’ I told her. “It would be like trying to swim up Niagara.” Then, as I had expected, the early twi- light was cut off abruptly and the night came down with a sudden increase in the fury of the wind, or perhaps it was the gloom that made it seem that way. The old butler had built up the fire with — pine knots and by the light of it and a urricane lantern he served us a supper of fish, cold smoked ham and salad, with a bowl of oranges and bananas. “Why does he take this trouble with us?” Allaire asked. “One might think that who- ever owns this fearful place had gone off leaving orders that guests were expected and to be cntertained “Not likely,” I said. ‘Put it down to old colonial ospitality, the taking it for granted that visitors must be cared for.” Then after supper came the question of our accommodations for the night. “The sooner you go to we olf I said to Allaire, “the sooner you'll get the night over with. There’s that big four-poster and the eider coverlet. You'd better connect with them both.” “How about you?” she asked. “T’ll stretch out here by the fire.” But Allaire, though brave enough by day, now found herself unable to face the terrors of that big ghostly room and the fearful noises caused by the fury of the storm. I »0inted out that, on the whole, these were etter than utter silence would have been or a hush through which might come noises eerie and strange and inexplicable. Those made by the wind had at least no mystery about them. I went up with Allaire and a candle, but she would not hear of my going down again. “You camp over on that chaise longue,” she said. “I'd go off my head if I were to wake up and find myself alone.” The night wore on in some fashion, both of us sleeping fitfully, I think, though Al- laire never made a sound, while I at least did not snore. Then, a little after midnight, I was awakened by a sudden profound hush more disturbing in its contrast than the roaring of the hurricane. It awoke Allaire also. “The wind has stopped,” she cried. “Yes, we must have got just the skirt of this, the felly of the wheel as one might say, which, of course, is turning faster.” ‘Perhaps it’s the storm center,” she sug- gested. “T don’t think so. But we can soon tell.” We waited, when it finally became evi- dent that the wind was not going to begin again. In the relief from this tension we both dropped off to sleep, more restfully on Allaire’s part; though | woke at the end of an hour, Levine the schooner on my mind. I got up and looked out to discover that the sky had completely cleared and shune with a multitude of very brilliant stars. Either we had been struck, as I had said, by the mere rim of the hurricane, or else it had actually been more in the nature of a vio- lent squall, I got to thinking then about the treasures that the old place contained, and wondering who and what the owner could be and why he chose to live isolated in the ruins of this former grandeur when he had the means for comfortable existence in some more cheerful surroundings. It looked to me as if long years ago some great ship of the line had been cast ashore there and much of the wreckage saved by the keymen of the region, who, before the establishment | of li = tt had been wreckers and pirates more or less, known to display false lights and then cut off vessels in distress. I remembered the story of a governor- general of the Bahamas, who in making his annual tour of inspection had asked these folk what he could best do for the improve- ment of their conditions, when their naive answer had been, ‘Take away these ac- cursed lights that have ruined us.” Dropping finally to sleep, I was awakened by a Se of rosy light streaming through the eastern windows and Allaire stirring about. “Good morning, Pom,” “This looks a little better.”’ I sprang up and there came at that mo- ment a hail from outside. It was Cyril, who had come ashore in the dory. I ran down and out to ask how they had fared aboard. It’s too utterly still. she said. December 13,1924 “Tt was pretty bad,” he said, “but there’s no damage to speak of. We’re hard aground, but I think we can warp off on the high tide.” “There’s only a couple of feet of it,” I said. “Well, it was low when we went up and then the wind shifted. The dinghy’s going to take some carpentering.” The old butler, true to form, served us coffee and biscuits and fruit. Cyril had al- ready breakfasted, and went back to bring in Mrs. Fairchild. I said to Allaire, ‘When we go we'll re- ward this old man with some of our trade stuff.” “T don’t think we need to be in any hurry to go, Pom.” “Why not?” “Well, here’s a Golconda of wonderful things. Since this has degenerated into a trading voyage, we might start here.”’ I shook my head. “This place is under a hundred miles to Palm Beach inlet, and whoever owns it must be entirely aware of the value of his things.” “i’m not so sure. If he did, I think he’d mend his roof, and I doubt if anybody knows about it. We came in his absence and there was nothing for old Pompey to do but take us in.” She had named him Pompey, which seemed most apt. “Perhaps if the master had been here our reception would have been less hospitable. There’s no telling what wonderful things may be in all these locked rooms; and the chances are, I think, that he kee 2ps the other doors locked too. Besides, this is entirely off all the water routes.’ “Well,” I said, “if he feels inclined to trade, our whole stock in trade, with the boat thrown in, wouldn’t fetch half the value of this room alone.” Seen by daylight, there was a wild and abandoned beauty about the place. Some turkeys and chickens were scratching about. The old hound was sunning himself on the rotted porch. We spent the morning in getting the Tinker off the ground. Cyril was nearly right about her floating on the flood tide, though it needed some shifting of heavy cargo forward and heavy work at the wind- lass to warp her clear. This took us until noon, when the scanty tide was at full flood. Allaire now insisted that we remain at least another day in the hope of meeting the owner of the mysterious old place, and her argument was sound. “If you were to come on a heap of treas- ure, guarded only by a dumb old negro and a blind old hound, you wouldn’t sail off without finding out who owned it and what he intended to do with it eventually,” she said, ‘“‘and that’s practically the situation here. We might be able to make some sort of a trade, if only for the dishes we ate from. That was 2 willow platter, and the big Staf- fordshire plates were signed by Heath. He might care to do a little business; and even if he doesn’t, it would be worth our while to find out something about it all.” We decided therefore to wait. Allaire and I made another effort to get some infor- mation from old Pompey, but he merely clucked and nodded and grimaced, waving his hands in a vague way toward the coast of Florida, from which we imagined that his master must have gone over to the main- land, though when he might be expected to return there was no means of finding out. Exploring the key, we found it to be like many scattered along the northeastern fringe of the bank; but unlike the rest of them, it had been planted years ago in fruit and flowering trees brought there from some other place, many of which had endured. It looked to me as if loam had been brought also and spread in the hollows of the ham- mock ground about the house. The water was from a huge cistern. After luncheon Cyril and I were working at the dinghy, when we looked up to see a squat sloop-rigged tub that might have been a sponger coming into the lagoon at a ‘seaet clip under power. That would be the ermit, I thought, back from a run to the mainland. But this guess proved wrong. There came ashore in a flat-bottomed skiff a florid red- haired man and a boy of about sixteen. The man, who was passably well dressed, appeared to be surprised to find us there. (Continued on Page 60)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 59 That Challenges All Eights and All Superior Sixes Hupmobile is an institution— a closely knit organization of men who for 16 years have submerged their individual identities and acted as a unit for the good of the whole. Further information about the Hupmo- bile Eight will be published in next week’s issue of The Saturday Evening Post. It is the serious intention of Hupmobile to invite com- parison between the performance of the new Hupmobile Eight and all other eight-cylinder cars. Hupmobile has designed and built this eight because of a deep conviction that the advantages of the eight have been needlessly denied the average American family. In that respect the Hupmobile Eight is a distinct departure in eight engineering—a widening of the usefulness of the eight which removes it from the realms of indulgence and makes it a practical, economical family motor car. Many years ago, the directing head of Hupmobile, in answer to a question submitted to him in a general executive session, said with characteristic earnestness and sincerity: “Gentlemen, I honestly believe the Hupmobile to be the best car of its class in the world.” This expression of deep and abiding conviction was adopted by the Hupmobile sales department as the source and center of a world-wide merchandising movement. It came in due time to be shared by thousands of dis- tributors, dealers and salesmen. They in turn impressed their unshakeable faith in the rugged honesty of Hupmo- bile upon hundreds of thousands of owners until Hup- mobile became synonymous, wherever cars run, with invincible reliability and value. Now history is repeating itself. Once more, met in executive session several months ago to review the performance of the Hupmobile Eight in tests covering tens of thousands of miles, the question of many years ago was put to the directing head of Hupmobile. The answer was precisely the Same as before: “Gentlemen, I honestly believe this Hupmobile Eight to be the best car of its class in the world.” What is promised in a new car is not nearly so important as the character of those who make the promise. It is Hupmobile which promises you an eight which can truly and justly be called The Car of the American Family —which sincerely invites comparison with all eights and stands ready to demonstrate superiority to all sixes. The Highest Development of the Internal Combustion Engine for Use in a Passenger Car Hupmobile is an a closely knit organization of men who for 16 years have submerged their individual identities and acted as a unit for the good of the whole:

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| solid. THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page &8) | He spoke with the inflection of a longshore | Floridian, oe enough, but warily. I he was the owner. he answered, asked him i “Reckon so,” “How come | you-all run in here? Kinder off the route.” I briefly explained the situation. At this moment Allaire and Mrs. Fairchild came up, when Allaire took further explanation upon herself, giving it a twist that seemed to me entirely unnecessary. “We're what you might call seagoing sun hunters,” she said. “But if we found a place we liked we might buy it and keep it for a winter home.” “Well, there’s lots of nice prop’ty over on the mainland, ma’am, I got some shore lots I'd sell cheap. This here’s too lonesome for any but a hermit like what used to | own it,” “Who was he?” I asked. “Nobody seems to know just how the fust one come to settle here. He died way back in the '50’s and he’d lived here then as Some say he was a pirate, but I remember hearin’ grandpaw tell as how he was skipper of a big British ship that piled up on the reef in a hurricane, bound back to England from Havana. This old house was built partly out of her timbers. But so long as I can re- member, old Captain Crookshank has hung out here. He died only a coupla weeks ago. I come out to take possession.” Allaire’s eyes shone. “Then he left the property to you?” “Yes, ma’am; that is, in the line of busi- ness. He come into my store one day nearly a year ago and says, says he, ‘ Mr. Sanders, I need some supplies and I ain’t got no more money, 80 I tell you what I'll do, I'll make over all my prop’ty to you when I die and have the deed drawn up now if you'll en- gage to bring me off a hundred dollars’ worth of stores every three months.’ He was pretty old and poo’ly, and I didn’t reckon he could last more than a year or two longer, so I agreed. He showed me what was in the house, and while it ain’t wuth much, I reckoned I hadn't oughter lose any- thing to speak of. He had an old deed datin’ way back nigh on to a hundred years, but the lawyer said it was all shipshape and proper,” I glanced at Allaire and didn’t like the hard expression of her face, It was that gaming-table face again. “Then you've come now to get the stuff?" she asked. “Yes, ma’am, what I can carry, and what seems like it might be wuth totin’ away. Been inside?” ‘Yes. It’s just an old ruin.” “That's what. There’s some old beds and chairs and things, but the carpets is all | wore out and most of the rooms empty. Ghe signal cif | ain't got much value, and I dunno if it The dining-room table is sorta quaint and old-fashioned, but it’s pow’ful heavy. I thought I'd sorta wreck the place and sell it maybe for junk.” “What do you value the whole thing at, just as it stands?” Allaire asked “Well, I don’t know. These here keys would be wuth while to cut out them live oaks.” “We like it for just what most people would object to,” Allaire said—‘“‘its lone- someness, and the house might be patched up for a few hundred dollars.” “Yes, ma'am, the frame of it is right If she was reroofed and patched up a mite, she'd last a long time yet. I suttenly hadn’t counted on makin’ no trade, though, when I come out here. I gotta store at Jupiter Inlet. It beats me that anybody’d want to live here, Let’s go take a look in- side.’ We made our way up to the house. As we walked along, Allaire asked, “Hasn’t anybody ever been out here?”’ “Nobody but me that I know of, ma’am. The old cap’n was right shy. If he see any- body comin’, he’d go in and lock the door. | Some folks ‘lowed he might be hidin’ out | remember. for somethin’, but I never took no stock in that.” “How about his old servant?” I asked. “Oh, he’s been here long as anybody can Must be over a hundred years old. Nothin’ to do but just leave him here to dry up and blow away.” We went into the house. Mr. Sanders surveyed the priceless tapes- | try, the beautiful old pieces, then shook his head. “Nothin’ here you could give away, I reckon,” he said. “I’ve heard tell some folks sets a heap o’ store on suchlike old trash, but I reckon this here’s too far gone.” EVENING POST He picked up one of the chipped Staf- fordshire plates, glanced at it contemptu- ously and scaled it into the fireplace, where it broke. Allaire suppressed a scream. “Oh, don’t, Mr. Sanders! Just think how many years these old things have been eaten from!” Sanders laughed. “There now, ma’ =. It looks like you was one of them people I just mentioned, sorta romanticlike. Wail I'ma practical business man myself. If you take a fancy to any of this stuff you can have it at your own price.” I felt a little dizzy. So also did Allaire, for she turned quite pale. “We haven’t but very little money, Mr. Sanders, but we’ve got a lot of stuff aboard our boat that you might like to trade for.” “What sorta stuff?”’ he asked. “Oh, all sorts. One of our party, Mrs. Fairchild, is the widow of a retired sea captain. He left her a ship chandler’s store at Beach City, but its trade was ruined by a new modern one that opened up down by the wharf. Then she tried dealing in no- tions, and was doing fairly well, when they started a big five-and-ten-cent store just across the street. That killed her business, so she weeded out the best of her stock and we loaded it aboard our boat, thinking that we might be able to trade it off down South here, if we found a place to locate.” “That was a funny idea,” Sanders said; “but it sounds sorta sensible too. What all you got?” “The sort of things that ought to have some standard value anywhere,” Allaire an- swered easily. ‘‘A few small marine motors in good condition, and rope and wire and some mixed hardware and paints and oils, and a few small anchors and boat fittings, blocks and things. Mrs. Fairchild can tell you better than I can.” It struck me that Sanders’ small green eyes showed a gleam of interest. Perhaps, as a storekeeper and dealer in such com- modities as Allaire had shrewdly mentioned, it struck him that here might be the chance to make a good trade after all. An odd arty of Northerners who for some reason ad seen fit to pool their resources and seek winter sanctuary in the South. Still, he was puzzled. “I don’t quite get you folks. How come you happen to fetch up way out here?” “Any port in a storm,” I quoted, “‘es- pecially one like this last. We were prett well offshore and this was the nearest shel- ter, so I ran in.” “You see, Mr. Sanders,” said Allaire, “Mr, Stirling was a naval-reserve officer during the war, and since then he’s been assistant superintendent in his uncle’s boiler factory in New Jersey. But a little while ago he had a nervous breakdown from the noise, mostly his uncle’s noise, and had to give up his job. So we got him for our sailing master.’ “T see.” Sanders looked blanker than ever. “The schooner was the prop’ty of Mrs, Fairchild?” “No, she belonged to my brother, who died two years ago,” Allaire explained. “‘She’s been lying idle, and as I had planned coming South for the winter, I thought we all might as well get some good of her. I met Mrs. Fairchild through Mr. Stirling one day when I was in Beach City.” Sanders nodded, like a man to whom all has been made clear. But he did not look _ part. Allaire assisted him a little fur- ther. “Mrs. Fairchild was going to sell out her stock for what it might fetch, but her store manager, Mr. Whitecliff’’—she looked at Cyril —“‘told her that she might as well give itaway. But he thought that down South here she might be able to trade it off for something like its value, if not in money, then for a cottage site or something of the sort.” Sanders looked a little less bewildered. “Well, mebbe he was right.”” He glanced around appraisingly at the desolation on all sides. “Or if it was a key you all fancied —— “We never thought about a key,” Allaire said; “but it’s struck Mr. Stirling and me that something might be done with this place.” “Well, come to think about it —— Sanders began, then petered out. It was evident that his imagination was not up to saying offhand what could be done with it, unless to touch a match to it. Mrs. Fair- child and Cyril were looking at Allaire with the fascinated expression of two children watching a fairy that might reveal itself for some few moments to their astonished eyes, ” ” December 13,1924 and not quite sure whether it was a good fairy or a bad one. “Tt’s so picturesque,” Allaire explained, “and so remote from the cares and bothers of ordinary daily life.” “Sure is, miss,” Sanders admitted. “No close neighbors to pester a body.” “There, I see you get my meaning, Mr. Sanders. Now I’ve got a friend who would love to have a key like this’’—Allaire looked round at the fearful place with a rapt ex- pression—‘‘a poetic waste of sea and sky and sand.” = Well, there ain’t no accountin’ for tastes, miss.”” Sanders’ patience and discretion were beginning to slip a cog or two. ‘‘Now about this here stock you was speakin’ of — these yere motors and things “Oh, yes!”’ Allaire came 3 to earth again. “If you happen to feel like trading off this lovely romantic spot for some of those things, I think I could make an ar- rangement with the others. I’m sure that I could sell it to my friend at a little profit. He’s very rich and wants some sort of base to put into when cruising on his yacht.” Sanders glan at me as if to say, “Hasn't this childishness one far enough?” But I laughed and said, “Miss Forsyth knows what she’s talking about. I think she could sell her friend an orange grove at the North Pole, sight unseen.” He raised his bushy red eyebrows and for the first time a gleam of understanding shone in his small sun-reddened eyes. “Oh, o’ course, if it’s like that, let’s go out and take a look at that stuff of yours, miss.” x E ALL went off aboard the Tinker, when there ensued a transaction in barter such as probably had not occurred on that coast since the early Spanish voy- agers traded off their beads and gayly col- ored prints and hawk bells for nuggets of virgin gold, if ever they did that in the Bahamas. We left it all to Allaire, and whatever may have been the emotions of the two others, I found myself torn between avarice and honesty. There was, however, this compensating feature: That Sanders himself was not en- titled to it. Either the old captain did not know the market for the objects that sur- rounded him, or else he had grown attached to each and every one that remained and desired that they should continue to sur- round him until his death. His predecessor might have known about it, or it might be merely that his ship when wrecked had been carrying out these articles of furniture for the colonial palace of some high official or early rich planter. It was possible that the ship had come to grief in just such an outer fringe of hurri- cane as had just swept the place—been caught too close in through some fault of her master from which he knew he could not be exculpated, so that he had preferred to maroon himself for the rest of his days on that desolate spot rather than return to ruin and disgrace. Who his successor had been was impos- sible to say; possibly his son; or he might have drifted in or been picked up, a sort of sea waif. At any rate the first inhabitant had evi- dently purchased the key from the colonial aes of his day, since the title had een searched and passed on, as Sanders assured us. It was probable that even in the case of any flaw, his long tenure must have established a valid claim that none would attempt to contest. So here was opportunity fairly clamoring on the hatch, and I could not help but won- der what man or woman in our position would have failed to seize it. If Sanders was satisfied with his bargain, what more was he entitled to? It was not a case of bread on the waters, as if his inheritance had resulted from disinterested kindness. He had told us frankly that he had made the bargain because he did not think the present holder could last much longer and there might be a slight profit in it. It had cost him only about three hundred dollars. Allaire, now assuming the réle of owner, exhibited a false naiveté of which Sanders most obviously tried to take advantage. He saw in her a sentimentalist who had taken a fancy to what he considered the veriest rubbish, and it must have seemed to him from our noninterference with Al- laire’s bargaining that she was the spoiled child of the family or the one to hold the purse strings. I had not the face to take part in this transaction. I left it to Allaire, and before (Continued on Page 62)

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into Can Often as you go through the mess and incon- venience of changing the oil in your crankcase, you are not escaping the danger of damage from dirty contaminated oil. There is no escape but PUROLATOR, which turns dirty oil into clean oil, automatically and continuously, as your car runs. The microscopic filtration—not merely screening—which PUROLATOR sets up the moment your engine starts, is the result of years of patient and painstaking research. To any engine it means constant lubrication with fresh, clean oil—a real chance to live and deliver all its years of usefulness. To the car owner, it means the end of frequent crankcase draining; the end of heavy oil waste and expense; the end of danger from dirty oil. If you could see the quantities of dirt and grit, sand and cast-iron powder that literally make a grinding-paste of your oil—unless PUROLATOR removes them—you would marvel that automo- bile engines last one-third as long as they do. In some minds the question of dilution may PUR Oil As Your Car Runs THE SATURDAY EVENING POST arise, and in that respect it is important to note that it is the consensus of engineering opinion everywhere that contamination is by far the more serious factor. Note what engineers say in another column. Dirt in the oil is what does damage to an engine, and the latest engineering conclusion is that even oil with a moderate percentage of dilution is not harmful—if it 1s filtered and kept continuously clean. That is the big thing—to keep the oil clean all the time. To save the muss and fuss of frequent crankcase draining; to save the constant expense of wasting oil. To save the engine from undue wear, from scored cylinders, worn rings, and repair expense which clean oil would defer far into the future. PUROLATOR is the one and only means of fil- tering oil and keeping it constantly clean as your car runs. It is made for any motor in any car, truck or tractor. Its attachment does not interfere in any way with the motor or its operation. Gi Va \ What Engineers Say The presence of contaminating foreign matter demands draining the crankcase, rather than any decrease in the potential lubricating value of the oil, The latter retains this characteriatic and is only prevented from effectively perform- ing its intended function by the foreign matter which has accumulated. From “Lubrication,” published by the Texas Company, U. S. A. And so we in the lubricating field advocate drainage of the crankcase frequently, not par- ticularly because the oil becomes diluted, but because the oil becomes contaminated. Whiie it will stand thinning out alone and still possess ample value to accomplish its primary function, contamination seriously hampers it From a paper read before the Society of Automotive Engineers by E. F. Hallock of the Vacuum Oil Company. There are two objections to crankcase drainage First, the user does not obey the instructions. Second, such draining very rarely removes more than one-half the accumulated solids which lie in the oil-pan and immediately contaminate the new oil By A. L. Clayden, chiet engineer of the gas engine research of the Sun Oil Company a y Its cost is more than offset in the first year by the money it saves. 2600 PUROLATOR Sales and Service Stations The PUROLATOR organization includes 2,600 sales and service stations throughout the country. All are equipped to install PUROLATOR without delay, ready to render to the motor car owners of this country a national service of incalculable value. Take your car to the nearest PUROLATOR sta- tion today, and have PUROLATOR installed The attachment will be made in not to exceed two hours, and you will be free from now on from the dangers and expense uf using dirty oil. LATOR THE OIL PURIFYING SYSTEM PreeI II Cee eeeeeeeereeeenen eenenenene COCR HERE R EERE THERE ERE R EERE EEE H EROS EHO R® ? MOTOR IMPROVEMENTS, INc. * 1801 Fisk Building, Broadway and 57th St., NEW YORK, N. Y. PUROLATOR The Oil Purifying System : Send complete information about PUROLATOR. Passenger Cars Purolator for Ford is installed : for my car { } Small Fours and Sixes - $15 im 20 minutes with only a H 1 am interested in Purolator (make and model) Large Fours and Medium wrenen. : sales and service Sixes - - «+ 2 For Trucks - - - $50 : { Car Large Sixes, Eights and West of Rocky Mountains pric- H f } Tam a dealer for } Truck Twelves - - + + 30 — es slightly higher; in Canada, : (name of) Tractor Ford - + - = + 15 $22.50, $30, $45 and $70. . Meme : Address

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These exclusive features make the UD44 Battery ideal for use inside the finest cabinet set To recharge—just shift the plug from the radio socket to the charger socket. No moving batteries—no changing wires—no worry over burning out tubes by getting positive and negative mixed. Philco makes batteries of similar convenience and economy for storage battery tubes and for your automobile. See your nearest Philco Service Station, Radio or Music Dealer—or write us. Philadelphia Storage Battery Company Philadelphia Philec Pressed-Glass Case A” Batteries Philco We en ng Case * Batteries Spray-proof. Stay dry and clean always. Built- Type RAR and aw for storage battery tubes in ¢ Kars oo > rad ficators In beautiful Adam-brown mahogany-finish $16 caves harmonizing with your radio cabinet ; > Price 14.50 up vl replec ement enabling mt, ste vat of dry cell tubes ieee ¢ try celle and may Type UDS86 for storage battery tubes yi J t s Ma o UD44, 2 An ‘ 7 Philco Charge Tester— permanently mounted in filler cap— avoids fuesing with a hydrometer Oocuples lees epace th an ' e be inetalled permanently in the radio cabinet $1.00 extra Price @ $s Phileo Single Charger for all “ B" batteries and UD44 “A” Bat. viveless. Pr $9 Phil o Desis Cc *harger for all “B” batteries and UD86 “A” Bat Noisele ‘Thee $15.00 Charger prices include plugs and receptacles PrHiLcO 3ATTERIES BATTERIES Ce | | secured THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (Continued from Page 60) the sun got low that capable young woman had finished by making a sweeping trade of the stuff for which we had swapped the stock in Mrs. Fairchild’s store for the entire contents of that old barrack of a house, and a six months’ option on the pur- chase of the whole key at a purchase price of five thousand dollars. A very good radio | set was the price of the option. Sanders could not conceal the fact that he considered himself to have made a splen- did bargain, and was a little apologetic. “You see, it’s like this, folks,” he said: ““When me and the old captain made that agreement there was two things I couldn’t reckon on. For all I knew he might have hung on for years, ten or fifteen yet, me keepin’ him supplied at the rate of four hundred dollars a year. And of course it never entered my head that somebody might come along and take a fancy to the place.” “Of course not, Mr. Sanders,” Allaire “And there was always the chance | that the old house might burn down or blow way. hat’s right, ma’am. Besides, this here out-of-the-way island prop’ty ain’t like real estate ashore. It’s only got a value for some party that hankers to be off the beaten track, or a rich man such as you was speakin’ of that’s got his yacht and wants to come here with a party of friends to take his comfort like they see fit, and nothin’ to hinder.” “Yes,” I said ne ‘no danger of being raided out on a sand bar like this.” “Well, I sure hope that Miss Forsyth may be able to make a little turnover. 1 handle right smart of real estate on the mainland, and this here is out of my line. | But it strikes me that before trying to sell | it you better spend a little money and fix it | up a mite. Just as she stands, it’s enough | to scare a body away.” “Tt certainly would me,” Mrs. Fairchild said somberly. The good woman had held her peace throughout the transaction, but | was plainly upset about it. “I think,” said Allaire, “that Mr. | Sanders might as well load this stuff aboard his boat and take it back with him. You could go along, Pom, to make sure that the deed is all in order and to get the option drawn up.” “That’ sa good idee, ma’am,”’ Sanders agreed. ‘Before I signed my agreement with the old captain I made sure that his title was clear. My l’yer sent the papers to Nassau, and the report was that so far as they were able to discover the ownership couldn’t be assailed. But for your own | satisfaction, ~ better do what you say.” He got in the dory then and went over to bring his sloop alongside. As soon as he had gone, Mrs. Fairchild gave voice to her long- suppressed emotions. She desired to be | shown, for which she was scarcely to be blamed, having seen the equivalent of her whole stock in trade calmly swapped off by the high-handed Allaire for what must have looked to the good woman like the dingy, shabby contents of a fearsome old ruin of a dilapidated frame house stuck out on an unheard-of key of the scattered multitude in the Bahamas. Allaire patlenety explained the situation, come amateur but fairly expert know aioe @ antique furniture for cor- roboration. “At a conservative estimate, the stuff in that house would fetch at any auction a hundred thousand dollars,” she said. “But | if properly handled, it might sell for twice that amount. I have he ped my friends buy such things, and I know.” “How about the duty?” I asked. “It’s not dutiable. The main thing now is to get it loaded aboard and out of here before anybody on the mainland tips off Sanders. He is going to boast a little about his trade, and that might rouse a curiosity that could ruin everyt ing. I’m not wor- rying about the deed for this island. Un- disputed possession for about a hundred years is deed enough. But I want to get a legally attested bill of sale for all this old | stuff and then get it away from here before anybody comes nosing round. That’s why I think one of you ought to go ashore and stick to Sanders until it’s drawn.” “Why not go yourself, Miss Forsyth?” asked Mrs, Fairchild. “Too much risk of my being seen and recognized, and people wondering what I am up to, About half my friends are over there.” “The person to go with Sanders,” I said, “is Mrs. Fairchild. To begin with, this stuff December 13,1924 is really hers. Most of it was traded for what came out of her shop. Sanders un- derstands it that way, and can make the deed out to her. But here’s another point: Allaire is right in saying that we ought to get it away from here before anybody sees fit to butt in, and that’s going to be some job. Cyril and I will have to do some in- tensive furniture moving.” “Right, Mr. Stirling,’ Cyril agreed. “What if this Sanders spills the beans to some bloky in the know? He might decide to bring him off for a look-see before going through with it.” “But how am I to get back here?” Mrs. Fairchild wailed. “You had better not try to come back,” I said. “Just get your receipt and the op- tion, then take the first train to New York and wait for us there. We will get the stuff aboard, then beat it North as fast as wind and gasoline can take us.” The poor woman looked distressed and a little dazed. She was about to make an- other protest, but Allaire forestalled her in that limpid unanswerable tone of hers. “‘Here’s the point, Mrs. Fairchild: The object of this voyage was barter, and now we've tumbled on such a chance as we will never get again. So let’s go while the go- ing’s good. Antique dealers and their scouts have raked this country and Europe with a fine-toothed comb. Motor cars have made that possible, until there’s scarcely anything worth having left. Or, where there is, the owners are educated in values. Doing it in a boat is a new departure, and though we didn’t count on that, yet here it is. So let’s make the best of it.” “Yes,” I said, “and if we slam it through, then we'll have a proper stake to do it better next time.’ “Oh, dear,” sighed Mrs. Fairchild. ‘Well, if that’s the way you all feel about it ——”’ “Here comes Sanders with his sloop,” Cyril said. We unshipped the skylight, rigged a whip, then snaked out the proceeds of Sanders’ trade and lowered them aboard his bulky motor sloop. Not much of a job, what with Cyril, Sanders, Sanders’ lumpish son and his boatman and pilot, a powerful Bahaman negro with the distinguished name of McIntosh. The moon was full, and as the sea was smooth and weather indications fixed fair, Sanders decided to start immediately on his run back to Jupiter. It was then about nine P.M., and he figured to fetch in before ten next morning. Mrs. Fairchild bade us a rather strained farewell, not that she resented our decision, but because the whole performance im- pressed her as being irregular to the point of disreputable, I think, and she was the soul of old-fashioned respectability. “And here you are, out here without a chaperon,” she said to Allaire. “Business women can’t bother with chap- erons, Mrs. Fairchild, however much they sometimes need them. But I think I'm safe enough, don’t you?” “I think you would be safe ’most any- where, Miss Forsyth—safe for you, that is. Some women and girls are naturally that way.’ And with this final shot she went over the side. x OR about an hour after Sanders’ squat tub had waddled out to sea, we three sat on deck talking future plans. It was a fine night, but hot, without a breath of air stir- ring, and would be stuffy below. The moon was full and very bright, almost overhead. Allaire was saying, ‘ This whole thing has been so easy so far that I’m almost afraid there must be a joker to crop out some- where,” when Cyril, whose senses were un- commonly acute, suddenly slanted his head as if to listen. We were all silent. Then, as if one had placed a stethoscope to the bosom of the sea, there came sounds like the deep, muf- fled beating of its heart. I caught it inter- mittently at first, as did Allaire, for she exclaimed, ‘“‘They are coming back! Mrs. Fairchild must have lost her nerve, or per- haps I had better say changed her mind.” Cyril shook his head. “That’s not Sande rs’ jolly old churn. It’s got a quicker beat.” “Who then?’ “Perhaps a passing boat. joker.” But a few moments assured us that it was not a passing boat. The beat of the exhaust was growing more distinct, and had a sort of bubbling sound. Directly to the west- ward, about half a mile distant, there was (Continued on Page 64) Perhaps—the

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STANDARD SIX 113-in.W. B. 50H. P. 5-Pass. Duplex-Phaeton $1145 3-Pass. Duplex-Roadster 1125 3-Pass. Coupe-Roadster . 1395 5-Pass. Coupe .. . . 1495 5-Pass. Sedan... . 1595 5-Pass. Berline 1650 4-wheel brakes, 4 disc wheels, $60 extra SPECIAL SIX 120-in.W. B. 65 H. P. 5-Pass. Duplex-Phaeton $1495 3-Pass. Duplex-Roadster 1450 4-Pass. Victoria . . 2050 5-Pass. Sedan . . . . 2150 5-Pass. Berline ome 4-wheel brakes, 5 dise wheels, 75 extra BIG SIX 127-in.W. B. 75 H.P. 7-Pass. Duplex-Phaeton $1875 5-Pass, Coupe 2650 7-Pass. Sedan . « ROS ?-Pass. Berline 2860 4-wheel brakes, * disc wheels, 75 extra All prices f. 0. b. U. S. factories, and subject to change without notice) THE SATURDAY EVENING POST hen it Snows“ this newhpe car gives instant protectio a, It’s a car for sunshine or storm—an cp car when you want it—an enclose car in 30 seconds AIN—snow—cold weather! These are the times you most appreciate the two-fold convenience of this new-type car—the Studebaker Duplex-Phaeton. It is a glorious, joyous, free, airy open car when you want it. Then when it storms it may be transformed into a comfortable, weather-tight enclosed car—in 30 sec- onds, And without even leaving your seat. There's no fuss or bother to put up curtains while the snow beats in. No inconvenience trying to match them up on a dark or stormy night. Instead, you simply lower the roller side enclosures of the new-type — body —it's as easy as drawing down a window shade. And the new Studebaker Duplex-Phaeton is the only car that can give you this two-fold utility—this new con- venience—and at the price of an open car. Unlike any other car Framed and shaped in steel, the upper structure of the Duplex body is integral with the lower body—it is per- manently beautiful. The wide-windowed side enclosures, on powerful spring rollers, are concealed within the roof, Simply draw them down for protection—or raise them to get the exhilarating freedom of air and sunshine. The Duplex body is obtainable on the three Studebaker chassis—Standard Six, Special Six and Big Six. Its all-year utility is thus added to the fine car performance of a world famous chassis; plus other advantages no open or closed car of the past has ever offered, In design and finish there is new beauty, steering mech- anism, fenders and body lines especially designed for full size balloon tires; automatic spark control; lighting switch at your finger tips on the steering wheel; genuine Spanish leather upholstery; new ease of operation; velvet clutch action plus finish and fittings of the very highest quality. Consider then what this means to you. Consider that here is a car that retains all of the joys of open car motor- ing, yet instantly provides protection whenever you need it. And consider that you needn't put up with a less satisfac- tory closed car simply to meet the price you want to pay In justice to yourself, see the new Studebaker Duplex- Phaetons before you buy. THE STUDEBAKER CORPORATION OF AMERICA, SOUTH BEND, INDIANA STUDEBAKER Duplex et &~ Cc a- thes I § A S$. TU DB .B.AR:'E R = E’A R

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THE SATURDAY MERRY Christmas is a busy Christmas. I \ The way to get the good old-fashioned thrill out of it is to forget all your sensible ideas and just buy gifts for everybody. Then when the last tick of the clock comes on Christ- mas Eve you'll sigh happily, and say, “ Thank heaven for my Arch Preserver Shoes!” “MEEPS THE FOOT WELL” Look for this Trade-Mark m sole awd liming With these shoes you can make a high-speed truck horse of yourself and your wife will boast of your good disposition. The concealed, built-in arch bridge doesn't let vour feet sag; the flat inner sole doesn't pinch. The Arch Preserver Shoe gives you a real “urge"’ to do things, to jump right into the spirit of any occasion. Merry Christmas, Men—and Also, well groomed feet. git happy feet! just SHOE : an Tut * If you're not a member of this ‘* Merry Christmas E. T. Wright produc: Club” send the coupon. , E. T. WRIGHT & CO., INC. Department S-22, Rockland, Massachusetts THE p ARG Siok VER The Man's Stvleful Shoe on a Real Chassis EK. T. Wright & Co., Inc., Name Dept. S22, Rockland, Mass Seud me wour booklet “ The Address Footpath to St ‘ and - a nein af Quien City State EVENING POST (Continued from Page 62) another low key with broken dunes and 4 tch of low scrubby trees—cedars, I think. his sinister visitor sounded to be just the other side of these. Then, as we stared in that direction, two slendet masts moved out from behind them, the hull still hidden by the sedge-covered dunes. “That r is coming here,” Cyril said uietly, ‘‘otherwise he’d not be in so close. his ally place ain’t so private as we'd thought.’ For several moments we watched those ominous spars moving steadily along. Then I rose and hauled the dory alongside. “What now, Pom?” Allaire’s voice was husky with foreboding, as if a pirate were coming in. But then we had reason to know that the old freebooting days had turned back on us again. Here we were, two men and a girl, in that deso- late abandoned place, and a good many thousand dollars’ worth of property over in that old shell of which the battered roof was now silvered in the right moonlight. “That fellow’s coming in, I think. What his errand may be I can’t guess, but it might be somebody who knows the value of that stuff and has learned that the old captain | has died. I’m going ashore.” “T’ll go with you,” said Allaire. “Perhaps that might be better. Cyril had better stay aboard. Let’s say we bought the property a week ago and expect a working gang out here tomorrow.” “That's a good plan,” Cyril agreed ‘And there’s something else you might say, Mr. Stirling, if you'll excuse me for suggest- ing it.” “T can guess, Cyril. That Miss Forsyth is Mrs. Stirling.” “What?” gasped Allaire. “It would give us more class, and that’s always important. Here’s our lay: We are a young married couple who have cruised South on their boat to look for just some such paradis d deux as this. We learned that Sanders had come into possession of the place, just as he told us, and bought it from him. We are expecting the contractor and labor gang that he’s to send over to put the place in order under our direction. Cyril is our sailing master. Got all that?” Allaire nodded, then gave a stifled laugh. “Why not let Cyril marry us and be done with it? I believe a sailing master has the right.” he’s rounding to turn in.’ ‘ “But I’ve got no wedding ring.” “Here then.” I slipped the signet off my little finger. “‘If you should have to meet these unexpected guests you can turn the shield Og It’s no joke, Allaire. The tougher the crowd, the less respect for a girl whose papers aren’t in order. That kills the “"Fraid there isn’t time,” I said. “Look, | morale of your position.” | own.” “All right. Let’s hope it doesn't kill my She held out her hand, then, as | I slipped the ring on the proper finger. “I Allaire, take thee, Pom —— “Be still,” 1 interrupted, for somehow this sent a quiver through me. “It’s plain | that Mrs. Fairchild was right when she | made that parting wise crack.” Cyril’s big luminous eyes were fastened on us with a curious expression, less amused | than glowing, eager, as if anticipating ro- mance not so far away. There was a good deal of the dramatic about this boy. I gave the dory painter a savage tug, yanked the boat in, then scrambled down and held out my hand to Allaire. “Get aboard. Hurry!” She stepped aboard, then glanced back | at Cyril, who was staring owlishly at us. “It’s plain I’m shackled to a brute, Cyril. Good-by. Don’t give up the ship.” Feeling more of a fool than I had for | years, | picked up an oar, dropped it into the chock in the stern board and started to scull in to the jetty. As we reached it the | schooner was pushing slowly and cau- tiously in through the narrow channel be- tween the two keys, a leadsman in the chains singing out the soundings in a harsh cockney voice. “And a ’arf—fower ——-” I helped Allaire onto the jetty, when we walked back under the shadow of a pine and stood watching. The schooner was a trim enough little vessel of the Gioucester or Boston fishing class, rather small as they build them now, spoon-bowed, with short bowsprit and pole masts with no topmasts, or baldhead, as fishermen say. She was painted black and deep-laden, and it was not difficult to guess her cargo. Allaire now made a guess of her own: “T think I get it, Pom. This key isa depot from which to supply a stretch of the coast December 13,1924 opposite. Shouldn't wonder but what brother Sanders had a little side line.” “Perhaps, but I doubt it. If he was working that sort of graft, he wouldn’t have wanted to turn over the place to us.” “Well, it might be others then. Bimini is pretty closely watched. It would be a cinch to distribute from here.” “Then here’s your chance,” I said grimly. “Looks as if your luck had turned. Every- thing seems to be coming your way.” “Why, yes, darn it, just when I’d got converted to lawful trade!” ; “Well, if you think you would like this unlawful sort better, all you’ve got to do is to tell the skipper that you've got an option on the island and would listen to a proposi- tion. First carry your antiques North and market ‘em, then come back here and be queen of the Bahama Boozeneers. Carry out your first idea.” “Serve you right if I did,” she flashed. “Then go to it,” I said. “I shan’t stop you.” “Will you come in too?” “I? Just about as quick as if this were two hundred years ago, and I were the sort of broken gentleman I am now, and put in here for shelter as I have, and met up with a gang of filthy buccaneers who offered me a captain’s billet.” “But you’ve bought liquor from bootleg- gers, haven’t you?’ “Yes; and I’d have bought dried beef from the buccaneers if I’d needed it as badly as I’ve known myself to need a drink. But I would never have turned one myself. Listen, Allaire! There are some of us who don’t believe in certain arbitrary laws and don’t obey them strictly as regards what we consider to be our personal necessities. But it’s a long way from that to purveying il- licit wares for money. I might go to a race track and surreptitiously back my horse, or look into a gambling house and throw a twenty onthe red. But I would not make a book or run a gambling dive. If I’ve got to be legislated into the virtue of abstention, whether I like it or not, then let them go ahead and put us all on that high involun- tary plane.” “IT see,” said Allaire. ‘You would not expect a man to obey a law that forbade him to kiss his wife on Sunday, but would recommend an enforcement of a law for locking all the wives up over Sunday.” “Oh, I'd do that anyhow,” I snapped. ‘Look, they’veanchored just astern of us.” The schooner had let go her anchor when the water shoeled to four fathoms, and now as she tailed out astern of the Tinker I was surprised to see that there was not much difference in size. She was too small for a Grand Banker, but avery tidy, able-looking little vessel, built perhaps for lobstering or inshore mackerel and herring seining. We could now hear Cyril’s voice talking with somebody aboard her, but were unable to catch the words. The conversation sounded amicable, though there was the sort of intonation to the voice from the stranger that suggested the Englishman of patrician class questioning aservant. Curt, and with a brusque rising inflection at the end of short interrogatory clauses. The in- flection proclaimed the nationality beyond all doubt. “Sounds like some swell of the Royal Yacht Squadron gone in for trade,” I said. “Yes, or a British naval officer that’s lost his billet and turned rank. He would spot Cyril’s Bare-mooda accent and talk to him as if he were a sweep. Let’s go back out there, Pom.” “We will if you like,” I said; “but after hearing that swank talk I feel we ought to guard our tapestries more than ever.” “When dealing with gentlemen one can’t be too careful,’’ Allaire agreed. ‘‘ From the tone of his voice, I’d say that he could tell a Gobelin from a piece of theater curtain.” “Well, let’s go out and ask him the news from Nassau,” I said. ‘‘We are supposed to have been marooned about a week.” “‘And how long have we been married?” Allaire murmured, and slipped her arm be- hind me, her hand on the farther shoulder. “Long enough to have got over the paw- ing stage,’”’ I snapped, “and this is a poor time and place for mocking badinage. Come on then, let’s go.” “Wait, they’re coming in.” We heard the whining of sheaves, then a boat hit the water with a splash. “Jump down, one of ye!” barked the peremptory voice. ‘Handle your oars!” “That sounds ex-R. N.,” I said. ‘We'd better go up to the house.” (TO BE CONTINUED)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST MISCHA LBV TE 2K I AT HIS STEINWAY } THE INSTRUMENT OF THE IMMORTALS This knowledge of the superiority of IN THAT dramatic moment of quiet before the first note is struck, the concert pianist marshals swiftly all his genius, his spirit, his skill. pianist since Liszt who has not drawn, And there is scarcely a great in that moment, new courage from his utter confidence in his chosen instrument the Steinway. Paderewski, Hofmann, Levitzki—these and others of the great pianists know how perfectly the Steinway translates the mellow, golden harmonies of Schumann or the sharply etched rou- lades of a Bach fugue. They know how the Steinway at a touch becomes a singing, animate voice, instantly responsive to the most extraordinary demands — There is a Steinway dealer in your community or near you through whom you may purchase a neu 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, Hay 109 East Fourteenth Street, New York STEIN WAY saninenl ee — the Steinway is shared by the public at large. For the great majority of Steinway pianos are purchased on limited incomes and for unassuming homes. As a matter of principle, it has been kept within the reach of every true lover of music—sold at the lowest possible price and upon the Each of the And each will return, decade after decade, fu!! most convenient terms various models ts a true Steinway easures O easure and del ‘Sy ineasur f pleasure and delight. You need never buy another piano.

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6a THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Al FRIEND OF THE FAMILY (Continued from Page 9)

’ There’s Enough Consolidation Coal

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“I know what you're thinking,” said Angela. “Well, mamma won't come this time. She’s at home with a headache. You needn’t be afraid.” Everett moved his hat restively through his fingers. “I’m not afraid,” he said. And her voice came back, just as he re- membered, just as if it had been yesterday, half careless, half contemptuous. “Oh, yes, you are,” said Angela. “I might have known you would be. You’re afraid to take my hand.” Everything that had gene was like yes- terday again, from the careless tone she used to the taunting way she held her head. As she took his hand to climb down from the saddle, his face went redder still, and a strange resentment mastered him. Her weight came on his arm, and as she looked at him, her lips curled upward very slowly. “Thank you,” said Angela. “You can let my hand go now, if it embarrasses you so much.” Everett’s answer came before he thought, through some involuntary reflex of pride. “Tt doesn’t embarrass me,” he said, “any more than it embarrasses you.” “You needn’t be so rude,” said Angela. “Why should I be embarrassed? Hold my hand if you want to. It won’t look any queerer. Walking with you’s queer enough.” And she smiled at him again, and Everett’s voice grew thick. “Then why do you?” he demanded. “There’s no reason why you should.” “TI don’t know what got into me,” said Angela; “curiosity, I suppose. Aren’t you pleased I remembered you? Haven’t you ever wondered where I’ve been all this | time? Did you know I was abroad at school?” “How could I help knowing?” answered Everett. ‘It’s all anyone talks about— what you all are doing.” “You don't like me very much, do you?” | said Angela. “I don’t suppose you like any of us.” “Have any of you ever done anything,” asked Everett, “ever, to make me like you?” And Angeia smiled back. “Why, of course not!” she said. “Why should we? But it’s funny—you’re the first one I ever heard say a thing iike that. Really it’s rather nice.” “Nice?” echoed Everett. “ Doyou think it’s nice to stop a feller on the road and make fun of him?” “Don’t say ‘feller’! replied Angela. “You can really speak quite nicely when you try. No, I think it’s nice to know someone who doesn’t like me. It’s so dif- ferent. Dear me, I suppose I must be going now. Hold my horse’s head, please.” Once she was on her horse again, the whole episode seemed unreal. What had | she wanted with him? Everett could not tell. She gathered up the reins and patted at her hair. “T don’t suppose,” she said, “‘you’d like | to come and see me. Suddenly the way she spoke seemed like some atonement for all that had gone be- fore, and suddenly he felt his heart beat faster. “IT wish you would,” said Angela, ‘‘even if you don’t like me. I'd like it just the same.” “Why should I?"’ he asked. “I guess you’re not any different from the way you've always been. You won’t have any use for anyone like me.” “Oh, well,” said Angela, “if you're afraid ——”’ “I’m not afraid!’’ retorted Everett. “Why should I be afraid?”’ “Well, if you’re not,” said Angela, “I'll be in our summerhouse at half past eight tonight.” Everett stood staring down the road ata cloud of dust and then at the dust at his feet. The mark of her small riding boot was still there close beside him, and that was all. Yet his heart was beating fast. The things he said, the things she said, kept running | through his mind, without sequence or relation, like things of no importance; and perhaps they had none then, for he was very young to read between the lines. The touch of her hand was still on his. Her voice seemed to linger in the rustle of the trees. He could see her still in her close- buttoned riding habit. No, it was not the things she said. In the end they were as nothing. “| knew you'd come,” she said. December 13,1924 And Everett Jenkins thought she was like Maude in the garden that early sum- mer night. Her dress was light, like the Hollingshead blush roses, and across the arden the light from the French windows ell softly on her face. _“T told you I wasn’t afraid,” he said, and his voice was very low; and the things he said and the things she said still made no difference then. “ Here’s the summerhouse,” said Angela. “Tell me, are you glad you came?” Never before had he passed through the Hollingshead gates. Across the garden, the house seemed larger than he had ever imagined, a dark, tall shadow against the sky, pierced by square after square of light. About him were the flower beds, fabulous flower beds, like some garden of Arabia. For a moment it came over him that it was all like a story, to be accepted without ever reasoning why. Not a day ago he had been a village boy, and now Angela’s hand was resting on his arm. Her hand was on his arm, and Everett stood very still for fear she would move it. “Are you glad you came?” she asked. “Yes,” said Everett, and it was hard for him to speak; “yes, I’m glad I came.” “You can call me Angela, if you like.” Her voice was as soft as the evening reeze. “Yes, Angela,” said Everett. “ And you used to hate me, didn’t you?”’ a Yes,” answered Everett, “I guess I i _ “But you don’t hate me now.” It was too fanciful for truth. Was there any wonder his voice trembled when he answered. “No, Angela,” he said. “Tell me’’-—he could hardly hear her, for her voice was not more than a whir- per—‘‘ Everett, tell me you don’t hate me.” “TI don’t ———”’ began Everett hoarsely, and prepped. “Tell me,” whispered Angela. “ Won’t you tell me?” Dimly he could see her face turned to- ward his, and the thing he did was through no volition of his own. “T love you, Angela,” he said, and bent his head and kissed her. It took him time to understand what happened next. Even long afterward, whenever he thought of it, the same puz- zled, baffled feeling would come over him that he felt then. For just as he kissed her, Angela gave a little start. There was a noise in the summerhouse. Someone else was there. Everett stepped backward, with the blood pounding in his temples, and saw a shadowy figure with a white shirt front. “Geoffrey!” cried Angela, with a little catch in her voice that might have been laughter or tears. Yes, it was Geoffrey Hollingshead. Everett knew the slope of his shoulders as he stepped into the light. “Geoffrey!’’ cried Angela. “You didn’t have to interrupt!” “But see here,” replied Geoffrey in a level drawling voice, ‘‘isn’t the show all over?”’ “But he did it so nicely,” answered Angela. “‘You didn’t have to spoil it all.” “But isn’t it all over?” Geoffrey re- peated. “That's like you!” cried Angela. “ Al- ways interfering at the wrong time! I wish I hadn’t done it; but don’t say I didn’t though!’ “Oh, I'll pay up, if that’s what you mean,” said Geoffrey. ‘But you didn’t have to go so far. What are you taking it so seriously for?’”’ Everett turned toward him quickly, and he was glad that no one could see his face. “What do you mean?” he asked. “Don’t you see it’s a bet?” faltered Angela. “‘ Don’t be so cross about it, please! Geoffrey said you wouldn’t. Do you think I’d have let you kiss me if we hadn’t bet on it?” “But why,” asked Everett stupidly— “why should you do that to me?” “Now look here,” said Geoffrey, “you're not taking this thing right. I'll admit, maybe, it is a bit rough on you. But look here, hasn’t it ever occurred to you that you've ape be been a bit upstage about us, ever since those hornets bit you? Well, I just thought you’d keep on being, if you ept it up so long—and a bet’s a bet, isn’t it? You might take it like a gentleman.” (Continued on Page 68)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST "Tue shifted Headquarters for 1924” SantaClaus Stop worrying over what to give ‘thim.’’ There’s a world of ideas waiting for you at Santa’s new head- quarters—the Motor Accessory Store MERICA’S family pet--the automobile— 4 has put a new complexion on Christmas gift buying. This year, people are step- ' ping out of old-fashioned gift-buying av} 1a * ruts. Make your gift show thought and 2 ¥ originality. Something for the car! That’s a sure bet! If you want to please him from the tips of his ears to [ the ends of his toes, give him something for the car. Your Motor Accessory Dealer is displaying many out- of-the-ordinary gift suggestions. Go and see them. = - >. — give your dad a Fyrac Night Guide | A tip to the kiddies \ Among the most popular of motor gifts is the Fyrac Night Guide. This splendid gift will fully re- flect your thoughtfulness and good judgment. It dresses up the car by day; it adds safety and comfort by night. The one who receives it will be proud of it, and lastingly appreciative. We’re packing the Night Guide in a most attrac- tive holly container. And with each package goes a certificate for installation by the Dealer. See the Fyrac Night Guide at any Accessory Dealer’s. Note its handsome Gun Grip of genuine Bakelite—its splendid construction throughout. A million motorists can tell you the safety and comfort it adds to night driving. This year, be ‘‘different.’’ Give this popular motor need—the Fyrac Night Guide. Patented May 15,1923, and July 15, 1924; others pending FYRAC MANUFACTURING CO, ROCKFORD, ILL. Makers also of Fyrac Spark Plugs Night GUIDE the Legal Spotlight

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68 Story & Clark Superiority »= THE SATURDAY EVENING POST P eel ' re, | af Vy 1 1 td Stel y / % ‘ That’s the word that expresses the feeling of all who see the STORYEGLARIK MONIATUIRIE IPILANIEIR IPA and play it. Anyone can play it without practice. Dainty, refined, classical in lines, only four feet two inches high, with full 88-note keyboard, possessing easy action and that wonderful quality of tone for which Story & Clark instruments have been famous for over half a century—the Miniature is the ideal instrument for the home. Every Story & Clark player piano contains the Story & Clark Imperial Player Action (with its Automatic Tracking and Transposing Device) | » Give Her the Miniature for Christmas! so simple to learn to oper- ate and so easy'to play that it makes the Story & Clark the instrument of unquestioned superiority. It’s a wonderful gift! There is a Story & Clark dealer nearby who will gladly show tto you You can purchase one on terms within your in- come, and your present piano will be taken on part payment. Instruments of finest quality since 1857 The Story & Clark Piano Company General Offices 315-317 South Wabash Avenue, Chicago, Illinois 33 West 57th Street, New York City 1246 Washington Boulevard, Detroit 1105 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia If you ere a prospective purchaser of a piano or a player piano, we will gladly send you a beautiful brochure—PREE. Story & Clark Piane Company, ept. S. P. D., 315-317 South W Avenue, Chicago, Ulinois. Please send me the brochure showing the various styles of your instruments, and the name of your nearest dealer, because | am interested in buying a grand © an upright 0 a player (Please print name and address.) ADDRESS. piano ©) the Repro-Phrase © NAME ——s ° crry : n STATE | demanded Geoffrey. (Continued from Page 66) Everett felt his heart pounding in his Inside him something was stir- g—striving to get loose. “Do you think,” he asked, “you’ve treated me like one?” t to do with it?” “Now what’s that ‘I’m asking you to take it like one—that’s all.” “All right!’”” There was no mistaking what was going to happen next when they heard Everett’s voice. “All right, you damned stuck-up fool! Then let’s see you take this!” Iv FTER all, that afternoon at tea there were more reasons for Mr. Hollings- head to be interested than for Mrs. Hol- lingshead when Everett’s name was mentioned. “It’s our place to encourage a boy like | that,”’ said Mrs. Hollingshead. “Perhaps he doesn’t need encourage- ment, my dear,” said Mr. Hollingshead; and perhaps he was the best to judge, for he | had heard the noise in the summerhouse that night. By the time Mr. Hollingshead arrived, | Geoffrey and Everett were at it on the lawn. As Mr. Hollingshead perceived them he stopped, though he must have known they were fighting. Only when he became aware that Angela also was there did he give a slight start. “Deuce take it, Angela!’ he said. “I “Papa,” cried Angela tearfully, “aren’t you going to stop them? They’re fighting, papa!” r. Hollingshead placed his hands in the pockets of his velvet smoking jacket and pulled out a gold cigarette case. “But they don’t seem to wish to stop, my dear,” he said. “And why stop them? They seem to weigh about the same. B Jove! That other fellow’s not half bad, though! Look at ‘em! Confound it! What’s the matter with Geoffrey?” “Oh,” sobbed Angela, “he’s fallen down, and it’s all my fault. It’s all my fault!” Mr. Hollingshead tossed down his cig- arette. “I suspected it from the first, my dear,” he said. “You'd better thank your stars your mother’s safe upstairs.” Geoffrey Hollingshead was already get- ting up, but far from rapidly. “Come on!” he gasped. “What you waiting for? D’you think I’ve had enough—when I’m a getting started?” And then Mr. Hollingshead stepped be- tween them. Little lights were dancing be- fore Everett’s eyes and everything seemed unsteady, but distinctly he heard Mr. Hollingshead’s voice. “Ah, Food evening,” said Mr. Hollings- head. “I hope you’ve found my lawn good footing; but would you mind disregarding what my son just said? He has had enough for one night, don’t you think?” “Here!” cried Geoffrey, against his father’s arm. “Just hit me a couple of times ——”’ “Take him away,” gas Everett, “if you don’t want me to hit him again!” “Now that’s very reasonable,” replied Mr. Hollingshead; “and now—shall we struggling because he | finish the rest indoors? You won’t object to stepping in, I hope—quite informally, | you know?” Everett's head was in a dizzy whirl. His face smarted and his hands ached, but his anger made him forget who he was or who was speaking. It even made him forget his inadequacy as he stood there facing Mr. Hollingshead. “Go into ro. house and have you all laugh at me?” His voice was thick with something close to tears. “I won’t go into = house till I own your damned old ouse! You'll see what happens some day!”’ Mr. Hollingshead’s hand fell lightly on Everett’s shoulder. “Nonsense!” he said. ‘You'll need to wash your face—and no one’s going to laugh. Now think it over—don’t you owe | - some expianation for being here at a ? ” | When Everett knew he had to go, he | went without a word. He followed Mr. Hollingshead, with Angela and Geoffrey, up to the stone terrace. Mr. Hollingshead had lighted another cigarette. “Yes,” he said, “you both can thank your stars your mother’s safe upstairs.” As they entered the house Everett could not help but look, as one looks who enters some forbidden place. There was the drawing-room, with its shiny waxed floor December 13,1924 and gold chairs and sofas; and then a long hall adorned with rows of pictures in huge gilt frames. Through a half-open door he saw the dining room, and caught a glimpse of more pictures and a sideboard covered with silver. Oak woodwork, overdecorated furniture, length after length of rugs, high, dark ceilings and closed shutters— Everett saw it all as they walked quickly past. Per- haps it was all ugly—already people were saying so—but the weight and the perma- nence of the Hollingsheads were there. Mr. Hollingshead led the way. His shoulders, in his purple velvet jacket, swayed gracefully as he strode along, so that even his back was a perfect thing to watch. “Perhaps, under the circumstances,” he said, “my study is the best place. This way, please.” Once inside his study, Mr. Hollingshead closed his door carefully. There was a massive flat-topped desk in the center of the room and colored prints hung thickly on the wall. Mr. Hollingshead leaned against the desk and —— his hands in his ockets and looked pleasantly at the group efore him. “Now,” he remarked, “will anyone tell me what all this is about?” In back of Geoffrey hung a series of pic- tures depicting the Rake’s Progress. For - Geoffrey and Everett both, it was a fitting background, With faces out of shape, with rumpled hair, minus neckties and minus collars, they looked at Mr. Hollingshead in silence, while Angela stared at all three of them with her handkerchief over her mouth. “Papa,” said Angela brokenly, “‘it’s all my fault. Geoffrey bet I couldn’t get him to kiss me—and I won.” Mr. Hollingshead had a card player’s face. If he was surprised, he gave no indi- eation except for a slight raising of his eyebrows. “By ‘him,’” said Mr. Hollingshead, “do you mean this young man? Yes? And then—what happened next?”’ “Geoffrey came out and—and —— Geoffrey Hollingshead took a step for- ward. “T couldn’t help it, sir,’ he explained. “What else could I do when he hit me first?”’ Mr. Hollingshead looked at Everett with greater attention. “Let me see,” he asked at length—‘“ who are you? Ah, the real-estate agent’s son. Geoffrey, he was perfectly right to hit you. Shake hands with Jenkins and tell him you're sorry.” Everett had stood stock-still till then, but all of a sudden something shook him like a leaf, some passion half made of anger and half of tears. The way that Geoffrey looked at him, the way that Mr. Hollingshead Jeaned indolentiy against his desk grew suddenly to the enormity of insult. “IT won’t shake hands!" Everett was almost startled by his own voice. “If he touches me—he’ll see what I’ll do!” Mr. Hollingshead shrugged his shoulders. “Quite within your rights, of course,”’ he said. ‘We'll leave out the handshake. Geoffrey, tell him you're sorry.” “I’m sorry,” said Geoffrey. “You're not sorry,”” Everett retorted, “‘and you know you’re not.” “Exactly,’”’ said Mr. Hollingshead; “but he will be. And now, Angela, it’s up to ou.” Mr. Hollingshead looked thought- fully at the ceiling. “I understand,” he continued, “‘that you induced our friend, Mr. Jenkins, to bestow a chaste salute upon you under false pretenses. We won't discuss the delicacy of it. The point is that you cheated, Angela, in order to win a wager. As I see it, the only honorable thing for you to do is to pay Mr. Jenkins back.” “Papa!” cried Angela. “Angela,” said Mr. Hollingshead, “if you want me to settle this without having it go further, you’ll have to do what I con- sider equable. It seems to me it’s wholly up to you to kiss Mr. Jenkins, as things stand now. We're all — He smiled po oy and nodded toward Everett. “It’s only fair—what, Jenkins?” Everett’s eyes, however, had such a curi- ous look that involuntarily Mr. Hollings- head removed his hands from his pockets. “Yes,” said Everett, “it’s what you think is fair—fair to take me in here and to punish her with me. Why have you got a right to do it? Haven’t I something to ” “Very justly put,” said Mr. Hollings- head. “Naturally, if you refuse—but (Continued on Page 70)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ! ed All outdoors invites your Christmas Kodak Eastman Kodak Company, Rochester, N. Y., 7he Kodak City

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And now, Jenkins” — Mr. Hollingshead thrust a hand into his trousers pocket—‘“‘you’ve had a bad eve- ning, it seems to me, and really I can’t let | you go without doing something. Your suit now—you' ve got it all torn, and you’re not to blame. Please don’t misunderstand the spirit in which I’m doing this—but | you'll agree we owe you a new one?” Out of Mr. Hollingshead’s pocket, be- tween the thumb and forefinger of his right hand came a twenty-dollar bill, and in the back of Everett’s mind a voice went ringing — Mrs. Hollingshead’s voice. There, in Mr. Hollingshead’s study, the phrase came back “But people like that don’t mind pain quite the way we do.” It was curious how Mr. Hollingshead’s gesture went with those half-forgotten words. ‘on ee took the bill and tossed it on the f “What?” exclaimed Mr. Hollingshead, and he seemed genuinely surprised. ‘ You don’t want it? Well, remember, if you ever should want it ——” “TI won't forget,” said Everett. “I'm not forgetting anything.” “Geoffrey,” said Mr. Hollingshead, ress the button and tell Edward to show r. Jenkins out. You won’t mind, at least, Mr. Jenkins, if I wish you a very good evening.” Vv T’S curious how things come bounding back over a sea of time, how forgotten matters keep compounding, until finally | they lose their original shape and meaning. Though it is the way of order, and the way | of choice and chance, the surprise of it is always new. How was Mr. Hollingshead to guess that Everett was not the kind who ever would forget, that somehow his life would come to grow around a trivial little episode? Indeed, Mr. Hollingshead never wholly knew. That whole trying time was scarcely more than a vague recollection when Mrs. Hol- | lingshead mentioned Everett’s name that | afternoon at tea. It all was laid away somewhere in the archives of the more amusing times, and times were not nearly so amusing then. There were new tarred roads in the Inlet, new houses, and new un- comfortable ideas. In contrast, the old landmarks seemed to be growing very old. The mansard roof of the Hollingshead house had acquired a weather-beaten look, and the gray paint on the sides was growing tarnished and almost entirely out of fashion. | There was no way of understanding Everett | Jenkins when it all was a little hard to | understand. “Now, George,” said Mrs. Hollingshead, “people in our position owe something to the community. You mustn’ t forget that.’ | lingshead pleasantly. “Don’t worry, my dear,” said Mr. Hol- “We won’t forget. We keep right on owing it—more and more.” “‘George,”’ said Mrs. Hollingshead, flush- ing slightly, “‘how can you act so? I mean we should encourage anyone like the Jen- kins boy. It might be an inspiration that would last him all his life.” Mr. Hollingshead raised his eyebrows slightly, and then frowned, as though he was trying to grasp some elusive thought. “ Angela,” he said, “‘what was that about the Jenkins boy, quite a while ago?” Could it have been so long ago? For some reason Angela looked unnaturally ill at ease. “By Jove!” exclaimed Mr. Hollingshead, | and a certain trace of weariness had van- ValetAutoStrop Razor ished from his eyes. ‘By Jove, now I re- member! Look here, Angela, have you ever seen him since?’ “Why, George,” said Mrs. Hollingshead, “why should she ever see him? Yes, it was all returning like something which had lain dormant but which had always been alive. Angela was looking at her father with a slight frown; but before she answered, the coincidence grew more complete. Geoffrey, in baggy knicker- bockers, smoking a cigarette, came walking noisily across the polished floor. December 13,1924 “Jenkins?” he said. “‘What’s that about Jenkins?” “Why?” asked Angela, and one might almost have thought she was startled. “What makes you ask?”’ “Funny, that’s all,” said Geoffrey. “Just heard downtown that Everett Jen- kins’ father got a stroke this morning. They say he’s cashing in.’ There was a pause—a curious, embar- rassed silence, as though something had been done that was rude and indecorous. “By Jove!” said Mr. Hollingshead. “Now who'd have thought of that?” “Dear me!”” murmured Mrs. Hollings- head. “Why, Angela, what makes you look like that? It’s one thing to be sorry, but really I don’t see - Perhaps Angela herself never saw or understood the emotion which possessed her; so many things had happened, so many more important things. “TI think you're all horrid,” she said. “Why is it we’ve always been horrid?” “Well, I’m hanged if I see what you mean.” It was Geoffrey who spoke, but Angela turned on him so quickly that he did not continue. Suddenly, without warning, the past was running into the present in a most peculiar way. “Well, you should see,” returned An- gela. “After what we've done to him, we ought to do something decent now.” “Now here,” cried Geoffrey, ‘‘you don’t mean that thing that happened when we were kids? Now honestly, Angela - It was beyond Geoffrey and beyond An- gela herself, perhaps, why her cheeks were ushing as though it had happened yes- terday. “I don’t care,”’ she said. else will go, I’m going myself. ean ask if there’s anything we can do. “My dear!”” Mrs. Hollingshead pushed her chair back from the tea table. “What- ever has got into you? If you feel so, why not send a servant?” “We can’t!”’ cried Angela. “Oh, I can’t explain; but if you knew, you'd see why one of us ought to go. “George,” said Mrs. Hollingshead with sudden inspiration, “do you know any- thing about this?’ Mr. Hollingshead himself seemed slightly puzzled and looked at Angela queerly. ‘Not exactly,” he said; “no, not exactly; but who'd have thought old cards would come turning up like this?” It was the cards—all in the way they turned that afternoon. There was no other explanation for the thing that Angela did. Back in the past, whatever it was that prompted her was waiting all the time. It took her to the white frame house where the Jenkinses lived, and up the front-porch steps. Everett himself opened the front door, and they both looked startled when they met. It was the past again. It senta flush to Everett’s cheeks, though he should have known much better, and somehow even Angela seemed to forget exactly why she came. It made an absurd, embarrassed silence, as each looked at the other, and anything might have happened then. Yet noth- ing happened. Inside, there were muffled footsteps and a voice at the head of a flight of narrow carpeted stairs. The sound brought Everett to himself and made him close the door behind him without asking her to come in. There was a mark of strength upon him which he had not possessed before. His shoulders were broader, and the outlines of his face were clearer and less rounded, and his hand, as it closed on the door knob, was heavy and sure; but after all, it did not seem so long ago. As Angela looked at him, all his old emotions returned. In spite of everything, he was still a village boy, for she seemed curiously the same. Her expression was just as he remembered it, and the look in her eyes and her voice. “Mother sent me down,” said Angela, “to ask how your father is.” There was a pause and a slight compres- sion of Everett’s lips; but even before he answered, it was clear he had not forgotten. (Continued on Page 72) “If nobody At least we Se — oe

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(Continued from Page 70) ‘She sent you down’” he asked, still looking at her. “‘ Please tell her she’s very kind.” “Isn't” —Angela looked back uncer- tainly —‘‘isn’t there anything we can do?” “Thanks fer asking,” answered Everett, “but we're doing everything we can.” And again they both stood silent “i saw you twice at college,” said Angela sbruptly “Yes,” said Everett, without « change in hia voice, “Il know you did—when I was an usher at the football games.” Angela's cheeks grew redder, and sud- denly she looked away. “Can't you get over hating us?” she asked. “It's not good for you, you know.” Everett's face grew redder also. “I wish you wouldn’t make me talk about it now.” he said. “Don’t you see? It's hard to forget some things, no matter when they happened.” Angela smiled slightly. it was the same faint smile that he always remembered “Do you know,” she said, “that I’m en- gaged? It's going to be announced next week.” Everett stood stock-still, but his voice had altered when he answered “Why should you come here now and tell me that?" he asked Angela tilted back her flowered hat. “| thought you might be interested,” she said “Why should I be?” answered Everett. “You ought to know I'm not.” “Oh, yes, you are!” said Angela There was the same assurance, the same half-amused tolerance that was always in her voice, It made Everett forget himself again, and made his breath come fast, and something in his look made Angela step backward, as though she was afraid. “Why don’t you go away?” he said hoarsely. “Won't you go away?” For just a moment he forgot himself, and, wide-eyed and frightened, Angela stared back at what she read upon his face. “Oh,” she eried, “please don't look like that! I never knew you'd feel—I never thought ” Everett snatched open the front door, but he answered her, forgetful of every- aie careless of who might hear him. “You did! You always did! And you'd never have spoken so to anyone else! Go home and laugh shout it, but don’t ask me why f hate you—-all of you—now!”" He turned away so quickly that he hardly felt her hand upon his arm. “ Everett,” Angela wassaying I'm not laughing. I’m ashamed, dread- fully ashamed. Can't I do anything! Let me see your mother and ask if I can’t help.” Everett's face grew very white. His arm and his whole body trembled. “ That’slikeyou,” heanswered hoarsely “like all the Hollingsheads— to try to pat- “Everett, ronize us now, Ask your servants before you try again. My mother died last win- ter. They'd have told you that!"’ And that was all--or almost all. Angela drew a little sobbing breath, but before she could say what she had in her mind to say, Everett was quite himself again. “Don't he said. “Please don’t say any more And after ali, enough had been said quite enough—-enough to prevent both Everett and Angela Hollingshead from ever being quite the same again. we VERETT’S father spoke that night for ‘4 the first time since they had brought him home, Everett watched him as he lay motionless in his black-walnut bed. Until that day his father had never seemed to age. Te Everett, he had always appeared the same through all the years— an uncom- municative and patient little man— and now his father’s face was a ghostly white. “Are you there, Everett?” he asked. It was strange how low his father’s voice was, and how dull and unfamiliar. It gave the illusion that it was not. his father but a stranger who was speaking. “Ll want to tell you something. No, I’m not going to atop. You listen to me.” “Don't bother, father,” began Everett. “But I’m going to.” said Mr. Jenkins. “Can you hear? I'm going to say some- thing te make you jump. You'll be a rich man some day.” “Father,” said Everett, “the doctor says < “Bother the doctor!’ said Mr. Jenkins. “He can't do anything. You don't believe THE SATURDAY me, eh? You think I’m raving, eh? You look through my desk and see if I’m raving. I've got deeds and options on half the land in town. I've been doing it on the quiet. I knew the railroad would put in another track. There'll be trains to New York in less’n an hour next year. You don’t think I know what I’m saying, eh? Oh, yes, I do! I learned this morning the railroad’s put- ting in another track, and it sort of keeled me over. You thought I was poor, eh? Well, no one’ll think I’m poor after I’m gone!” Everett stared incredulously at the pale, waxlike face. It was hard to understand that he had reached the end of a road that night. It was harder still to realize that something had been going on of which he had never dreamed. “Is that,”’ he asked uncertainly, “why we've always been so poor?” “ Paying off loans at the bank,” said Mr. Jenkins. ‘A man’s got to be poor when he’s doing what I’ve been doing.” Was it land his father had been thinking of, as he sat drooping in his armchair of an evening, smoking his corncob pipe? Sud- denly Everett knew that he had never known his father, and that no one had ever known him. Suddenly he found an answer to a dozen half-formed questions. That was what his father had always been doing waiting and buying land. It was why their house was bare. It was why their lives were bleak. A part of them all had gone into it cold, unhappy days of youth, sparse clothes and hours of work. “T know what you're thinking.” It was the voice from the bed again, thin and un- worldly, not like his father’s voice. “I might have made things easier, but you won't blame me, Everett. You'll be a rich man some day.” Would he be rich? Even when he fully knew, it was hard to understand. Always he would think of his father riding in his buggy, a shabby, stooping man, hunched above the reins and looking fixedly over the ears of his ambling horse; and always his father’s voice as he last heard it would come chiming with his thoughts: “Anda you've got the stuff in you to carry it along. You'll be a rich man some day.” vir EPENDABLE—that was what they began to say about Everett Jenkins. It was pleasant the way he took it, when the pendulum swung up. He took it with- out emotion or flashiness or conceit. He never even moved from the old house or changed his father’s office in the front room. His quietness and lack of assumption were pleasant things in those days when every- thing was changing. By the time that people began asking Everett to dinner, Southwest Inlet was no longer Southwest Inlet. A certain peace and leisure and spaciousness was leaving it forever. In a ear—-in two years he could not remember eee it had looked. There were signboards along the roads and plate-glass windows in the stores. The rolling hills that had been hay pastures were cut into squares like checkerboards and stacked with sewer pipes and timber. “T never had anything to do with it,”’ he used to say. “‘ My father did it all.” Everett had a way of making a pleasant impression, even with the people who hated to see the Inlet change. When he was asked to join the country club, he was very diffi- dent, and people liked him better for it. He never thrust himself on anyone’s atten- tion, perhaps because he knew that he had been in shirt sleeves only a very short time before. Always that time seemed to Everett like restive imagining, without order or limit. There were consultations with lawyers and then there was the war. People began ask- ing him to do all sorts of things. He found himseif on committees, and later he was in uniform. It was strange in those days that he still thought of the Hollingsheads, but he did not forget. When he came back from France he saw them in their new Italian car hurrying up the street. Their house was still standing on its hill, almost the one place in Southwest Inlet which had not changed. He should have seen how things were going then, if he had not seen before. Mr. Hollingshead still was going to town, though his hair was growing white at the temples. Geoffrey Hollingshead was going in his own way too. He had taken up with the young married set that lived near the club, and late at night anyone could hear EVENING POST them from the road. There was all sorts of talk about the Hollingsheads—how Angela had broken two engagements, how the staff of servants was being cut—but Everett did not understand. e never saw them to speak to, and he was always silent when their name was mentioned. Even when everyone else guessed it, he did not suspect that the Hollingsheads were losing their hold. For him, the Hollingsheads had grown to be unchanging and too much a part of himself ever to be different. Mr. Hollingshead’s voice came to him as a complete surprise over the office tele- hone. It was years by that time since he ad heard Mr. Hollingshead speak, but Everett knew his voice. Gradually it was dawning on him that what his father had said was true. He was beginning to be a rich man then. He was beginning to havea certain place and to be an accepted fact, and his life was flowing in a smooth and pleasant channel. He was even beginning to remember hard times pleasantly, but a voice swept it ali away. Somehow Mr. Hollingshead’s voice made everything he had done and seen almost nonexistent. He was back where he had started again—al- most back in Mr. Hollingshead’s study, with the hunting prints on the walls. “Are you there, Jenkins?” Yes, it was Mr. Hollingshead speaking. ‘“‘And how are you today?” That was what he said, alwa penpeess ever. No one could say that Mr. ollings- head was not polite right to the very end. “I'm all right,” said Everett. “Good!” He could almost see Mr. Hollingshead smile. ‘“‘Frankly, between you and me, I’m not quite so well today. I want to see you, Jenkins. Can you come to the house tonight?” For a long while Everett sat staring at the wall. Time had given him a capable, unshaken look, and already there were wrinkles about his eyes and lines about the corners of his mouth. Nevertheless, the emotion which he felt was as fresh and un- blunted as though he had never grown older. His heart was pounding fast again. He felt a slight tremor in his fingers. Down the years they came before his eyes. How clearly he could see them, how often he had seen them, Everett only knew. Always they were like a pattern, decorated by fancy, almost like the progress of the edicis upon their chapel wall. There was Mrs. Hollingshead, with her billowing sleeves and veil, and Mr. Hollingshead in his velvet smoking jacket, and Geoffrey in his dinner coat, Angela in her frilly dress— a bitter, moving fresco for the lean years, the dull years, the trying, restless days. It was always just the same, complete and constant. Even the Hollingshead drive was quite the same. The decorative shrub- bery rose up luxuriant on every side and the trees still arched their branches above his head. Before he thought, his footsteps w more cautious, just as they had before. Nothing that had happened had left him. He knew that it would never leave him, quite. Angela came to meet him halfway down the drive, and somehow he was not sur- prised, for it made the past and everything complete. “Hello,” said Angela. ‘Why didn’t you drive up? I've been listening for your car.” There again it was the way it was always. She might have seen him yesterday from the way she spoke. “T knew you'd come,” she said. “You knew I'd come?” he asked. ‘ What made er know that?” He looked at her curiously and tried to keep his voice in a natural level key. It was strange how little she had changed. Even the half smile on her lips as she looked back at him was quite unaltered. “Because you’re the kind that would,” she said, and turned toward the house. “You’re just the same,” she added. “‘ Now don’t be cross. We don’t always have to be unpleasant to each other. It’s rather nice you're just the same.” “I wonder,” said Everett. He found it hard to reach a ready answer. “How did you guess that?” It seemed to him that Angela’s face was strained, almost frightened, and that her voice was not quite natural. “You still don’t like us, do you?” Though Everett did not answer, the lights from the Hollingshead windows were on his face, and what he felt was written so clearly that there was no need to tell it. “Oh, dear,” said Angela. “I thought you might be getting over it. You're so successful now.” December 15,1924 “Angela,” said Everett, and stopped, actually embarrassed that he had used her name, “have any of you ever done a kind thing or said a kind thing to me?” “Oh, dear,” said Angela, “if you don’t like us, what made you come tonight?” For the first time Everett looked ill at ease. He started to speak and stopped. “Well,” said Angeia, “‘won’t you tell me why? I wish you would.” “You'll only laugh at me,”’ said Everett, “just the way you always do. Do you re- member the time you told me I was afraid to come?” “Oh,” cried Angela, “but that was so long ago!” “But just the same,” said Everett, “I didn’t want you to think I’d be afraid to- night. There, you’re laughing now!” “T don’t know why I am,” said Angela. “T really don’t know why, unless—because it’s all so dreadful.” But Everett hardly heard her. They were walking down the hall. He was sur- prised that no one let them in. He was sur- prised by the silence. For there was an emptiness, a sort of brooding vacancy, which he did not remember. There it all was—shadowy beams, oak woodwork, and pictures ensconced in bulbous frames, just as Mr. Hollingshead’s father had hung them. Yet something he remembered was gone. It was not inspiring, but almost dreary. “Don’t look,” said Angela. “It’s awfully shabby now.” It was shabby, and it made him almost sad, for it was like disillusion to see it all so changed. Yet though the house was dif- ferent, the Hollingsheads were still the same. They were in the drawing-room. Mr. and Mrs. Hollingshead were seated by a table with their after-dinner coffee cups. They must have been speaking of some- thing as Everett and Angela came in, for there was a slight suspense of half-finished words. Mrs. Hollingshead, seated in a gold armchair, was playing with her handker- chief and looking at Geoffrey, who stood beside the window. Mr. Hollingshead rose and brushed some cigarette ashes from his dinner jacket, and, curiously, he gave the impression of brushing something eise away, or of trying to brush it. “So there you are,” he said. found you, eh?” Quite as though nothing had happened, as though it was the most natural thing in the world tosee him there, Mr. Hollingshead held out his hand, and then Mrs. Hollings- head was speaking in the same cool voice that he remembered: “It’s good of you to come so early, Everett.’ Everett Jenkins gave a slight start. Her remark was so distinctly out of keeping that he knew something must be wrong, but Mrs. Hollingshead still was speaking: “You don’t mind if I call you Everett, do you? We've known each other so long— ever since that day at the golf club. Do you remember?’’ Did he remember? Everett felt his face grow hot as he remembered—and there she was calling it back, as though he would en- joy remembering. Though he cast vainly for some answer, he could not understand. And now Geoffrey was coming up, holding out his hand and smiling. “Hello,” he said. “‘ Remember last time you were up here? Funny, isn’t it, thinking of it now?” And then, though Everett still looked blank, Geoffrey’s hand closed over his. “Never told you I tried to get hoid of you at college once,” Geoffrey was remark- ing. “I’ve always wanted to put the gloves on and have another go.” Everett Jenkins’ mouth fell a little open. If they had been overcordial he might have understood; but they were not. Ob- viously they were not trying to be anything else than what they were. Not a note seemed out of key and not a word seemed forced. Angela was the only one who seemed ill at ease. Angela was looking at him, and her lips were trembling, but Mr. Hollings- head was speaking again. “Sit down,” said Mr. Hollingshead, and he sat down himself quite pene “By Jove,” he added, as though impelled by a sudden burst of frankness, “it’s good to see a friendly face!” A friendly face? It was what Mr. Hol- lingshead had said, beyond all reasonable question. peers was taking Everett beyond his depths. He was convinced that Mr. Hollingshead must be jesting, but he (Continued on Page 77) “ Angela

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST > 5 tWh x. p ; [ jen ( ated vinta § “AND courtiers, in homage, brought to the castle, fine silks of the Orient and bade her ladyship —Cuoose.” 7) This fine old custom of home buying, until recently found only in books, is today a revived realization. ) In graceful tribute to her ladyship, the American y Woman, our trusted representative now brings Rea. ji Sitk Hosiery Direct tro You at tHe Home. ! It can be bought in No Orner Way. \ Naturally, under this direct method of buying, your silk hosiery costs less. To insure service — top, toe and heel are made of finest. lisle, Every pair is guaranteed. V as \ iz IERY MILLS Indianapolis - Indiana THERE 1S A\BRANCH OFFICE IN YOUR CITY This Geld Button identifies the authorized Rea Silk Representative when he calls at your home WITHOUT COST TO YoU * : ; PEFR s COC era With the assistance of our New York REAL SILK HOSIERY MILLS, Indianapolis, Ind Correct color combinations ofhosiery, dresses, | and Paris Style Bureaus, I personally designed Dianne heave Bike Siaaeed cond wie, oldacet came ox eilhitien, the Sad Oil Cates tine f hats and shoes for either street, sport, after- this chart for your convenience, and will gladly denn Chit, noon or evening costume is insured by the use _— send it to you without cost. Just fill out the ee wide of the Real Silk Color Harmony Chart. coupon and mail. hike ‘ Margo City STATE

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST December 13,1924 | ENTRANCE OF THE NEW ENGINEERING BLDG, OF THE FORD MOTOR COMPANY AT DEARBORN, MICHIGAN

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1} |A PY A MANKIND PASSES FROM i 4 A FF TEOLDTO THE NEW ON § ROM AHUMAN BRIDGE FORMED Bed! BYTHOSEWHO LABOR I § Ta THE THREE PRINCIPAL 8 Rah | ARTS AGRICULTURE BE | ~-KANUEACTURE-~ § | “TRANSPORTATION Bf eae ONTINUAL expansion typifies the progressive spirit of the Ford organ- ization. A wider use of power and transportation, benefiting a still greater percentage of the world’s population— that is the Ford program of service. In 21 years, the Ford Motor Company has produced more than 11,000,000 motor cars, trucks and tractors, thus making available for man’s use, 230- 000,000 horsepower. This is 25 times the total water power developed in the United States, and is a significant con- tribution to present day civilization. With manufacture maintained on such a scale, and future growth. planned, the organization is looking beyond immedi- ate demands for efficient transportation and is anticipating and preparing for the developments of the years to come. To carry on its research and experimen- tation under most satisfactory conditions, The Ferd Motor Company Engineering Laboratories at Dearborn, Michigan THE SATURDAY EVENING POST a THE SPIRIT OF PROGRESS the Ford Motor Company has erected an Engineering Building at Dearborn, Michigan, that is both an experimental workshop and laboratory. Here the design and construction of Ford products are subjects of untiring, constructive effort. Here metallurgy is an exact science, specifying the many metals and combinations of metals to best function in Ford Products. Here factory production, shipping, rail- roading and agricultural research are con- ducted. Here are carried on constant experiments with various products re- lated to automotive manufacture: fuels, lubricants, rubber, fabric, glass, electrical devices—almost an endless list. No factor or element has been over- looked. This Engineering Laboratory is completely equipped to make possible, in the years to come, greater realization of the Ford purpose—to make the application of motive power to human needs more general, more effective and more economical. 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. TUVIVTTW Face PONE A aLEoaRe *. a

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BRAUTIFUL old Christmas carols, won- derful concerts, special entertainments will flood the air for your enjoyment during the holiday season. To appre- ciate the programs in all their beauty, the stately chimes of famous bells, the songs and music of soloists and instru- mentalists, your batteries should be packed with vigor eager to be released the moment you turn on the tubes. With receiver functioning perfectly and with fresh Eveready Radio Batteries, your enjoyment of the happiest radio week of the year should be complete. Made espe cially for radio, these peppy batteries deliver exactly the right current much longer than you are accus- THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 3 EVEREADY

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se ~ (Continued from Page 72) was doing itin a most consummate way. In- stead of irony, there was relief in his voice which sounded so compietely genuine that Everett’s cheeks went scarlet. He wanted to speak, but his words stuck in his throat, and before he could find his voice, Mrs. Hollingshead tactfully took up the threads. “Tt is nice,” she said. ‘It makes it really pleasant, with so many new people and with everything turned upside down, to have someone who’s known us always. It makes it so much easier.” Though her tone was as cool and as pleas- antly balanced as ever, Mrs. Hollingshead’s words came slower, and beneath the hard electric light she suddenly looked her age. Mrs. Hollingshead paused, and mechani- cally, but still gracefully, she half raised her handkerchief toward her lips and then dropped back her hand. “Yes,” rejoined Mr. Hollingshead, lean- ing back and crossing his legs, “that’s ex- actly it—quite the way I felt. When it came over me that things were rather mixed up—enough to need some advice, you know—lI began casting about in my mind for someone I knew and who knew us, and then it came over me”’— Mr. Hollings- head smiled and nodded—“‘it came over me, there’s Everett Jenkins right down- town. We've all known him a devilish long time. He’s a friend of the family.” Everett Jenkins leaned forward and stared at Mr. Hollingshead. There he sat, leaning back in his chair, with his hands drooping wearily on the arms, as though the day had been a hard one, but as though he had said the most natural thing in the world. “I beg your pardon,” he said hoarsely, “‘but what was that you just said?—that I’m —that I’m ——” Mr. Hollingshead raised his eyebrows. “Why, what the deuce?” he exclaimed. ‘A friend of the family, of course! Natu- rally, | wouldn’t have asked you here if you weren’t.”” There was a pause, a slightly strained sort of silence. It had all gone too far for irony, much too far to grasp. As Everett stared at Mr. Hollingshead, he had a feel- ing that the floor had given way beneath his feet. Again he tried to speak, but he did not have time, for Angela had inter- rupted him in a strained, embarrassed way. “Everett!” she cried. “Oh, Everett, don’t you see? Can’t you understand? They think you like them!” “Like us, Angela!’’ exclaimed Mr. Hol- lingshead. ‘‘Confound it, of course! Con- found it, is there any reason why he shouldn’t?” “My dear,” gasped Mrs. Hollingshead, ‘‘how can you say such a thing, when he’s known us always?” Could anything have been more charac- teristic? Everett understood it then. In a single speech Mrs. Hollingshead had stated the entire Hollingshead creed and philosophy. His mouth felt dry and his head felt light. He felt a curious weakness and an undiscovered sense of the futility of things. Had they been going on for all that time without knowing they had hurt him? He knew it was true, intuitively and beyond contradiction. There was nothing hidden, nothing else. He could tell it from Mr. Hollingshead’s voice, from the blank sur- prise in Mrs. Hollingshead’s eyes. Had they never noticed? What had they thought? he wondered. And then in the back of his mind the answer came—that they had never thought at all. They had never thought at all. He could read it in their faces as they sat in shocked surprise at the idea he might not like them. Somehow, as he sat weakly looking at them, his animosity and dislike were slowly dying down and fading into wonder. But Mr. Hollingshead was speaking again in a slightly lower tone. “The fact is it’s about the house, Jen- kins, and you’re in the real-estate business. You know about houses.” “About the house?’’ echoed Everett. “T don’t quite see 4 “Ah, but you will see,” interrupted Mr. Hollingshead. “It just happens—I’m pretty badly squeezed just now, and I’ve got to raise the wind.” “Oh, George!”’ cried Mrs. Hollingshead. “Don’t—don’t put it in such a vulgar way!” Mrs. Hollingshead had half raised her handkerchief again, but that was all. Mr. Hollingshead was sitting a little straighter, but there was no other sign. Nevertheless, Everett knew, and guessed the thing they were holding back. He knew why the house was so quiet and why Mr. Hollings. head’s temples were gray. Though Mr. Hollingshead was still polite, he had not wholly hidden what he felt. ““My dear,” he was saying, “‘now just hold on tight! You've seen the wagon tip before. Just because it’s tipping a little more than usual, you mustn't mind. I'll get around the corner.”’ And he turned to Everett with a slight shake of his head. “It’s always hard not to make it vulgar when you're talking about money—eh, what, Jenkins? The devil of it is, the banks won't take another mortgage.” “‘ Another mortgage!’’ Everett began un- certainly. Something solid was leaving him, something which was almost like the corner stone of all belief. “‘You’ve got another mortgage on this place?” Half consciously, Everett had risen from his chair. ‘You don’t mean’’-——-the wonder in his voice was the wonder of years’ illu- sion—‘“‘you don’t mean you're as hard up as that?” Mr. Hollingshead shrugged his shoulders. “*My dear fellow,” he said, ‘there come times in the best regulated lives—you understand?”’ “But you must be rich,”’ said Everett stupidly. ‘‘ You’ve always been.” “‘Sometimes,”’ replied Mr. Hollingshead, “not always. When people run the way we do, we can’t keep on being rich all the time. A little turn in the market—you under- stand. It’s funny—all 1 want is an absurd sum-—say, fifteen thousand—and I’d get right back as soon as the list goes up; but the devil of it is’’—he shook his head in a slightly puzzled way —“‘I can’t seem to bor- row this time. Everybody’s stuck, and the banks—by Jove, I don’t know what’s the matter with ’em! They say the place isn’t worth another cent, when it cost my father three hundred thousand to build it!” He shook his head a second time, and Everett made no reply. It was hard fully to understand what Mr. Hollingshead meant, for he spoke with a pleasant, almost detached interest. Yet while he spoke, the strongest of Everett’s beliefs was going and the background of everything he knew was changing. The permanence of the Hollings- heads, their house, their garden—all were going like a vision, just the way the past was leaving Southwest Inlet. “Ready money,” said Mr. Hollings- head—‘“‘I ought to have remembered it’s very seldom ready when one is ready for it. Rather neat—did you hear that one, my dear?” “Look here,” said Everett incredulously, “‘you’re joking, aren’t you?” It was the one obvious explanation and like the Hol- lingsheads to be joking. ‘Things can’t be the way you say they are, or—well, you wouldn’t talk like that.” His remark was greeted by a short sur- prised silence, and suddenly Mrs. Hollings- head made a slight choking sound, and Geoffrey turned from the window. “Come now,” he said, “‘don’t you see? father’s just making the best of it.’’ “My dear fellow,” said Mr. Hollings- head, ‘I’ve always treated money lightly, and why should I change my attitude when things are a little tight?” “But what do you want me to do?” demanded Everett. Mr. Hollingshead leaned back in his chair. “Why, the simplest thing in the world,” he replied. ‘If the banks won’t loan more on the place, it doesn’t mean that someone who trusts and understands us can’t do better for us. Ah, you get my drift? Nat- urally, with your connections, you can help me raise another fifteen thousand. Of course, I don’t mean for you to loan it, necessarily; but just to act as my agent to raise it—you understand?” And then the irony of it twisted Everett's lips and clutched sharply at his breath, so that he found it difficult to answer, and Mr. Hollingshead’s pleased look of confi- dence made his thoughts grow light. “You see,”’ said Mr. Hollingshead, “it isn’t exactly business, but as a purely per- sonal matter, as a friend of the family e And his words were lost in a polite sug- gestive silence, and Everett cleared his throat. “How much,” he asked, “‘have you got in mortgages already?” “Now that’s the joke of it,” returned Mr. Hollingshead blandly—‘“‘only seventy-five thousand.” “Seventy-five thousand!” gasped Ever- ett. Involuntarily he stared about him, and the amount made him slightly dizzy. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “On this place, as it is now? And you think ‘es But his incredulity was lost. as well not have spoken. “There!’’ cried Mr. Hollingshead tri- umphantly. I told ‘em at the bank anyone would be surprised at a meager little amount like that on a gentleman’s estate!"’ Everett stood stock-still. He seemed to have lost his faculty for thought and for coherent speech. “And you expect me ——” he began. “Exactly,” said Mr. Hollingshead. “There you have it. By Jove, what a re- lief it is to get business off one’s chest!” “Everett!” Angela's voice was breaking on his thoughts and scattering them. She was standing in front of him, and suddenly he became aware that her cheeks were wet with tears. ““My dear!” began Mrs. Hollingshead, but Angela did not listen. “Everett, why don’t you stop him? Why do you keep on listening to him talk so ridiculously without telling him how you feel? Don’t you see he really thinks you'll help us? It’s cruel of you—dreadfully cruel!” But Everett did not answer. He under- stood what lay behind Mr. Hollingshead’s words by then. He was looking at the twisted gold chairs and at the polished floor and at Mrs. Hollingshead. Something had dropped from his eyes. The look of every- — told him clearly that the Hollings- heads were nearly done, and yet he could not tell then how he felt, for he did not know. He only knew he felt no triumph and no anger. “What the deuce do you mean, Angela!” He might exclaimed Mr. Hollingshead, starting to his | feet. ‘‘What do you mean is cruel?” “Don’t you see?”’ sobbed Angela. ‘Oh, don’t you see?—he hates us!" Mr. Hollingshead raised his eyebrows, but Angela’s outburst was something which he never understood. Before anyone had time to answer, before he knew exactly what he was saying, Everett Jenkins heard himself speaking. “I knew you'd be surprised. | “Don’t say that,” hewas saying. ‘Don’t | make it any worse. It’s just because I didn’t understand—because none of us | understood. And the Hollingsheads never understood. He knew they never would. “Now what the deuce,” cried Mr. Hol- lingshead, ‘‘is there to understand?” And again Everett heard himself speak- ing in a strange, undreamed-of manner, which, none the less, seemed natural and a part of the time and i. “Nothing, Mr. Hollingshead” —could it be possible he was saying it?—‘‘nothing at all, except Angela doesn’t understand either. I’ve always been a friend of the family, I guess. You’ve meant a lot to me always. I don’t suppose I’d ever have amounted to anything if it hadn’t been for ou. You've come to the right man, Mr. follingshead. I’ll—I’ll fix it in the morning.” He did not bother to tell how he would fix it, but it all seemed natural, quite as though he knew it would always happen. Even when he found himself standing in the Hollingsheads’ drawing-room with An- gela’s head against his shoulder—even that did not seem so strange or particularly out | of place, when everything was turning up- | side down. “ Angela!” cried Mrs. Hollingshead. “You needn't mind, mamma,” said An- gela, ‘‘as long as he doesn’t. wanted to, and besides, it isn’t any queerer than what he said just now.” “Look here!” cried Geoffrey. “What in blazes is the matter? him!’ I've always | She—she’s kissing “Now what the deuce?”’ exclaimed Mr. | Hollingshead. “What always has been going on,” re- plied Angela—‘‘always. Everett—Ever- “What is this going on!” | ett, don’t you see, you're in the hornets’ | nest again!" And Everett Jenkins gave the oddest | sort of answer, though it seemed to him quite natural. “T guess I’ve always been,”’ he said, “‘ex- cept I didn’t know.’ And before anyone could say a word or even grasp what had happened, Everett spoke again, louder and in a way that was dass to laughter, though what there was to laugh at was beyond the rest. “I don’t mind.” he said, “‘because—it | must be because I don’t feel the pain quite the way you do.” What is lacking? Norninc—there is a box of Romance Selections on the table beside her. Romance Chocolates have been made especially as gift chocolates. An unusual amount of care is taken in the prepara- tion of their rich, smooth coat- ings and delicious centets. Each package is composed of a care- fully chosen variety of the most popular pieces. Cox Confectionery Company East Boston, Mass. [® vour DEALER cannot supply you, we will mail you (posi paid) on receipt of $1.00 and your dealer's name, a pound box of Romance Selections. OMANCE HOCOLATES

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in the sidewalks and drive» SR y weve sround the average home will sorve forever to prevent dangerous, snaightiy and expensive cracks aod + Hit Streaks in your concrete anid cement work. Tell your architect, con- (My tractor, or engineer to une J National Stee! Fabric Style CC.1010 and CC-66 ire. spectively! to provide invisible st-ongth Alternate freezing and thawing, alternating changes in tempera- ture, and the natural internal stresses engen- dered during the period of “setting,” or harden- ing, act upon un-rein- ‘ferced concrete much the sarne as repeated bending back and forth dves upon tin—it cracks and, finally, breaks. National Steel Fabric is a mesh (or net work) of cold drawn electrically welded steel wires, which develops a tensile strength of 55,000 to $5,000 pounds per square inch of steel. There is a Style for reinforcing every type of cement, con- crete, stucco, plaster, and gypsum con- struction. Before you build, re- * build, or remodel, be sure to write for a copy of our free book, “Building a Permanent Home.” National Steel Fabric Company 728 Union Trust Building, Pittsburgh, Ps. Attmete Cinetnmati Chicago Cleveland Dallas Denver Detroit Houston Los Angetes New Vork City Pittsburgh St. Louis Ptitadeiphia Xovhetter San Antonio San Francis o National Steel Fabric Company, Pittsburgh, Pa. Please sead me, free of charge, the boo! Duilding a Permanent Babee 4 ——— a ————" THE SATURDAY EVENING POST December 13,1924 DOUBLING FOR CUPID “But my heavens, lookit the cost!’’ says Al. “Ten dollars a day them loafers are getting now. And you got to have them two whole days— one here for rehearsal and one for the party. And transportation! and Ike!” “I don’t care what it costs if it is a suc- cess,” I says. “Go the limit, Al. Only make sure for me that Ike picks good ones, and assorted.” ‘But you won't know their names!” says Al. “ How you gonner introduce them, eh?”’ “Oh, I won't introduce em,” I says. “In England they never introduce people in private houses. Ain’t you ever heard about that? And if I am forced to, why I'll take a chance and say Lady Vi, meet Mrs. Schuy- ler, or shake hands with Governor Temper, or something, see, that sounds prominent. Have Ike tip the crowd off so’s they will be expecting it. And tell 'em it’s all jake to pitch in and eat—-the food won't be props, if the guests are.” “Marie, it’s done already!"’ says Al. “My, you are a smart woman! Such pub- licity as this will be as well! Believe me, I'll send a coupla fellers down with still cam- eras, and the publicity department will attend to the rest.” Well, having got that settled, it was time | to go, so I gathered up my gloves, purse, | scarf and other feminine accessories. “Well, better go awful careful on that re gro stuff,”’ | says. “I ain't trying to ool the whole entire public; I am merely | intending to make good my bluff to Lady Violet and show her a pleasant time. Better call all hands for Wednesday, on the set with make-up at four P.M. sharp. And, say, better let em dribble in a few at a time, in cars, see? It'll look more natural. So long, Al, and thanks a lot.” “You are welcome, Marie,” says Al. “But I ask you out of friendship for me, put some of that smartness of yours work- ing on my troubles too. If you think of | anybody like Nasha Mola, only better, give me a ring.” Well, Al showed me out then, and there | was that boy still sitting on the bench. When he seen me coming he was right on the job, smile and all. “Oh, Miss La Tour,” he says, jumping up, “didn’t you, by any chance, speak to Mr. Goldringer about giving me a job?" “Yes, I certainly did not!” I says. “I'm not casting anything but aspersions to- day.” And I swept past him like a vacuum cleaner. Hot bozo! The nerve of some people! Well, anyways, it’s the truth that every oncet in a while you can like a person and be real friends with them in spite of the fact they are a genuine swell, if you get what I mean, and this was the way I felt about Lady Violet. Also, she felt the same towards me. For several years now I had been trying to burst into Rosemere society, not because I wanted to be friends with them—on account for the most part I didn't. But I wanted to be able to see nothing of the — instead of merely not seeing them. person likes a little free will in them matters. Of course, I knew a few of the folks in town well enough to won- der whether they was going to bow this time or not; and after I got home from Al’s, I got also to wondering would I take a chance and invite any of them to my big reception. But on the whole I come to the conclu- sion it would be better to take no chances, For once I would merely snap my fingers at that upstage Rosemere bunch. Lady Vi would be gone before they more than real- ized that she was staying with me. I would be in the delightfyl position of not asking any of ’em to meet her, and so I also would have at last scored in our social game. Well, anyways, when Lady Violet showed up the next day, I sure was glad to see her. I and that girl talked the same language, even if she done so with a English accent. She was a little thing, and when she hopped off the train she looked as cute and swanky as anything fresh out of Hollywood. “Oh, my deah! This is simply top- hole!"’ she says. “I'm so frightfully glad to get away from Newport. Everyone I met there was at least sixty years old! : do hope you have a nice sporty crowd vere, “Oh I’ve asked quite a sporty crowd for tomorrow afternoon,” I says in a hurry. “LT only hope they won't be too much so.” (Continued from Page 19) “Can't be!” says she. “D’you know, I’ve always heard about the younger Amer- icans being fearfully good sports, and I’m keen to meet some of them. These Alling- tons I’ve been stopping with are friends of mother’s whom she met when the Eiffel Tower was built.” “And they belong to the original steel- construction period,’’ I says. “I get you! Well, come on, let’s get up to the house. It’s almost teatime.” I thought that was pretty good, see that about the tea. 1 wanted everything to appear at home just as if we done it every day; and although it was going to be a awful strain, still I thought I could man- age it over the few days she would be with us. But ma, who is a big help to me so- cially, in that she helps keep me out, had ideas of her own. No sooner had I got Lady Vi to the home in our Risotto, which our English visitor called quite too duckie, and showed her to the royal bedroom set I had fixed for her, and she had whistled in a cute way she had over our simple little hundred-room cottage, and etc—well, when we had gone out on the marble terrace for tea, then ma come down in of all things, her idea of a tea own, a garment that looked considerable ike what she used to wear out into the ring over her fleshings when I was a kid and she was with the circus. When she seen Lady Vi, ma walks right over and grabs her by both hands. ““Welcome, dearie!’’ she says. ‘Why, you look just as human as anything! I was scared you'd be wearing a crown or some- thing. My, what a cute sports suit! Turn around and lemme look at it!” Lady Violet looked kinda surprised at that, but she smiled and done as ma asked, and then we all sat down and that pie-faced butler of ours commenced to serve tea his own way, in spite of ma throwing him a loud mad stage whisper now and then for napkins, more butter and etc. “For the love of tripe, ma,” I says, “where did you get that thing you’ve got on? It looks like what they wear on the beach over to Doughville, that expensive French resort.” “Well, it ain't,” says ma. “It’s a tea gown I got out especial for this occasion. I ain’t read the Duchess’ novels all my life without knowing the English all wear tea gowns for tea. This is the first time we ever had afternoon tea,’”’ ma goes on to Lady Violet. ‘‘That’s why Marie ain’t used to it,” she says. “I hope you will excuse my daughter, on account she cer- tainly has turned this house upside down for you, she’s that crazy to give you a good time. Ouch, Marie, that’s my foot!’ “And I’m just too grateful for words!” says Lady Vi. “This is the very nicest — I've been since I reached America. *m going to have an awfully nice time here, I can see that.” “Fine!” saysma. “It sure is pleasant to have company in the house for a change. Marie, why don’t you give the girl some- thing to eat? These measly little cakes ain’t nourishment for a squirrel. Say, Eddie,”’ she says to the butler, who pretty near dies of it every time she calls him that—‘“‘say, Eddie, go get some nice thick bread and butter and jam.” “Ma!” I says, kind of faint, on account I may not of had afternoon tea at home be- fore, but I have played many a high-hat sequence on the lot and they always had these little prop cakes. But our company had perfect manners. “Bread and butter!” she says at once. “Lovely! I’m famished!” Well, I never yet knew of a family be- having like you wanted them to when com- pany was around. They may average up 90 per cent during the annum; but let a guest come into the house, one you espe- cially want to get a good impression, and that’s where the 10 per cent comes off the perfect mark. For a sample, I had hoped Junior would convey a Eaton-school at- mosphere when he showed, and he did. But it was Eaton only in the sense there was jam on his ears, and he was looking for somebody to be the enemy in a war he was having in a trench the plumber had left back of the kitchen. And. having them ex- cellent English manners you read about, why Lady Violet let that child make her do it, and first thing I knew the two of them was all over the garden together, yelling their heads off. Well, that was two panics my family had pulled on me, and so there was only Jim, my husband, left to dread. All husbands seems to have some kind of special interest which their wives spend a lot of time trying to keep them from boring guests with the subject of it, see, and Jim’s was fishing. Just give that man a mess of hooks and fishing line in some old cigar box or some- thing, and he gets so happy and interested a person has got to explain to strangers that it ain’t a case of the asylum leaving him out because he’s harmless. Just get him started on fishing and he’s on his way. I have pretty near come to a point where I am afraid to serve fish for dinner for fear it will remind him. Well, when Jim got home from the studio this evening, he had been, of all —- playing a sequence where the juvenile, which is him, meets the girl on her father’s Scotland estate while fishing. And the minute Lady Violet and he was made acquainted, she had to ask him what he was acting in now; and of course that got him going to the point where pretty soon he was dragging her off to Jook at the stuffed fish he keeps in our private pool and billiard parior. - “Now, Jim, she don’t care anything about your old fish!”’ I says. “Do talk about something interesting!” “But, old deah, I’m nuts on fishing!” exclaimed Lady Violet. ‘And I'd love to see his salmon, indeed i would!” So for pretty near all the rest of the eve- ning he had the poor girl in there; and as I had to make some final arrangements about the party I was staging next after- noon, I was obliged to leave them be, al- though thoroughly disgusted with the way my folks had shown theirselves up. But when I went upstairs with Lady Vi at about eleven P.M. I got a surprise. Instead of leaving me go with some polite remark when I says good night if you want any- thing just let me know, she pulled me into the room with her. “Oh, do come in a minute!” she says. “T have told my maid to go to bed—I want to talk a while. Do you mind?” “Sure not!” I says, and sat down in one of these double-portion Louis Katz chairs the place was furnished with. ‘Go ahead, shoot!” “Mrs. Smith,” she begun, “‘do you mind if I say I really like you awfully?” “Tickled to death to hear it!’’ I says. “Same here, dear; I did from the start. You are the real goods, even if you are English, if you’ll excuse my saying that. But I think you know what I mean.” “T know,” says she. ‘We usually feel just that way about Americans too. But as a matter of fact, the point is, you and I have been fortunate enough to find a real friendship. One doesn’t stumble upon the feeling every day.” “You said a mouthful!” I says. ‘And when a person does, why they are jake with each other, just the same as if they had been acquainted for years.” “Good!” she says, laughing, but serious at the same time. “I thought you felt as I do. And because I really believe you mean it, I am going to bother you with my troubles.” “That’s what friends are for,’”’ I says. “If it’s my family that’s annoyed you, go ahead and say so. They do the same to me at times, for all I love them.” “Bother me?”’ she says, opening her big brown eyes wide. “Why, it’s the nicest family I have met in years! That darling boy of yours is a regular little soldier, And your husband and I have such a lot in common. You see, fishing is my favorite sport. As for that dear old mother of yours, she is quite the realest, finest thing I’ve met in years. This is just what I’ve always imagined an American family ought to be, which is one reason why I hope you are going to let me make you a long visit.” Well, of course, in view of one thing and another, socially speaking, that was kind of a blow. But I managed to smile natural, and as far as she personally herself was concerned, I would of been delighted to have her stay a year, in the typical way a ——- feels when a welcome guest has only just arrived. “Of course,” I says. “‘But you was speaking of troubles. What and the world could trouble you, dear? Here you got beauty, youth, position and wealth ——” (Continued on Page 80)

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(Continued fram Page 78) “Stop right there!"’ she said, laughing and shaking her bob at me. ‘ You've hit upon the dreadful secret. I'm not rich; I'm poor as a church mouse, and that’s why | am over here. |’m going to trust you, deah Mrs. Marie, because I know instinctively that you will understand and he willing to help me.” I nodded her a yes, yes go on “My deah, this its a brutal day and age,” she says, “So let’s not mince matters. We, poor things I mean, of course, my people--are absolutely stony! Not a stiver! And debt! Good Lord, it’s the only sizable thing we’ve left except Dun- nington, our place. Both the older boys went during the war. There's only my youngest brother now, a little chap, Cedric, who will inherit the title. He's about the ize of your Junior. And dad is sort of broken by things, one way or another. A deah old boy, though. Really I'm rather keen about my people, and, as a matter of plain fact, I’m all they've got, so I think it's my duty to do it, den’t you?” Sure!" [ says. “But do wh at? a “Why, marry money, of course!"’ says Lady Vi, arching her lov ely brows at me That's what I've come over for.” “Well!” says I ‘Put why not drag down a rich Englishman?’ ‘There aren't any more,” says she. ‘What with our beastly taxes, and so forth, and a iabor government, things are frightfully different from the old days. And we all thought that a rich American would be so much less impossible. Don't you think it's a good idea? And it’s my duty, besides, doen't you think? I've no right, really, to consider my personal feelings in the matter, have 1?" *That depe nds a lot on are you in love with somebody,” I says. “You wouldn't have any right to do it if there is somebody you love; no right at all.” ‘Oh, but I assure you, I'm not the least hit in love with anyone!” says she, ‘‘Some- how I've never cared much for men.” ‘That's the kind that falla hard when they do,” “Well then,” she says, “be a deah and help me catch a husband who is both rich and lovable.” “Hot bozo! That's pretty near a ex- tinct anivnal,” I says. “it seems a awful shame for you to have to do this. Ain’t there some other way for you to get money’? Couldn't your folks sell the castle, or something, rather then let you?” “Casties in Europe are about as easy to get rid of as flies in August,” says she. ‘“‘ And besides, there’s the way we all feel about the place-—I mean, keeping it for Cedric, and all that, No, it’s hard for you to understand, | suppose, how strongly at- tached we are to the place. But I'm not in love, so there is no real reason why | shouldn't save it with a good marriage. My family, poor darlings, have invested their last shilling in sending me over here. Do help me, won't you? You can, so easily, in a smart. wealthy community like this. Perhaps there will be some eligibles at the garden party tomorrow.” ‘Plenty of edibles, yes, indeed!" I says. “But t don't know that you will find any young men of the type you are speaking about.’ “Well, it’s simply ripping of you to be giving me this big affair so promptly,” says she. ‘I'm delighted at the thought, and it will be a beginning, at any rate, for the husband hunt. You never know yourluck!" Well, | thought to myself, you said a dictionary, Lady Vi! But out loud, all | says was well good-night, dear, get your beauty sleep. L'il de anything Lean. And then | went to my own room and sat at the window a long while, commuting to Nature and thinking about my sins on commission, and how I was certainly col- lecting my 10 per cent punishment and a bonus as well liere | had pretty near broke my neck getting up a bluff of a party to please Lady Vi, and now her future depended on me giving her the genuine article, instead of which | was handing out a fake that pretty near amounted to a insult, to her that was my friend! But what todo? Hew could I stop the show’ And if | was able to get a-hoid of ike at this hour of night, what would I say to her ladyship when the reception got called off? It couldn't be done. The party would have to be pulled as planned, look at it anyway I did. There was nothing left but to see the darn thing through now. But maybe | didn’t feel like s cheat and etc! My harmless bluff sure had me by the back of the neck. I by now emcee realized the risks I had been taking, paying a mob of extras to be my guests. What I had, of course, originally expected was that Lady Vi would the kind to say “Ah! Hawja do?” and look at the people through one of these long- handled portable wind shields. But here, quite to the other hand, she was turning out to be real clubby, the kind that makes willing friends out of everybody from duchesses clear up to head waiters. Sup- pose she went and chummed up to some one of this bunch that was coming and found out they wasn’t Miss Astor, but only Miss Stake? Well, the next day arrived on schedule, only maybe a little earlier than usual, if anything, on account I would gladly of put it off; and it was one of them days that is too beautiful to be true, having a blue sky all nicely trimmed with trick clouds, sun- shine and color. Of course I was up early, consulting with the director, Ike, who was right there by nine A.M. made up as my private matre d’hétel, which is French for chief cook and bottle washer, or something, and believe me Ike looked the part fine, in a morning coat and white tie, and the only trouble with the make-up was he had on his riding breeches and putties. “Say, even for a country-estate sequence, those don't look right, Ike,”’ | pointed out to him. “I know,” says he. “ But honest, Marie, I can't direct unless I have ‘em on. You don't want this shot— I mean this reception to be a flop, do you?” “Most certainly not!” I says. “Take no chances, Ike. If those pants will help, keep ‘em right on.” “It’s a matter of artistic temperament with me,” he says. “I got to have things just so or I can’t get results.” Well, | had to admit that was often true. As the poet says, “To the conductor be- longs the fare,” and the same kind of liberties have to be allowed artists as well. So then I and he looked the magnificent formal gardens over and he arranged where the people was to be grouped, where some was to make their entrance from the lower gate and form in grac eful, chatty gather- ings near the big fountain, while some others was to come in by the front door and greet me, who would be standing between the Venus and Psyche statues at the head of the marble stairs leading to the rose garden. He got it all doped out where the refreshments was to be served under little canopies of lights and flowers by the lake, and where the three groups of musicians was to sit, and just who was to start throwing the confetti and from where. Of course, he had several assistant directors along who was to be planted among the “guests"’ in plain clothes, so’s to start them doing this and that, and keep them moving about, chatting gayly, laughing refinedly, recognizing old friends, making introductions, and etc., 30's to keep the ani- mated scene animating at top speed. “It’s the appearance of a big bunch of people having a awful gay time that makes any party a success,” Ike says to me. “ And if you manage to keep her ladyship busy with two or three picked people, and she sees everybody else talking and laughing among ieleodven, why I'll tell the world she'll finish the day with the impression she’s been at the gayest function she ever attended !"’ Well, by the time Ike had arranged where the still cameras was to be placed, he had doped out a scene of gorgeous gayety equal in splendor to anything C. B. De Mille ever pulled yet, and at the same time it was to have all of Mr. Griffith's refinement. Some director, Ike! I ought to know, having trained him myself. All this, of course, got done before Lady Violet was up and dressed, which | had encouraged her not to be much before luncheon. And after that the house was so full of caterers and musicians and florists and electricians | was too busy to get any more nervous until we went to our dressing rooms to put on our costumes, as they might be called. Well, Jim, who, of course, had to be told about my big idea, refused to have any- thing to do with it and went off to shoot some golf. But I didn’t mind that on account | realized perfectly where husbands in high life are not supposed to enjoy or attend their wives’ afternoon teas; they are merely expected to pay for them, so Jim's not being around would look perfectly natural. Ma looked positively elegant in purple satin and was too scared by the THE SATURDAY EVENING POST grandness of the party to talk much, and that was another trouble off my hands. It stayed that way all afternoon, too, on account hardly had the reception got started good then among the extras ma spied her old friend Madame Luella, the snake charmer that used to be with the circus the same time as her, and the two of them promptly parked theirselves at a refreshment table, where they stayed prac- tically all through the show, talking of the old days on the tanbark I got no doubt, but fortunately looking like a coupla duchesses at the very least while doing so. Well, with them two domestic menaces off my mind, I was free to tremble in my satin slippers over Lady Violet Arming- ton and the kind of a time she would have. I'll say she was a regular vision in white, her face framed in a kind of halo of English-colored hair, and the gay garden was exactly the right set to show her off good, with ali the well-dressed extras drift- ing about just as natural-looking as could be. Of course, I explained to her where we was very informal over here and we followed the English custom of not introducing a lot of people, and etc, and she was to just make herself at home with them. However, I couldn't help making a few people acquainted with her. But luckily most of these was atmosphere that had often worked on the lot with I and Jim, so I could either mention their actual name or say oh do meet Lady Violet, Mrs. Blaa, quick, see, and then she’d say what was your name | didn’t catch it, which was no wonder since nobody had thrown it to her. But they would tell their monniker then, see, and things would set nicely for a while. Well, anyways, early in the game I and Lady Violet was standing together, look- ing down on what was probably the most successful mob scene ever staged, when who in the world would loom up in front of me all dressed up like a plush horse, but the aspirin! I mean that same pest of a boy who had been hanging around, trying the life out of I and Al Goldringer both, to get him into the pictures. He sure was a nervy young one, for he come up with the old smile right there, teeth and all, as he held out his hand to me. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Smith,” he says, chipper, looking me square in the eye. “So awfully good of you to have me here! This is delightful, really!” Well, fortunately, Lady Vi was for the moment talking to some Mrs. Whosis, so’s I could hiss at him. “Is that so?” I says. “Well, watch your step, young feller!” “T’ll try!” says he, laughing. “But I’m grateful for the job, really lam. Of course it’s not exactly pictures, is it? But it’s a as anyhow.” I wanted to step on him for that, but L didn’ t get the chance, on account just then Lady Violet turned around and I was forced to introduce them. For a minute I was tongue-tied. “Won't you present me to Lady Vio- let?" says freshie. “I’m Aleck DeVaux, Mrs. Smith. ’Fraid you've almost forgotten me, really!” “Mr. DeVaux, meet Lady Armington,’ I says, helpless. And as I done so I got stopped short by Lady Violet’s face. “Delighted,” she says, giving him a formal answer, but at the same time she give him a look and he give her a look that had nothing formal about it, and if Ike had been making a close-up of it, the subtitle would of been Hearts and Flowe TS, Or some- thing. And when he says mayn’t I get you some tea, and dragged her away with him to get it I watched them go with a real uneasy feeling. I had to admit they did lpok good together. That was a fact. And got plenty of chance to check up on that, on account them two famous historical friends, Apollo and Belvedere, couldn’t of hit the pace any quicker then these two did. Of course | butted in every once in a while, taking her away to pose with me and the bunch for the still cameras, or to introduce somebody I staged for the pur- »0se. But separating her and DeVaux was ike trying to keep two quarts of water apart in the same jug. The minute I moved they was at it again, alone together amidst the festive scene, as you might say. Well, outside of myself, everybody ap- peared to be enjoying the party a lot. But to me it seemed like I lived through years of jazz, both of the bands and of my nerves, without anybody to talk to except Ike, who was there in riding breeches and a red coat. I and he stood together a lot, I December 13,1924 all prepared to introduce him as General Director if necessary, and although things were going fine, as the afternoon wore on, I wore with it—very badly. The strain was something awful. Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer. “Start °em home, Ike,” I says to him at last. “This sequence has by now run to all the footage we need. I feel like I can’t endure it one minute more. Get them to commence taking their reluctant de- partures and their far less reluc’ tant pay checks, which I believe you will give "em in town. I’m all in and I prefer to prove it in private.” Well, Ike slipped the word out by his assistants, and pretty soon the guests begun to file past me, shaking hands way up at the third story, and other evidences of refined leave-taking; but the aspirin was not among them. Last I had seen of him he and Lady Vi was dancing together for the seventh or twelfth time, but now the both of them seemed to of disappeared entirely. The last guest was straggling away, and ma had taken her snaky friend up to her own room, when Lady Violet showed up with that cheap extra. I could see right off that they was by now fast friends, and when he shook hands with me good-by he shot one that proved the worst. “It’s been a simply splendid party, Mrs. Smith!” he says, and this time there was no acting about it. “I’ve had a ripping good time. Thanks awfully. Lady Vi has been kind enough to promise to lunch with me tomorrow. I do hope you've nothing on that interferes.” Well, his eyes was saying plain as day if you teil what you’ve got on me I’ll tell what I’ve got on you, so you'd better not have anything else on, or looks to that effect, see, so all I could chirrup was oh that will be delightful, I’m sure she will be chawmed, and ete. And all the while Lady Vi stood there smiling and glowing like a regular are light. The very minute he was gone and she had got me alone, she fell on my neck and give me a kiss, just as enthusiastic as if she had come from New London, Connecticut, instead of the old one in Engiand. “You darling!”’ she says. “I’ve had the best time of my life, really! My deah, I never saw such a lot of charming people at one single garden party—never! So swanky, aren’t they? And so natural and such good fun! Absolutely, old thing, I assure you even the queen’s parties aren’t one-half so smart! And they all seemed to be enjoying it so!) May I say, my deah, you are quite the most successful hostess I’ve ever met? Now do sit down; you're tired, I know!” “Check, on that!” [ says, taking her advice. Her words certainly lifted a great load off my chest, but the very next line she pulled put another one on it. “And that delightful Mr. DeVaux!”’ she says. “‘How nice heis! Do tell me who he is and all about him.” Well, fora minute I was strongly tempted to do just that; but I realized where if I did, it would probably be only the begin- ning of the story. So I didn’t. “Why, he’s not so much,” I says. “‘ He’s just a boy that’s been hanging around here a lot, that’s all.” “Well, he seeme¢ to know simply every- body!” says she. “Oh, he did, did he?”’ I says, snorting at the nerve of that mere extra claiming to know a bunch of swells. ‘Well, Lady Vi, I'll tell you one thing — he hasn't got a cent. He'll very likely have to hock his watch to take you to lunch tomorrow —that is, if you are actually going.” Lady Vi pulled a long sigh and twisted a blond curl or two over her ear. “Oh, dear, of ‘ourse he’d have to be penniless!" she says. ‘‘ The nice ones always seem to be. However, I quite like him, and a lunch is nothing definite, after all.” And although she give it the laugh as she turned away, | hadn't been registering love at first sight for nothing all these years before the camera and not be able to tell the real, genuine article when I seen it. To say I was worried sick that night is mild. And asthe next coupla days went by, they proved that I had good cause. Those two had taken a fall for each other that made Niagara look like a cold-water spiggot, and the awful part of it was, everything I done to cure them only made the case worse. For five solid days I had to set back helpless and watch that cheap ham of a near-actor give a rush to my nice new girl friend. (Continued on Page 85) —— or nes

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Dont guess --- accept no other insist on SAE REGULAR When you buy spark plugs you do not have to guess—insist on AC Spark Plugs fe and you will be sure of good performance. rae wg Penni ¥ Because AC’s are better plugs more than 200 manufacturers use them year after vear as factory equipment. iim SAE LONG %* LONG = iy aug W %" REGULAR ] A better 4 plug for ( HAT a i ' ue 4 F ude © Fords a ey : J a Tl p «- mm ! 1 e onnpeten Brathare ‘ RS mend j Rickenbacker ( *Westcott é i More than 85% of the American cars | ti “Nash Gee ' and trucks produced, Fords excluded, | *Dorsat Four ' are AC-equipped. i *Oakland (to 1924) 4 SC tiseatas OTHER SIZES OF AC SPARK PLUGS t “Oakland . q —e REGULAR METRIC SAE EXTRA LONG s* CARBON- PROOF %" LONG BODY ia Pos Stephens for for for for *Cadillac *Hudson *’Dort Six Overland *Chandler (to 1924) ' f as “Heomobite *Factory Equipment — b Fr sa Six Keo Willys-Knight a ob» *°s§ - Wi Zarbon-preof Porcelain wesenwore *MoFarlan ‘ 4 Z 300 others VP Gate Povet *Wills Sainte Claire Elgin j 2 RIES PRION IONE RG TRE é t Td SEE Nes PIPL iLL GES IE LG SELLE PLE ELEEEDLDSLELEL LL! CLLELMBLOLLE BELEN © SSAA ERLE ER GIGO ONE LEL LIMES Sy, TS l ae | i The AC Speedometer for lll: i Fo r d S ) i 505i " dl Can be easily and quickly installed. ‘The new q ae 93452 AC Direct Drive is a big improvement over ' Drio Fleetrode. Forms previous types of drives, as it does away with atura ' rain . . . { High Temperature Fins. the swivel jol nt. aa The cost is surprisingly low—$15.00 ($15.50 Heavy Body Porcelain ' x West of Denver). Your dealer can supply you. Spring Terminal Clip ac-spHINX AC Spark Plug Company, FLINT, AGichigan AC-OLEO Birmingh ? st se Levallois- Perret ENGLAND Makers of AC Spark Plugs— AC Speedometers FRANCE U.S. Pat. No. 1,135,727, April 13, 1915; U.S. Pat: No. 1,216,139, Feb. 13, 1917. Other Patents Pending OP ee _ 2 Tm

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST December 13, 1924 OP The STRANGER } a af i)

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ab $e mma THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 5 con | ESCAPE from EVERY- DAYLAND —through Paramount! ARAMOUNT means adventure, romance, love, comedy and thrilling experience of every kind to millions whose lives would otherwise be monotonous. The same thing which brought leadership to Paramount brings happiness to at least a thousand audiences every day —perfect entertainment! [he more you know about motion pictures the more Paramount will come to mean to you, because leadership 1S only held by giving more. Today Romance itself has a trademark known to millions! a Paramount Picture it’s the best show in town!” CURRENT PARAMOUNT PICTURES Produced by Famous Players-Lasky Corporation WILLIAM de MILLE Production GLORIA SWANSON in ‘‘THE FAST SET” “WAGES OF VIRTUE” ALLAN DWAN Production. By Per Wr tty Compsor “ie en. Adapted by Forrest Halsey t Dexter Tr , RUDOLPH VALENTINO in Rex Beach's “A SAINTED DEVIL” 4 JOSEPH HENABERY Productior From Rex Beach novel Rop End scr by Forrest Halse BEBE DANIELS in ‘DANGEROUS MONEY” Se POLA NEGRI in JAMES CRUZE Production “FORBIDDEN PARADISE” “MERTON OF THE MOVIES” ERNST LUBITSCH Production Starring GLENN HUNTER with Viola From The Czarine,"’ by Lengyel and Dana. From the story by Harry Leon With Rod La R ce, Adolphe Wils and play by G. J. Kaufman Menjou and Pauline Starke. Adapta and Marc Connelly Adapted by tion by Agnes Christine Johnston Walter Woods and Hans Kraly

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" wi g - i (Continued from Page 80) Far from Lady Violet making any move to go, it begun to seem like she had settled down with us for the summer. And watching her and DeVaux billy-doing and billy-cooing would of been real cute if there had only been money in it. Every once in a while I would see them at the piano, or dancing, or walking around the garden apple-saucing each other, and I used to think my ain’t it a pity them two good- looking young things can’t go right to it and be happy? And then other times I felt like I’d enjoy choking him. But before any serious damage could be done, a real bomb did the work for all of us. And that broke on the next Sunday, when the newspaper suppiements come out with rotogravure pictures of my garden party. Well, those stills certainly were swanky. There was two of them, right bang in the middle of the front page, showing the elegant decorated tables by the big fountain as a background for I and Lady Violet, and we was smiling at the camera in the typically society way, but we didn’t look messy like the real genuine society article ee does. Under this picture it says: “Distinguished English Visitor. Lady Violet Armington Attends the Gorgeous Lawn Party Given in her Honor by Marie La Tour, the Famous Motion-Picture Star at her Magnificent Long Island Estate. Reading Right to Left, Miss La Tour, Lady Violet, Mmme. Lewella, of Ger- many.” Well, that ex-snake-charmer friend of ma’s had accidentally got in the picture with us, and give her right name to the cameraman; but on account in her make-up she looked like the Duchess of Hotdog, it didn’t really matter any. The other still was a big long-shot of the entire grounds from the steps of the house, and I will say the swellness of the crowd out- done any such picture I had ever seen in the Sunday papers to date. And under this second portrait of Long Island society at play was a subtitle to the effect: “Smart Society Gathers in Force to Wel- come Famous English Beauty. The Italian Gardens of the La Tour Estate Where the Most Costly and Elaborate Event of the Season Was Held in Honor of Lady Violet Armington.” It was some publicity and nobody but a expert could of told it from the real thing. I and ma got hold of it about the same time in two se parate papers, and run to each other with it, yelling with excitement. “Ain’t that pretty?” says ma. “But, daughter, I’ve been through all the society pieces in the printed part and I can’t find one word about it. There’s just only the pictures!” ‘Of course!” I says. ‘Al pulled some strings which he undoubtedly has, to get the pictures in, but he ain’t such a fool as to let the re porters print any list of guests.” “That’s so,” says ma. “My, I bet Luella will be pleased! She ain’t had her picture in the paper that conspicuous since the time Billy, her boa constricter, swallered the box-office receipts when we was with the circus.” Well, of course we was all tickled with the pictures, even Jim, who at once seen the publicity value of them; but I had kind of a uneasy hunch mixed in with my vanity. I personally myself have found that a bluff don’t generally pay, and that the minute a person commences putting up a false front, whether on their hair, character or position, something is apt to break. Even when Al called me on the phone late in the day, I couldn’t lose the feeling I had that the whole business was a mistake. “Ain't them stills in the paper wonder- ful?” he says. ‘“‘Say thank you to the papa, can’t you?” “I do, Al,” them.” And that was the truth. I was crazy with worry over my fool behavior in letting the whole party start. It sure had give me no pleasure and a lot of expense, and I had a pretty good idea that the end of the road wasn’t in sight yet-—-only a dangerous curve. And the red signals begun to flash at about five that very afternoon, when of all people in the world, who would come to call but Mrs. Alexander Buckman herself, our social leader, and chief stiffneck! I heard her asking, first off, was Lady Violet home. But Lady Vi was not, having gone out motoring with that awful young DeVaux, as per usual. And when I says. “I’m crazy over Mrs. Buckman heard the bad news, why I expected she would at once beat it; but no, she asked for me! Well, naturally I at once rushed back from listening behind the portiéres to flop languidly on the big sofa with a book, so’s’ to be caught that way, unawares. And I acted just in time, for in another minute the butler butlered her in. Well, seeing the great Mrs. Buckman arrive prompt like that, why I at once took two things for granted. I knew, for one, that the old girl must of seen the Sunday papers, and that was what had tipped her off to me having a near-royal visitor in the house. And for two, I guessed of course, Mrs. B., on account of wanting to know Lady Vi, would now drop her proud and haughty line, shake a cordial mitten and say some few remarks to the effect ‘‘dear Mrs. Smith, I’ve been meaning to call for the longest time, ever since that delight- fully informal meeting of ours when you thought I was the club matron ha-ha!” Well, ha-ha was the only part I had correct, and that was on me. The minute I seen her frozen face I knew my campaign calculations had slipped some place. Far from burying the hatchet, she had it all sharpened and out, ready for action. “Mrs. Smith, I presume,” she says in a tone that pretty near got a yes, good morning, judge, out of me. “You will pardon this intrusion, but I saw in this morning’s newspaper that the daughter of my old acquaintance the Earl of Doclittle is staying in this house. I must say I was surprised.”” “T’ll bet you were!" I says, my goat rising instantly. ‘‘Dosit down, Mrs. Buck- man. The furniture is perfectly sanitary.” She sat, at that, but on the very edge, like a ship in dock, looming up very im- pressive, all ready to sail Ae fully de- termined to stay so. “Mrs. Smith,” she says, “may I ask how it happens that Lady Violet is visiting here?” “Sure!” I says. ‘‘I invited her to come.” “And where did you meet her?” “On the steamer,”’ I says. ‘Say, just please remember, Mrs. Buckman, this isn’t any oil scandal inquiry you are conducting. Why shouldn’t Vi visit me if she wants to? And why shouldn’t I give her a party and ask anybody I please and leave out the same? And whoelected you her guardian?”’ “Mrs. Smith, we are both grown women,” says Mrs. B. “Let us be perfectly frank with each other. I feel a very distinct sense of responsibility about this distin- guished young girl who has come over here quite alone. Twenty years ago, in London, I met her father and mother, and while I cannot say that I have maintained the acquaintance, the mere fact of my knowing them makes me feel obliged to act for her protection. If Lady Violet is to visit any house i in Rosemere, it should properly be mine.’ “Well, here,” I says. garden party of the season. you want?’ “Mrs. Smith,” says the old social war horse, “I may as well inform you im- mediately that I am fully aware of the general character of that entertainment and the personelle of your guests. The rest of the people of this town may wonder about the mystery of your smart function, and their tongues, I may tell you, are already clacking about the apparently fashionable crowd in which they were not included. But I am not deceived. I may tell you,” she says, piercing me with her hard-boiled blue eyes—‘‘I may tell you, Mrs. Smith, that I very frequently attend the moving pictures, much as I dislike and disapprove of them. I am on the board of censors, and the faces of most of your guests were perfectly familiar to me. I have seen them she seems to be pretty happy “T gave her the biggest What more do attending many similar affairs. Also fashionable balls, Roman orgies and Western dance-hall brawls. Need I say more?” “No,” I says, stunned. “I’m not that dumb.” “Is Lady Violet aware of the sort of society into which you have introduced her?’ “No,” I says, “‘she isn’t. I—well, I kind of let her think she was meeting the right sort.” “* And do you think that was either proper or fair?”’ says Mrs. B. “Now, my dear woman, I have always heard that you have a fine reputation for fair calles and personal honesty, in spite of your profes- sion, of which | have already stated my THE SATURDAY EVENING POST disapproval. Are you not aware that this this trick of — may have serious con- sequences? hat Lady Violet, in spite of her wealth and position, is really nothing but a young girl, easily led, and that embar- rassing entanglements may easily arise out of her introduction to such people?” Well, when she says that, I thought at once of that young Dev aux and the way he was already a serious danger to Lady Vi. And it was, of course, all my fault. Then I realized where Mrs. Buckman had a son which was the real genuine article, or so they claimed. He was reported to be good-looking, athletic, was undoubtedly swell, and of course the only heir to the Buckman millions, and more than likely he could easily sheik her away from the aspirin. I had done wrong, maybe, but only out of intended friendliness to Vi. And while I didn’t feel that Mrs. Buck- man cared so much for my new girl friend, or what happened to her, but was thinking principally of carrying off a social prize herself, why I saw it was right for Violet to £0, and so I acted according. “Mrs. Buckman, I can see that you are correct,” I says. “Lady Violet had ought to be at your house and I'll see that she moves over there.’ Well, Mrs. Buckman looked kind of surprised at winning so easy. But she got on her feet and managed to strangle out a little smile. “Very good,”’ says she. “I am glad, Mrs. Smith, to hear that decision. It means that both of us want only the best for Lady Violet. May I expect her tomorrow?” “You can,” I says. Mrs. B. expanded at that. “Mrs. Smith,” she says, “I shall not advertise the nature of your garden party amongst my friends. It was a foolish thing for you to have attempted, but I want you to understand that I s shall not speak of it.” “Thanks,” says I, And with that she took herself off to the car that was waiting for her with two chauffeurs, and in spite of the shabby old motor they managed to get away with making her appear like the Queen of England, or something. Well, my ambition to have Mrs. Buck- man call on me had come true—especially the call part. And now there wasn’t any- thing else left to do but hang around and wait for Lady Violet to show, which she did around teatime. She drove up in that cheap little car of DeVaux’s, and I could hear them laughing and kidding real clubby as she told him good-by at the door. There was a intimate tone to their voices made me realize more then ever that it was high time she was saved from him. On account one thing was sure, that when Vi moved over to Buckmans, that young would-be ham was going to be out of luck. I could just see Ma Buckman ax-fixiating him with her fishy eye! Just the very minute Vi, as I was by then calling her that to her face, come in, 1 got in some of my fine work. I shot it to her cold how Mrs. Buckman was not alone the social king pin in town but the wife of the junior partner in L. V. Mason & Co., our greatest bankers, and how they had a only son. I, of course, didn’t let on that Mrs. B. wasn’t in the habit of running over to see me every day with her kid curlers on, but merely said where the lady had come to call on Vi, had not been at the reception, but had stepped over as soon’s she could, and insisted on me loaning Lady Vi to her for a little visit. Also that Mrs. B. was a old family friend of Violet's folks. “She wants you tomorrow, kid,” I says. “And I think you certainly had better go. Lady Vi pouted. “Oh, but I’m having such a happy time here!"’ she says. “Yes; but so far, not a profitable one in the way you want it to be,” I pointed out. “You know already I’m not in favor of this private matrimonial bureau I’m sup- posed to of started for you, dear; but in view of all you've told me I feel like it’s my duty to call your attention to the fact of young Buckman. He’s from all ac- counts the ides] catch of the whole entire U. S. A. and you can’t afford to pass up this chance.” All the sun went out of Vi's face at that, and she become real interested in the toe of her shoe. “Oh, Mrs. Marie,” she says, “I don’t want to go! But if they are friends of mother’s and—and 4 “Especially the and,” I says. “‘Come on, Vi, be yourself! Try it out. But remember, ! For Lacing Fan Belts— A Clipper laced fan belt is easily installed without removing any parts. he joint is smooth and strong and the lacing takes but a few minutes. Garages equipped with this tool need not stock a large and varied assortment of fan belts; a few ole of belting in popular widths equip them to belt a great number of cars. Belt hooks come carded and conveniently boxed. Clipper Beik Hooks are 100% staggered. No two hook points enter the belt directly opposite each other. Motorists: Carry an extra Clipper laced fan belt for emergencies. Write for descriptive circular and name of your nearest jobber Clipper Belt Lacer Company GRAND RAPIDS, MICHIGAN $2.50 in U.S.A. $3.50 in Canada The No, t0Ol Vise Lacer laces same sizes as Clipper No. 1, lever lacer only requires 4 vise, 5) The lever lacer oe . Clipper No. 1 laces in U.S. A. belts up to 2 inches $13.75 wide and 3-16 inch thick. Substan- tially built, simple in construction and operation. Perpetually guar- anteed against breakage and defects. in Canada

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It's a distinctly indivad ual gift that will win iv f = 4 heart ‘CS Four beautiful finishes from which to choose Clamp-o-Set Chasotet Brass Finish Decorated Ivory Bronze Finish Decorated Bronze In Canada, $3 « In Canada, $4.5 Ail Clamp-o-Sets are the same mechanically. You can nd them here-—Mang them there--Clamp them vywhere © adjust them as you like Ask for the $8 Clams Set at any store that handles lights. If you don't know where to go to get larop-o Set mvenientiy, order from us, enclosing money of money order ¢ fusmann Mig Cx ver and specify finish desired y8a¢ NM. agrd Sereet » St. Louis Makers of Buss Fuses The Handiest Light in the World THE SATURDAY you've always got a home here, any minute you prefer it!” Well, the poor girl decided to go. Asa matter of fact, there really wasn’t oe else for her to do. And yet, when she hac left, the house sure seemed awful lonesome without her. Like the electric power had gone back on us again or we was living in slow-motion stuff, or something. I didn’t start in running over to Buckmans’ to borrow a cup of butter and etc., though. I stayed away, and so, for five whole days, did Lady Violet. Well, anyways, of course I hadn’t sup- posed Mrs. Buckman would now fall on my neck except in the way she already had; but neither did I expect any insults to be hurled other than those I had already stood for. So when, on the fifth day after Lady Violet moved her trunks, I read a piece in the morning paper about how Mrs. Alexander Buckman was giving a big reception to meet her house guest, Lady Violet Armington, why naturally I com- menced watching the mail for a deadhead to the party. ‘ell, as Shakspere so truly says, the watched pot will make you boil by not doing so itself, and such was the case with me. Right up to and including the morning of the reception day, I kept on looking for the invite, on account it didn’t seem possible even a society woman could do anything so rude as not ask me. But when no re- quest for the pleasure of my co. appeared on the actual date, I realized that Mrs. B. had definitely lifted Violet out of the scum, and that I was said scum. I hadn’t seen the dear kid since she left me, al- though she had called me on the phone a few times, always gay and cordial, and going to see me soon. But I guessed the old war horse had taken good care that her dates was filled solid. It certainly didn’t seem friendly. And I hadn’t expected that, but not get- ting invited to the reception was the last camel, as far as I was concerned. All morn- ing | kept hoping there was some mistake and they would call up and explain. But the only time the phone rung it was Al Goldringer to wail over how Nasna Mola’s picture had by now done another quarter of a million dollars business and he was seriously thinking about committing sui- cide. Well, I told him he had nothing on me, | felt so bad it was taking all the per- manent wave right out of my hair. And Al says, well, just remember, nothing is per- manent in this life except my bad luck; and then he hung up, leaving me to my gloom, which lasted up until just before dinner that evening, when things commenced happening in a hurry. was by then picturing to myself the Buckmars’ party is now over, the last guests is lingering around with no handy director to shoo ’em off, the round-up isn’t quite complete and the straglers are not as swanky-looking as at my party, and it’s not being anywheres near as well staged, | but it is the real thing, and I ain’t there, | and other sad thoughts like that. Well, in the middle of these meditatings, I heard a big noise in the hall, of trunks and etc. going up stairs, the door flew open, and who and the world would it be only Lady Violet her very own self? When she saw me she give one yell and fell on my neck half laughing, half crying and the rest plain mad. ‘*Marie!’’ she says. “I only just EVENING POST says she, flopping into aseat. ‘‘ And when you didn’t show up, I thought at first you forgotten, or been detained, and I spoke to Mrs. Buckman about your absence. And then the way she spoke of you was intoler- able. So I told her I should leave directly, and I have, and there you are!” “But, Vi,” I says, worried, “what did she say? Was it about the party I gave you? “Oh, that was the least of it!’’ says Lady zs impatiently. ‘‘The woman is simply ~~ and I was having a frightfully dull time. I’m much, much happier here. Do you mind me coming back?” “Mind!” I says. “I’m tickled to death. But there is something more behind all this. Vi, did she tell you the people at the recep- tion I give you were—not society people?”’ “You deah silly, as if I hadn't known that all along!” says she. “But your peo- ple were gay and amusing and attractive. And the stuffy crowd that Mrs. Buckman knows, you can’t imagine how dull they were, or how self-conscious they made me feel! No, no, nothing that old hen could say about you would make me dislike any- one but her!” “Well,” I says, with a big sigh of relief, “I certainly feel a lot better for hearing what you say about my faking that garden party for you. Are you really sure you don’t mind my guests having been merely hired extras?” “Mind!” says she. “Haven't I fallen madly in love with one of them? “Oh, Vi, that’s the whole trouble!” I says, excited. ‘“‘That’s just what I been afraid of the whole time. What’ll young Buckman say? Are you going to give him up?” “IT haven’t even met him yet!” says Lady Violet. ‘Fortunately, as things turned out, he wasn’t at home all the time I was there. And even if he were as charm- ing as a prince I couldn’t marry him. I simply couldn’t go o- with it, feeling as Te o about Aleck “Aleck! You mean DeVaux?” I says. “But, honey, neither of you has got a orf “I don’t care a damn!”’ says she. “I intend marrying him right away, and you've got to get us both some work to do. We can live on that.” “Work!’’ I says. “I’m to get you work now, am I? What kind of work, may I ask?” “Oh, Marie, I simply hate to be a bother,” she says. “But, after all, you are my friend, aren’t you? And that’s why I don’t really hesitate to trouble you. Y ou can get us work, of course, in the movies.’ Well, I could hardly believe her first off. “Say, do you mean to tell me you are actually willing to go in the pictures?” I says. ‘You, the great Lady Violet Armington?” “Indeed I am!" says she. “I’m very keen on doing it, in fact. You see, I’m going to marry an American, and so really, why shouldn’t I follow the American custom of earning a living? I think working for one’s money is a splendid idea. I only wonder I didn’t think of it sooner. There’s only one condition I make You really must get Aleck a job in the same company.” “You just wait till I use the phone a minute,” I says. ‘Unless I’m mistaken, you are already hired—just wait!” December 13,1924 Well, ten minutes later I had Al Gold- ringer on the wire. “Say!” says he. “Since I called you this morning I heard that Nasha Mola —— ‘*Never mind Nashe!”’ I says. “Say, Al, I got a present for you. How’d you like to star Lady Violet Armington, eh?” “Her?” he says. “Why, yes! Also, I would enjoy to have Central Park for my private back yard.” “No kidding, I can get her for you,” I says, ‘‘and I tell you she photographs like an angel. Also I believe she can act. If you say so, I'll bring her down to the office in the morning. She'll make you a real star, Al.”’ “Either you are dreaming or I am!” says Al. ‘“ Why, that girl would knock ’em cold! Can you really get her to do it?” “Sure can!’’ I says. ‘‘There’s only one condition—she’s got to have her boy friend in the cast.” “Ah!” says Al. ‘Will she make me a star? She’s got all the marks of it already! Well, I don’t care if I got to sign her whole family also, jf only I get her. Bring her down and ra have a contract waiting.” Well, I agreed to that; but before I made good on it, I had to witness another contract, on account Violet and Aleck got married that very night, as soon as she could phone him to come around. And the next day I led ’em in to Al. When it was all signed up, the aspirin shook me by the hand real cordial. “It’s mighty fine of you,” he says, “to get me into the pictures after all!” Well, that was that, but not all there was to it. Two days later I was sitting in my boudoir with a boudoir cap on, reading a boudoir book on Facial Calisthenics, a few Hints on How to Look Aristocratic, when the phone rung. I undressed the telephone, which when not in use wears a gold lace negligee, picked up the receiver, and pretty near fell into it when I heard the voice. It was actually Mrs. Buckman speaking. “Mrs. Smith,” she says, “of course it is no longer any of my affair, but I feel it is my duty to warn you about Lady Violet Armington. I have just found out that she is absolutely penniless, and what is even worse, that she has eloped with an unknown actor, some scamp by the name of DeVaux.” “Oh, yes,” I says, “that’s quite correct, all except the details.” ““What details do you refer to? “Well, to begin with, she didn’t elope; she was married right here,” I commenced. “Then she’s not penniless; she’s earning two thousand dollars a week salary. Third, she didn’t marry a unsuccessful actor; she married her leading man; and fourth, his name is not DeVaux—it’s Buckman. De- Vaux is his stage name; his real one is Alexander Buckman, Jr. He’s your own son, in fact, and your husband is going to finance the unit, although he don’t know it yet. Y es, you are quite right, all except the details!’ There was a awful pause at that. I thought maybe she was dead, but no such luc k. Her voice come faintly in a minute. “T’'m frightfully sorry to bother you with my troubles,” she says; “but, really, I sim- ply must know more about this at once. Will you mind if I run over and talk to you right away? I realize your feeling for Violet, and I—I'd like to discuss it as—as a friend.” Well, for a mo- ment [ thought hot 9” found out that you were actually never invited to the re- ception this after- noon. That woman had theimpudence, the outrageous rudeness, to omit you on purpose! | was so perfectly furious that I had my things packed at once, a came right over to stay the very instant the last guest left! Oh, my deah, what a time I've had!" “Well, welcome home,’’ I says. “Come now, cool off and tell me all about it, dear.”’ “Why, it never even occurred to me that you bozo, ah-ha here is my chance to crown her; I will give her the razz! But then I took a quick second thought to the ef- fect, no, poor old mother, I guess she needs a little help; she is only human, even if she has been handicapped by her position in life. Sol smiled into the phone, if you know what I mean. ‘“‘Why, come right along on over, Mrs. Buckman!” I says. “I'll be glad to help any I can. Indeed, whoshould we bother with our troubles except our wouldn’t be there this afternoon,” — PHOTO, FROM FREOERIOK W. MARTIN, PASADENA, CAL. Night View of the City of a Thousand Christmas Trees, Pasadena, California friends? That’s what we are for!” iT ae a se a A ep

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST VAN GARD VAN FAME BOX of smart Van Heusens, y»acked Christmas- wiseinscarletand holly, ready ‘bon months of collar- satisfaction . . . this is the gift to win any man’s lasting appreciation. A dailyreminder of the giver’s excellent judgment and good taste—precisely what the carefully dressed man would choose for himself. The Van Heusen is made of just one single piece of smooth, strong, mulli-oly fabric. Nothing sewed bogether—no ne ed for starch. The loom has woven the fold in, woven a Jaullle SS Curve ti, woven consfert ‘and smartness in. For all occasions it is the World's Smartest, most comfortable, and most economical collar. SIX VAN HEUSEN COLLARS — IN ANY ONE OF TWELVE SMART STYLES $3.00 IN THE CHRISTMAS BOX \¢ 4 the World , Smartest 6 COLLAR PHILLIPS JONES > JONES NEW WY Y RK

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST December 13,1924 { z Method by s Foal-Fret Owner Can ‘“ ich hy oa There Must Be Find ie ae Something In It” No idea could take hold so quickly, no public tests could win so mych newspaper comment, no oil story could collect a crowd so surely, unless there was something very real back of it—something bigger than a claim; more substantial than a promise. HIS Havoline idea that oi/ is power grips. These actual tests of oil-power fascinate. That convincing “feel” of power under your hogd thrills. What will you trade for power? The very cushions out of your car! ~! 3 wie “s wie Are you one of the fifteen thousand who have tested their own 0 My 70 FUE | cars on the Wasson Motor Check, and actually seen the power f mount up on the measuring dials? Were you among the fifty-odd thousand who watched these practical tests and were convinced by the unanswerable proof of power curves? ee MACHINE T Are you one of the million, scattered from coast to coast, who ‘% MOTORIST aa have discovered for themselves the power in Havoline, proved it in their own cars on the road? : 4 ; Or—are you one of the great majority who haven’t seen the OF lL NEEDED Motor Check at work, who haven’t heard of the oil-power dis- Wass peters 5 covery; one of the “‘gimme-a-quart-of-oil’’ buyers who can’t be- sgh LLiie- on Motor Ch lieve that oil is anything more than oil? If you are one of these—this advertisement is aimed at you. om Where have you ever heard an oil story like this? . . . seen : ly INDIAN REFINING Co newspapers featuring as news the power in a motor oil? . . , : T : known of any oil company proving its products out in the open, » in every type of car, by public tests? With all the technicalities that you’ve read about oil, have you ever before been given a fact like this—that oil must be judged by the power it develops, and by no other thing? “There must be something in it’—you say. Prove it in your own car. Find the nearest Havoline dealer. Drain your crank case and refill with this fine 30c oi!. You will change your whole point of view toward motor oil; you will discover that it’s the last five cents in a quart of oil that counts. Send for free booklet: “Oil is more than oil—it is power.” INDIAN REFINING CO., INC., LAWRENCEVILLE, ILL. eck Dem Strates Method of Seleade 2 Z ing Lubricant.

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a aa a ~ a eee eee eee — = ee THE SATURDAY EVENING POST AFTER LENINE=~WHAT ? out of commission. Under soviet rule, the coéperatives, like all state-endowed enter- prises, are inefficient and inadequate. A little thing like service, however, makes no difference when the Bolshevik political end has to be served. The Russian consumer has been ordered to patronize the government- sponsored stores, and he must. The agency that helps to enforce this decree is the Com- missariat for Internal Trade. The effectiveness of the Commissariat for Internal Trade in the destruction of pri- vate enterprise may be gathered from the fact that all renewals of stock in any store in Russia must be made through it. The government codperatives, of course, get all they want. When the private merchant now applies for canned goods, clothing, fur- niture or dry goods, he is told that it is im- possible to serve him. In consequence, thousands of private shops are closing out what they have on hand and quitting. If this continues, the Nepman, the name given to the individuals who operate under the new economic policy, will soon be a van- ished type. While we are on the matter of coépera- tives it may be well to point out another characteristic activity of the Foreign Trade Monopoly. It will show how the invariable Bolshevik perversion obtains in what has always been a distinctive Russian com- munal system. Until November, 1917, when the Soviet Government came into being, Russian co- operation was what the word really meant. There were coéperative societies for agri- cultural production, for the purchase of supplies at home and abroad, and for cred- its. The 27,000 consumers and peasant societies in Russia and Siberia, comprising ninety provincial unions, were linked up in the Ait Russian Central Union of Con- sumers’ Coéperatives to which I have re- ferred. Following the favorite habit of contracting long titles, it is known as Cen- trosoyus. It had branches in London, Berlin and elsewhere, and did a world-wide import and export business. Moreover, it represented the very backbone of peasant organization and production. What most people do not know is that the Russian peasant is in- stinctively codéperative but not commu- nistic, as Moscow has found out to its cost. When the Soviet Government was formed, a determined effort was made to put the codperatives out of business through the substitution of the soviet sys- tem of trading both in town and country. The old coéperatives were so well estab- lished that the idea failed to take root, whereupon the government seized the whole codperative structure. In other words, it was nationalized. The business of coéperation came under the Vneshtorg, which maintained the foreign branches, especially in London. Good communists were put in all strategic offices, and what was once a vast agency by and for the people became just one more machine for the per- petuation of political power. Trade Ruled by Politics Then came a characteristic performance. Although the Centrosoyus had a function- ing branch in London, the Vneshtorg started a second foreign-trade office under the control of what is termed the All- Russian Codéperative Society, always al- luded to as Arcos. Here you have another duplication of effort, because the Centro- soyus agency also was maintained. In order to justify the procedure, the import- and-export business has been divided be- tween the two bureaus, the Centrosoyus specializing in agricultural machinery, motortrucks and cars and most agricultural products, while the Arcos became, among other things, the intermediary for the sale of Russian oil, and handled the banking and financial end. This explanation of the soviet trade structure, with all its political ramifications, only reveals part of the approach to the present hour. To complete it we must swiftly recapitulate a few chapters of re- cent European history. They will show how the Moscow trade and diplomatic envoys they are one and the same thing—played politics with business and contributed to two of the most amusing international fiascos of modern times. Incidentally, they will reveal how wires were pulled at the series of continental conferences, which were (Continued from Page 14) longer on talk and expense accounts than on action. I except, of cousse, the London gathering which ratified the Dawes plan and which was the first constructive gather- ing since the Armistice. o get at the beginning we must go back for a moment to 1921, an epoch-making year in soviet annals. It not only marked the inauguration of the new economic pol- icy, with its temporary surrender to capital- ism, but also disclosed the Bolo in a new world réle. With the introduction of the Foreign Trade Monopoly, commerce began to flow in and out of Russia. Conscious of the complete failure of militant commu- nism, the Bolsheviks, as I have already intimated, started out on the campaign to win recognition, make trade agreements and establish credits. To do so they soft-pedaled on worid revolution. Reducing the situation to weather terms, there came what might be called a phraseological depression. The boast and bombast about the invincibility of the communist state gave way to an ad- mission of the need of the tools and rela- tions with which a civilized world does business. Nowhere was this new mood more ef- fective than in England, where that master COPYRIGHT BY F. A. SWAINE, LONDON Leonid Krassin, Head of the Foreign Trade Monopoly opportunist Lloyd George was premier. He was up against four problems which seri- ously threatened the continuity of his ad- ministration. They were unemployment, the high cost of living, Red propaganda in the dominions overseas, notably Egypt and India, and a growing radicalism as ex- pressed in an out-and-out communist wing, and to a lesser degree in the Labor party. What the little Welshman needed above all other things was some arrangement that would accelerate the wheels of output. This, in turn, would reduce the ranks of the idle, readjust prices and sterilize the growing criticism of the extremists. Trade therefore loomed up as the big objective, especially since Germany had begun to get her hooks into Near-Eastern, Far-Eastern and South American markets. On the horizon suddenly appeared the Bolshevik intimation that Russia, chas- tened by economic adversity, was the new business E] Dorado. Lloyd George swal- lowed the bait. The result was the London Trade Agreement, the first entered into with any of the great powers by the Mos- cow government. Technically, it did not give recognition. Actually, it achieved the same purpose, because it enabled the Bol- sheviks to get their foot in the British door- way, which was later opened wide by the Ramsay MacDonald agreement of 1924. By the terms of the London agreement, a so-called Soviet Trae Delegation set up shop with full powers to enter into all com- mercial relationships. The joker was that though Moscow promised to stop her prop- aganda efforts in “ritish territory, she merely made a gesture of cessation and kept right on with the destructive work. Being a prize salesman, Lloyd George was quick to capitalize the alleged value of the soviet deal. What was fondly believed to be the beginning of a real British pene- tration in Russia began. English firms vied with one another to get the best of the pick- ings. That will-o’-the-wisp—the Bolshevik concession— became a sort of Slavic Lorelei that lured scores to their ruin. This, how- ever, is a later story. A considerable impetus was given to British aspirations in Russia by the ne- gotiations for the restoration of the Urqu- hart mining properties in Siberia, the most important owned by any aliens, and the enterprise, by the way, in which Herbert Hoover was interested before the World War. Although it is running a little ahead of the story, I might state Sab that after an immense amount of hot air, energy, time and money had been expended, the Urqu- hart restoration was finally turned down flat by Lenine. So far as the British owners are concerned, it might not exist at all at the present writing. Intrenched in England, the Bolsheviks began to replenish their depleted stocks and the first great movement of imports was launched. On account of the famine, they had to purchase grain. To revive industry, they were compelled to acquire large stocks of cotton. As in everything else, they sought to make political capital out of these purchases by attempting to trade contracts for recognition and agreements. At this point it is important to know that, having no revenue at home save from confiscation, they were compelled to draw on the old Russian gold reserve. An un- favorable trade balance at once developed, because whereas the exports in 1921 were | only 20,100,000 rubles, the imports aggre- | gated 210,600,000 rubles. The Double Cross This brings us to 1922, witness the enactment of real international comedy. Up to this time the Bolsheviks had not been admitted to any of the European conferences. With the Genoa gathering in April, they got into the grand stand of powers. The idea in the minds of everybody was that at last they were to be given an economic bill of health. Their entrance ticket was bestowed be- cause of two fallacies that had developed during 1921. One was the belief of the Bolsheviks that with recognition by the big European nations all economic channels would be opened wide to them. Linked with this was the firm conviction that a fiscally battered Europe urgently needed Russia in any program of reconstruction. The other delusion—held by England, France and Italy—was that Russia needed them more than they required her. As subsequent events proved, it was like the marriage of two fortune hunters in which both were fooled. Nobody got anything. Thus it came about that at Genoa the soviet delegation—which included Krassin, head of the Foreign Trade Monopoly; Tchitcherin, Commissar for Foreign Affairs; Litvinov, his right-hand man; and Radek, the most brilliant of the Moscow propa- gandists—held the center of the picture. The Allied governments, still cherishing the delusion that the Russians needed them, believed that they would be chastened in spirit and amenable to negotiation. In- stead, the soviet crowd strutted in silk hats, with largely inflated domes under a headgear strangely foreign to communist styles. Although the conference oozed oil, very little of it was poured on the waters of discussion. One reason for the Bolshevik cockiness was that their delegates talked | in grandiloquent terms about the value of their petroleum concessions. The scramble among foreign-concession hunters, mainly oil seekers, who fairly buzzed at Genoa, played into the soviet hands. The Bolos became chestier each day. The upshot of the whole matter was that | the Bolsheviks completely disillusionized the | Lloyd George and Barthou—the | became more | Allies. chief French representative and more irritated, and no progress was made. Then came the event which helped to break up the conference and showed at the | same time the foxiness of Bolshevik busi- ness diplomacy. Ai the head of the German | delegation was the late Walter Rathenau. | Because of his family connection with the Allgemeine Electricitits Gesellschaft—the famous A.E.G.—he knew something about the commercial possibilities of Russia. His firm had maintained a large branch factory which was to | f ey AY] a ci eto] pi pele) 5.) Make | | J Nex ft year SIMONDS SAW C Pronounced SI-MONDS SAWS FILES KNIVES STEEL AND Fitchbur “The TEEL COMPANY M

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West of the Mississippi, $3.25 coma 8 5308 THE SATURDAY | there, and, as most people know, Germany exerted a strong economic influence in the old ezarist day. He tried to impress upon Lloyd George the necessity of arriving at some understanding with Moscow, and also tying up European reconstruction. While he was playing the German game, he knew that to put it over he would have to have the support of the other delegations. The British premier, incensed at the swank of the soviet crowd, gave him the cold shoulder. What the Allies did not know when the meeting opened was that, prior to the Genoa conference, Rathenau on behalf of Germany had drawn up at Berlin a treat of amity, commerce and recognition wit the Bolshevik Government. Though Mos- cow maintained a trade delegation in the German capital, no formal recognition had been entered into. This document went the whole way. For some reason it had not been signed up to the time that the Genoa Conference started. It was destined to play a dramatic part at the Italian gath- ering. Both the German and Russian delegations at Genoa had copies. When the Bolsheviks saw how things were going, they determined to get some action regardless of ethics. Radek went to Rathenau and said that unless the treaty drawn up at Berlin were signed at once the Russians would make a more favorable one with England. It was a bluff pure and simple; but Rathenau, who saw, or rather thought he saw, an opportunity for German priority over all her trade rivals, fell for it. The instrument was signed that night and became what is known as the Rapallo Treaty. It made Germany a most favored nation in all commercial relationship with Russia and it put the final seal on recognition. Im- mediately afterward the old Imperial Russian uke on the Unter den Linden in Berlin was turned over to the Bolos. An Amazing Treaty Rage and consternation reigned in the conference when the news of this treaty became known. Lloyd George said that the Germans had double-crossed him and henceforth they were rank outsiders in the meetings. Inflated over their success in the maneuver, the Bolsheviks, who now saw no likelihood of getting any credits out of the Allies, issued an arrogant enunciation of principle that ended the conference. The Allies were still under the illusion that Russia had commercial possibilities, and further negotiations were carried out at The Hague Conference, which came later during the same year. Once more Bolshevik tactics prevented any kind of definite understanding, and this gathering also blew up. Both Genoa and The Hague proved con- clusively to the Bolsheviks that there was no immediate prospect of general reco nition with all its by-products, partic bev credits. They now changed their tune and started the campaign for cash. Practically every agreement negotiated since The Hague has leaned largely on the financial side. The most conspicuous example is Ramsay MacDonald's treaty, which was the biggest diplomatic victory yet achieved by Moscow. Here you have the astounding Soviet Government attitude toward its obliga- tions revealed at the worst. There is no real recognition of debts or restoration of confiscated private property, but a nebulous agreement to pay a lump sum in consider- ation of a loan. In a campaign speech Lord Birkenhead said that it was “‘an agreement te give £40,000,000 of English money to a band of murderers who have already robbed us of £800,000,000.". On a show-down in Parliament, the Anglo-Russian treaty would ‘have upset the MacDonaid régime. The intervention of a minor episode namely, the quashing by the Labor Govern- ment’s Attorney General of the prosecution of a communist editor charged with sedi- tion—did the job a little earlier. There were two good reasons why the Bolsheviks concentrated on the campaign for money. One was the practical extinc- tion of the old Russian ate reserve under steady buying abroad; the other grew out of the failure of the nationalized industry to yield an income. The principal output of the latter was loss. ew began—it was 1923—a characteristic soviet business, or lack of business, performance which reveals the present artificiality of trade method in ee fashion. Fully to p it we must make a swift survey of estes imports and exports. EVENING POST There is no need of involving ourselves in a mass of meaningless figures. Our objective is the economic unsoundness of foreign- trade procedure Between 1909 and 1913 Russian exports averaged 1,501,010,000 rubles a year, while the imports averaged 1,139,600,000, which means that the country had a satisfactory balance. The United States was an insig- nificant factor. The old imperial Russia imported from us 79,000,000 rubles’ worth of commodities, chiefly raw materials, semifinished products and manufactured articles. These comprised 5.8 per cent of the total Russian imports. Russia exported to us products aggregating 14,000,000 Piatokof, Head of the Concessions Committee rubles, or .9 per cent of their total. These exports were mainly flax, licorice root, sheep and goat skins, hides, wool, bristles and manganese ore. The sole reason for giving these figures here is to show that then—as now—there was little reason for us to be agitated about Russian commercial opportunities. The lack of market in prewar days is matched by an almost utter inability to meet Bol- shevik terms. You will perceive this when I deal with soviet concessions. Taking Russian prewar exports as a whole, you find that they amounted to one-tenth of the total national production. The bulk of the export was in grain, which ordinarily totaled from 500,000,000 to 600,000, my poods—a pood is about 36 pounds —a year. This in turn was about 15 per cent of the entire grain output. nder militant communism there was practically no foreign trade, but with the dawn of the New Economic Policy and the institution of the Foreign Trade Monopoly, imports and exports revived. For two years the imports were top-heavy. In 1921, as I have already shown, they ex- ceeded exports tenfold. In 1922 the buying abroad continued, with the result that im- ports reached 274,400,000 rubles, while ex- ports were 78,800,000 rubles. These in- cluded only 1 per cent of the agricultural production. Two factors contributed. One was the great famine and the other the shrinkage in the grain area sown. Restriction of Trade With 1923 the character of imports began to change. Where those of 1922 were for consumption, the commodities now brought in were for production, comprising mainly cotton, agricultural machinery, motors and motor equipment. For a brief period we went to third place as purveyor. With this readjustment started the manipu- lation for the much-advertised trade balance to which Moscow points with such pride and which is exploited by every soviet propagandist. There was much more than a physical change in the character of imports and exports. The entire foreign-trade ma- chinery was shifted to meet the emergency brought about by the shrinkage of the oid gold reserve and the failure to get big credits abroad through agreements. A rigid restrictive control was clamped down on imports and an equally drastic drive begun to accelerate exports. In ordinary circumstances this is good business, because it makes for national economy and the strengthening of foreign exchange. The soviet national economy, however, was purchased at the expense of the great mass of the people, and like the operation of the nationalized industry, was promoted for political purposes. In Bolshevism, political purpose oad the incitement of unrest in- variably are one and the same thing. December 13,1924 Grain—the major Russian product— was the medium chosen for the juggling. Just how fantastic the performance is may be gained from knowledge that before the war, out of a total annual production of from 4,000,000,000 to 4,500,000,000 of grain, 500,000,000 to 600,000,000 poods were exported. This left about 85 per cent for home consumption. Even then there were many who believed that this was in- adequate for the population. This is a debatable matter and does not enter into aes * resent consideration. e fact to be emphasized is that in ‘sa with a grain production barely 60 per cent of normal, 200,000,000 poods were exported to readjust the trade balance. Russia today, considering her loss in popu- lation, needs at least 3,500,000,000 poods for her own uses. The exports meant that many districts were so reduced in food supply as to approach a famine stage. Moreover, in order to make the most out of the unnatural opportunity, the government depressed the price paid by it to tie peasant for the export corel At the same time the home consumer was paying excessively for all industrial products because of the inefficiency of the nationalized industry. Thus the people got it coming and going. A contented populace, however, was not the consideration. The Soviet Government needed a favorable foreign-trade balance to bolster up Bolshevism overseas, and it suc- ceeded. For the calendar year 1923 the imports were 144,200,200 rubles and the exports 206,000,000 rubles, affording a favorable trade balance of 61,799,800 rubles. By the exertion of all the power and force of the most autocratic govern- ment in the world, this total foreign trade for 1923 was only 12.1 per cent of the foreign trade for 1913. Krassin and His Job In connection with the soviet foreign trade it is illuminating to point out that Germany has come back to first place in the Russian market both for exports and imports, with Great Britain second. For 1924 the unnatural program was enlarged under a plan to expert more than 300,000,000 poods of grain regardless of consequences. For the first two months of this year exports exceeded imports by 22,- 700,000 ioe and there was every indi- cation that the twelve months would roll up a much larger total. Providence, how- ever, intervened in the shape of a serious crop shortage. At the time I write, which is the end of October, there has been a temporary suspension of grain exports be- cause a famine is in progress. Even with this extremity facing them, zealots like Zinoviev, Stalin and Kamenev insist upon a continuation of the export policy. The export operation does not in a way contribute to the real economic ~~ 4 vancement of the country. Nor is it diffi- cult to see the reason why. Concretely, the first purpose is to support the chervonetz— the new Russian money—for which an artificial demand has been created overseas. This is incidental. The real underlying motive is to obtain and keep an ample propaganda fund abroad. he money wrung from the peasant is expended in fomenting trouble, such as agitation for a revolution in Germany, sedition in India, Egypt and China, and sabotage against the Dawes plan such as was perpetrated by the communists in France and elsewhere. To sum up, you have once more the per- sistent Bolshevik policy to advance political interest and to advertise the “stability of the soviet state” while real internal prog- — and prosperity halt. It is a case of the se of oil, cotton prints and other articles w the cost of production all over again. > use the familiar Chinese phrase, the Bolshevik face must be saved. As one eminent White Russian economist put it, in discussing soviet commercial tactics, ‘‘We are in presence of an iniquitous exploitation of the greater part of the population by the government, with the sole view of keeping the power in its own hands.” The dominant personality behind the soviet trade structure is Leonid B. Krassin, who is perhaps better known to the outside world than any Bolshevik leader save perhaps Lenine and Trotzky. As Com- missar for Foreign Trade he sits in the Council of People’s Commissars, which is the cabinet. Like all his colleagues, his connections extend to most of the principal political bodies, such as the Central Execu- tive Committee of the Communist Party. (Continued on Page 92)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST & ‘The Pacific Northwest 3s Ask the people of the Pacific Northwest why they would not change places with anyone on earth. They will begin by telling you about the natural wonderland they love and enjoy so much. Then they will speak of their climate—a climate both delight- ful and the most healthful in the United States, But they will forget, perhaps, to mention them- selves—and the things they have done to make this favored land a still more wonderful place in which to live. They came here with a purpose For these people came to the Pacific Northwest with a purpose. And that purpose was to provide for themselves and their children a better life than they had known before. And so they bujlt the Homeland in which they live. They built better cities, profiting by the mis- The Chicago Burlington & Quincy RR: Buin She Northern Pacific Ry. Cs Route _| The Great Northern Ry. — built for you by to who soug takes of older states. They built the homes they had dreamed of having. They built better schools, churches, libraries, theaters, hospitals, improving on those they had known. Starting anew, pooling their varied experiences, they established new and finer standards of living. And they are living up to them. This has made it possible In the Pacific Northwest they found they could do these things. For here, in a rich and swiftly grow- ing country, a land of vast resources and limitless opportunity, they found it easier to get ahead. That is why in the Pacific Northwest 24 per cent more people can and do own their homes than in the rest of the country. That is why 15 per cent more own automobiles. Why they spend almost twice as much per child for education and maintain the finest schools in the country. That, also, is why the per capita income in the Pacific Northwest is.notably higher than in the rest of the United States. A homeland open to you A more prosperous people, a happier people, a health- ier people, and a people who have come to a better Name Address t a better place to live 91 understanding of the things worth while. These you will find in the Pacific Northwest's Homeland. And what they have found, what they have built, is yours, if you will, to share. In the five states of Washington, Oregon, Idaho, Montana and Wyoming there are now but three and a half million people. There is room today for ten times the number. If you are interested in a place where life offers you more, where opportunity is greater, you will want to learn more about the Pacific Northwest. We should like to give you de tailed information. Send for free booklet We have prepared a booklet, “The Land of Oppo tunity Now,’ which gives you complete and authoritative information. It is free. Just fill in and mail the coupon below and we will send it to you at once. P. §. Eustis, Passenger Traffic Manager, Chicago, Burlington ©& Quincy Railroad A. B, Smith, Passenger Traffic Manager, Northern Pacific Railway A. J. Dickinson, Passenger Traffic Manager, Great Northern Railway Send this coupon for free book Development Bureau, Dept. 20-H, Burlington Railroad Building, Chicago, Illinois Please send me your free booklet, “The Land of Opportunity Now.”

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92 (Continued from Page 90) Thus he expresses the usual close connec- tion between high etate officials and party power. Before you meet Krassin face to face it may be well to find out just who and what he is. In personality and previous ex- perience he stands curiously alone amid the revolutionaries who made Bolshevism pos- sible. He is the only trained business executive among them. Born in Siberia of good family, he was educated to be an electrical engineer. His first important connection was in Germany with the A. E. G. Subsequently he became Russian di- rector for its great rival, the Siemens- Schuckert concern. These two associations, together with his education in ey. have given him a distinet Teutonic outlook. People who meet Krassin find it difficult to reconcile him with communism because of his pre-Bolshevik contacts and smart Tehitcherin at home boasts that he has only one suit of clothes, and looks the part. Krassin, on the other hand, is always well turned out and is therefore a presentable delegate to foreign confer- enees, Among other things, he conducted the negotiations which led to the London Trade Agreement and was in charge of the soviet delegation in England for a year. One of the best epigrams made about Krassin came from a Russian journalist, who said, “In Russia we regard Krassin as a good business man and a poor Bulshevik. In England they look upon him as a good Bolshevik but a poor business man.” appearance Krassin on Foreign Trade The curious kink in Krassin is that during all those years when he was receivin large salaries from tne German electrica machinery trusts he was abetting the Russian revolutionary cause. He helped to finance the Moscow uprising of 1906 and was a first aid to Lenine when that sinister individual was sowing the seeds of Red revolt. No outstanding figure at Moscow is more plausible in justifying Bolshevik policies { first met Krassir in his office at the Commissariat for Foreign Trade, a huge building, once a bank, in the street called the Ilinka. It buzzes with action. There seems to be an almost endless procession of clerks. It took me ten minutes to find the commiasar Krassin is tall, aimost slender, with piercing eyes and a« closely cropped gray veard, Naturally cold, polite and reserved, he is not without personal charm, a rare quality among big Bolsheviks. If you saw him in another setting you would im- mediately assume that he was a Conti- nental banker and a successful one at that. Ile answered my many questions readily, sitting at a handsome flat-topped mahogany desk with the most elaborate blotter pad and inkstand that I saw in Moscow. The eommissar greeted me in English. He apoke so fluently that at once I con- gratulated him on his knowledge of it. His reply, which showed that he is not without : sense of humor, was, “I had three good teachers Lloyd George, Lord Curzon and Sir Rebert Horne.” He referred to the long negotiations which led to the London agreement. I asked him to tell me something about the Foreign Trade Monopoly, and he said: ‘The Foreign Trade Monopoly is the corner stone of the entire soviet economic structure. It has made possible the stabili- zation of Russian currency because it yalanced imports and exports. This bal- ‘ing of imports and exports will have faf-reaching consequences in that it will not only make our currency permanently stable but give the country a strong economic background. “There was urgent need of this monopoly. If we had permitted an unrestricted out- ward flow of our products, such as flax, and an equally unregulated inward flow of imports, we might easily have become the prey of capitalistic nations like England sand Germany. By setting up a severe restriction, buying only what we cannot produce and exporting what we do not need, we are arriving at some degree of reconstruction, “The Foreign Trade Monopoly is also effecting vast economies. Prior to the World War more than: 25,000 Russians were engaged in buying and selling Russian goods or goods for Russia in Germany. Today there are less than 700, and these comprise the Foreign Trade Monopoly owned staff,” THE SATURDAY On the general Russian economic situa- tion Krassin made this statement: “Already our agriculture has attained 75 per cent of the prewar production, industry 40 per cent, and some branches 100 per cent, such as Grozny oil; or 60 per cent, like Baku oil. In the Donets we are producing more coal than we can use. In every branch I can paint to actual progress. We are restoring our industries with our own resources to a large extent and our dependence on foreign countries is de- creasing. Thesteam turbines manufactured in the Leningrad factories compare favor- ably with those produced in Western Europe. “But now, as in 1919, I believe that by means of foreign help, by a long-term loan and the development of concessions, it would be possible to accelerate the progress of recovery, which has visibly begun. The process, which may take a quarter of a century, might with foreign help be ac- complished in less than ten years. Even if left to our own resources, I have no doubt about the ultimate result, agony that we are not hampered by wars and block- ades, and that foreign trade continues so that we can get spare parts for our ma- chinery and raw cotton for our factories.” “Has the New Economie Policy contrib- uted to your trade results?” was my next question. ““No and yes,”’ was the reply. “ With us, the biggest branches of industry are na- tionalized, so that the state itself owns sugar, textiles, metal and all other lines. We produce, but who is to sell? If the private trader, then there is always the danger that he, buying from us Genely, will sell at high prices. What interest had our workers’ government in enriching traders and allowing them to get into their hands first the economic and then the political power? It is much better to organize our own trade through govern- ment organization and codperation. “We are not prohibiting private trade, because that would lead to shortage. Ac- cordingly we aim at regulating trade by purely economic means. After money reform, we have made low prices our aim, and have organized state intervention in big centers where there was a danger of prices rising. When traders have tried to + up prices we have brought them down »y puttirig on the market large quantities of our own goods. “The special task of the new Commis- sariat of Internal Trade is to supervise the internal market and regulate prices, not by decree or administrative influe nee, but by maneuvering state goods precisely as is done for selfish purposes by large trusts abroad. The problem is intimately con- nected with currency and wages, because raised prices mean the need of raising wages, and so a vicious circle is created. There is nothing new in the actual process of economic regulation in this way. Abroad, you depend on the haphazard working of forces you do not control. We wish to use these forces economically and with a definite plan.” American Dollars Wanted “The difference between foreign trade monopoly and internal trade supervision is that whereas foreign trade is administra- tively controlled, internal trade is con- trolled economically. We have no thought of abolishing the New Economic Policy, which permits anyone who wishes to trade within the country. Personally, I make a distinction between what is known as Nep and the new economic policy. That policy is an actual piece of Leninism and is a compromise between communism on one hand and capitalism on the other. Nep isa recrudescence of capitalism. We are against Nep and the Nepman, who is the private speculator and trader try ing to assault the structure of communism. “Will the New Economic Policy last?” I queried. Krassin’s answer was: **When Lenine started it he said, ‘It will be long and serious.’ It may take years to convert the peasant to communism, be- cause he is instinctively a small capitalist. The New Economic Policy was devised to enable him to follow restricted capitalism until he became fully acquainted with the value of communism. One thing is cer- tain—nationalization of trade, mines, rail- ways and industries is permanent.” We now turned to the all-important matter of relations with the United States and I asked if the Soviet Government EVENING POST wanted to make a trade agreement with us as a prelude to recognition. This was the procedure in England. In reply the com- missar stated: “Most assuredly, yes. While the Foreign Trade Monopoly is indispensable to our government, we are not and cannot be self-contained. We need American help, and especially money, for the development of our industries. “The United States can better under- stand Russia than any other foreign power. At the present time Russia is in much the same condition as the United States was in after the close of the Civil War. There is this difference, however: The United States needed and obtained immigrants for the upbuilding of its great Western domain, while Russia has an adequate population and therefore requires no immigrants. We want economic kinship and other ties with America. “Most people do not realize that Russia today is the biggest single buyer in the world. Moreover she is a purchaser with a constantly increasing buying power. At the same time we have one of the world’s greatest markets— Asia, with her millions— almost at the front door.” “How about the possibility of a German control of Russian trade?”’ I put to him. This is Krassin’s answer: “We have always had and expect to have the closest commercial relations with Ger- many. She is near at hand, millions of Russians speak German, and the Germans understand our temperament. Any Ger- man control of our commerce, however, is absolutely out of the question.” A Cynical Conundrum In conclusion, Krassin made this proph- ecy about the future of Russia: “‘As I look ahead, I see a vast and effi- cient Russia with a population of 250,000,- 000 people. The great areas of the east, such as Siberia, will support a big popu- lation and an intensive agricultural and mineral development. So, too, with the Altai regions to the south. This inevita- ble new population will require American products such as agricultural machinery, tractors, automatic machines, dyes and chemicals. In those areas the millions will produce flax, timber, platinum and gold that the United States will require. Thus the future should bring Russia and America closely together.” The foreign-trade scheme is only one phase of a business structure reared on fantasy and fallacy. Its complement is the concession. Here Bolshevik cupidity, eva- sion and interference reach the apex. They mean exasperation and worse for the victim who believes that money can be made by a foreigner in Russia. Two words summarize the beginning and the end of the conces- sion game. One is illusion, the other disil- lusion. As a result of what has been going on for the last three years, a new conundrum, “*When is a concession not a concession?” may be broadcast for the gayety of nations. The answer is, “When it’s in Russia.” When the Bolos appeared in their chastened role in 1921 the word went forth from Moscow that Russia was the new land of commercial opportunity. A situa- tion developed that slightly resembled the conditions prevailing in the early days of the World War. Then everybody went on a hunt for war contracts. As soon as the Bolsheviks made a motion that resembled the open door a small-sized rush began. There was this difference, however: During the war the concessionaire dealt with honest nations that stood by their obligations. In the case of Russia there was negotiation with a government that wanted to take all and give little. There are two kinds of foreign partici- pation in Russia. One is the straight— it is often far from it—concession under which an individual or a company operates a property, usually a mine. The second is a so-called mixed company and it does not belie the name. A mixed company is one that is financed by the alien and in which the Soviet Government gets 50 per cent or more of the profits. Various strings are tied te the privilege of doing business with the Bolsheviks. If, for example, the country of the nationals making the contract has not recognized Russia, there is a stipulation that the agreement becomes void unless recognition comes within a specified time. In other instances the rights are contingent upon loans. A further illuminating detail is that December 13,1924 whatever disputes arise must be adjudicated in a Moscow court. All soviet concessions are nominally be- stowed by what is called the Chief Con- cessions Committee attached to the Council of People’s Commissars. This means that every agreement entered into is apprai as to its political advantages to the govern- ment. bn ne of the first considerations is whether the transaction will help or hinder world revolution. At the head of the Chief Concessions Committee is Piatokof, who sprang from an aristocratic Ukrainian family, was con- spicuous as officer in the Red army in the campaigns against Kolchak, Wrangel and Denikin, and later ruled the Donets area with an iron hand. A fanatic of the worst sort, he lacks the organizing ability of Trotzky and Dzerzhinsky. Though Piatokof is the head of the con- cessions branch, the real directing force is Krassin, who, for reasons that I have already indicated, is the principal ne- gotiator with aliens. The would-be con- cessionaire meets Krassin in London or Berlin and is told of the wonderful opening Russia offers. He is advised to come to Moscow and talk it over. With this admonition, he begins a rainbow chase. His first trouble is to get a visa, which, even for men who have a definite business reason for going to Russia, is usually a long and tedious matter. Once in Moscow, the applicant, more specially if he is a single in- dividual without the active backing of his government, enters upon a period best characterized by the three words once ap- plied to an American railway. They are “delay,” “linger” and “wait.” After three or four months of fruitless effort, during which time he has spent a considerable sum of money, for Moscow is the most expensive city in the world, he departs a disillusion- aire instead of a concessionaire. When I say that out of more than 1000 applications for concessions made during the past two years, exactly fifty-nine have been granted, you get some idea of how the mill grinds. Of course, the Bolshevik Gov- ernment has the right to reject any and all offers, but in many cases the victim was in- duced to come to Moscow believing that only final formalities remained. Apropos of concessions is a story which reveals the trend of the Bolshevik mind. An American wanted to register a five- pointed star as a trade-mark in Russia. It almost caused a riot in the concessions committee because the five-pointed star is the symbol of the Soviet Government and therefore a holy thing. Needless to say, the request was turned down hard. Luckless Concession Hunters This reminds me of the peculiar signifi- cance of the soviet emblem, which is a crossed sickle and hammer. The idea is to show the union of the worker and the peas- ant. Asa matter of fact, the hammer more truthfully expresses the force of the powers that be, because Moscow always has the bludgeon out for somebody. Of the fifty-nine concessions awarded, twenty-two were for trading, twelve for mining and manufac turing, ten for trans- port and communications, seven for agri- culture, five for timber and three for hunt- ing. The Germans rank first among the nationals having concessions, with the Brit- ish second. Americans, Italians, Poles, Austrians, Belgians, Norwegians and Letts also have had a look-in. The German pre- ponderance shows which way the Russian trade wind is blowing. The most successful mixed companies have been Teutonic, al- though some—notably the great Stinnes enterprise—have come to naught. We can now go into a necessarily brief examination of Russian concessions. I couid fill half a dozen pages of THE SATUR- DAY EVENING Post with concrete stories of unrequited effort and disaster. Since all American interests in Bolo land will be dealt with in a succeeding article, I will confine myself to those of other nationals. Germany is in a peculiarly strategic posi- tion at Moscow, in that the ambassador is Count Brockdorff-Rantzau, who will go down in history as the person who refused to sign the Treaty of Versailles. He has a strong leaning toward the Bolsheviks, as my conversation with him showed, and he has maintained the German tradition of strong government support for Teutonic commercial penetration abroad. The most important single German inter- est in Russia is the Krupp concession, which (Continued on Page 97)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “Under the Mistletoe” M) OF IM. Or er As Appropriate as the Mistletoe for Christmas For the fair possessor of trim, bewitching ankles what gift more appropriate than fine silk hose to make them still mure alluring? Sine = The gift itself must please her. And, secretly, perhaps the compliment con- veyed will please her just as much. ad If you wish to assure her satisfaction unalloyed, see that the hosiery you give bears the mark of Allen A—a symbol of finer quality these many years. \ — = = ° = a 4 * + . + * . And for him, why not a box of Allen A men’s hose? Silks, silk-and-wools, or soft pure wools, made in the newest styles of rib and color on imported machines—here’s a gift to warm any man’s heart, and his feet, too. Hi é€n ck F206) de@Qo8-¥ Underwear For men, women and children For men and boys only (oe Be ls SP. en. Reale Sele OS OE Ee a ae eS a OE es SY Eee cy Oe a eT

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST How to get new winter December 13,1924 ; from your AR SSURANCE of oil circulation d n your Paige engine under low temperatures, is the chief consider- ation in the selection of the correct In this selection the design and arrangement of the com- oil for winter. ponents of the Paige lubricating system: play the principal part. I'he lubricating system is of the force feed type. The oil pump, located above the level of the oil mn the crankcase, lifts the oil from the crankcase, through a and an outside suction line. Passing through the pump the oil is forced to the crankshaft bear- ings and thence through holes drilled in the crank webs to the lower connecting rod bearings. Pistons, cylinders, valve mechanism and other engine parts are lubricated scree! by the mist of oil squeezed out of and thrown by the whirling con- necting rod bearings. The surplus oil draining down the sides of the crankcase returns to the reservoir in the engine base, through two screens, collecting there to be re- circulated. Features of design such as these, make advisable the use of a free flowing oil during winter, so that danger of stoppage of circulation by chilled and thickened oil will not be present, either at the several screens or in the outside suction line. Gar- goyle Mobiloil Arctic, recommended for summer service in the Paige engine, provides this free flowing characteristic and its use should be continued through the winter sea- son as well, a Paige HILE there are a number of features in the design of the Lincoln engine that must be con- sidered in the selection of the cor- rect oil, two of these, the design of the lubricating system, and the electro-fog generator, are of partic- ular interest when winter lubrica- tion is being considered. The lubricating system is of the force feed type in which an oil pump, submerged in the crankcase oil, forces the lubricant directly to the crankshaft and the camshaft bear- ings. The connecting rod bearings are lubricated from the crankshaft bearings, through drillings in the crank webs. Pistons, piston pins, valve mechanism and other engine parts are lubricated by the oil forced from the ends of the whirling con- necting rod bearings. A lubricating onwe n OM ol iY incoln system of this type is positive in its action, for the pump is com- pletely submerged in the oil and all engine parts receive oil either under pressure or from the mechanically directed spray of the connecting rod bearings. The electro-fog generator sup- plies a ready starting fuel mixture even at very low atmospheric tem- peratures so that high cranking speeds are not required. Therefore, Gargoyle Mobiloil “A,” of heavy medium body and which is recommended for summer use, is perfectly adapted to provide instantaneous circulation even when cold and to permit of ready starting. Gargoyle Mobiloil “A” should be used for the lubrication of the Lincoln engine during winter. . t "fart Wills Sainte Claire en- gine is unique in a number of ways, and especially so in regard to the lubricating system. The oil not only performs the conventional duty of iubricating the engine, but also plays its part in the operation of the camshaft steadying device and the fan release. The oil is circulated by a gear pump submerged in the oil in the crankcase, Leads carry the oil to each main bearing and thence through drillings in the crank- shaft to the connecting rod bearings. An additional lead carries oil under pressure to the centers of the hollow overhead camshafts where it reaches the camshaft bearings, cams, valve mechanism and camshaft steadying rom your ills Sainte Claire device. The oil in returning flows over the timing drive. A third sep- arate lead carries oil directly to the fan release. Lubrication of the cylinders, pistons, and piston pins is provided by the oil spray thrown from the whirling connecting rod bearings. Gargoyle Mobiloil *A” meets the requirements of this lubricating system during the winter, both from the standpoint of oil circulation and satisfactory operation of the several control devices. It also meets all other requirements of the engine for this season. We therefore recom- mend to Wills Sainte Claire owners the use of Gargoyle Mobiloil “A” during winter. from your i HE lubricating system of your Dodge engine is of the splash circulating type. The oil is lifted by suction from the reservoir in the bot- tom of the crankcase, through an oil pipe outside the crankcase to a vane pump located above the oil level in the reservoir. The pump then forces the oil through a check valve to an oil header from which the oil flows to four splash troughs, one beneath each connecting rod. Splashers on the ends of the con- necting rods dip into these troughs at each revolution of the engine, and the spray, so created, permeates the entire interior of the crankcase, sup- plying oil to the main and connect- ing rod bearings, piston pins, cylin- ih Dodge der walls and other engine surfaces requiring lubrication. During the winter a lubricating system of this type requires an oil that is free owing at low tempera- tures; first, to assure an adequate supply reaching the pump through the outside suction line, and second, to provide immediate and thorough atomization of the oil under the con- necting rod dip, so that all engine parts will receive full lubrication the instant the engine is started. Gargoyle Mobiloil Arctic is a remarkably free flowing oil at low temperatures and meets the winter requirements of your Dodge engine in every respect. We recommend its use during this season, — Domestic Branches: New York (Main Office) Buffalo * Des Moines Albany Chicago Detroit Boston Dallas Indianapolis VACUUM Oj]

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST efficiency — — — HE lubricating system of your Peerless Six is of the force feed type. The gear type oil pump located in the crankcase and sub- merged in the oil, draws its supply through a large size, fine mesh From the pump the oil is carried by direct leads to the crank- shaft bearings and the camshaft bearings. Holes drilled in the crank- shaft from the crankshaft bearings to the connecting rod bearings sup- ply oil, still under pressure, to the latter. Surplus oil forced from the ends of the connecting rod bearings is broken into a fine mist and is dis- tributed to all parts of the crankcase by the whirling action of the crank- shaft. This mist furnishes the lubri- cation for the cylinders, pistons, piston pins, valve mechanism and screen. __ from your Peerless SIX * other engine parts not lubricated under direct pressure fromthe pump. The oil, after lubricating these parts, returns to the oil reservoir in the crankcase for recirculation. There are no features in the design of the Peerless Six that re- quire the use of a different oil winter than in summer. Circulation of the oil is assured even under low temperatures by the submerged oil pump, the pressure feed to crank- shaft, camshaft, and connecting rod bearings, and the mechanically directed and atomized spray to the other engine parts. For this reason, we recommend to owners of Peer- less Six cars, the use of Gargoyle Mobiloil “A” in winter as well as in summer, since this oil meets every requirement of this engine, Rickenbacker ie HE power plant of your Rickenbacker Vertical Eight is one of the latest developments in automotive engines. To insure long life great care is exercised in as- sembling moving parts. The crank- shaft, of heavy design and well balanced, is supported in nine bear- ings. ‘he camshaft operates in an oil tight compartment, separate from the crankcase, where it is completely immersed in oil at all times, Another interesting feature which has its bearing on the selection of the cor- rect oil for winter is the oil rectifier with which these engines are fitted. This device minimizes dilution of the crankcase oil by gasoline and tends to maintain the original body of the lubricant. The lubricating system. is of the force feed type, the oil pump forc- ing oil directly to the main bearings Jrom your VERTICAL EIGHT and the camshaft compartment. The crank pin bearings are lubricated by oil carried from the main bearings through drillings in the crank webs. Lubrication of other engine parts is furnished by oil thrown from the connecting rod bearings. The lubrication requirements of this engine can best be met during the winter by an oil that will provide immediate circulation at low tem- peratures. In addition, this oil should not cause an undue drag up- on the engine when starting at low temperatures, even when fresh, for dilution does not occur to a degree sufficient to provide easier starting due to thinned oil. Gargoyle Mobiloil Arctic fully meets these conditions and its use during winter is recommended to owners of the Rickenbacker Vertical Fight, TOUR Pierce-Arrow, Series passenger car is powered with a highly-developed six cylinder high speed engine. The system of lubrication is force feed, the oil being forced to the crankshaft and camshaft bearings and through drillings in the crank webs to the connecting rod bear- ~ Oy ings. The gear type oil pump is located at the lowest point of the crankcase oil reservoir where it is submerged in the oil at all times. Direct oil leads carry the lubricant to the crankshaft and camshaft bear- ings. Lubrication of the cylinder walls, pistons, piston pins and valve mechanism, is provided by the oil forced from the ends of the con- i from nt oat iY *Pierce-Arrow Series 80 necting rod bearings and positively distributed by centrifugal force. The cooling system of this engine iscontrolled by athermostat installed in the cooling water outlet. By means of this control, cooling water and engine operating temperatures are maintained at practically the same point winter and summer. Features of design such as these determine operating conditions which permit of the same lubricant summer and winter. Gargoyle Mobiloil “A,” which is perfectly adapted to provide correct lubrica- tion of this new Pierce-Arrow model during summer, is likewise suited to its winter lubrication re- quirements, Its use is recommended. GENERAL INSTRUCTIONS Your engine will operate at its best if the level of the oil in the crankcase is kept between the half-full mark and the full mark on the oil level indicator; usually replenish- ment of the supply once a week will be sufficient to accomplish this. With a §-gallon can or 1§~ or 30-gallon drum of the correc grade of Gargoyle Mobiloil on hand you will always be ready to give your car this valuable attention. The crankcase should be entirely drained of oil at least every 1000 miles in summer and every $00 miles in winter. When drain- ing the oil, the removable screen (if your car has one) should also be cleaned. Draw off the old oil when the engine is warm, as the oil then flows more freely and tends to wash out any foreign matter. (Never flush the crankcase with kerosene.) Then refill with the correct grade of Gargoyle Mobiloil. v ae Mobily Nretic ley ‘ Mite a Mobiloj, for your Home Garage The §-gallon can o¢ 15-, 3o- or § 5-gallon steel drum with leak-proof faucet. the One Quart can The new quart can is on sale in many states. Put 2 or 3 under the car seat. 35¢ a can or 3 for $1.00. 30c a Quart is the fair retail price when the dealer sells Mobiloil from pump or barrel. Lower prices often accompany substitution Prices slightly higher in Canada, the Southwest and the Far West. Ae on . “ wr, 95 Kansas City, Mo. New Haven Philadelphia Rochester H Milwadkee Oklahoma City Pittsburgh Springfieid, Mass, Minneapolis Peoria Portland, Me. St. Louis

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96 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST December 13,1924 NOTHING CAN TAKE THE PLACE OF DUOFOLD QUALITY AT CHRISTMAS ) Tre” eae F Ce hg Le OT 9) - We Oe eae ee ee aX ee Sat, tae ’ at fo cd FS Tre ae ee bade nine 4 : :- ¥ pene th adhe e Aad Le : ¢ ONE gre ee ae nih ik EROS Tit. . ig . 2 en? ‘ . he 4 : ).— 3 ' " A s+) P, eee me ow me OVER-SIZE DUOFOLD PEN $7 - NEW “BIG BRO."” DUOFOLD PENCIL TO MATCH $4—-Their First Christmas Together 34 “Inquiring Reporters” Settled the Gift Question for You When they found more people want the “Parker “Pens than any other make Yes, and the Parker Duofold with 25-year point will make this a 25-year Christmas for those to whom you give it HAT they told the“Inquiring Report- pens, $3.50. New “Big Bro:” Duofold Pencil, ers” from 34 newspapers is the answer $4, areal mate forthe Over-size Duofold Pen you would get if you asked your friends and _in build and finish. Satin-lined Gift Box De loved ones to name their Christmas gifts. Luxe included with Duofold Pen and Pencil Out of 2024 people picked at random more Sets, called Parker Duofold Duettes. named the“Parker” Pen than any other make All Parker Duofold Pens are made in flash- when the reporters asked: “What pen will _ ing plain black, as well as lacquer-red black- you buy next?” tipped. All have the jewel-smooth Duofold And there’s no finer gesture of affection point that’s guaranteed, if not abused, for 25 than to send these reigning favorites instead years’ wear. All have the same hand-fitting of trifles that have no permanent value. symmetry and balance that inspire writing, To the man give the $7 Over-size Duofold and give one’s penmanship the speed and with man-size grip, and Extra Ink-Supply character that win with the world. that is like money in the bank when needed. But don’t be late in ordering from the first To the woman or girl give slender Lady _pencounter you come to—else there may not be Duofold, $5. To the boy give Duofold Jr.,$5. time to have your Duofolds engraved with the | bed Duofold pencil to match any one of the names of the lucky ones who're to get them. eee, Duolcld THE PARKER PEN COMPANY :- JANESVILLE, WISCONSIN “it A. NEW YORK + CHICAGO + SAN FRANCISCO + SPOKANE + LONDON, ENG. “ay $1 extra THE PARKER POUNTAIN PEN COMPANY, LTD., TORONTO, CANADA ‘

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=_—. (Continued from Page 92) was the first to be obtained after the sign- ing of the Treaty of Rapallo. It calls for the exploitation of 25,000 dessiatines—a dessiatine is 2.70 acres—in the Salsk dis- trict of the Don province. The Krupp firm is not animated by any philanthropic desire to raise grain for the Russians. Its sole purpose is to use the concession as a demon- stration field for German agricultural ma- chinery. So far results have not been satisfactory, because the Russians themselves are build- ing reapers and binders. They also fix a price for the sale of foreign equipment which makes it well-nigh impossible for the out- sider to sell at a profit. Moreover, the Krupps are compelled to sell their output on from three to five years’ credit with no initial cash payment. In this arrangement the Bolsheviks made one of their few conces- sions. All equipment and seed grain for the enterprise is transported from seaboard to the railroad station nearest the area free of freight charge. What would have developed into the big- gest German enterprise in all Soviet Russia was the project that originated in the brain of Hugo Stinnes. In 1921 he told me that the United States, Germany and Russia could and should combine for a rule of the economic world. Acting on this convic- tion, he started what he called a Russian section, not only to trade with Germany but to exploit Russian products every- where. He made a contract with Moscow to be the exclusive agent for Russian oil in Central Europe. He formulated a plan to build a huge modern hotel in Moscow and in other cities in the south. In 1922, when I again saw him, Stinnes was not so optimistic about Russia. Asked the reason why, he said, ‘‘ They are difficult to deal with and are always demanding money.” Last summer Dr. Edmund Hugo Stinnes, eldest son of the late industrial leader, informed me that, animated by one of his father’s last injunctions, he was clos- ing out the whole Stinnes Russian under- taking. By the time this article appears it will have ceased to exist. The most successful, perhaps, of German enterprises in Russia is the Wirth timber concession, originally granted to the former German chancellor. It is capitalized for 5,000,000 gold rubles and exploits an im- mense area in the north. There is the usual handicap. The timber must be hauled on the Murmansk railway, which was laid down during the World War by Austrian prisoners, thousands of whom lost their lives on the job. The road was built on frozen ground, which makes it unsafe for transit and also requires endless renewal. Much of this is shifted to the shoulders of the concessionaires. The School for Young Whalers The Wolff syndicate, also German, which was the most pretentious of the trading concerns and which prospered for a year and a half, has been dissolved because of friction with the Soviet Government. The Wolff crowd escaped with its hide. A German named Tomleh, who had a large trading concession, with headquarters at Leningrad, has not been so fortunate. He was cast into jail last May, charged with economic espionage. When I left Moscow at the end of July it looked as if he were booked for a long prison sentence, if not worse. The chief Austrian concession is the Russian-Austrian Trading Company, which is always referred to as the Ratao. I refer to this mainly to give a hint of concession terms. The net profits are shared on a fifty-fifty basis by concessionaire and tlie Soviet Government if they are less than half the capital stock of 300,000 gold rubles. If they exceed 50 per cent of the capital, the government gets 70 per cent and the con- cessionaires 30. The Norwegian whaling concession had its element of humor. One of the terms was that the concessionaires should ship a num- ber of Russians on each voyage and teach them the whaling business. After the first cruise, the head of the Norwegian company wrote to the concessions committee asking for a cancellation of the agreement or modi- fication of the terms. He concluded by say- ing, “We went into this proposition to kill whales and not run a school at sea for in- competents.” The real hard-luck concession serial be- gins when you enter the British zone. Here you have a significant commentary on the alleged benefits of recognition. Before Britain recognized Moscow, her nationals, and especially the Vickers organization, made some progress and were not sub- jected to excessive espionage or interfer- ence. Whether it was a coincidence or not, searcely had diplomatic relations been established when their troubles began, with the result that today it is difficult to find a satisfied English merchant or concession- aire in Russia. I throw this out as a hint to those Americans who believe that once the Soviet Government is intrenched in Wash- ington, the Bolshevik commercial field will be wide open to them. The star exhibit in the gallery of British business experience in Russia is afforded by the Ocean Travel Bureau, now in liquida- tion, whose vicissitudes caused it to be called the Ocean Trouble Bureau. Though the American immigration restriction helped to put a crimp in this enterprise, its hard- ships and inevitable failure were due to previous governmental tyranny. As a prelude to this episode it may be well to point out that prior to the revolu- tion of 1917 emigration had no legal status in Russia. In consequence the most elab- orate system of bootlegging in human beings that the world has known grew up. Hun- dreds of thousands of Russians, mainly Hebrews, made their exit by means of rented forged papers. The government officials winked at the procedure because their palms were well greased with gold. In those days it was not necessary to put a photograph on the passport and one pass- ort was often employed fifty or sixty times. he emigrant was told, ‘‘ You are Mr. X,” and Mr. X he remained until he was safel in Germany, where he and his fellow emake ers were concentrated in huge camps pro- vided by the transatlantic steamship lines. Libau was the center of this industry. Disastrous Shipping Ventures Despite the growing movement in the United States against unrestricted immi- gration, there was still a considerable busi- ness out of Russia in 1921, when the Ocean Travel Bureau was organized as a mixed company. The Russian participator was the Russian Volunteer Fleet—the mercan- tile marine—always referred to as the Russ- flot. This meant that the Soviet Govern- ment was a partner. Three foreign lines put up £15,000 cap- ital. The Russians contributed nothing but trouble and got 50 per cent of the stock. Profits were to be shared equally. There were eight directors, four chosen by the steamship lines and four by the Russflot. The main office was set up at Moscow, with branches at Leningrad, Kieff, Odessa, Khar- koff and elsewhere. Almost before the doors opened, the anxieties of the foreigners began. First of all, the government packed the office with communists who were nothing more or less than spies. This was only the beginning. The Russflot insisted upon having all out- going letters sent to its offices for scrutiny before being forwarded. If the Russians had been efficient and orderly, this would not have been so bad. Instead of examin- ing it at once, they allowed the mail to pile up until 5000 pieces had accumulated. You can imagine how much business could be transacted under these conditions. It was not necessary for the government to make a formal demand to see incoming mail. This was attended to by the secret service. Even the private letters of Harold Robbins, managing director of the bureau, and of William Bevan, his assistant, were opened. When they protested, they were told that they were laboring under a delu- sion. Office records were stolen. In order to keep his most valuable papers intact, Robbins was compelled to carry them with him at night when he went home. Early in the course of the company’s career the Russian directors insisted upon supervising expenditures to the end that good com- munists should get the best share of the pickings. Every move made by the company came under some kind of control, until there were seven major bodies exercising some sort of distracting stewardship. They were the Council of People’s Commissars, the con- cessions committee, the state political police, the steamship monopoly, the Commissariat of Finance, the Professional Union—all office workers are unionized in Russia —and the Russian directors, who did not direct save to add to the complications. The bureau was almost controlled to death. Then came the American quota decree which reduced the Russian quota from THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 24,434 to 1768. It was the last straw, and the Ocean Travel Bureau decided to go into liquidation. Even here the usual Russian tactics obstructed the way. The govern- ment put in as receiver a woman lawyer without any previous business experience. Robbins objected, took the case into court and acted as his own lawyer. His plea was so logical that Bevan was installed as co- receiver with the lady attorney. I need scarcely add that the Ocean Travel Bureau is now becoming a thing of the past. The Ocean Travel Bureau has various companions in misfortune. The case of the Russo-Caucasian Company, a British con- cern organized to engage in imports and exports in the Caucasus, shows another kind of soviet interference with business. Without the slightest warning, it received an order from the Soviet Government to liquidate its affairs in Russia within a month. No reason was assigned for it. This order followed a long series of irritat~ ing and panty J obstructions. I can best indicate one brand by quoting Sir John Hewett, chairman of the company. In commenting on the incessant control of affairs by Moscow, he said: “In the case of one of our largest consign- ments of goods from Russia the export duty was suddenly doubled while the goods were in transit from Baku to Batum. After the consignment had left the Russian port for mal figure again. It is impossible to carry on normal business transactions under such fluctuations, and the company, which had had, of course, to pay the extra duty, sold the goods at a great disadvantage.” The most amazing example of the soviet attitude toward alien industry is disclosed in the Urquhart concession. Leslie i pal is one of the romantic figuresin world production. Bornin Smyrna of Scotch parents, he joined his father in business in the Caucasus in 1896, and since that time he has been conspicuous in Rus- sian affairs. As general manager of the Russian Petroleum and Baku-Russian Com- panies, he produced at one time 30 per cent of the total oil output in the old Russian empire. Convinced of the mineral wealth of Russia, he began in 1907 to organize and develop the chain of gold, silver, copper, platinum and lead properties, comprising 2,500,000 acres, which were subsequently amalgamated in the Russo-Asiatic Consoli- dated, with a capital of £45,000,000. In the technical exploitation of these Siberian interests Urquhart had a worthy colleague in Herbert eon. A Repudiated Agreement Upon the confiscation of the Russo- Asiatic properties in 1918, Urquhart filed a claim for £56,000,000 damages against the Soviet Government. Subsequently, during the temporary progress of the White armies under Kolchak, the mines came back under the original control and were operated for a short time. With the eclipse of the White cause they fell into soviet hands, and there they have remained ever since. When Krassin came to London in 1921 to conclude the British trade agreement the Urquhart concession naturally became a bargaining asset. Urquhart was invited to Moscow; but after a long discussion, no understanding was reached. The following year came the event that showed how com- plete was Lenine’s mastery of Russia, Ata conference held in Berlin an agreement was signed by Krassin on behalf of the Soviet Government and Urquhart for the Russo- Asiatic, by which all rights were restored and giving the company £2,509,000 compensa- tion. i might add here that when the Bolos seized the Russo-Asiatic mines they grabbed eash and refined ore worth £10,000,000. Everything looked lovely and it only re- mained for the Council of Commissars at Moscow to put the seal of final approval on the transaction. When the agreement came up Lenine calmly announced that it was unwise, for political purposes, to ratify it and his will prevailed. Although the con- cession was discussed at Genoa, The Hague —— the duty was reduced to the nor- | and Lausanne in 1923, and in 1924 at the | Anglo-Russian conference in London, no | further action has been taken. The greatest | mining properties in Siberia, into which | hundreds of investors have put their money, remain the pawn of soviet politics. Such is the fate of most foreign enterprise in Russia. Obviously, Bolshevism and good business are strangers. Editor's Note—This is the sixth of a series of arti- cles by Mr. Marcosson dealing with Russia. The next will be devoted to Kalinin, the pcasant president. Power is the big thing in motoring— you must have it and no matter what size the motor or what make the car the engine must be made to perform at maximum efficiency at all times. To operate at maximum power at minimum cost, “get ‘er hot and keep ‘er hot" because it's the properly heated motor, the car with the Allen Shutter Front, that will save you gas and oil, minimize crankcase oi! dilution and thus cut to the lowest depreciation from wear and tear. The Allen Shutter front with its full “open ing” permits perfect radiation at ell tem peratures, Ghe ALLEN SHUTTER FRONT “Good All Year” Not aa automatic; positive hand control from the dash. No complicated working parts to get out of order—quickly attached. Beautiful in design and finish, the Allen Shutter Front improves the appearance of the car while in- creasing the power and gener- al efficiency of the motor. Buy the Allen Shutter Front cadee from your accessory dealer or service station Complete Ford Special $12.00 Distributors Wetmore-Savage Co., Bostca and Springfield Geo. W. Nock Co., Inc., Philadelphia, Pa Jomes Martir, New York, N. Y Elin Auto Supply Co., Newark, N. J Fiske Automotive Supply Co,, Albany, N. ¥ Syracuse-Watson Stabilator Co., Syracuse, N.Y H. D. Taylor Company, Buffalo, N. Y Baltimore Hub Wheel & Mfg. Co., Baltimore, Md Foster Auto Supply Co., Denver, Colo Northern Automotive Supply Co., Bay City, Mich. Dyke Motor Supply Co., Pittsburgh, Pa. Shadbolt & Boyd Iron Co., Milwaukee, Wis Kelley-How-Thomson Co., Duluth, Minn Minneapolis lron Store Co., Minneapolis, Minn Farrell AutoSupply Company ,Inc.,Brockiyn,N Y. The Dine-DeWees Company, Canton, Ohio Sole Manufacturers The Allen Auto Specialty Company 16 West Gist St., New York 2015 Michigan Ave., Chicago Write for interesting facts on “crankcase oil dilution”. Mention make of car “Get er Hot and } C1 =) o =) mg (0) oa

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- Buster Brown ee Sipe ~ 4 A Smart Styles — Plus Health-Protection The chic simplicity of Buster Brown Shoes for Girls is the correct note in smart shoe styles this fall. Their graceful lines give added charm to both high and low models. In these smart styles the exclusive eighteen- measurement Brown Shaping Lasts insure a nicety of fit and a correctness of form that protect and develop the growing feet — normally, gracefully, healthfully. This health-protection is the added value in Buster Brown Shoes—both for girls and for boys-—~that costs you nothing and can be had only in these shoes. Good stores everywhere sell Buster Brown Shoes at $3, $4, $5 and up. Have your boy or girl fitted with them and then judge their superior merits for yourself. Brown tt Shoes for Men—and for Women You never apologize to yourself when you wear Brown'i!t Shoes for Men. Smartly styled, they fit perfectly and excel in wear—at $6to$10. You can prove this to your entire satisfaction atany shop that selis them. The smart styles in Brownbilt Shoes for Women are unrivaled, yet they retail at $6 to $10, Look for celluloid insert with the name Brownbil’, om —_Z ti Pa. Buster's Picture in every pair Dasa. Daoe Gowan, Dw.avas WeoQ.. Manufacturers iG : =) THE SATURDAY EVENING POST December 13,1924 FOREHEADS VILLAINOUS (Continued from Page 13) mouth had a cruel twist at the corners. Farr Dunkin one day saw him catch at the ear of the near horse and twist it viciously, till the creature snorted with pain. Squeb, the third of the unholy trio, was a small man, with a curious pallor seserns his skin and a malicious smile habitually twist- ing his lips. Dunkin used to go down and spend an afternoon watching them at their work and come home to retail to Mrs. Dunkin every detail of their movements. “A bad lot, they are,” he would say. “You'll all see’t before we’re through.” “Well, I must say I got a start the first time that pock-marked one come to the kitchen door for milk,’”” Mrs. Dunkin agreed. “There’s an ugly look about him, for cer- tain. But I can’t see but what they’re quiet enough, and tend their own affairs. And I will say seems to me you’ ve got some- thing better to do than watch them all afternoon!” Mancini seemed serenely unconscious of the terrifying aspect of his men. He used to boast to Dunkin of the amount of work they did. “But they must beshown how, of course,” he would concede. ‘‘ They must have a man to see that they do things so and so.” One day Farr said to him, “If it was me, I'd be afraid they’d do me harm sometime, the way they look.” Mancini smiled and waved a hand. “To be afraid of such men! Pooh! Even if there was anything to fear, to fear it would be worse than its happening. But why should I be afraid of them?” “They look like bad ones to me,” Farr insisted. “T have learned that a fine tall tree may be rotten inside,” Mancini told him. ‘“‘Also, sometimes I have cut a tree which looked like rubbish, and it has made good logs just the same. They are good men, I tell you; | and I know, because I make them good.” There can be no doubt that Mancini was | sincere in saying this, and Bianca seemed also on mildly friendly terms with the men. She used to go down to the mill with lunch for her father; and Farr Dunkin faithfully reported the fact that on such occasions she would laugh and talk with them all four while they ate together. Mrs. Dunkin, by this time quite definitely the girl’s partisan, | defended her. “That’s her friendly way,’’ she retorted. “And why shouldn’t she talk to them?” Farr said morosely, “‘ Well, there’s ways of talking and ways of looking at a man.” ““What do you know about the way a girl looks at a man, your time of life?”’ she de- manded. ‘You're like every other man; you're just old enough to be foolish.” But tor all that, Dunkin may have been right in his opinion. Certainly Ned found it wise to avoid contact with any one of the three. Kollock was the first one of them he encountered; and the surly giant looked at Ned with a spreading grin of scorn, and spoke to him derisively, and called him Curly! Thereafter, they never addressed the young man without applying to him | this derisive epithet. Ned ineffectually re- sented this, but he had no thought of bring- | ing the matter to an issue. So as the summer progressed he found himself drifting into a position where he had to be careful not to cross their paths. One day a cow strayed through a gap in the pasture wall where Wrench ok cut the wire to pass through with his team; and Ned, following the cow, encountered Wrench with his horses. The pock-marked man was swear- ing at his beasts. Jhen he saw Ned, he grinned derisively and called, “‘Ain’t you afraid to be so far from home, Curly?” , Ned said slowly, “I’m hunting for a cow.” Wrench chuckled. “Why, you’rea regular milkmaid, what?” “You had oughtn’t to have cut that wire,”” Ned replied moderately. “‘Wan’t any need of doing it; or if you did, you could have fixed it after.” Wrench scowled and strode three steps toward him and belligerently demanded, “Oh, is that so? Well, you going to make anything out of it, Curly?” “Why, I was figuring on asking Mr. Mancini not to have you do it,” Ned told him—and made the mistake of taking a backward step. Wrench crowded toward him and he meet backward a second time. “Well, you take my advice and keep your mouth shut,” Wrench told him viciously. “You try to make trouble for me and I'll mix you up a mess of it for yourself.” There was a cold ferocity about the other’s bearing which daunted Ned; this in spite of the fact that he was taller and heavier than the other man. He swallowed uncertainly. Fisticuffs are not usual in Fraternity; a fight is a rare thing, and since it is instinctive to dread the unknown, most men thereabouts avoid a conflict if they can. There was a moment’s silence; and then Ned turned aside and passed the other and went on his way, mumbling something unintelligible. He found that Wrench reported the in- cident to his fellows; they reminded him of it again and again during the succeeding weeks. Furthermore, and perhaps because they were emboldened by this contact with Ned, they began to assume a bullying and aggressive attitude toward the other folk thereabout. Most men in Fraternity have a good deal of spare time; and this being the case, there is apt to be a little group of idlers around the scene of any activity. Thus it would have been natural, on a warm afternoon, to discover three or four farmers sitting on a log beside the mill, watching the work and whittling or talking slowly together. But as the reputation of the three ruffians spread, men learned to stay away. It was not that Kollock and Wrench and Squeb ever actually manhandled anyone; but they individually and collectively dis- played a readiness to do so, which was disturbing. Mancini was, or seemed to be, oblivious of this situation; but his daughter was not so blind. The fact that the three had ter- rorized the neighborhood was brought home to her one day in a fashion particularly discreditable to Ned. She and the young man, as the summer progressed, had be- come more and more friendly. She found it pleasant to watch him about his work, to watch the ease with which he performed tasks calling for some strength, and to watch the play of color in his cheeks when she spoke to him; she found it pleasant also to perceive that his thoughts were ful) of her. He had never told her so, but it was sufficiently manifest to the gir!; and she was approaching the point where she might lead him to tell her. The manner of telling would go far to determine what her answer weuld be. She perceived clearly enough his lack of aggressiveness and force; but this, she thought, might be simply be- cause it had never been necessary for him to display these qualities. Bianca and her father, alone together in the world, had few secrets from each other; and she told him her feeling for Ned. He said soberly, “He is a nice boy, Bianca; but not the sort you will like very much. I have watched that young man. He is as much afraid of shadows as if he had never been out in the dark.” That Mancini should criticize Ned was enough to lead Bianca to defend him. “He does not go strutting like a great turkey,” she agreed. “But that proves nothing at all.” Mancini shook his head. “The thing a man needs is to know how strong he is,’’ he on po “This boy knows nothing. If I should ask him can he fall a tree for me in ten minutes, he does not know. If I should ask him can he haul six logs on a load, he does not know that either.” “But he can!” she cried. Her father smiled. “Then he ought to know he can,” he told her, “or it does him no good &t all.” She reached the point of defending Ned even to herself; of seeing his weakness, yet finding apologies for it. But one after- noon— Mancini had driven to East Harbor on business—even her loyalty was con- founded. Ned was working in the garden atch in the field above the pasture wall. ianca, who not infrequently acted as su- viento d and director of operations during er father’s occasional absences, started for the mill to see that the work there went forward as it should. She took the way along the wall, and sto for a moment to talk to Ned there. They were in sight from the mill, and Kollock left his tasks and came up the slope toward them. Bian- ca’s back was turned, but she saw the di- rection of Ned’s eyes and wheeled and perceived Kollock; and when he was (Continued on Page 100)

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It don’t go through the logs the way it ought to.” She nodded. “T’ll be down,” she replied. “You better come along,” he urged. ‘I guess we ought to stop for the day.” She saw that he was watching Ned, and with that instinct which women have in such matters guessed that he had come up the hill to take her away from the younger man. | But Ned at last said slowly, ‘ So she said to Ned now, “Walk down with us.” Ned hesitated, “Why, all right.” But Kollock interposed. “‘Guess you better stay here and keep digging, Curly,” he said harshly. ‘This is your job, up om then said doubtfully, ere. Bianca felt her pulses lift and the quick fire of anger rise in her; and she watched Ned to see what he would do. She saw the young man swallow hard and pale a little; and she thought it was anger that made him pale, and her heart leaped. | “Why, that’s right; I guess I better stay here. Bianca gave him a burning glance under which his eyes dropped. Then with a swing of her body that made her skirts twirl in- solentiy, she thrust her hand through Kol- lock’s arm. Ned could not know that this was more to hurt him than to please Kol- | lock. He stood, sick and miserable, watch- ing them go together down the hill; and his brow was wet with desire to do that which he dared not do, Thereafter Bianca made it quite clear that she had only scorn for him; and Ned, his days filled equally with longing for Bianca and with fear of the three, was unhappy indeed. The patch of spruce approached exhaus- tion and Mancini began to look around for fresh timber. The search took him away for a day at a time; and sometimes Bianca went with him, but more often she stayed behind to oversee the work at the mill. Late in September it became necessary for him to go away for a period of three or four days and he left her in charge. This was the first time Mancini had been away overnight since the work began. He left on Friday; and Farr Dunkin came up from the mill Saturday afternoon, wagging his head and predicting trouble. “They've got hold of some liquor, them three down there,” he said. “1 see them drinking out of a bottle, and it looks right bad to me. Mrs. Dunkin had a lively courage and she made light of his forebodings. “| guess it wouldn't be surprising if they | did take a drink,” she declared, ‘“‘with Mr. Mancini gone. If the cat’s away, the mice’ll play, every time. But I don’t see as it's any harm to us. She did not mention her husband’s word to Bianca. Of late the girl had withdrawn into herself, avoiding Ned, wearing a more silent mien about the house, and Mrs. Dun- kin was puzzled by this silence, and faintly disturbed by it. “She acts like there her mind,” she told Farr. be leaving in a month now, I can stand it.” “She spends a pile of time down at the mill,” he said gloomily. ‘I dunno what he’s thinking, to let her.” “T guess it’s none of our affair,” was something on “But they'll and I guess Mrs. | Dunkin retorted. high x 22” wide. Runs 30 hours Miack dial, radium han and numerals, $1.00 extra Similar to Rascal 30-hour | Square Spark: tlarm in this No timepiece. No $9 5) $1.00 extra 1ock Black dial, radium hands anc numerals West of the Rocky Mountains and in Canada prices t bit higher Patents Peading ive At Leading Dealers’ ANSONIA CLOCK COMPANY Makers of Fine Ciocks for Half 99 John Se. Dept. P a Centur New York t - — =" (A) V ANSONIA means CLOCKS | At dusk that Saturday night Wrench drove his team up through the pasture to | ask for fresh hay for their beds, and Ned helped him load it. Wrench was in an ami- able mood; a mood, Ned thought, that was sinister and alarming. He came back again at suppertime for milk; and Bianca met him and looked at the man with a sharp eye and said accusingly, “‘ You've had something to drink.” He grinned apologetically. “Why, just a drop, just a drop,” clared. “It’s Saterday night.” “What was it?”’ she asked sharply. “We had a pint of rum,” he told her. “A pint? Is that all?” “Yes, ma’am, " he protested, ' “How did you come by it? “There's a farmer that makes it, confessed. “How much have you drunk?” he de- “every bit.” ” he EVENING POST “ we Then “Well,” Wrench said carefully, didn’t take any till we shut down. I guess we finished it, ma’am.”’ She considered this; then said scorn- fully, “As long as that’s all there was - ~~ see that you behave yourselves.” Jhy, we’re always on good behavior when the boss is away,” he assured her, and she let him go. Yet it is probable that they all felt some faint uneasiness that evening. Farr Dunkin kept his doubts to himself, and Mrs. Dun- kin was determinedly cheerful; but Bianca was very silent, and Ned said no word during supper or afterward. Watering the stock in the barn after supper, he heard faintly the sound of a ribald voice in song; and under the cloak of darkness, when his chore was done, he went down across the pasture toward ‘the woodlot where the men had their shanties. A fire burned in the edge of the wood and he crept near and saw that Kollock and Wrench were drink- ing in turn, pouring their drink into a cup from a jug. Squeb he could not see, and he crept a little nearer; and then Squeb spoke from his elbow in the darkness. “Come and have a little drink with us, Curly,” he invited in a thick voice. ‘‘Come and have a drink with the men.” His hand was on Ned’s arm, held its grip in spite of Ned’s start of alarm; and before Ned could speak, the ratlike man called to the two beside the fire. ‘‘ Here’s Curly come to see us,” he shouted; and Kollock and Wrench lurched toward them with awkward haste and full of derisive hospitality. Ned was compelled to go for- ward with them into the circle of light. The hour that followed was for him an experience full of terror. The men were sufficiently good-natured; but they were at the same time insistent that he take drink for drink with them. The raw smell of molasses which rose from the crude liquor and the burning shock of its passage down his throat at once sickened him and tortured him. Farr Dunkin always made cider and allowed it to harden; but Mrs. Dunkin saw to it that her husband and her son partook abstemiously, so Ned’s system was quite unprepared for this assault. When assed from swimming confusion to mis- ae despair, the three permitted him to stumble away from the fire into the dark- ness. Half walking, half crawling, he made his way toward the house; but when he reached the barn his senses forsook him and he fell upon a pile of hay on the floor. Farr Dun- kin, sent to search for his son, found him there; and he and Mrs. Dunkin got Ned to bed. Farr pointed out in grim triumph that he had predicted the worst; and Mrs. Dunkin, in mounting anger, declared that she would have a word to say to Mancini when he returned. Bianca had gone up- stairs for the night and knew nothing of what had happened; but at breakfast, when Ned did not appear, Mrs. Dunkin related the incident, in wrathfui tones, to Mancini’s daughter. The girl had been telling herself for a month that Ned was a weakling and a coward and so beneath even sympathy; she had convinced herself that she despised him. But she listened now to his mother’s words with a mounting fury of rage against the three, so overwhelming that it made her forget all else that had occurred; and she rose at last and went toward the door. Mrs. Dunkin asked, *‘ Where you going?” “I’m going down there,” said Bianca thickly. “Down to the mill. I'll make them sorry!” She was choking with rage. Mrs. Dunkin cried, “Land, child, you can’t do that! Down to them men!” She followed Bianca to the door and out into the yard, still protesting; but the girl paid her no heed, went straight on her way. Farr Dunkin came to the kitchen door and watched them go, and he thought of going with them. “But there ain’t no sense in that,” he told himself. ‘‘Couple of women’re safe enough; but them three would take me apart for sure.’ When a little later Ned came out of his room, stumbling and miserable still, Farr told him what had happened. The word sobered Ned; he stood still, groping for understanding. Then with uncertain steps started toward the door. Farr asked, “‘Where you going, Ned?” “Going down there,”’ Ned replied. ““What’s the sense of that? They'll be all right.” hey hadn’t ought to go alone,”” Ned replied uncertainly, and took the way his mother and the girl he loved had gone. December 13,1924 Mrs. Dunkin was a small woman; Bianca was taller, and she was also quicker of movement, so that the exertion of keeping pace with her rendered the older woman breathless and silenced her protestations. At the same time, since the girl went so swiftly forward, Mrs. Dunkin began to lag behind; her steps became hesitant and un- certain. When she came to the knoll in the pasture above the mill, Bianca had already passed it and was approaching the fringe of trees in which the men had their shanties. Mrs. Dunkin stood still, catching her breath, and watched from that distance of a hun- dred yards or so what went forward be- tween Bianca and the men. There were two shanties, set against each other, in one of which Mrs. Dunkin knew the men did their cooking and ate their meals, while in the other were their bunks. Both doors were open; and Mrs. Dunkin saw Bianca go directly to the door of the structure in which the men slept and enter without hesitation, and emerge again with a stone jug in her hands. There was a bowlder to one side of the door; she went toward it and swung the jug in the air with both hands and flung it down, so that it shattered into splinters. Stood then, her bosom heaving with anger. At the same time little Squeb, the ratlike man, appeared in the doorway and lifted his hand and seemed to utter some prot- estation. Mrs. Dunkin heard his disordered voice; heard Bianca’s shriller tones as with her tongue she lashed and berated him. Wrench appeared behind him, and then Kollock, and the three moved slowly into the open. They had quite evidently been asleep, for their movements were stumbling and uncertain, and Kollock rubbed his hands across his eyes. And at first they stood before the girl like culprits, only Wrench venturing to defend himself against her reproaches. Mrs. Dunkin had no fur- ther impulse to go toward them; she stayed where she was and watched, moving nerv- ously, her hand twitching at her throat, intensely curious, trembling with nervous excitement. She was not near enough to perceive that there was a change in the tenor of the scene before her; that the men, now fully awake and goaded by the sullen discom- fort of their awakening, were assuming a more truculent tone. But she did see that Squeb put his hand on Bianca’s arm and that the girl struck his hand scornfully away. Bianca seemed unconscious of the significance of this new movement; but it startled Mrs. Dunkin, and she looked around uncertainly, groping for help. Then she saw Ned coming toward her across the pasture from the barn. and she beckoned to him and called to him to hurry. He came to her side, and she cried, “We've got to get her away from them.” Ned looked toward the group beyond the mill, and as he did so, Wrench abruptly caught the girl’s wrist. She would have twisted free, but the giant Kollock was behind her, blocked her escape, and then Wrench had his arms around her. Ned started forward, at first uncertainly and then in blind haste; but as matters chanced, Bianca had at the moment no need of him. She must have expected some such move on the part of one of the men, and been pre- pared for it, for Wrench abruptly uttered a loud and angry cry of pain and thrust himself away from her, sending her stum- bling backward. Mrs. Dunkin heard him cry, “Stuck a hatpin into me! Look out for it! Grab her, big fellow!” Kollock tried clumsily to do as he was bidden, but the girl evaded him. Then Ned called to her, “‘Run! Here!” And she heard his voice and ran toward him, her skirts gathered out of her way. The three men, driven now by rage as well as by the excitement of pursuit, sprang after her, Wrench swiftly and almost on her heels, Squeb and Kollock following behind. Bianca passed Ned, and he blundered against Wrench and by some lucky chance sent that man sprawling across a patch of juniper. Bianca had gone on; she checked herself for a moment and saw that Ned was free and following her, and they two ran in something like a panic up the gentle slope toward the barn. Mrs. Dunkin had already fled; she was halfway to the house ahead of them. Ned was desperately afraid. The three men bounding behind him assumed the proportions of monsters, yet though he could have overtaken Bianca, he was careful not to do so; kept behind her, kept a watch across his shoulder at the others. (Continued on Page 103)

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——™ ata Me | eS — _ . — — a — as SS = RADI “Write to W TA M lp THE SATURDAY EVENING POST You asked me what caused the noises in your radio set. Here’s a diagram that will help you. The’ red line tells the story. B Batteries connected right to your phones. Al/ radio sets are built this way. When B’s start to run down their current gets jumpy, and there’s a crash or a sizzle in every jump. I used to think that Old Man Static made these noises until I got my Willards and listened to the difference. Take my advice, Jim—get Willards. You can depend upon them to give steady cur- rent for a long, long time. Willards require very little recharging, and you can do that right at home with an inexpensive little rectifier in circuit with an ordinary light bulb. Why keep buying batteries when Willards last for years, and give better results? Yours noiselessly, Dann ° Do you want better results? Send in the Coupon. FOR SALE AT WILLARD SERVICE STATIONS AND RADIO DEALERS { The Voice of the Storage Battery J WTAM is the Radio Research Laboratory and Broadcasting Sta- tion of the Willard Storage Battery Company, Cleveland, Ohio. Mail me to WTAM, Cleve- land, O. Vll bring you “Better Results.” Its function consists of research which is being done to improve the quality of radio reception and the broadcasting of radio programs for your entertainment. Write for WTAM’s own booklet, “Better Results from Radio.” Most ceeeeneeneeaeee eee coda ec eneennenennananeey interesting booklet ever published on this subject. Mailed to you with our compliments. PTT TTL E LI eee eee Street Address P.4

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST December 13,1924 What better gift could you offer at Christmas time than one whose usefulness all through the year will be a constant reminder of the giver? There's the big Simplex Sunbowl for example, radiating enough warmth and good cheer to earn a place for itself beneath any Christ- mas tree. It provides a glowing fireplace in any room where you have an electric light socket. There's the fluffy eiderdown Simplex Heating Pad to give comfort to the entire family. Safe, convenient and dependable, easily regulated—it provides the best means of applying heat for any ill that can be success- fully created with heat. The new Simplex irons include the DeLuxe with its Bakelite handle at $6.75 and its lower priced companion at $4.50. Different in appearance, Sunbowl « two sizes of course, but they both have the same time-tried Simplex heating ele- $5.00 and $10.06 ment, the same durable nickel finish and are equally easy to handle. an Think of the many ironing days stretching ahead when the gift of either s ’ one of these irons will be most appreciated. Simplex Electric And then there's the Simplex Cord-Set with its unbreakable all-steel plug that will fit any electric appliance in the home. There's a lifetime of use- fulness in it. Why not let these Simplex quality products solve some of your Christ- Simplex Electric mas shopping problems? They are gifts that will live long in the memory. Heating Pad ' Sal $8.50 If your dealer cannot supply you, order direct, mentioning his : name, and pay the postman when he delivers the merchandise. e SIMPLEX ELECTRIC HEATING COMPANY, CAMBRIDGE, MASS. & - ea ase —* «) Simplex DeLuxe Electric Iron $6.75 3 * ae 2 * . vs ee ya “} | " ? og , the UNBREAKABLE all-steel Fe 4 “BF fer, ¥ mI rs ae plug $] «3 : mere Ay Bo i iv * 53 a bs same wW ou eo Py COUPON CL» | >) SIMPLEX ELECTRIC HEATING CO., bey al *« Cambridge, Mass “* . * * Please send a Simplex Sunbowl (large, small)— " ) Heatirg Pad— DeLuxe Iron—$4.50 Iron—Cord-Set— be Pt p for which T will pay the postman price shown in W 3 w this advertisement Name Address Dealer's Name * Cr 08s Out articles mot wanted

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—— (Continued from Page 100) The girl, naturally so courageous, was stricken now with an equal fear and fled as fast as he. From pasture to barn there ran a high- fenced lane, the fences, by some chance, of barbed wire and in good repair. Up this lane the cattle were accustomed to come at dusk and wait outside the tie-up door to be admitted for the night, lowing in mild impatience now and then. Along this lane Mrs. Dunkin ran as fast as she could. She was momentarily in the grip of a blind and hysterical terror, frantic and unreasoning; so that when she reached the barn and had entered the door, she turned and flung it shut and dropped the bar in place to hold it against the pursuers; then with equal speed ran on toward the house. Bianca and Ned, overhauling her, were still too far behind to prevent her closing the door; and Wrench was close upon their heels, Squeb twenty yards beyond, Kollock laboring in the rear. Bianca came to the door and shook at it, and Ned brushed her aside to try his strength. They wasted thus a pre- cious moment, and when Ned turned it was already too late to avoid his pursuer. The wire fences prevented flight to right or left, the barn was behind; and Wrench, grin- ning with his exertions, was scarce two rods away as he ran. Ned, in a blind panic of fear, looked wildly about him for a weapon. Leading up to the door there was an inclined plane with two-by-fours laid as cleats across it; and he saw that one of these was loose at one end, resting at an angle. He stooped and tore it free. There was no time to swing this as a club, so Ned, with a move- ment purely automatic, drove it straight at Wrench as the other sprang upon him. The stroke—a thrust backed by all Ned’s strength—by pure chance caught Wrench fairly in the stomach, and the man was flung backward and down to the ground. Now there is inevitably, about the figure of a man suddenly and surprisingly felled by a blow in the stomach, something faintly ludicrous. Wrench, his arms inwrapping his body, rolled in the mire upon the ground and roared with pain; and Ned, vastly to his own astonishment, wanted to laugh. His lips, drawn tight across his teeth with THE SATURDAY fear a moment before, did twist into a grin; but his chief sensation was one of enormous surprise. He had grown to think of Wrench and of these other men as omnipotent and invulnerable; had lived all summer in an increasing fear of them, too strong to over- come; had never been able to persuade himself that he could meet one of them on even terms. The fact that he held a weapon in his hands did not occur to him as an explanation of his success in this first en- counter; the bit of wood was become a part of him, to be used as readily as he would have used his hands. He aay knew that he had struck down this sinister and relentless—and powerful—man; and he swelled with a swift rush of pride in the knowledge, while Wrench howled and groaned with pain; and little Squeb, rat- like and suddenly cautious, paused at a safe distance to see what was to come; and Kollock, blindly persistent, lumbered into the mouth of the iane fifty yards away. Ned felt a sudden lust to complete this process of destruction. If Wrench could be vanquished, then so could the others. He was quite unconscious of Bianca at his side, of her swift words of encouragement and pride. He left her there without so much as a glance and ieaped toward where Squeb hovered; and the little man, after a mo- mentary hesitation, turned and scuttled away before him, his feet twinkling like a terrier’s, darting past Kollock so sharply that the giant was perplexed and paused to look after him, and then to look toward Ned. Ned was a sufficiently terrifying figure, and Wrench’ 8 outcries attested the young man’s prowess. So Kollock, too, turned and started to run patiently back along the way he had come. Seen face to face, Kol- lock was formidable; but from the rear he was simply a big man slightly over- weight. This surplus flesh stood him in ill part now; for Ned overtook him quickly enough, and the stave in Ned’s hand spatted across the nearest part of Kollock’s anatomy which offered itself, and Kollock squalled like a stricken bull and tried to run faster, and Ned relentlessly spanked him again and again. Kollock had no notion of making a stand; his only desire was to escape. He was as EVENING POST desperately desirous of leaving Ned behind as is one who strives to escape the atten- tion of an angry swarm of hornets. His very haste, ineffectual to save him, was so ludicrous that it made Ned want to laugh. The lust for battle gave way in him to un- controllable mirth. The sight of Squeb just topping the stone wall up the hill and disappearing over the horizon completed Ned’s overthrow, and he gave over the se aw and flung his weapon after Kol- ock’s departing figure, administering a fare- well buffet which was near sending the big man to the ground. Ned stood for a mo- ment, assuring himself that Kollock’s ap- parent desire to go away from there was not assumed; then witha chuckle he turned, and so remembered Bianca, and went back toward the barn. He had a momentary fear that Wrench might have recovered sufficiently to turn upon her; but when he reached the barn, Farr Dunkin stood in the door of the tie-up with a shotgun in his hands, importantly on guard, and Wrench lay passively moan- ing on the ground. Behind the girl, within the barn; and he was sud- denly very anxious to have words with her, and passed his father by. So he came to where Bianca waited to tell him that her mind toward him was changed and that it would never change again. “It made me want to laugh,” said Ned frankly, when he had related the affair to Mancini upon the lumberman’s return. “Yes, sir, it just struck me funny. I'd been so—so seared of them; and then come to find out, when I turned on them, they was just as scared of me.” Farr, Ned saw | Mancini chuckled, and he looked up at | his daughter where she stood so proudly | behind Ned’s chair, and he nodded his head. | “Tt happens that way many times,”’ he said. ‘ You discover that the man you were | afraid of is even more afraid of you. If you shut your eyes it’s easy to see ghosts; but when your eyes are open, you can see there is nothing there. You've found out some- thing about yourself, then, young man.” ‘Guess I have,”” Ned nodded. “T have told Bianca sometimes,’ Man- cini commented, “that it’s hard to stop any man who knows what he can do.” PHOTO, FHOM EWING GALLOWAY, . ¥ Sheep in Tennessee Pass, Near Leadville, Colorado | Genuine Emeralites are branded. Look for | “At ) a7 5 arty — 7 4/ WUE FALSE ECAUSE of their service to eyes, Emeralites have a remarkable per sonal appeal and offer an opportunity to express your thoughtfulness with a gift that will enjoy enduring appreciation. t 1A Every home needs these useful and good look ing sight-savers for reading, writing, sewing or study Emeralite Junior Chases gloom from those cor- ners the big lights don’t reach. The restful Emerald ome shade protects the eyes rom glare and easily adjusts toany angle. 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It wasn’t long before the wireless whis- pering came—that uncanny circulation of news which runs through a store or a town, or even through an army, almost with the apeed of radio. One of the elevator men brought it up from the office floor, and it was fob Hirschman who told the major. “They say it’s a provisional appoint- ment,” he whispered; “just for the time being. I guess they want to see if he can hald it down.” It certainly held the major down. His next two customers came and went away unsold, unsatisfied, and when the third one did the same, Rogers marched over to see about it. “What's the matter, Browning?” he wsked. “That's three in a row, you know. Can't they find anything to suit them?” Outwardly, the major preserved the chil! of a terrible dignity; but inwardly, oh, how he bubbled and boiled! He gave Rogers one glance which should have blasted him ind disdainfully stalked away. uae db major was in his room again at Mrs. MeKenna’s. dressing for the evening. Again he had the electric iron in his hand, taking out a few wrinkles from the arms of his dinner jacket; but this time there wasn't even the semblance of joy in his work, no affectionate little stampings of the iren on the cloth; neo playful little movements in the corners. Indeed, at one time the major leaned dully over the handle of the iron and wondered whether it was worth while to go on with it at all. If it wasn't expected of him so implicitly. If everybody at Mrs. McKenna’s didn’t know that twice a week he either went tohis club or called upon fashionable friends And now was this to stop? And if it did, was everything else to stop? Was he to become all at once seedy old clerk who might any day lose his job and have the devil's own time to find another? At that, it was a toss-up. At that, the whole thing nearly stopped. For the major felt old that night-——realiy and truly old; old enough almost to go to bed without his dinner, and roll the clothes around him, and turn his face to the wall, and there in the dark to think those thoughts which come to old men who have nobody to love them and none to care a tinker’s dam whether they live or die Hut graduaily that passed off, being too deep a dip to last for long; and presently the major was thoughtfully ironing his coat again. These fashionable calls in the eve- ning were beginning to tell on him—were osting him more than they were worth. ven if he cut out nothing else, at least he could stop them. But tonight—no, that was tuo much like surrender, too much like taking Rogers sitting down. But whether or not tonight was to be the last night, he would do it properly; and so he dressed himself with his usual fastidious care and went downstairs a few minutes after the dinner bell rang, as handsome and gallant looking an old boy as you would have found anywhere in New York that night, gray though his hair was and grizzled his martial mustache Mrs. McKenna was already in her chair at the head of the table — herself a looker of no mean quality. The major’s nights for going cut were Mondays and Thursdays; and generally on Mondays and Thursdays Mrs. McKenna also dressed with unusual care, perhaps in order that the major might not find too great a contrast between her- self and his fashionable friends. “Good evening, major.” She smiled up at him as Leila drew his chair put; and a few moments later: “I see you are going out tonight.” “Yes,” said the major, not without im- portance. “| expect to make a few calls tonight one in particular that I should have made lahst month.” Her next remark was more confidential was almost whispered, so that the other bearders wouldn't hear it ‘You are going to see--Agnes It would be hard to tell when Mrs. Me- Kenna had started to worm it out of the major about Agnes——a rich old lady who was madly and frankly smitten with him her jewels, her dress, her limousine, her establishment on Park Avenue, her summer cottage at Watch Hill; and above all, the hostility of her children toward the major, and the latter's decision that however much THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ALL DRESSED UP (Continued from Page 11) he might like and respect her, no man could marry a woman with all that money except with damage both to his pride and self respect. “Ye-es,”” murmured the major from be- hind his martial mustache. ‘“1—ah—ah— rahther expect to see Agnes tonight.” His manner gave the impression that even Agnes might have to stand her chance. And so, as soon as dinner was over, he started out, silk-hatted and white-mufflered, gloved and sticked, and with one of those lightweight overcoats which are only seen on the world’s best dressers—an overcoat which in some mysterious fashion seemed to have a cape upon it and left you in doubt as to whether or not it had sleeves. Twice a week thus for years the major had sallied forth, a sartorial masterpiece adorned with grizzled eyebrows and an overhanging mustache, as though bound for his club or to make his fashionable calls. Yes, twice a week thus he sallied forth, deeming that his position demanded it of him and also as an excuse to wear his beau- tiful clothes. But to let you into the major’s secret without more ado, although he was all dressed up upon these evening sorties, the sad and mournful fact remains that he had no place to go. He sometimes dropped in at the more ex- pensive hotels, walking around the lobbies with frowning imipatience, as though look- ing for friends who were late. And some- times when the weather was warm he sat in the park on the Fifth Avenue side—a rich old gentleman, you understand, out for a breath of air. Then for diversion he knew anumber of distinguished apartment houses with entrances on two streets, and would sometimes be seen entering one of these ex- clusive warrens with an air of dignified preoccupation—although if you had been there and had dodged around the corner, you would presently have seen the major come stalking out again with the same dig- nified air as when he had entered. Or when the weather was bad, he would ride uptown in a Fifth Avenue bus as far as he could, and then with unabated dignity come rid- ing back again in the following machine. And that’s not all. The major, from long experience, had developed certain details of technic—innocent—oh, altogether inno- cent in themselves; and yet somehow they pleased his lonely old soul as he wandered around the city, all dressed up and no place to go. When riding along Fifth Avenue and passing one of the homes of the great, for instance, he would turn in his seat and look closely up at the windows, as though hoping to see a very dear friend inside; or just after passing one of the fashionable clubs, ne would raise his stick in salutation, as though he had recognized an acquaint- ance in the last window. But the bit of business which pleased him most was to stroll along Park Avenue and raise his hat to dowagers, and now and then to younger and lovelier ladies, who had just ridden past him in their cars; and even though ~~ saw him do it, which was seldom, the darkness of evening favored him, and all they could see was the outline of a gentle- man, irreproachably dressed, who nearly always looked like someone they knew. Whereupon they smiled and bowed back, and the major would probably have popped his old eyes out if he could have seen a list of those who had thus returned his greet- ings in the gloom, And so on the evening at which we have now arrived, Major Browning was strolling along Park Avenue, a striking, immaculate figure, his spats rising and falling with the rhythm of silent music, his silk hat dully gleaming in the rays of the electric light. Strolling thus, he passed a plump old dow- ager in summer sables who was getting out of a limousine in front of Sorrento Court one of those ultra apartment houses where each set of rooms is on two floors and every- one dresses in the evening to keep up side with the butlers. From the corner of his eye the major saw that the plump old dow- ager was well on her way across the side- walk; and then, half turning, as though he had only just placed her in his mind, he gallantly raised his hat—all this, you understand, without breaking his stride or pausing in the least degree. It was an inno- cent bit of business that he had often dlayed, and all would have been well if the ady hadn't suddenly turned her head and caught him with his hat suspended over his head like a gleaming black halo. Evidently she was impulsive, for the moment she saw him she made a gesture which seemed to say, “The hand of Providence!” And turning quickly in her tracks, she ran right after the major. “Oh, Fred!’’ she exclaimed, her hand upon his arm. “If you only knew how pleased I am to see you!” Frankly, the major couldn’t place her; but certainly his name was Frederick, and-—well, he might have known her some- where in the past. Her next words almost confirmed this latter thought. “After all these years,”’ she said, “and you've hardly changed at all.’ At this the major rose to opportunity, rose grandly, speaking discreetly and yet in his most cultured voice—a voice which matched alike his manner, his clothes and his drooping gray mustache. “You, if anything, dear lady,” said he, ‘are looking more chahming than ever.” Her answer to this was simple but direct. “Come in,”’ she said. ‘‘l want to speak to you.” The major hesitated for a moment; but obviously just after telling a lady that she looked more charming than ever, he couldn’t all at once drop his voice to a cold sour note and say “Madam, I don’t know you.” And when all was said and done, he might have known her—some girl, possibly, with whom he had gone to school and who had now risen—as the saying is—in the world; or some saleslady of the past, perhaps, who had married a millionaire, and might even now lead the major to those pinnacles of society of which he sometimes dreamed, and where every last boarder at Mrs. Mc- Kenna’s firmly believed that the major was already enthroned. Although this takes a few seconds to tell, he only hesitated for a moment; but trust a woman to sense a thing like that. “Surely you aren’t afraid of me!’ she said in a half-reproachful, half-coguettish manner. The old boy didn’t have those military mustaches for nothing. ‘“‘Surely you aren’t afraid of me!” Her hand upon his arm again—most unmistakably the hand of a laay of the beau monde—a lady, moreover, who was far from being as old or as stout as he had thought at first, and who was vaguely beginning to remind him of Mrs. McKenna. “Afraid of you?” he repeated. She nodded, looking up at him through her eyelashes; and after that Old Ned him- self couldn’t have held the major back. Vv THEY walked together into the entrance of Sorrento Court—a copy of a court- yard near Naples, which may some day be as famous as the Venus of Milo; but where on the Amalfi Road a bed of geraniums grows, in New York a telephone switch- board is located; and where, in the original, the Neapolitan housewives sit upon the benches and knit and sew and exchange the gossip of the day, in Manhattan a row of elevators has been oe. manned by Sene- gambians in royal livery who waft the élite to their aeries aloft as though they were nothing at all. “Any calls for me, Robert?” asked the lady in the summer sables. “No, Mis’ Yeatman,”’ said the boy at the switchboard; “no calls for yo’ ’is evening.” They were wafted aloft. “Mrs. Yeatman,” the major was think- ing. “‘M-m—a family of that name con- nected with the Bryces, I believe. And then, of course, there’s Judge Yeatman, and another branch of the family who mar- ried into the English nobility. But who this one is and whether she really knows me, or only thinks she does ———-"’ At that he dabbed his forehead with his handker- chief. “And yet, God knows,” he muttered to himself, quite flustered, “‘I hardly see how I can ahsk her who she is.” His reflections were interrupted by the stopping of the elevator at one of the upper floors; and a few moments later they were being admitted into an apartment by one of those old butlers who have been in the family since boyhood, and who are so com- fortably placed that one might sometimes wonder whether the butler is working for the family or the family is working for the butler. Old, yes, he may have been; but at least he knew a cnadininiate who was a gentleman the moment he saw one; and he took the major’s hat and coat and the December 13,1924 major’s stick and muffler with almost open approval. “‘ Any calls for me, Waters?” asked Mrs. Yeatman. _ “No, madam,” said the butler; “noth- ing.” “Nothing from Mr. Yeatman?”’ “No, madam; nothing yet.” The plump little lady led the major to the library, and as impulsively as she did everything else, she shut the door behind them. “Of course, Fred,”’ she began almost at once, ‘I don’t want you to think I’m un- happy, because I’m not; but, oh—well, you know the way Joe used to be as well as I do, and the only way he’s changed—he’s a little bit worse if anything.” There was an oil painting of a modern old gentleman over the fireplace, and the major guessed that this was old Joey himself evidently a hot old pot of tea, with a mili- tary mustache something like the major’s, except that it was bushy instead of droop- ing. Velasquez in a fiery moment—that was how the old gentleman of the painting looked; or D’Artagnan, Twenty Years After, just as he was about to cross swords with one of Colbert’s crew. “That and his jealousy together,”’ con- tinued the lady of the summer sables, sigh- ing a little. A little bit old for that, the major thought. But still glancing poiitely around the room, it began to grow upon him that the absent Joey was a bit of a pepper box, a Tartarin de Tarascon, one of those delect- able old souls who are always fiercely right and breathe loudly down their noses when contradicted. On each side of the painting was a pair of crossed swords, while on the table by his side an inkwell had been made from an exploded shell, and a dagger served for letter opener near by. “Bridge was bad enough,” he heard Mrs. Yeatman continuing; “but this dreadful mah-jongg is awful, especially when there isn’t any limit. And the worst of it is, 1 was lucky at first and spent it. So I can’t very well back out of it now when the others are beginning to win.” This may be regarded as a sandwich of speech, two slices of conversation, one on each side of a short disappearance during which she evidently went to her bedroom. At any rate, she brought back a tortoise- shell box——the type of box, inlaid with fili- greed silver, which a lady sometimes keeps upon her dresser. This box she now placed upon the library table; and although she casually opened it, the major didn’t look at it in any casual fashion, fer his eyes nearly popped out from under their brows at see- ing the sparkle of diamonds which suddenly blazed up at him from beneath the tortoise- shell lid. “A bracelet and a bar pin which Aunt Maida gave me,” continued Mrs. Yeatman, emptying them out uponthetable. ‘“Dread- fully old-fashioned, of course; but the stones are good, and that’s the main thing. Now, Fred, this is what I want you to do. I want you to take them to Rosenbaum’s in the morning—if you will, of course—and pledge them for five thousand. To be per fectly frank with you,” she added, after a moment’s silence, sensing again perhaps that the major was hesitating, “‘it isn’t the first time they’ve been there, so you needn't mind, you know.” “Oh, I don’t mind,” feebly objected the major. “It isn’t that, you know.” “Of course I realize, Fred, that you don’t enjoy a pawnshop, but think how much worse it would be for me. . Now there’s a good boy!” At these last words she held the jewels out to him; and though still unwilling be- neath the surface, the major slowly ex- tended his hand and made a shallow cup of his palm. After all, there was nothing ter- rifying in what he was being asked to do. He knew where Rosenbaum’s was—not half a dozen blocks from Prince & Banion’s; and now that he had surprised the secret of this impulsive little lady in her summer sables, all the more reason why he shouldn’t suddenly renege on the acquaintanceship. And besides, there was always this—even yet he might know her. She was beginning to remind him of a girl whom he had known at high school—oh, long before the Spanish- American War. “Well, all right,”’ he said, though still, it must be confessed, without enthusiasm. (Continued on Page 109)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ew Thinking About the Care of Teeth It ts Estimated that a Million New People Are Beginning to Use New thinking about the teeth admits more common sense—more cleaning and less wash-bowl diagnosis. This is indicated by the three broad facts that developed from an extensive investi- gation just completed. 1. People change their dentifrice fre- quently. 2. Flavor has the greatest appeal. 3. Little stock is taken in the confusing. advice given. In short, people are trying to have their teeth cleaned pleasantly and without danger. Preference for Dr. Lyon’s was shown to y Ws ern 530 WEST 27rn STREET, LYMANS, Canadian Distributors C REAM be constant and rapidly spreading. The flavor is both mild and delightful— not powerful. On this account mothers report less trouble in getting their children to use Dr. Lyon’s. It is not gritty. Nor does it give the feel- ing of a mouthful of scented soap. There is a notable demand for it among smokers. It cleans away the stains thor- oughly and sweetens the breath. All this has called for new distributing channels for Dr. Lyon’s. The rapidity of re-orders shows an amazing growth with new users—the changers—those who want a pleasant dentifrice and a thorough one. & SONS, Iwe. NEW YORK, N. Y. LIMITED, Montreal

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST December 13,1924

$ a SET NO. 31 Ster/ing Silver Belt gram and Buckle wwit/ enamel inlay. Specia aia Hickok Belt as shown Others at 87.50 ana more. ‘< SET NO Buckle of Hicxox Pirate, Hickos hand boarded cowhide Beltas shor

Others at 700. $1.50. $7.00

~~ — « PRA E ~

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST f ~Her Cj t to Fhim Your searcu for a Man’s Gitt can stop this minute. Hickok Buck ues of Sterling Silver are initialed and In this year’s great assortments of Christmas Gitts engraved with the precision and elegance associated for Men, nothing can compare with a Hickok Christ only with precious metals. Buckles of Hickok Piatt mas Set—Belt, Buckle and Beltogram. Never was a man’s gift so engagingly packed or so effectively enveloped by an atmosphere of elegance and worth. You might not know it, but every man wants a new Belt—he needs one for every suit. Your hus band, brother, father or sweetheart will cherish a are also beautifully engraved and initialed. Hickok léathers are the finest and most select in the world. Make your selection at once from the bountiful Christmas assortments of Hickok Belts, Buckles and Beltograms shown in your own city. Each set is laid smart-looking Hickok Belt. It will touch his heart on brilliant plush or silk in an artistic and exclusive and pride, and give years of service. Let-your gift Hickok case. Just as their unique beauty, novelty to him reflect your appreciation of his to you. and richness appear on the opposite page, so Don’t let him wear a shabby, wrinkled old Belt. you can see them now at your local merchants’, The Gift of Gifts for a —Man The Famous Hickok Shops in Rochester Branches: New Yorw City + Cuicaco + Toronto Sold Everywhere by Leading -~Nlen' s eho mS, ‘Department eytores, Etc. HICKOK Beltogram A Correct “Watch Guard 1 ! A little gift of elegance and beauty which fastens conveniently to the Belt : ’ ind protects one’s watch. Al everal oth ye t $1 Others in Hicxox Pirate, $2 WAIL ORDER § for all Hickox Sets filled promptly

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST December 15,1924 THIS BEAUTIFUL LE UIPOISE RB PEERLESS Gy mey SUCCESS— nothing so aptly expresses the / instant and enthusiastic approval that has greeted the new Peerless Equipoised Eight. Both fine car buyers and the automobile trade have hailed this new Peerless as the greatest and most revolutionary engineering advance of recent years. Equipoise—the positive elimination of vibration at all speeds! That is what Peerless has developed in its new V-type eight cylinder motor. A single ride in this new Peerless Equipoised Eight will reveal how silken smoothness can be coupled with tre- mendous power—how strength of construction can be combined with superlative beauty and the finest of craftsmanship. The Peerless dealer in your town willgladly send a Peerless Equipoised Eight to your home or office for a demonstra- tion. Advise him by phone of a date convenient to you. The vich beauty and fine finish of this new Hydraulic 4 wheel brakes + + Balloon tires eee pr Seven body styles who are most fastidious. ‘ THE PEERLESS MOTOR CAR COMPANY, CLEVELAND, OHIO The Equipoised Peerless Eight and the New Peerless Six

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(Continued from Page 104) “T'll see Rosenbaum tomorrow. Five thousand, you said?”’ “You dear boy!” she murmured, as the jewelry disappeared in the major’s pocket. “If you only knew how much you were helping me! They were standing close together, and in that impulsive manner which some dear elderly ladies have—and some who aren’t so old, but are quite as dear—it may be that she patted the major’s arm. Thinking it over later, he wasn’t quite sure that she was patting his arm, but he was sure that suddenly the door opened and old Joey entered—old Joey of the bushy mustache and the bellicose ornaments—old Joey, whose first glance seemed to shake itself like a tabasco bottle on the tortoise-shell casket on the table, and whose second glance then leaped to his wife and the ma- jor, who in some strange manner, appar- ently without knowing it, had somehow allowed two upholstered chairs and a Chi- nese rug to move right in between them v R. YEATMAN, like the major, was in evening attire. But although he was dressed for good manners, as one might say, his speech certainly wasn't dressed that way. “Well, well, well!’’ said he. Not so much the words, you know, as the tone. The major began to feel hot where his collar touched him. He had stood a lot that day, and possibly Nature now de- manded that the account should be bal- anced. Moreover it had struck him, the moment his glance had fallen upon Mr. Yeatman, that however prominent socially or financially or even judicially that pep- pery old boy might think himself, he was almost totally lacking in the art of gentle- men’s dress. With his dinner jacket, for instance, he was wearing one of those white watered-silk abominations of a waistcoat! With mother-of-pearl! buttons, if you please! And a plaited silk shirt! Looking again at these accursed things, the major began to feel his oats, to assume that stare of un- biinking superiority which at least had never failed him at Prince & Banion’s. “IT beg your pahdon?” said he, with a hauteur which cut to the bone. Their glances clashed and locked to- eee, like two wrestlers meeting in mid- al "The struggle was one of those intense affairs which can only humanly last a mo- ment or two, but when it was over it was clearly the major’s victory. “Now you two boys!” said Mrs. Yeat- man, with an anxious smile at the major. Old Joey suddenly turned his mother-of- pearl buttons upon his wife, as though he would blind her with their effulgence and shine the truth out of her unawares. “T didn’t know you were entertaining to- night,” said he. “Oh, an awfully oldfriend. I hadn’t seen him for years, but I knew him again in a moment. Fred Lawrence—you'’ve often heard me mention him. And Fred, this is my wonderful husband, of whom you used to hear me speak so much-—-Joe Yeatman.”’ The two gentlemen bowed, but it was a guarded bow, and might have reminded you of the careful behavior of two fighters when they shake hands after a caution from the referee for fouling each other. “You were showing him your tortoise- shell box?” persisted old Joey, glancing down at the library table “Yes; it’s one of Fred’s hobbies tortoise-shell and filigree work—and I couldn't resist his opinion of it.” Mr. Yeatman turnec to the major. ‘And what do you think of it, sir, may I ask?” It was the “ May I ask?” that started the major again—the tone and the words together. “Not a very good example, to speak plainly,” said he. “*Ah—ah—rather un- couth; not enough repose; more than a little raw, both in manner and design.”” At this point the major’s eyes were on the other’s waistcoat. ‘‘But—ah really good examples are always hard to find,” he con- cluded. ‘‘It often takes generations -gen- erations, sir—to produce one. Of course, old Joey knew perfectly well that the major meant him, but what could he do about it? One has to belong to a very low order of society indeed to blurt out suddenly, ‘‘ Look here, you old pie-face, do you mean me?”’ So all that Joey could do was to hold his teeth together and try to look as much like the martial old gentleman in the painting as he could. “You will pahdon me now, Mrs. Yeat- man?” continued the major, talking more fearfully well-dressed at every word. ‘‘It was only for a moment, you know, and I’m sorry I can’t give you any better opinion.”’ “To the devil with you and your opinions!" Old Joey’s eyes suddenly seemed to blaze. Again their glanves wrestled, and again the major came out top dog. “There!’’ he thought as he stepped out of the elevator a minute later and walked across the court to the street. ‘I don’t know why, but I feel better than I’ve felt all afternoon.”” And reviewing the events of the last few minutes, in which he had shone with such unmistakable power, he voiced a very old thought—one of those reflections, half despair and half suppli- cation, which are probably nearly as old as the human race. ‘‘Oh, Lord,” he began, for perhaps there’s a touch of prayer in the thought as well, ‘‘why couldn’t I have been born rich, too, like that old fool in there?”’ vi T WAS too early to go home, or Mrs. McKenna might think that his fashion- able friends didn’t want him. So to guard against this the major strolled over to Fifth Avenue, his spats rising and faliing in graceful rhythm, his silk hat dully gleam- ing under the electric lights; and there he took a bus that was headed for Fort George. He went inside, sitting down and squaring his shoulders, his gloved hands resting on the handle of his stick—as fashionable a display as any that might be seen upon Fifth Avenue that evening. Other passen- gers entered, carelessly chatting if they were together or looking groue hy if they were alone. But after one glance at the major they sat down, silent and satisfied, intent upon getting an eyeful of New York’s upper crust. The other passengers nearly always looked as though they were getting their money’s worth when the major was traveling with them in a Fifth Avenue bus. So Mrs. Yeatman didn’t know him, after all, he reflected as he rolled uptown. The name by which she had introduced him to her husband proved that. Ah, well, she soon would know him. After he had com- pleted his mission he could already hear himself saying, ‘‘And now, madam, I have a secret to tell you—a secret concerning my identity.” And then perhaps in the future he wouldn’t be all dressed up in the evening and no place to go. Of course, there was old Joey to be considered; but it rather struck the major that he cou!d handle old Joey. He had certainly ridden him up the read and back again that evening, and had left him, lathering freely, to cool off as best he might. As you can see, the major had plenty and with one thing and to think about; THE SATURDAY EVENING POST another, he went uptown farther than he had meant to go, and it was after eleven when he finally returned to his starting point. He got off the south-bound bus at Forty-seventh Street and started west, a commanding figure on a street which grew increasingly shabby. Halfway across the second block he came to a raised strip of sidewalk, flanked on one side by a wooden boarding which concealed the construction of a new building, and when he came to the end of that and stepped down into the widening shadows of the other side, a darker shadow in human form suddenly stepped in front of him and pushed a blue- steel muzzle against the third button of his overcoat. For the major, you must always remember, was the image of affluence; and Dick Turpin, like the Reaper, always loved a shining mark. vir VERY housewife knows how it is with dishes: break one and two others follow as fast as they can. And every girl who has lived long enough knows how it is with pa she may try ten years to get a good one to jump through the hoops, but hardly has he left the ewes when others appear, gallant and willing to fling up their heels as | well. And every captain knows how it is with a ship; let her scrape her stern on Robbins Reef, and the very next voyage she will either ram her pier at Southamp- ton or have half her starboard lifeboats carried away in a storm. And every wise old woman from here to Vancouver who hears of a death in the village will invariably shake her head and sigh, ‘Eh, dear, now who will the two others be?” And, indeed, this seems to be the law of life more often than not—the law of ac- celeration, it might be called—and nowhere is it more plainly seen than in the adventures which sometimes fall to a man after many a quiet year. Fate had placed him, one might think, upon a shelf to ripen, as though he were some kind of cheese. And then all at once fate seems to take this human cheese from off the shelf, press it with gigantic thumbs, heft it, and finally cut it sy a bit to see if it has come to its ordained strength and has the proper flavor under the rind. “Put ‘em up!” came the sharp command into the major’s ear— sharp, even though it was hardly more than whispered. Dick Turpin had the corner of a hand- kerchief draped down from the peak of his cap and the lower part of his face was hidden in a muffler; but the major became dimly conse ious of a pair of dark eyebrows, black as a raven’s wings, and a nose beneath, which stood out like a beak —eyes and beak of a bird of prey intent upon its work. At first the major was dazed, and his re- flections were not particularly blessed by coherence as he stood there, blinking, his hands ineffectually raised to heaven. It was the feeling of Richard's fingers, groping around in his waistcoat pockets, that cleared his thoughts and brought him to a more distinct regard for what was going on; and it probably helped him, too, that his fighting blood had twice been warmed that day. Rogers had felt the heat of it in the morning, and his victory over old Joey had not yet entirely cooled. And now the thought of losing Mrs. Yeatman’s jewels of being obliged to tell her some cock-and- bull story of a holdup man, on top of the disclosure that he had fooled her in the first place about his own identity — Aunt Maida's gifts, he saw, were dis- appearing into the gunman’s pocket; and seeing thic, the major suddenly and quietly became dangerous, like guncotton in the making, to which the last necessary in- gredient has just been added, ‘The low-down dirty thief!" he thought, lashing his tail a bit. “I'll show him!” Wricut’s UNDERWEAR COMPANY, Pull winter’s teeth! Don’r let icy days under mine your health. Wear Wright’s Health Underwear. No matter what the weather, it keeps you comfortably warm. In every Wright gar- ment there is wool, a non- conductor of heat., It keeps your body warmth in. [1 keeps the most penetrating cold out. It helps to keep you free from colds. Absorbency is a natural quality of wool. Wright’s Health Underwear increases this absorbency by the patented loop-stitch with which every garment is knitted. It absorbs 1 stantly the excretions given off through your pores over a pound a day. If this poisonous matter is not re- moved, your pores clog. You become susceptible to colds. Don’t make your system fight off the shocks of vicious weather. Let Wright's Health Underwear do it for you. You can get Wright’ sin all pure wool, worsted, and cotton and-wool mixtures. In weighrs from heavy to light, to meet all preferences and climatic con- ditions. Union suits and sepa- rate garments. Write for our booklet “Comfort.” Please include your dealer’s name. And go to-day to your favorite store and ask about Wright's Health Underwear. WRIGHT’S Health Underwear FOR MEN AND BOYS Inc 74 Leonard Street, New York City For over forty years, the finest of underwear

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The Parents’ Problem A business man in Utah wrote us this letter, unsolicited. We print it because there’s a real thought in it for every parent. T has occurred co me that radio is one of the most helpful means of entertaining and providing them with hind of entertainment the boys at home wholesome ‘We have nor had « great deal of trouble in the government of our boys, but to any parents who have dithculty in keeping their home evenings, I can heartily purchase of one of your the most children at recommend the Paragon sets “For Christmas | gave two of my boys, Robert and Joc, a Paragon Radio Set. They are having very delightful times with tt almost every evening. I frequently find them with a crowd uf other boys around it enjoying the concerts from various broad casting stations of the country “There is a great deal of criticism as to various other public entertainments, but | have as yet to hear over our radio anything that could be criticized by anyone.’ yy FoR young folks as well as older ones the new Paragon Four is an ideal radio re So simple to operate—one single May be used with ceiver lial does all the tuning any standard tubes--dry or storage battery type. So clear and strong in tone—even on distant stations with loudspeaker. Built round the sew Paradyne Circuit—nen radiating Aud, furthermore, so fow mm cost. Hardly one-third the price you'd expect to pay for such quality lf your dealer in radw is not yer showing this new set get in touch with us ADAMS MORGAN COMPANY, Inc y Alvin Avenue, Upper Montclair, N. J THE NEW ‘GON Four tubes. Paradyne Carcuit. Loudspeaker oiume over praceically unlimited range Handsome mahogany cabinet, 21 inches long The New Paragon Three $48-50 Three tube set of amazing loudspeaker volume, tone, and range. Single dia! control The New Paragon Two “27° Excellent loudspeaker volume aver moder ate range. Perfece phone reception over imlimited range. Two tubes. Single dial Write for free Descriptive Folder fae rbd THE SATURDAY There is a sublime straightforwardness | about some actions which insures their suc- sil cess from the first; and the major, disdain- ing all feints and subterfuges, suddenly and simply took Dick Turpin’s weapon awa from him by snatching it out of his hand. “Hah!” said he. “It’s your turn now, my lad! Up with your hands and keep them there, if you know what’s good for you!” He had noticed in which pocket Mrs. Yeatman’s jewelry had been dropped; and reaching forward now, he emptied that pocket with a scoop of his hand and slipped the contents back to where og J belonged. “You aren't so clever, my boy, as a + you were, are ibe’ " he exulted It ‘had been his first intention to march his captive in triumph to the nearest police station—an elderly Sergeant York bring- his startled Germans into camp; a hatted Cesar leading his prisoners into the Forum. But suppose that S were asked for an explanation of his own possession of so much lady’s jewelry—what then? To prove his own story he might even have to give Mrs. Yeatman’s name, and that would | lead to complications with the fiery Jos- eph—complications that would be none too seo for the impulsive lady who had trusted him so much. “It’s more than you deserve,” he said at | last, with a reluctance that had a touch of testiness in it, “ now. Come! mind!” The other one hurried away and the ma- jor lowered his weapon. The gunman might have been watching over his shoulder, for he suddenly turned—a living lesson in dis- armament—with another gun in his hand. The major saw a spurt of fire and felt a burn in hisupperarm. But again he didn’t have that martial mustache for nothing. He took quick aim and let Dick Turpin have the contents of his own gun as fast as he could keep pulling the trigger. One of the bullets evidently took effect, for the other’s weapon fell with a clatter to the sidewalk, and the next moment he was running down the street as though he knew just where he was going —as though he knew, too, that he must run while yet the strength was in him. Hearing still other hurrying footsteps, the major turned and saw a cop who had been drawn by the sound of the firing; and al- though at first the policeman started in pursuit of Richard, he soon returned to the major. “He got away, all right, I’m afraid, sir,”’ he reported. “‘Had a car waiting for him around the corner. But you must have but I’m going to let you go Be off, before I change my | potted him a good one, for there’s a red line | all the way to where he hopped in his ma- chine now.” “Shot him with his own gun too,” said the major, though speaking none too loud, | for he was beginning to feel the burn spread- ing in his arm. see.” “Ah, sure,” said the cop, wisely nodding. “It’s the second gun that often does the trick. And now if you wouldn’t mind com- ing around to the station house, to give a description and make a good report How the major managed to one going the next half hour, he himself couldn’t have told you. And all the time there was the rowing fear in his heart that they would iscover his wound and trundle him off to a hospital and give him chloroform and somehow separate him from Mrs. Yeat- man’s jewelry. At last, though, the ordeal was over, his pallor being put down to the experiences through which he had passed; but in the end he had to take a taxi to Mrs. McKenna’s and the driver had to help him up to his room. And now you'll see how Mrs. McKenna kept count of the major’s hours; for when she heard the noise in the hall she was all ready to pop her head out of her door—a head crowned with one of those coquettish boudoir caps, with a bit of hair artfully pulled down here and there to soften the general effect. “Is that you, major?” she asked. “Yes,” said the major, on the stairs, speaking like a tired little lamb that hardly has strength to bleat to its mamma. “Is anything the matter?” she asked in alarm, seeing the driver helping him. “No, no; thank you just the same,” said the major more faintly than before, his voice hardly audible from under his noble silk hat. “Been shot, I think,” said the chauffeur in a deep voice. “ Better come and ‘tend to him; that’s all IT say. “But he had another, you EVENING POST “Oh, major! I’ll be there in just a mo- ment!” gasped the widow, and ay nae her head back into her room again as though in hurried search of more appropriate costume. After the chauffeur had gone, and before Mrs. McKenna appeared, the major had time to hide Mrs. Yeatman’s jewelry. “Tf they once get me to bed,” he thought, “my pockets won't really be safe.” So first he took out the bar pin and slipped it under his pillow. “Funny!” he thought—by which he meant the way he felt. Then he found the bracelet and put it by the side of the bar pin, feeling funnier and funnier every moment. And then he made his way to the dresser and moved Mrs. Mc- Kenna’s picture into a more prominent position. And then and not till then he sank into a chair, and with a slight gesture of deprecation toward the door through which he knew Mrs. McKenna would enter, he fainted quite away. vias T WASN'T until she had put on her pret- tiest kimono that Mrs. McKenna came in and found the major oblivious to earthly cares. She soon revived him, though, with a bottle of household ammonia; and help- ing him then to take off his coat, she tear- ully reported that one sleeve was all wet and insisted upon telephoning for the doc- tor. When she returned to the major’s room it was evident from her next remark that she thought he had received his wound in an affair of honor. “You see what you get for calling on your Agneses!’’ she month wept. ‘The major looked pale but , and while Mrs. McKenna was cutting the sleeve off his shirt, he raised his good arm and took a few feeble strokes at his mus- tache. Mrs. McKenna, still tearful, but efficient, ran for the washbowl and began to bathe'the wound. It was a jagged affair, but fortunately all near the surface; and now that he had seen the worst of it the major began to feel better, and went on looking inscrutable and stroking his martial mustache. “It’s just as my dear father always told me,” continued Mrs. McKenna. ‘“‘‘Be sure your sins will find you out,’ he said.” Looking at it from the sinful standpoint, the major didn’t like it so well; and leavin his mustache alone, he entered a genera demurrer. “But they haven't found me out,” he protested. “They haven’t?”’ demanded the widow almost fiercely. “‘Not when you come home like this?” “At least they haven’t found me out yet,” thoughtfully amended the major; and making the story as short as he could, he told her how he had received his wound, though saying nothing about the jewels under his pillow. “Oh, major!” exclaimed the widow then, looking up at him with shining eyes. ‘ And you really and truly shot him with his own gun? “T rahther think I gave him as good as he sent,”” modestly confessed the major. The doctor came then and he had to hear the stery; and the major had hardly been put to bed, with the contents of a hypoder- mic needle just underneath his skin, when first the telephone rang and then the door- bell rang; and Mrs. McKenna, answering both in her becoming kimono, presently gave a gentle rap on her patient’s door and put her head inside. “Asleep, major?” she whispered. “Not yet,” he drowsily told her. “Well, I don’t know what to do—but there’s two reporters here downstairs and another on the phone.” “That's all right. You tell them—just what I told you—big fellow with a gang in a car around the corner—shot the big one— made them all run.” “But these downstairs—they both want pictures.” At that the major roused himself a little. Pictures were different. Pictures were things that had to be seri- a considered think there’s a few in the top bureau drawer,” he said, “in full evening dress. Two poses, you'll find—one in a bat-wing collar and the other in a stand-up. I think I like the stand-up the best. But whatever ou do, don’t give them the one in the ounge suit—taken ars ago—diagonal- cut pockets and a belt Sighing somewhat ~ at these er- rors of youth, he fell asleep and didn’t wake till ten o’clock in the morning, for which the December 13, 1924 doctor’s needle was partly responsible. And even then he probably wouldn’t have wakened if Mrs. McKenna hadn’t first gently rapped and then put her head inside the door. “Sleep, major?” she whispered. “No. It’s all right, Mrs. McKenna, thank you. Come in.” She had the morning papers; and in nearly all of them the major had achieved the first page, to say nothing of the photo- graphic sections: Routs GUNMAN WITH OWN WEAPON. GUNMAN ROUTED BY TARTAR. Hotpurp GANG RouTED BY INTENDED VICTIM. The old router’s heart beat with pride, and he read the stories over and over while he ate his breakfast. “I'd like to see Rogers when he reads some of these,’”’ he thought. But then another reflection came to his mind, one more disturbing, one with enough kick in it to make him sit up and blink. Mrs. Yeatman would read the story too—would see his picture in the paper: . Major Frederick Browning —— ‘Major Browning, of euchrand-euch a number, West 47th Street —— And she had taken him for a Fred Law- rence, and he had allowed her to do so! Why, if he wasn’t careful, the woman would be down on him like a ton of bricks— might even have him arrested for taking her jewelry under false pretenses. And then what a piece for the evening papers— what a sequel to the morning’s tale! The gallant major a deceiving crook, probably even with his title in quotation marks, thus: ‘ Major” Browning. And, oh, but wouldn’t Rogers enjoy that! The major felt his bandaged arm, and it didn’t feel so bad. Stiff, of course, from being bound, and it would probably be a bit awkward to dress; but if he got a taxi it would only take him a few minutes to go to Rosenbaum’s—then a short ride to Mrs. Yeatman’s and then back home again. Half an hour perhaps al- together and the whole thing would be off his mind. So up he got, thanking his stars that Mrs. McKenna was down in the basement kitchen. He had already decided upon his morning coat, stri trousers and silk hat; and although it hurt almost beyond en- durance to get the coat on, he finally man- aged it and stole downstairs unobserved. As luck would have it, a taxi was rolling forward when he reached the street and in less than five minutes he was getting out at Rosenbaum’s, the taxi waiting for him, the pac? looking knowing as the major passed insi “I would like five thousand dollars on these two pieces, please,’”’ said the major, placing Mrs. Yeatman’s jewels upon the counter. The great Rosenbaum himself had come forward to wait on him, one of those geniuses who look like a low comedian on the point of shedding tears. He sorrow- fully placed a glass in his eye and scruti- nized Aunt Maida’s presents. “You have done business with me be- fore?’”’ he asked, regarding the major with his other eye. “No; but you've done business with this jewelry before.” “Yes, yes; I see my marks upon it.” An absolute judge of diamonds, he prided himself upon his judgment of the human jewel as well; and making out a ticket, he went into his office and returned with five one-thousand-dollar bills which he counted into the major’s. hand. “Of course I shan’t be able to do any work today,” thought the latter as he care- fully made his way back to the taxi; “but on my way to Mrs. Yeatman’s, I—ah—ah— I think I'll drop in at the store for a few moments. I’d—ah—like some of the bo: to see this money, and if that old fool de Rogers should happen to get his eye on it too —— Turning a corner, the taxi threw him sharply sideways, his bad arm hitting the side of the cab. “God help us!” he gasped. And a minute later, “‘ Perhaps f ought to have stayed in bed. I’m beginning to feel funny again.” Ix ES telat dm he may have felt, there was certainly nothing funny in the major’s appearance when he stepped out of the taxi on Fifth Avenue and crossed the sidewalk (Continued on Page 112)

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f A AS Cn » 329 oe hb Ng ae al p* \ 7 ‘ ¢ on i " J |

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST PARIS and HICKORY Gifts for everyone

- So easy to buy

Here are gilts youll be glad | - 3 fo receive and pleased to give |g PARIS GARTERS For Baby No metal can touch you J < ; The HICKORY Baby Set (the first illus- Super-quality Wideweave tration at the right) is a happy thought silk with regimental white for the little ones—bless their hearts! A stripes in 9 variety of colors pretty gift for babies that mothers will that men like, $1.00. Others appreciate. at 35¢, 50¢ and 75¢, including gift box. For Mother, Sister or Friend

: For Mother, Sister or Friend, the combi- nation HICKORY Tea Apron and Garter

. Set is useful and very chic. Also the : HICKORY Ribbon Garters, individually s packaged, make a dainty gift. Today's styles make them necessary as well as ornamental. Illustrated at the right.

For “Him”

s ; -_~ = For Dad, Brother, Friend or Business Acquaintance, the items listed at the left PARIS GARTERS have a particularly strong appeal. There and Sport Belt Set are PARIS Garters, packed individually, PARIS Wideweave Garters oe ie : Ae : a snl ai’ teak tat te: eaten which make a mighty welcome gift. Men combination colors to match folk can always use a fresh pair of garters. the garters. Belt length adjust- a 2 at pies 4 ggg Seale yet me ttn a Then, the PARIS Garter and Sport Belt strap and gilt buckle. The Combination Set is something out of the set, including gift box, $2.00. wie . if, Others at $3.00. ordinary for men fond of outdoor life.

The PARIS Garter and PARIS Arm Band Set makes an appreciated remembrance

for men of all ages.

You should find all of these gifts at your dealer’s. If not, send us your order with remittance and your dealer’s name. You'll receive prompt service by addressing : Mrs. Ruth Stone, c/o A. Stein & Company, 1153 W. Congress Street, Chicago, Ill.

and Arm Band Set A pair of PARIS satin shield Garters and PARIS silk Arm Bands to match. Full range of colors. The set, including gift box, 50¢. Orhers at 75¢, $1.00 and $1.25. A.STEIN & COMPANY CHICAGO TORONTO NEW YORK

AQ a ee RN a er Baby Set HICKORY live rubber Baby Pants; Para rubber Bib and cunning Baby Garters, ribbon trimmed. Pink or blue com- bination. In Mother Goose Holiday Gift Box, $1.00.

HICKORY Tea Apron and Garter Set Dainty Rubber Apron has scalloped edge and handker chief pocket, in contrasting colors. Shirred Satin Ribbon Garters with bow ornaments in colors to match. The set, including gift box, $1.50. Others at $1.25, $2.25 and $2.50. Ribbon Garters ¢ Two, three and four tone rib- bon, in pastel shades, beau- lo“ tifully blended. Hand- —_ made French flower and ribbon ornaments, The pair illustrat ed, including gift box, $1.00. Others at $1.25, $1.50, $1.75 and $2.00

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Continued from Page 110) to Prince & Banion’s store. Morning coat of dull black diagonal, cut by a tailor in a moment of inspiration, waistcoat adorned with silk braid, trousers that were faultless alike in form und expression, two moving verses of textile poetry. And even as the greatest works of the masters are sometimes relieved by touches of embellishment, so might the major’s walking stick be con- sidered —a black cane with a silver handle; to say nothing of his gaiters, the color of café aw lait; and his noble silk hat, dignified of bell and exquisite of brim, which seemed to rest upon his head more like a crown than a topper, marking bina apart from other men. And so he crossed the sidewalk to Prince & Banion’s and was borne upstairs to the Gentlemen's Own Shop by an ador- ing elevator boy who had read all about it in his morning paper and evidently con- sidered the major as a cross between a hero and a god. And in the Gentlemen's Own Shop well, you can imagine whether they had read about the major’« adventures there! His colleagues who weren't tied down to customers immediately clustered around him like courtiers around a king, only Rogers keeping in the distance-— Rogers the jealous, Rogers the yellow-faced, who was pretending to be busy with some large matter at his desk, something of such empirical dimensions that it couldn't be left for a moment. To the group around him the major added a few points not mentioned by the reporters; and then with becoming care- lesaness he drew out the money which Rosenbaum had given him and se parated a th ousand dollar bill. ‘I wonder if one of you boys would mind getting this changed for me,” hesaid, “I'd go to the cashier's myself, but to tell you the truth, I'm still a bit weak from this wound in my arm,” They all volunteered, and the major selected Bob Hirschman; and as Bob took the bill he looked at the size of it, and then exclaimed, ““Oh, Maude! What did you do to him, major? Did yeu take his roll away from him as well as shoot him up?” ‘Ah-ha, my boy,” eaid the major know- ingly, ‘that would be telling!” if anything then he became a greater hero than ever, and presently even Rogers came over~—- Rogers, who had heard about the thousand-doliar bill and who simply coul In't stay away <3! longer 7“ ‘ongratulation us,”’ he began. to be quite a shot, f hear.” ‘When there's anything worth shooting, air!’ This tickled the other clerks pink and they gave each other quick little glances from the corners of their eyes as much as to say, “Did you hear thet? He just as good as told Rogers that he wasn’t worth shoot- ing!’ Rogers went away with a red ear, even though he tried to make it appear that hia eyes were still twinkling; but the ex- citement of the clash was almost too much for the major. He had to sit down and steady himself against the counter. Then Bob came back with the change; and just as the major was rising to go, who should come hurrying into the Gentlemen’s Own Shop but the general manager himself, heavy-lidded, baldheaded, alert. He had never seen the major underneath the glory of hie silk hat before and had to stare a moment or two before he was sure of his man. “God bless my life!” he said then, un- consetous testimony to the other’s appear- ance. “Il heard you were in the store and I wanted to teii you how proud we all feel of yout” “he major, of course, had risen; and at the conclusion of his remarks the general manager not only shook the major’s hand but enthusiastically clasped his upper left arm while he waa doing it. In spite of himaelf, the major winced, “What's the matter?" ager. “ Rheumatism?” “No, no, Mr. Purcell; not yet,” said the major hastily; “‘but lahst night, you see, I got a bullet through my arm, or of course I should have reported for work this morn- ing. And not that it greatly matters, of course, but I’m afraid the blessed thing’s opened again.” Not that it greatly mattered! Why, the major was nearly groggy, his face a white mask underneath the ebon splendor of his hat! “My dear major!” exclaimed the man- ager. “I shall never forgive myself. Here, lean on me, and I'll see you home myself, “ Getting asked the man- THE SATURDAY You shouldn’t have come out at all, you know, this morning,” he continued, gently scolding. ‘‘ Youshould have stayed i in bed. It was like a state procession—the major leaning on the manager’s arm, the clerks fussing around them and moving chairs out of their path, Bellamy walking slowly be- hind like a flower boy, carrying the major’s gloves. And watching it all in the distance, over a benchful of Seasonable Offerings in Fall Topcoats, hung Rogers’ face -baleful, glit- tering, like a yellow moon in spectac sles with a mugful of porcelain teeth. Going down the elevator, began to wor where he lived. Comfortable, of course, yet not much of a place for the manager to see. But it wasn’t until they were cross- ing the sidewalk to a taxi that it struck him how to kill two birds with one stone. “On second thoughts, Mr. Purcell,” he said, ‘I think I'll cail on a friend of mine on the way home.” “Why, certainly, Browning,” said the manager. “Anywhere you Rice Where shall I tell the driver to stop?” As weak as he was, there was almost exaltation in the major’s voice as he an- swered, “Sorrento Court, Park Avenue.’ And great as he was, there was almost respect in Mr. Purcell’s manner as he re- peated the address to the chauffeur and helped the major into the waiting cab. the major x T WAS after he had told Mrs. Yeatman about her mistake in his identity, and while he was showing her how he had van- quished Dick Turpin, that the thing hap- pened again. Twice before that day it had threatened; but this third time, just after demonstrating how he had snatched the man’s gun—his shoulder growing funnier every minute— the major gradually became conscious that his voice and his legs and his Adam's apple and Mrs. Yeatman were all petering out together, and the next thing he knew he was waking in a beautiful room, and only knew that it was himself at first from his striped trousers, which were hanging over a chair by the side of the bed. It was one of those rooms which are every bride’s ambition, but are generally only achieved by elderly matrons when it doesn’t count so much. The walls were decorated with panels of silk, the windows by laces and ielveta, the ceiling by scenes from Watteau. The bed was cane and gilt, with significant little oil paintings here and there. And there was a chaise longue in front of a fireplace, and rugs that had the bloom of plums upon them, and statuettes that didn’t even have bloom; but the things which attracted the major’s eye—after, in- deed, his trousers—were first a pastel painting of one of Asti’s charming ladies over the fireplace, and then two photo- e raphs upon the shelf below, one evidently Ars. Yeatman in her palmier days and the other the frowning countenance of old Joey. “Good Lord!” said the major with ex- traordinary vehemence. “I've got to get out of here!’ He was just beginning to move his good arm and finding it hard work, when the door opened and Mrs. Yeatman walked in. “Why, major, what's the matter?” she asked. “‘Hasn’t Waters made you com- fortable?”’ “Oh, comfortabie enough, yes,”” stam- mered the major; ‘“‘but, bless my soul, I can't stay here, you know!” “I’m sure I can't see why, with Waters to look after you,” she calmly answered. “Or at least you can stay until the doctor says it’s wise to move you. He'll be here any minute now. I valaphoned him myself.” “But, Mrs. Yeatman,”’ stammered the major again, and doing it better this time than before, “‘your—your husband—when he comes home and finds me here—in your—I mean in here!” “Mr. Yeatman started for Bar Harbor this morning,” she evenly told him, “‘and I am following him this afternoon. That's why I wanted the money so badly, so I could settle ~ § before I went; and why I feel so grateful that you got it for me, even at the risk of your own brave life.” The doctor came then—an insinuating old boy who could do conjuring tricks with a roll of bandage strips—and after he had gone and Mrs. Yeatman had gone, the major lay for a time basking in that beau- tiful room; and as he lay there thinking of one thing and another, a really wonderful idea somehow became planted in his mind. es,”’ was his seed thought. “Yes, Agnes would have had a room like this.” about the shabby street’ EVENING POST The first green sprout of this was fairly obvious. “‘Agnes,”” he thought again, looking at Asti’s charming painting above the fire- place. ‘Dear Agnes, painted a few years ago, but strangely like her even yet.” And the pan ot flower burst into bloom when Waters came in at twelve o'clock to see what the invalid would like for lunch. “Ah, Waters,” began the major. “Yes, sir? “What isthe number of this apartment?” “Number 81, sir.’ “Very well, then. I wish you would call up Bryant 6789 and tell Mrs. McKenna that Major Browning is at Apartment Number 81, Sorrento Court, Park Avenue, and would be pleased to see her for a few minutes this afternoon regarding the for- warding of his mail and—ah—ah—any other matters requiring attention.” xI HE major and the butler looked at each other; and if you had been there and hadn’t known what had gone before you would have sworn that they were master and man, the latter blessed with one of those wooden expressions which oftentimes denote intelligence lying in ambush. “Mrs. McKenna, you said, sir?” he re- peated with a trace of accent on the first word. “Mrs. McKenna, yes “Very well, sir. I ‘ili ie hone her im- mediately.” He returned a few minutes later looking more so than ever. “She was very glad to hear from you, sir,” he reported. “She will call to see you at two o'clock.” It was half past one when the major finished his lunch, propped up in bed like the grand monarch, and having done full justice to the different trays which Waters had placed before him. “If you don’t mind, sir,” said Waters then, “I think I will tidy up the room a bit.” “Quite so, Waters,”’ said the major with becoming majesty. ‘I have been thinking myself that those trousers over there— hardly delicate things, you know, when a lady is calling.” The trousers disappeared into a closet, together with the rest of the major’s rai- ment; and then Waters carried a table to the head of the bed and placed a bow! of roses on it. “From the dining-room table, sir,” said he. “I thought they might lend a touch to the room, sir—that i is, of course, if you will pardon the liberty.” Again the major and the butler looked at each other, and this time the major cleared his throat and stroked his drooping mus- tache. “A very good idea, Waters,” said he. “Thank you, sir,” and rather irrele- vantly he added, “I was in gentlemen’s service a good many years ago. . And now, s ft might make a suggestion - —_” Waters?” said the major gra- pve. «Those pajamas of Mr. Yeatman’s which you are now wearing, sir, while they are a very good quality of madras, Mr. Yeatman has a number of silk ones, some of which he has left behind. There is one suit in partic- ular, of sky- blue twill, which he found a little large —— The major was reading a book when Mrs. McKenna was announced; and glanc- ing over the top of it, he noted with satis- faction how smart she looked in her little hat and dotted veil. “Well!” she exclaimed. are!” It was evident that she was impressed— probably had been ever since she had turned into Park Avenue, to say nothing of the court below— but from the bright-eyed manner in which she glanced around the room, it was obvious that she was inquisi- tive as well. “You are very comfortable here, I must say,” she remarked at last, after listening to an abridged account of the major’s dis- appearance of the morning; and gazing around the room again with a more open glance than before, she took a good long look at the painting over the fireplace—to be explicit, a head and shoulders, the latter clothed only in their own beauty. “Very comfortable,”’ she repeated, her voice bri- dlin alittle. “‘ Very comfortable, I’msure.” thought she would. She thinks it’s Agnes,” the major told himself, and looked as though butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “So here you December 13,1924 “You expect to stay here, then?” con- tinued Mrs. McKenna. : “I don’t know, I’msure,”’ said the major, sighing alittle. “As I told you, I happened to drop in this morning, and had a rather bad attack, I fear. So they insisted ——” He made a gesture which included every- thing, even the sky-blue twills, and smiled almost sadly at Mrs. McKenna. “Oh, I don’t blame you for « moment,” she exclaimed, flaring up, ‘for not wanting to stay in my poor house!” The major glanced at her in mute re- proach, and then closed his eyes as though to say, “Agnes, dear Agnes, wouldn’t have bothered me at a time like this.” “Oh, I didn’t mean that, major,” Mrs. McKenna in sudden contrition. She leaned over his bed, all womanly a in a moment when she saw how e urt him, rearranging his pillows, gently straightening the counterpane. The major opened his eyes, and somehow he and the widow started looking at each other. “I didn’t want to be a bother to you, you know,” he said in a low voice. “Bother!” she gently scoffed. “You think I’d call it a bother?” “Yes, yes, [know. But for nearly three years now I’ve been wanting to look after you, but you wouldn’t let me.” “Don’t be silly!’’ she breathed, smooth- ing the pillows again. Again he looked reproachful, as though Agnes wouldn’t have used that word. “You think I’m silly, then?’’ he asked. Her hand was smoothing the ccunter- pane, and as though for answer it strayed near his. The next moment the major’s fingers had closed around hers, and it would have done you good if you could have seen them then. At their first kiss, all Mrs. Mc- Kenna’s heart and soul was in it. But at the second she turned her head a little and looked in triumph at Agnes’ picture, hang- co * ate so motionless, so helpless on the wall. said xu HAT happened on a Tuesday. It was on the following Monday when the major resented himself at Mr. Purcell’s office at rince & Banion’s. The major was wearing his frock coat that day—wearing it with an air which Prince Albert himself might well have envied. “Well, major?” swinging briskly i in his chair. right again now, I hope?’ “Thank you, yes,” said the major mod- estly as they shook hands. “Or at least— ah—ah—I believe you will think so when I tell you that I am getting married tomorrow and have called to see if I could have the rest of the week off for my—ah—ah— honeymoon. Of course I know that or- dinarily I should apply to the head of my department, but under the rahther unusual circumstahnces —— “Quite right, major; and ailow me to congratulate you.” They shook hands again, but with a different motion this time—a motif with something waggish and joyous in it. “Is it the lady of Sorrento Court?” continued Mr. Purcell. “Well, n-no, not that one,”’ said the ma- jor, as though indeed it was nearly that one. “A very charming widow nevertheless.” “Splendid! Splendid!” The handshaking died away on a more thoughtful note, and the manager looked at this handsomely frock-coated figure in front of him with an attention which had suddenly grown alert. “By the way, Browning,” he said, “I wonder if you could run that department of = upstairs—Tomlinson’s old job, you no ogers has been trying it out pro- vilanaite, but—this is confidential—he hasn’t been quite so successful as we had said the manager, “You are all oped. “* Hardly the figure for it, I’m afraid, sir,” said the major, trying to lock as though his heart wasn’t beating jazz fashion. “Hardly the a ae no. So if you think you can handle that position—as well as you handled that fellow the other night —— The major reached the Avenue a few minutes later, walking on clouds, the assers-by looking at him with respectful interest and probably wondering, as ever, which of the Vanderbilts he was. “It’s a funny thing,” he was thinking, “but if it hadn’t been for Agnes For the next few moments then he almost regarded her as real—her jewels, her limou- sine, her cottage at Watch Hill, her hostile children, and all and sundry. “Dear Agnes,” he murmured. der if she’ll miss me very much.”

“T won-

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Back view of a Genasco Latite Shingle showing the “key’’ that locks each shingle tightly to those underneath The “key” is invis ible on the completed roof. Front view of a Genasco Latite Shingle showing its attractive slate sur face. Made in three non-fading colors— red, green and blue- black. Examine your old roof NOW—befere the snows and rains of winter set in. Look for shingles curled up by the sun, pried loose by frost or ripped off by wind. Then put on Genasco Latite Shingles—right over your old, weather-battered roof. Thousands of homes all over the United States are being reroofed in the ‘‘Genasco Way.” Genasco Latite Shingles lay tight and stay tight. The weather can’t budge them. Think what this means to your home—especially in cold, blustery, winter weather! No rain or chill- ing draughts coming in—no warmth_and comjort passing out. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST used for roofing Dwellers of Southwestern used this type of roofing. historical series on roofing, Don’t gamble with winter! Re-roof now in the “Genasco Way” Your old wood shingles are not disturbed when you lay Genasco Latite Shingles. Therefore your home is not exposed to the weather while re- roofing. And you’re saved the trouble of clean- ing up dirt-littered lawns and attics. Genasco Latite Shingles are durable—attrac- tive—FIRE-SAFE—and they are waterproofed with the famous Trinidad Lake Asphalt Cement. Made in three unfading colors—red, green and blue-black. Insist on Genasco Roofing protection— whether it’s for a home, barn, stable or industrial building. Ask your dealer or fill out the coupon below and mail to us. The Barber Asphalt Company New York Chicago Pittsburgh Reg. U.S. Pat. Off (,enasco The Barber Asphalt Company, Philadelphia Sirs—Please send me booklets describing the products I have checked. Genasco Latite Shingles oO Genasco ‘‘Sealbac"’ Shingles Oo Genasco Roll Roofing J Name Street Town Philadelphia _st. Louis Genasco Built-up Roofing } Genasco Mastic Flooring ] Genasco Asphaltic Paints oO Kansas City San Francisco Latite Shin gles Q Flat stones—irregular in sige and shape — were in ancient State

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST December 13,1924 7 ey = SREP eye De Oy ite Oa ey 8 A WS ea 2. feta with every Grand Prize Eureka Vac- uum Cleaner pur- chased between now and Christmas! Great Special Educational Offer Cjrand / “EES a Rik why ¥ 7 sont Bh ee, * a % ee aghi Be oe 17 f rs ‘Sgr. ‘a a 7 a ich Ge. at a ere, unis

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| : Very Lure OTHING could more perfectly express the spirit of Christmas—a gift that is not for one day only, but N every day through years to come—a gift of never-failing helpfulness—a constant reminder of your affection. Why should any wife, mother or daughter wear out her strength with dust cloth and broom when the amazing re fulness of the Grand Prize Eureka and of the wonderfully } efhcient Eureka Attachments can be secured so easily? 1? ) ; t EC TLIC Itt , ANS Remember that your purchase of the Eureka entitles you to the complete set of attachments (the same that sells for $8.50 everywhere) absolutely free! It is not even necessary to pay the moderate Eureka price all at once unless you desire to do so. Only $4.75 down and a few cents saved daily will quickly make the Eureka and all attachments yours. This great offer, good only until Christmas, is made so that thousands will learn the tremendously increased helpfulness of the Grand Prize Eureka when used with these instantly applied attachments. These famous attachments practically double the usefulness of the Eureka itself by renovating mat- Eureka Vacuum CLEANER ComPaNy, Detroit, U. S. A. Makers of Electric Vacuum Cleaners Since 1909 , Canadian Factory, Kitchener, Ontario. Foreign Bran h 8 Fisher Street, Holborn, London, W. C. |, Enaland THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ‘ iF , nid Pe Kae set of Tamous Cureka ka purchased from now until Christmas ~ Eureka Vacuum Cleaner Attachments FREE tresses right on the beds, whisking away dust and lint from upholstered furniture, restoring the cleanliness of curtains and hangings and making countless other hard jobs easy —just as the Eureka itself has ended carpet and rug cleaning drudgery. i. 4 if ; " 7 ai ; ' t Jager a tiiil 1+. ae ft Time after time, international authorities have awarded Grand Prizes and Gold Medals to the Eureka, thereby expressing their unqualified approval of its excellence. Yet—priceless as are these coveted awards—the fact that over a million homes today are Eureka cleaned is even stronger proof of the extraor- dinary service rendered by the Grand Prize Eureka. Let your Christmas gift to your wife, mother or daughter be more than a keepsake. Let it save her from weariness and bring her added hours of happiness every day. Make this a Eureka Christmas! She wiil appreciate it. , 4 ry ry 5 {on li Bie , el } rricitti We urge you to call immediately at the store of the nearest Eureka dealer. There you will be given a complete demon- stration of the famous Grand Prize Eureka in its extraor- dinary attachments. Do not delay—do not wait until a day or so before Christmas, as your dealer's stock may be exhausted. Write us for his name if you do not know it. (it4) Special Christmas Only A — 1 ae, Balance on Easy Monthly Payments Down

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST December 13,1924 ero RayBestos is composed of selected as hestos interwoven with wire to assure great strength. After weaving, the lin ing is solidly compressed, thoroughly impregnated with a heat and wear resist ing compound, and then heat treated. It is again compressed, resulting in a uniform, compact and solid lining that will wear with smoothly and evenly, constant gripping power, to a shim thickness SPECIFY AND DEMAND Raysestos! You can get Raybestos Lining and Raybestos Service at Flat Rate Charges, at the Ravbestos Brake Service Station. Each brake specialist who problems. station aS a knows brake CORSE EREH ERT T EERE EHO HT TER STU T HORE R HERE CHER EEE TEC E SESE R ROH eRe ee eee eEeeeee ' Tue Ravarstos Company, Berpcrrort, Conn. Gentiemen: Please send me the name and address of the Raybestos Brake Service Station in my vicinity. My Name Address POSSE RERESEC ER SE TOTS H ETE E See ee eeeeEeeTeEe if it costs no more to have your brakes lined with real Silver Edge Raybestos, why risk life with ordinary brake lining? Raybestos has been imitated in appearance to deceive the eye; similar names like ‘““Thisbestos” and ‘‘Thatbestos” are intended to confuse the purchaser, but Raybestos Quality has never been duplicated. Hicu Speep Raybestos Brake Relin- ing Equipment, electrically driven, 1s used to drill and countersink the lining so that the Raybestos Tubular Brass Rivets can be sunk below the surface of the lining. THis METHOD of application prevents squeaking brakes and scored drums. Proper and accurate adjustments are This specialized service means better real brake economy. made. longer brake life, brakes, and THe Raysestos BRAKE SERVICE STATION, your dealer and your garageman pay more for Raybestos than for ordinary brake linings because they know it is worth more, but Raybestos Costs You No More Send coupon and let us give you the name of the nearest Raybestos Brake Service Station. THE RAYBESTOS COMPANY BRIDGEPORT, CONN. a Partial List of Flat Rate Charges (Complete list includes all makes of passenger cars) ‘These prices include re- moving brakes, removing old lining, new Raybestos lining, attaching lining, replacing and adjusting brakes. Buick 4 cyl. Buick 6 cyl. Buick 4 cyl. 4 wheel Buick 6 cyl. 4 wheel Cadillac Cadillac V-63 Chevrolet 490 Dodge Essex “4” and “6” Franklin Hudson Hupmobile Jewett Jordan “M” Lincoln Marmon Maxwell Nash 4 cyl, Nash 6 cyl. Oakland 6-44 Oldsmobile 47-43A Overland 91-92 Packard “6” 1923 Pierce-Arrow 32-33 Reo 1921-23 Studebaker Spcl. Willys-Knight '21-'24 Service Brakes Only $ 9.31 10.80 19.10 21.58 14.90 24.77 7.52 11.36 10.51 4.60 13.15 9.69 11.06 10.38 17.89 13.10 9.20 11.08 13.53 10.10 9.00 8.58 13.80 16.93 11.44 11.44 10.68 CN CA RR e ea |

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lot ’f others into the bargain—a cookin’ machine and a washer and mender. Clean forget 't they’re hitchin’ up to spendin’ ma- chines *t never need no repairs, talkin’ machines "t runs smoother’n a separator, gaddin’ machines, bossin’ machines —-—”’ Uncle Clem, Elmer observed, drifted with the current. He gave ear acquiescently to Mr. Massey’s eloquence, in the meantime unpacking and setting up the Little Giant Knitter. Presently, when Massey paused for the refreshment of his pipe, Uncle Clem played his ace from the sleeve. “Got ’em all studied out f’r a fact, Mr. Massey. Told me a sight of things ’t never struck me before. Yes, sir, give me some- thin’ to think about. Wish we ec’d stay and hear some more of it, only, long ’s we can’t do no business here, Elmer and me better move along.” He climbed to the seat. Mr. Massey’s face expressed a frank disappointment. “Shucks, Bixby, there ain’t no hurry. Better stay to dinner, now you're here.” Elmer saw with relief that Uncle Clem had no such intention. ‘Like to first rate, but Elmer and me got to hustle these days to earn horse feed and shoein’ bills. See you when we come back. Much obliged all the same.” He turned the team skillfully and drove back to the road, affecting not to hear a pursuing hail that reminded him of the Little Giant, left behind, with the booklet of instructions, in the tool recom. “Hate to do it,’’ he told Elmer as the team, beyond earshot of the barn, settled to a walk. “It ain’t what I call first-class peddlin’, but it’s the only way to handle Hub Massey when he gits goin’ real good. Time we come back he’ll be braggin’ about that there Little Giant Knitter all over the township.” He consulted the big silver watch. ‘Past ‘leven. Guess we c’n leave the team breathe a minute. Kind of hard on a horse, this weather.” Elmer said nothing. A dim suspicion that went back to the van washing and the blue necktie with the white spots became almost a certainty now; but he knew, with- out reasoning it out, that silence would be discreet. If he accused Uncle Clem of dressing up with a deliberate design on Mrs. Libby Shaw’s dinner table, it was just pos- sible that, to refute the charge, they might drive on to Jimmerson’s, where assuredly there would be no chance whatever of green-apple pie. Elmer held his tongue. An agreeably promissory blend of warm and spicy smells drifted through the screen door of the Shaw kitchen, when, to make matters as certain as possible, he jumped down over the wheel the moment the team paused under the great elm that shaded the side porch. It was manifestly baking day on the other side of that meshed wire. He could identify fresh bread, gingercake and, he thought, at least one variety of cookies. If there was as yet no direct evidence of pies, it was not beyond the probabilities that this omission might be rectified before dinner. His affections reached out strongly to Mrs. Libby Shaw as her neat, generous figure appeared in the doorway and her amiable, deliberate voice gueated bias. “Why, hello, Elmer! My, but you’ve grown!” She turned, addressing an older woman, considerably plumper, who, beyond a floury baking board, regarded Elmer above affable steel-rimmed spectacles. “Here’s Mr. Bixby and Elmer, Aunt Bessie, just in good time to stay for dinner. Guess we better make up a couple pies, after all, if Elmer can find enough windfalls for us.” She provided a splint basket and pointed superfluously to a red-astrachan tree, extending greeting and invitation now to Uncle Clem. Returning light of heart and foot from his errand, Elmer collabo- rated joyfully in the chase and capture and execution of two White Wyandotte cockerels and, while Uncle Clem stabled and fed the team, dealt skillfully with scalded feathers. “It'll be real nice to have some chicken again,” said Aunt Bessie. ‘‘Seems as if Libby and I don’t git round to having it exceptin’ when there’s comp’ny.” Mrs. Shaw, quartering the windfalls with the swift precision of the adept, elaborated on the theme. “Tt don’t seem wuth while to do real cookin’ when there’s only me and Aunt Bessie to eat it,” she announced. “It’s a real treat when we git comp’ny.” Her eye surveyed Elmer thoughtfully. “TI declare THE SATURDAY ALIVE AND SINGLE (Continued from Page 17) it beats all the way you and Mr. Bixby al- ways make out to look so nice, travelin’ the way you do. Neat’s a new pin, ain’t he, Aunt Bessie?”’ Elmer was glad Uncle Clem had thought of that halt at the creek. He gave himself over happily to the seductive smells and sounds of cookery, only remotely aware that Uncle Clem, returning from the barn, made no effort whatever to introduce a commercial note into the conversation. He ate methodically, his contentment given a certain edge by the reflection that by nightfall he would be infinitely remote from any surplusage of fried chicken left perforce on that generous platter, from the other half of the second green-apple pie. Instead, he reminded himself gloomily, he’d be breathing yellow dust and listening to Uncle Clem’s debating practice, with the prospect perhaps of another shaming rebuff like last night’s. No, he decided, peddling wasn’t what it was cracked up to be. If you could live, instead, at such a place as this ——— He withdrew himself mournfully from Uncle Clem’s professional interview with Mrs. Shaw, and instead of immediately at- tending to his task of hitching up, explored the big dusky barn built snugly into the steep slant behind the house—a cavern of drowsy shadow, where the motes danced mysteriously in thin slices of light that slipped through cracks in the wall, the air touched with the smell of hay and musical with the sleepy hum of wasps and the sly, thin cheep of bats hidden behind beam and rafter. Elmer thought it a place mani- festly designed as a playground for rainy days. Ciimbing the ladder of slats nailed to the wall and surrendering himself to the soft, faintly aromatic cushion of ancient hay in the high mow, he decided that it would serve excellently, also, as a place of after-dinner naps. Yes, sir, if a fellow lived here —— He woke, to find Uncle Clem twitching at his sleeve, and sat up regretfully. “Time to go already?” “Guess so.” Uncle Clem, however, lowered himself deliberately to the hay and exhaled a deep sigh. ‘‘ Wish I had time for a nap myself. D’know when I’ve et such a good meal. Nice place, ain’t it? Nice folks too. Only one thing about Mis’ Shaw ’t don’t suit me.” “What?” Elmer was disposed to resent the qualifi- cation. To his view, at the moment, there existed no basis whatever for criticism of Mrs. Libby Shaw. “Only ’t she ought to git married again,” said Uncle Clem. “It ain’t good sense, a lady like her livin’ this way, nor good busi- ness neither. No, sir, that’s one thing = learn mighty quick in the peddlin’ usiness, if you ain’t learned it already out of the Bible—it ain’t good for folks to live alone. Specially folks like Mis’ Shaw, with a farm goin’ to wreck and ruin on shares and a big house settin’ empty and ——” He wagged his head disapprovingly. “And her such a first-rate cook too. It ain’t good sense, Elmer.” He got slowly to his feet and moved to the ladder. Elmer followed him sleepily. He saw Uncle Clem seemingly lean back- ward and had time to wonder at the foolish brandishing gesture of his hand, waving the slat to which it had clang. There was an ugly snayping sound somehow involved in the thudding crash on the barn floor, a sharp outery. Leaning over the edge of the mow, he could see Uncle Clem lying there, one leg twisted strangely under him. “Better climb down the hay chute.” Uncle Clem’s voice sounded queerly differ- ent. ‘‘That ladder ain’t safe. Guess I’ve busted this leg.” Even then, as he scrambled down: the dark shaft to the mangers, as he ran to the house and then to call the men at work in the bean field beyond the road, as he watched them carry Uncle Clem into the bedroom on the ground floor, as he rode a barebacked horse at a canter after the doctor—Elmer was aware of a stubborn, disgraceful sense of consolation. He couldn't help thinking that Uncle Clem had picked out a mighty good place for that accident. u HE sun informed Elmer that noon was altogether too near at hand for any serious consideration of the inference to be drawn from that bamboo fish pole canted EVENING POST over Mr. Hub Massey’s shoulder. In its proper time and place a worthy and satisfying enterprise, fishing was assuredly not to be balanced against dinner at Mrs. Shaw’s—especially when guaranteed to have Uncle Clem back on the van in a month, and when, of those thirty-one dinners, five had already dis- appeared——-disappeared the way money slipped through your fingers at a county fair, before you knew it, as if by malicious artifice. No, sir. Elmer approached Mr. Massey in a spirit of purely philosophic interest, mildly curious as to a fishing ex- pedition so remote from any running water. _ Mr. Massey, making him welcome, en- lightened him at some length as to the purpose of the bamboo pole. appeared, had to do with ground hogs, who, according to Mr. Massey, were just raising eternal Ned with his clover. Elmer watched the process with a certain secret sympathy for the quarry. Mr. Massey poured an evil-smelling liquid on a wadded rag and ig pre the flexible rod to propel this past the curves of the burrow, after which he choked the opening with grass and sealed it with earth, well tamped under his boot heels, “Bisulphide,” he explained. “Turns into gas and smothers ’em if you find all the holes and dose ’em this way.” He repeated the process at another burrow. “How’s Bixby gittin’ along?” Elmer frowned at the reminder. He was glad that Uncle Clem was getting better, of course, but there wasn’t any need of doing it so fast as to surprise people, even the doctor, who had actually suggested that the leg might knit in less than that niggardly remnant of the original month. “First-rate,” he said gloomily, ‘“ Doctor says it won’t be hardly no time before we’re back on the road again. Says ——” Mr. Massey emitted a pessimistic laugh. “Don’t you believe it, that’s all I got to say. Bixby he ain’t got ’s much chance as this here ground hog!” He stam the moist soil down into the burrow for em- phasis. ‘No, sir, | hev knowed a ground hog to dig his way out.” ‘Imer stared. “The doctor says “T ain’t talkin’ about busted bones. I’m tellin’ you ’t Bixby ain’t got a chance to git out of that house alive and single. You Doctor Peters | This, it | ain’t made a study of womenfolks the way | I hev, Elmer, or I wouldn't need to tell you. In there, flat on his back, and a man ’t | don’t know how to handle ’em neither! No, sir, your peddlin’ days is over an’ done with. Bixby he’s the same as married this minute. You mark my words!” “Think so, honest?” Eimer surveyed the prospect with a wary, untrustful hope. Not just twenty-five of those dinners, after | all—he thought dimly of Thanksgiving and | Christmas; of shagbarks and chestnuts in the woodlot and pumpkins shining between the corn shocks, “Tt ain’t a case f’r thinkin’,” said Mr. Massey with conviction. “ You ain’t made a study of it, or you’d see that without me | tellin’ you. It’s a case f’r knowin’. Bixby layin’ there helpless, f'r two women to work on all they’re a mind to! Don’t tell me! They got a man in the house an’ they ain’t goin’ to leave him git out—not single, no, sir! Not without somebody puts a spoke in their wheel, anyhow—somebody *t knows how to handle ’em. I got a good mind to do it myself, I hev! Yes, sir, { got a first-rate notion to eS He paused to pour out more poison, Elmer glanced at the sun, “T got to git back, Mr. Massey. dinnertime.” Mr. Massey straightened. “I bet they both been feedin’ him two- handed,” he said bitterly. “That's their strong holt. Chicken and choc’late cake and ——” Most ~—- pie,” said Elmer absently. “‘ Green- apple mostly. Cream on it, and frizzled beef for breakfast and 3 “Fried mush, too, I bet.” “Maple sirup.”” Elmer licked his upper lip and again consulted the sun. “I got to git back.” “You better if you aim to git Bixby out of there alive and single.” Mr. Massey sealed the doom of another ground hog. “If I was you I'd take and set by him like I was hitched. Wouldn’t give ’em no chance to git round him, I wouldn’t. By gorry, I got a good notion to come round mI Ah Ah x , Poa We (CECE How to choose a gift umbrella UY more than a pretty handle and fine cloth . buy backbone. See that the umbrella has the improved, inter fitting, sturdy Sweson Frame. Then pride yourself in your choice of a token that will live long in use fulness as well as beauty. You can recognize a genuine Sweson Frame by its narrow metal trade mark, attached to one of the ribs inside. (alr Evans CSWESON> Frame ) Tough Swedish steel ribs . . . simple, trouble free joints . . . Japanned twice .. . rustless brass swivels and notches .. . swedged, brazed steel rods . . . even copper-cov ered steel rib-binding wire! The Sweson is the only frame with these advanced construction merits. Yes, umbrellas are ood Christmas gifts - Bos umbrellas with Sweson Frames are surpassing. S.W.EVANS & SON PHILADELPHIA, PA. THE FRAME OF FAME

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118 TUSKdG R4DIO ae | | wave LENGTH volume | There are only two knobs, one to pick up stations, the other to control volume } and eliminate unwanted programs. A | | auide card is furnished to show set | tings for the different «tations. Tuska superdyne selectivity represents a tre mendous advance in radio. nel To hear distant stations FOR volurme and distance the Tuska Superdyne has become famous. Is yours the thrill that comes from hearing voice and music three thousand miles away? Then this Tuska triumph is the receiver for you! Owners of the Tuska Superdyne, knowing nothing about radio, have heard cne coast from the other, and on the loud speaker. They have heard England, also on the horn. Experience proves that this receiver’s results are limited only by natural conditions over which man has no control. If at the moment you tune in with a Tuska Superdyne radio waves are reaching across the continent, or over the sea, then you will hear those distant places. All that is in the air about you, from far and near, is brought to your ear by the Tuska Superdyne. With There are only two dials for you to turn—that’s supreme it you can exhaust the possibilities of reception. simplicity. All batteries may be concealed within the cabinet—that preserves the beauty of your home. And always the quality of reception is faithful to the original —that means complete enjoyment. THE Cc. D. TUSKA CO., Hartford, Conn. From the Atlantic to the Pacific The Superdyne — Last night at about 12.18 Radio Frequency Receiver A. M 1 picked up eignale from The model illuetzated above is KGO (Ovkland J), pha» ioe priced at $150, without tubes, A Perfet Day, et T hewe batteries or horn. Great for loud sighals were «0 etrong that | put speaker reception of distant sta raker ottachwent on tions. Full, natural tone, Li a” and with the ex atance of the Tuske superdyne the program was car ried to every part of our hone Wrisam Fo Swier Vineyard Haven, Mase censed under Armetrong Circuit Patent No, 1,115,149. Other luska receivers from $45 to$350 Write for beautifully illustrated 30-paze Catalog No. 21M peedinetdan ate ie, See ee a an THE SATURDAY EVENING POST there one these days and help you do it. Pie and chicken—bet you they take an’ make you freeze ice cream for him any minute!” “Sunday,” said Elmer. ‘‘ Maple cream, Mis’ Shaw says. I got to git back.” He dwelt wistfully on the bright vision | as he reerossed the sloping meadow toward | gloomy. the red roof in its green blot of orchard. Peddling taught you the unwisdom of counting your chickens in the egg; but Mr. Massey spoke with agen He had studied these matters, clearly; he had guessed almost right as to the kitchen at- tack on Uncle Clem’s singleness. One thing Elmer decided—he’d stay out of Uncle Clem’s room after this. Let him practice on Mrs. Shaw or Aunt Bessie in- stead, and thus afford them, as Mr. Massey said, plenty of chance to get round him. The blended exhalations from the stove were more subtly inviting as he breathed them through the screen door and remem- bered Mr. Massey’s interpretation of their deeper significance. He saw with approval that Aunt Bessie was alone in the kitchen and, inclining his head, heard a fluent elo- quence in the bedroom. “And this here elegantly bound volume containin’ three hund’d and eighty pages of the inspirin’ and instructive story of Ad- miral George Dewey, Mis’ Shaw, with no less ’n thutty-two sep’rate an’ distinc’ en- gravin’s an’ a map in four colors of the Ph’lipeen Islan’s, is yours, for the first an’ last time, for the ridic’lous price of —of’’— the fire went out of Uncie Clem’s tone— “‘of nothin’, Mis’ Shaw. I'd like first-rate fr you to leave me make you a present of this here book. Started in to say so first off, an’ then forgot and went to peddlin’ again. Sort of got the habit, seems like.” Elmer tiptoed past the door, his respect for Mr. Massey’s discernment measurably enlarged. It was clear that Uncle Clem had begun to be got round. He managed to avoid the sickroom until the last bit of gummy apple sirup had been scraped from the pie pan and the two women were deal- ing with the dishes in the kitchen. “Been over helpin’ Mr. Massey kill ground hogs,” he explained in response to question. ‘‘He never said a word about that there knitter. Guess he'll keep it.” “Hope so, anyhow,”’ Uncle Clem looked “Don’t look like we'd sell much else f’r a spell, with me laid up this way.” He lapsed into meditation. ‘It’s too bad. Mis’ Shaw, she'd ought to be married, Elmer, same as I told you the other day. Yes, sir, that’s how it is. Ain’t a mite of sense to it, a lady like her livin’ this way.” Elmer held a discreet and contented tongue. Long ago he had learned the use- fulness of keeping still when the customer | was talking himself into buying. He slipped down from the rush-bottomed chair as Mrs. Shaw came to the door. “T got to fill up the resevoy back of the stove,” he announced. “Bet the wood box is about empty too.” Mrs. Shaw seemed pleased. “I declare I don’t see how we got along without you, Elmer.”’ She shook her head slowly. ‘It'll feel real lonesome when | you’re gone and we have to fetch wood and Fill the resevoy It’s water for ourselves again. all the way up to the top, I would. Sat’d’y.” Elmer saw no connection between these remarks, but he dismissed the matter as unimportant. Four pails of well water | went into the reservoir and four times he crashed his double armful of stovewood | into the big box by the woodshed door. | The sound of Uncle Clem’s voice reached | him from the bedroom, hopefully per- suasive; but it would be just as well, never- theless, to be fortified against recall. He asked Aunt Bessie whether there wasn’t some other chore to do. “The gravel walk out front’s a perfect sight,” said Aunt Bessie. “I'll git you the pegs an’ string an’ you can weed it nice and straight for Sunday.” She demonstrated the technic of walk weeding and beamed at Elmer’s prentice effort. “That's first-rate! I declare I don’t see how we’re goin’ to git along without you, Elmer. Makes a sight of difference havin’ a boy like you round the house.” **Make a sight more havin’ a man,”’ ven- tured Elmer. Aunt Bessie was plainly de- lighted. “Truest thing you ever said! Just what I keep tellin’ Libby Shaw every day I live! You can talk all you’re amind to, I tell her, but what this place wants is a man, if it’s the last word I live to say!” December 13,1924 She expanded on the theme at some length, while Elmer dealt sternly with the grass and weeds that trespassed beyond the dead line of taut wool twine between the pegs. A body, she explained, couldn’t rightly take an interest cooking up vittles for a couple of women, and it was a sin and shame to leave a first-rate farm run down on shiftless share-rent treatment, let alone not getting hardly enough out of your share to pay taxes. And when Elmer had got done with the walk he might take a tin pail and see if there wasn’t a mess of black- berries ripe enough for supper, and he might just as well drive the cow down while he was up that way too. These pretexts sufficed for a long, sleepy afternoon of absence from Uncle Clem’s bedside, where, according to Mr. Massey, his presence might put a spoke in the wheel of the getting-round process. Waiting for supper in a friendly coolness of far-slanting elm shadow, Elmer was disturbed by the approach of Mr. Massey in the flesh; also, he observed, as he moved to the retaining wall to meet the caller, in Sunday clothes. “Drivin’ up town,” said Mr. Massey, winding the reins about the whipstock. “Thought I’d stop in an’ see Bixby a min- ute, long as I was goin’ right by. Some- body’d ought to tell him —-—”’ “Sh-h!” said Elmer. ‘Look out or you'll wake him up. He’s been talkin’ most all day, an’ Mis’ Shaw wants him to git a good nap before supper. I’ll tell him you stopped.” He was glad about that nap now. If Mr Massey got a chance to talk to Uncle Clem before Mrs. Shaw and Aunt Bessie had got all the way round him, he might get that spoke into the wheel after all. Mr. Massey was dangerous; he had studied these mat- ters too deeply. “Shucks!”" Mr, Massey was disap- pointed. “Started early, just apuppose.”’ He glanced at the kitchen door and Elmer saw his nostrils widen and twitch. ‘‘ Didn’t 1 tell you? Fryin’ chicken for supper! You leave it to them women to git round a sick man every time! Layin’ there flat on his back! Chicken!” “Sody biscuits an’ gravy,’ said Elmer. “*Didn’t I tell you?’’ Mr. Massey spoke with bitterness. “‘Bet they feed him crab- apple jelly dg “Quince,” said Elmer. “Aunt Bessie’s goin’ to make some fresh crab apple next week. There’s a tree 't’s most ripe up by the ice house.” “Might have knowed it,’’ said Mr. Massey. “I got a first-rate notion to go wake him up. He’d ought to have warnin’ anyhow. Quince jelly—a man ’t can’t lift hardly a finger to help himself!’’ “* Mis’ Shaw wouldn't like it,’’ said Elmer hastily. ‘“‘I’ll tell him you was here when he wakes up, and you could stop in some other time when you ain’t too busy.” “T could do that, I guess.’” Mr. Massey seemed to welcome the suggestion. ‘To- morrow’s Sunday—I could come over just as well ’s not. Do it, too, by gorry. Flat on his back! Yes, sir, that’s what I'll do. You tell him I'll be over first thing after I git done with my chores tomorrow.” Relieved, Elmer watched the dust cloud lift and hang behind the clacking wheels. Mr. Massey would come back tomorrow probably, but tomorrow seemed a long way off. Drawn by compelling perfumes, he moved back to the kitchen, where Aunt Bessie’s knife regulated the fascinating process of browning potatoes in a skillet. ‘Her eyes slanted at Elmer above her glasses. “Didn’t I hear a rig just now?” Elmer explained that, as:long as Uncle Clem was asleep, Mr. Massey had driven on up to town: Aunt Bessie’s lips achieved a sound of contemptuous impatience, more expressive somehow than any mere words. “*I declare I don’t know what to make of Hub Massey! Supper almost ready and he drives right by! There’s times when I think ’t livin’ alone that way must ’ve ad- dled what little sense he was born with. Might think we put Paris green in our vittles, the way he acts.” Elmer, reserving a better opinion as to Mr. Massey’s intelligence, said only that he was coming over again in the morning, at which tidings Aunt Bessie seemed but slightly mollified. She mentioned the mat- ter with some heat at the table, and after- ward, when Mrs. Shaw was giving Uncle Clem his supper and Elmer helped with the dish towel, she came back to it again. “Wouldn’t surprise me a mite if that Hub Massey didn’t come tomorrow neither. (Continued on Page 121)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “Its about Father -he’s in the . An accident .. or maybe serious illness hospital * —.. The only support of a family suddenly stricken down .. Fees for physicians .. nurses .. An operation, perhaps .. Dreary weeks of costly care .. Long months of harsh privation at home ..What if you were robbed of your earning ability today? | FAIRNESS to your family, you WHATEVER your insurance needs may ) cannot ignore the fact that accident be (and there are many which you may ‘ SS Ss 2 av av “Ss r q - 21 rf . Cre y ‘ Hh; > or illness some day may destroy your The Aktna Life Insurance Company never have suspected), in intelligent power to provide— perhaps forever! and affiliated companies issue virtu- Aitna representative stands ready to Last year more than 15,000 persons ally every known form ot policy serve you well. Get acquainted with died as a result of automobile accidents — a Lie, G wy * oF rarenore this A&tna-izer in your community. ~ roup Life yroup isaD1lIty AACCI- 4 ; . , ati " , , ,? He is a man worth knowing. Back alone. Constantly, hundreds of thou dent and Health; Automobile; Com- fol , ave 6 h \ sands of sick-beds are filled with the pensation; Liability; Burglary; Plate O ene protection ne o ers are tne i seriously ill or injured. Glass; Water Damage; Fire; Marine; unrivaled resources of the strongest ) Let the Aitna-izer explain an Acci- Transportation; Fidelity Bonds; multiple-line insurance organization Surety Bonds, etc. in the world. dent Policy that gives your family an in- seb te ; i ieee ost as AEtna-ize according to your needs CORRS WEED PONT CATES ability is Cut off as you prosper and as your obligations —or the Waiting Period Health Policy increase. that gives protection at low rates. More and more, wise buyers of in- surance are making “the man worth knowing” their trusted adviser. AZTNA LIFE INSURANCE COMPANY AND AFFILIATED COMPANIES “ETNA CASUALTY AND SURETY CO. AUTOMOBILE INSURANCE CO., OF HARTFORD, CONNECTICUT

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST December 13, 1924 A Safegift—Safedge in Cartons Those who «se Libbey Safedge know from their own sense of reason that it is the one glassware for them. These reasons are sufficiently convincing for everyone else. (1) Safedge ia the development of 106 years of glass manufac- greater economy--(8) Made in a full line of staple ware, ture —(2) Backed by Libbey’s long, fine reputation—(3) The _ ranging from least expensive table tumblers to most expensive ‘‘beaded edge’’ prevents chipping—(4) Thin and beautiful, beautiful stemware service—(9) Has revolutionized and yet very durable—(5) Withstands sudden shock from freezing ¢conomized glassware usage— (10) Packed in convenient car- cold to boiling heat without effect— (6) Is hygienic, sanitary tons, a new, neat way to buy and keep a supply of Safedge. and safe—(7) Combines greater beauty with longer wear and If your dealer hasn’t Safedge, send for free booklet, “The Story of Safedge.” THE LIBBEY GLASS MANUFACTURING COMPANY, TOLEDO, OHIO ; San Francisco: 7/8 Mission St ¢ nn ka 4 What a joy to give, what a joy to receive, and what a joy to use! New Vor: 200 Sth Ave.; New ENGLAND: 110 Thacher St., Mattapan, Mass Los ANGELES: 643 South Olive Street; Statrie: Terminal Sales Building; DALLAS: 151144 Commerce Street SAFEDGE GLASSWARE PROTECTED BY THE BEADED EDGE IS MADE IN A COMPLETE LINE OF TABLEWARE

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(Continued from Page 118) I declare I ain’t got a scrap of patience left, the way he goes on!”’ “Guess he’ll come all right,’’ said Elmer pessimistically. “You wait ’n’ see, Aunt Bessie.”’ Mrs. Shaw returned with the tray and Aunt Bessie abandoned the topic. Mrs. Shaw sent Elmer in to sit with Uncle Clem while she helped Aunt Bessie finish with the dishes. Uncle Clem was mildly pleased, Elmer saw, by the report about Mr. Massey. “Wish ’t I’d been awake when he was here,” he said. ‘Been kind of wanting a chance to talk to Hub.” “Won't git it,’’ said Elmer sourly. “Not wit} wut you gag him first. Talk your ear off, he will, an’ no sense to what he says neither.” ‘Bound to talk fast and steady any time there’s anybody around to listen to him, livin’ the way he does,”’ said Uncle Clem; “but I guess he c’n talk sense, just the same, if he gits listened to right.” He paused. “More to listenin’ ’n most folks think, Elmer. D’know but what it’s more of a trick ’n talkin’, when you come right down to it.”” He paused again. ‘Now Mis’ Shaw, f’r instance, she’s a first-rate list’ner, she is. Yes, sir, first-rate. Guess most anybody’d be apt to talk sense with her around.” Again Elmer had recourse to the device of silence, permitting the customer to con- vince himself unaided. “She’d ought to be married though,” said Uncle Clem. “No sense to it, a first- rate list’ner like her goin’ to waste this way, ’s you might say.” He meditated a space. “ Yes, sir, if peddlin’ don’t learn a man nothin’ else, it’ll learn him that—’t folks wasn’t meant to live alone.” Elmer jumped up at the sound of Mrs. Shaw’s returning steps. Maybe, if he kept out of the way, Mr. Massey might be too late tomorrow to put any spokes into the wheels. “Tub’s all ready, Elmer,” said Mrs. Shaw. “You go get your bath now.” Elmer remembered that reference to Saturday in connection with the resevoy. A shadow lowered over his contentment; in summer, in a world liberally provided with swimming holes, bathing in a wooden washtub in the kitchen seemed a remark- ably futile proceeding, almost a deliberate affront to the Providence that had dug, filled and agreeably tempered those swim- ming holes. Also, water so prodigally employed must be pulled up out of a well and carried, the bail cutting deep into your hand, to the resevoy in the back of the stove; it must be dipped out to fill the tub, and, to complete the folly of the perform- ance, bailed out of the tub again after the bath. He decided, however, not to argue the point at present; he was at least pro- vided with a chance to get out of Uncle Clem’s room, to let Mrs. Shaw do some more of her first-rate listening. He had the warm lamp-lighted kitchen to himself; a tub half full of hot water stood close to the amiable stove; yellow soap and a rough towel lay on a chair. Undressing, he was almost reconciled to the silly business. Through the wall he could hear Uncle Clem talking almost as fast and steady as if he had been Mr, Massey himself. She’d stay in there as long as Elmer sat in the tub. He decided to be deliberate about that bath after all. He had just arranged himself in the tub, his knees close to his chin, when the voice stopped; , there were approaching steps and the door opened. Elmer stared, unbeliev- ing, outraged, at the shameless intrusion of Mrs. Shaw. She came straight toward him; she lifted the yellow soap; she—she applied it, ruthlessly and unsparing, to Elmer’s neck and ears and hair, hearing his sput- tered protests unmoved and pitiless. The lather got into Elmer’s eyes and trickled down into his mouth as he tried to talk. Rinsed and toweled, as to his head, he was left to complete the bath unaided, to try by vain rubbings of the harsh towel to rid his tongue of the persisting loathly flavor of that soap, to confront the bitterness of disillusion as he assumed the clean night- shirt and carried his clothes up the steep back stairs to the little bedroom in the L— the bedroom that had seemed so friendly only this morning, so snug and protective in its smallness. He lay awake, a new liking and respect for Mr. Massey in his outraged spirit. Re- motely the sound of Uncle Clem’s voice reached him; that woman was there, get- ting round him, a first-rate listener, as Uncle Clem himself had said. Elmer carried into uneasy dreams a cheering thought that Mr. Massey would be over in the morning with that spoke of his— yellow soap—womenfolks—crab-apple jelly! mr ‘VEN maple ice cream, Elmer reflected, had its darker aspects. You had to scramble up to the narrow head room of the ice house and delve in deep moist sawdust that got inside your shoes; you chopped with a broken-handled ax and pried with an old crowbar till your arms ached, and strug- gled up the path witha piece of ice, wrapped in a rag-carpet remnant, hugged against your breast and drooling wet sawdust all rte You smashed this, after you'd rin it, mixed it with rock salt in the freezer tub and turned a squeaking crank till you were fit to drop. To be sure, there was a certain mitigating matter of the dasher afterward, but it had somehow lost its anticipated charm by then. Sunday, too—supposed to be a day of rest! Elmer contemplated the morning in resentful retrospect. Leave it to women- folks to make work for you, Sunday or no Sunday, if they couldn’t find it any other way—always wanting you to bring in a pail of water or another armful of wood or g° feed the chickens or carry a heavy bucket own to the pig trough. Not much like the Sundays on the road, when he and Uncle Clem camped out some- where and took it decently easy all day > No, sir! e was glad that Mrs. Shaw had gone to church, even though it meant that Elmer had curried a horse and hitched him to the shiny black buggy. As long as she wasn’t in there listening to Uncle Clem —— “See here, Elmer, long as you ain’t got nothin’ else to do, why n’t you go over to Hub Massey’s an’ see if he ain’t comin’ to see your uncle? It’s most eleven, right now.” Aunt Bessie offered the suggestion in the tone of one conferring a boon. She had employed the same provocatively cheerful manner in earlier references to wood and water, as if the discovery of something else for Elmer to do were a particularly happy inspiration on her part of which he would ert rejoice to hear. “Oh, he'll be here all right,” he said sulkily. ‘He said he would, sure.” “What Hub Massey says don’t mean a thing. Don’t know his own mind two min- utes on end.” Aunt Bessie spoke with the effect of impatience with which, always, she discussed Mr. Massey. “Be just like him to say he’d come and then never do it! You run over there ——” “Aw, he'll come!"’ Elmer scowled. “He’s got a special reason.” lt proved impracticable to withhold more specific information from Aunt Bessie. Womenfolks, Elmer reflected bitterly, never let up on you when they started pumping. He took a sort of pleasure, any- way, in telling her Mr. Massey’s special purpose, at the last of it. Needn’t think, just because a man was flat on his back, that they could get round him without a struggle. “Got a notion ’t Mis’ Shaw an’ Uncle Clem might git married,” he told her. “Comin’ over to try an’ stop it.” Aunt Bessie regarded Elmer, the backs of her plump hands supported by her hips. “Elmer Clinton! Whatever in the world put a notion like that into your head? Of all things! I deciare I never'—— -" “Said so,”’ said Elmer doggedly. “You just wait and see!” Aunt Bessie reflected visibly. She pressed her lips firmly together and opened them with decision. “You go straight over there and tell him your uncle wants him,’”’ she commanded. “The idea of making up such a story, just to save yourself a mite of a walk! I’m sur- prised at you, Elmer!”’ Elmer protested uselessly. Under un- shaken conviction of falsehood, he scuffed his feet through the dust of the road, his sense of grievance by no means lessened at the sight of Mr. Massey, again in Sunday attire, approaching him across the clover field. There was even an added injury in Mr. Massey’s cheerfulness. “Made me come over after you,” said Elmer in response to inquiry. ‘Told her there wasn’t no sense to it.” He kicked savagely at the dust, and Mr. Massey, moving away from the rising puff, cautioned him in the matter. “Got on my good clothes,”’ he said. ‘No need to go an’ kick dust all over ’em.,”’ THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ee makin’ extra work f’r you!” Elmer held to his own sequence of thought. “Just make it up out of their heads, women do. Sunday, too!” _Mr. Massey clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Now that just shows you ain’t made no real study of it, Elmer, ’r you wouldn’t go sayin’ that. If there’s one thing ’t a woman’s real good at it lays right there. Yes, sir, you take a man fixed the way I am and a good two-handed sort of woman ’d come mighty clost to savin’ me the hull cost of her keep, just doin’ the house chores so’s I could have my time clear f’r workin’ the land. You ain’t got no notion how long it takes me just doin’ my cookin’. Many’s the time I've figured out ’t I’d save good money if I had a woman keepin’ house f’r me.” _ Elmer was not interested. He withdrew his attention as they walked back to Mrs. Shaw’s, aware only that Mr. Massey con- tinued to talk. He led the way into Uncle Clem’s room by the front door, thus avoid- ing an encounter with Aunt Bessie, who would certainly have thought of another chore by now. Uncle Clem made his visitor warmly welcome. “Been kind of hopin’ you’d come over,” he said. ‘Git sort of lonesome without a man to talk to. Course Mis’ Shaw and Mis’ Gilbreth been mighty good to me, but it ain’t the same thing. Guess a man listens better somehow.” Mr. Massey leaned forward on his rush- bottomed chair. “Now that just shows you ain’t made no real study of it, Bixby, ’r you'd know better ’n to say a thing like that! If there’s one thing 't a woman’s good at, it lays right there! Yes, sir, listenin’s their strongest holt, if you git right down to it. You take a man an’ he’s always tryin’ to interrup’ you with some notion of his own, ‘stead of givin’ you a fair chance to say your say clean out. You take me, f'r instance, an’ I got to go round talkin’ to hosses an’ myself. Yes, sir, when you look at it right, you’re lucky, Bixby—nothin’ to do only lay flat on your back an’ talk, an’ a couple ’f women right handy, all the time, to listen.” ‘Somethin’ in that, sure enough,” said Uncle Clem. “ D’know as I ever looked at it jest that way.” He sniffed. “Seems like I smelled chicken fryin’ again. Goin’ to have it f’r dinner, Elmer, d’you know?” “Ought to.’ Elmer spoke glumly. “Been pickin’ wet pinfeathers till my fingers ’re about wore off.” Uncle Clem shook his head. “Don’t seem ’s if I could relish it some- how. Right funny thing, Hub, the way women can’t never git tired 'f chicken an’ such fixin’s, when it’d be a sight easier to — good plain cookin’ instead. Seems "s i Briar sats It appeared that this matter, too, had been the object of a special study on Mr. Massey’s part. Aunt Bessie’s falsely affectionate call of “El-mer-r-r!”’ inter- a a fluent discourse on the relative values, gustatory and nutritive, of chicken and, say, salt pork or bread and milk. Informed, without surprise, that Aunt Bessie needed two-three sticks of wood and that, as long as he was here, he might ’s well bring in a fresh pail of water, he per- formed these tasks in a profound dis- couragement. The way Mr. Massey was going on in there you might think that instead of hindering the conspiracy against Uncle Clem, he’d come over heve on rpose to help! Elmer faced a sense of A eral helplessness; Uncle Clem in there, ong, Pang on his back, and every- body, even Mr. Massey —-— A dark suspicion of treachery and col- lusion grew upon him during dinner. Mrs. Shaw, al rom church in her stiff black silk, had prevailed upon Mr. Massey to share this meal. Surveying her placid and amiable countenance across the table, Elmer was obliged to ry agreement with Mr. Massey’s repeated felicitations on the good fortune that had marooned him here, Remembering the inexorable clutch on the back of his neck, the feei and smell and taste of that yellow soap, Elmer marveled at the hypocrisy which enabled Mrs. Shaw to accept these praises as just and merited. Mrs. Shaw seemed contented to listen, as if in proof of Mr. Massey’s views in this respect; but Aunt Bessie talked quite a lot. The chicken and fixings handicapped Mr. Massey severely in the matter of con- versation and gave Aunt Bessie a good many chances. Elmer’s appetite failed as he gave ear to her. She didn’t even bother to conceal what she was driving at, he 121 thought—always talking about what a leasure it was for her and Libby to have JInecle Clem in the house and how sorry they’d be when he was gone and what a nice, refined, cultivated man he was und such an interesting talker, too, and how nice it was to have Elmer around and what a help he’d been. Elmer could hardly eat his fourth helping of the maple ice cream. He slid out of his chair and went into Uncle Clem's room. Uncle Clem’s eyes were shut, but his lips moved and Elmer caught familiar words. “Le’s see. I'll say, ‘Seems funny the way a lady takes on about a mite of dunk under a bed ———’” The eyes opened, Uncle Clem regarded Elmer with a funny, slant- ing look. “Hub ain’t gone, is he?” Elmer canted his head toward the kitchen. "Don’t sound like it, does it?” In spite of distance and intervening walls, Mr. Massey’s voice was heard to declare that he hadn’t et no such dinner in he didn’t know how long. Uncle Clem twitched at Etmer’s sleeve. “You git him back in here soon’s he’s done eatin’,” he whispered. “I been studyin’ over some—some more ways to listen.” iv MILD regret seemed to deepen Eimer‘’s pleasure in a number of long-familiar things—-in the mysterious way you could feel, through the tight reins, the eagerness of the rested horses, for instance; in the smoothness of the newly dragged road across the rain-washed flats, the far-away smell of autumn that only reminded you of the six good weeks that still protected you from school; in the presence of Uncle Clem on the seat of the van, bleached and weak and shaky, to be sure, but still, as Mr. Massey had put it, alive and single, Under such conditions you could almost enjoy being a little sorry and homesick; you could Sook back without rancor on Saturday nights and yellow soap, on wood boxes and water pails, and remember such compensations as—as sponge cake swim- pron J in a bowl of whipped cream, as crab- apple jelly on piping-hot raised biscuits, as P atters of broiled chicken. Elmer thought appily of the snack under the seat; he'd seen Aunt Bessie put a chicken into the shoe box. As long as everything had turned out right, after all, you could afford to be just a oo 4 mite sorry that it couldn't have turned out wrong, too, the way you put your foot out of bed on a cold night so you'd enjoy the warmth more when you pulled it back. “‘ Mighty nice lady, Mis’ Shaw,”’ he said. “So's Aunt Bessie. Kind of hated to leave, I did. “So’d 1,” admitted Uncle Clem. “Stayed another week, I would, if I'd felt we could afford it, after bein’ laid up so long, with doctor’s bills and board to pay and no chance to make « dollar.” “Made plenty,” objected Elmer, “if you'd charged Mis’ Shaw reg’lar prices on all we been sellin’ her this last week.”’ He sighed. “ Cert’nly supprised me the way she cut loose and bought, soon as she got started. Didn't figure we'd sell her a thing—not after the way she'd set there and leave you talk her ear off and neve even git int’rested. An’ all at once os “Things was different,” said Uncle Clem. “Tell you, Elmer, there ain't nothin’ so good f'r the peddlin’ business ’s marryin’ an’ givin’ in marriage, as you might say. Noticed it ever sonse I been on the road. Ain’t hardly wuth while to stop to a house without there’s married folks in it. Seems ’s if a woman never needed nothin’ unless she’s got a husband, to start off with. Same way with a man, No, sir, guess a peddier wouldn’t hardly make horse feed in heaven.” He nodded. “Couldn't hev sold Mis’ Shaw a thing, this trip 'r any other, if I hadn’t made out to git Hub Massey into the notion 't he wanted to marry her. Sight more to the peddlin’ business 'n jest sellin’ goods, Elmer.” Elmer twisted in the seat. “You mean to say you done it —on uppose? You mean to tell me you taiked Mr, Massey into ———”’ Uncle Clem shook his head. “Don’t guess anybody could talk Hub Massey into anythin’—he don’t give you no chance.” He grinned slowly. “Had to listen him into it, Elmer.”’ The grin warmed to his thin chuckle. “Time we come back, next summer, wouldn't wonder if he was kind of different. That there Mis’ Shaw she’s got it down to a sci’nce listenin’. Made a study of it, she has!”

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST December 13, 1924 S3runswick’s Annual cP; resents this year the Choice of lwo Supreme Lypes of [nStrument Door on side of cabinet Uttona containing loop for operation of s plays all Rann A SUPER- HETERODYNE phonograph z records phonograph to radio by simple turn a Gaitte covering all.wood oval tone amplifier Drawer containing | RADIOLA . j SuPta~ Usual vecord HETERODYNE eres space 4 panet hind thy door THE BRUNSWICK ‘RADIOLA NO. 100 SS SS Radio’s Greatest Achievement The Femarkable ‘Brunswick Radiola Super-Heterodyne Ss Ss N the Brunswick Radiola, Brunswick pre- which one may purchase with positive assur- sents that which musical authorities, ance of lasting satisfaction through the years artists and critics join in acclaiming the most to come. remarkable musical achievement of the day. At a turn of a lever it is the most thrilling of For here is radio given a new quality of tonal ll radios. At another turn it is the supreme beauty, clarity and musical excellence. An in a phonograph to keep the recorded music instrument supremely and immeasurably in of all time at your command. A phonograph, / - a field its own. a radio in one. And each one, the superlative. _ ee: Pe >: Ex Multiply your previous ideals of the miracle Some models embody the Radiola Super- THE BRUNSWICK RADIOLA NO. 260 of radio; your former conceptions of the Heterodyne. Others the Radiola Regenoflex utmost in home entertainment—and even and the Radiola No. 3 and 3A. All emphasize then will you scarcely have a fair picture of | the exquisite cabinet work and beauty of de- what this new instrument embodies. sign which characterize Brunswick instru- Combined in joint effort by the Radio Cor- ments. poration of America, the leader in radio, with Prices range from $190 upwards. A few of Brunswick, leader in musical reproduction, the more notable models are illustrated here. it embodies the best that men know in radio A complete showing may be seen at all and in music. In nowise is it a makeshift Brunswick dealers. An opportunity of which (simply a radio receiver in a phonograph you are urged to avail yourself now, so as to cabinet), but a scientifically combined unit, be sure of Christmas delivery. The Brunswick Radiola Super-Heterodyne Some remarkable features Requires no outside antenna—no ground do. Consider what this means in big wires, You can move it from room to centers. room—plays wherever you place it. Combines the superlative in radio with 2 Amazing selectivity permitting you to the superlative in phonographic re- “cut out" what you don’t want to production—a phonograph and a radio hear and pick out instantly what you in one. THE BRUNSWICK CHIPPENDALE (Phonograph only) 23 nat Salle ae eee ee ee

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\j THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 123 | Shoppers Christmas Guide ) } i - the Brunswick fae and the mos} remarkable of Musical Achievements 2” BRUNS we geploe ‘ih we! Merchant « PYM Pe eh Ee oN Ses, rr Mm Ur rey i = - N i » $5 These famous artists of the det ahs | € NEW HALL OF FAME i H 86 record exclusively for the Brunswick Phonograph \ and the Brunswick Radiola Witttew. All are on Brunswick Gold Label, Double-Faced Records. New records continuously offered. Always some- thing new on Brunswick Records = A F3 BOHNEN MINNEAPOLIS ! H ay re gg EDITH MASON 3 CLAIRE DUX MORRISEY s v $4.4. ELLY NEY z THE CLEVELAND ONEGIN : ORCHESTRA PATTIERA ‘ 3 Nikolai Sokoloff, MISHEL PIASTRO = Conductor RETHBERG = EASTON ROSEN 4 ELSHUCO TRIO = Bess, RICHARD GODOWSKY ’ + hp 2] bb og = " HOFMANN JOHN J HARLES THOMAS ‘a HUBERMAN UKRAINIAN IVOGUN NATIONAL LAURI-VOLPI “HORUS THE BRUNSWICK RADIOLA NO. 160 The Supreme in Phonographic Repr oduction « The Brunswick Phonograph HOSEN by virtually every noted concert and operatic artist of the New Hall of Fame as best fitted to perpetuate the musical triumphs of today to posterity, the Bruns- wick Phonograph has come to be known as the criterion of musical excellence by which phonographic reproduction now is judged. Fitting gracefully into that well-ordered scheme of life, which admits only of that which is admittedly above question, it be- speaks eloquently the understanding and ap- preciation of good music which marks the home of culture the world over. Pictured here are but a few of the 24 notable period, console and de luxe styles most happily suited to Christmas giving. All embody the internationally acclaimed Brunswick Method of Reproduction—an advancement obtainable in no other make of instrument. Prices range from $45 to $775. An instru- ment of a style and finish to fit in with any decorative motif—and at prices to meet the restrictions of even the most limited purse. LIBERAL TERMS OF PAYMENT Your Brunswick dealer will gladly arrange terms of payment to meet your requirements on any Brunswick instrument you may select. THE BRUNSWICK-BALKE-COLLENDER CO. Manufacturers— Established 1845 GENERAL OFFICES: CHICAGO Branches in all Principal Cities PHONOGRAPHS The Sign of Musical Prestige RECORDS RADIOLAS © B. B.C. Co. 1924 THE BRUNSWICK RADIOLA No. 360 THE BRUNSWICK YORK (Phonograph only)

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one’ Surf board, ski and toboggan combined Folds fat, easily car ried in bus “ed Spring steel body otange enamel, green trimmed, - natural < finished hardwood Any handle one can $2.70 ride it Folders in lifelike colors sent on request. Carry the most popular wheel Dealers: a line. Write today for uli descriptions and prices HUNT, HELM, FERRIS & CO. Albany Harvard, Il. Los Angeles Minneapolis San Francisco WO A il IRR Ee RS OO Ee CES | THE SATURDAY EVENING POST December 13,1924 THIS LITERARY BUSINESS | when they are done asserting they are “ | ists, and from livin | ture you belong to lives so free that, freedom counts, and temperament po Pe they are the supreme artists of the ages. Whether literature is an art depends, I am quite sure, upon what school of litera- for there are schools. | Whether literature is a creative art de- | pends upon the same thing. First, let us examine the Ultra-Modern, or Realist School. It employs the nasty-little-boy | method and is very effective in a publicity way. This school refuses plot and declares that it mirrors life meticulously. We may safely admit the meticulousness, but it would seem the quicksilver has cracked off the back of the mirror. This school enjoys a wide reputation, especially among sup- | pressed spinsters who have never seen such | clarity. words used before, and a species of fame adheres to authors who are addicted to it. The basis of this school is that you must not conceal the plumbing. When I was a very little boy another little boy discovered Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary as a re- pository of life. It contained words! These words were defined with exactness and Word spread rapidly through the school that the dictionary was a nasty book, and for a time it enjoyed an unprece- dented vogue. Our authors of this school are, apparently, those same nasty little boys grown up, but now, instead of writing their knowledge of life—a little distorted by lack of adequate digestion perhaps—on the back fence of the sihodinoude, they print it in novels. Love of the Unpleasant These gentlemen and ladies write of life as it is, they tell us, eliminating impossible romance, impossible decencies, impossible humanity, impossible human gratitudes and sacrifices and affections, impossible happy endings. They report. They de- scribe odors but never perfumes. On their own evidence they do no imaginative creat- ing, but set down in cold t i a life as it actually is lived by their neigh ors. One is | moved to pause and wonder at their selec- | how commonplace | mother’s. tion of a neighborhood. The gentleman who lives next door murders his wife, who is fat and unpleasant, because their child had stomach trouble in the night—meticu- lously described stomach trouble—and de- manded that he arise and participate in tidying up the room. This is rather a com- mon practice among husbands. It is a sample of realistic plot. Insanity is lav- ishly used, but not to the same extent as perversions. These authors will walk past the most beautiful sunset, to describe, drop- ping in now and then one of those diction- ary words, the back yard adjoining the pigsty. I have lived a number of years in this world and have studied in my nearsighted way the goings and comings ‘of the people around me, but I have not been able to observe clearly nor understand what I have observed. For instance, I have not seen and habitual a thing it is for fathers to lead out their eight-year- old daughters, preferably behind the barn, and cut their throats because they see evi- dences in the child that she will grow up to have a wen behind her ear just like In this novel the wen is the plot. It is the wen which so works upon the life of the hero that his poise is de- stroyed, his life made horrible by day and night, and which, in the end, gets him executed with minute descriptions. I have never observed this phenomenon, though, since my attention has been called to its yersistent, everyday occurrence, I have looked for it. This may be art, but it is not creative art, on the authority of its authors them- selves. They merely set down what they see. But I am wrong; they do create, in the sense that an egg which has passed into senility creates when it is flung against a wall. Authors of this school are hailed as men of genius, men of sincerity, men who contribute something vital and fine to the world. If any reader desires to become an author offhand, I would advise selecting this school as the easiest road. It requires no imagination, no knowledge of grammar, no appreciation of character drawing or of plot structure. All it demands is eau de Cologne and the vocabulary of a boy of ten whose parents have neglected to over- see his associates. Anybody can do it. (Continued from Page 40) I could do it if I wanted to, and become famous. Then we have the No Plot—No Verb School. This is generally biographical. You select the mos* uninteresting person you can think of and write her life, or his life, in a series of episodes. You may take a half- witted elevator conductor or a scrubwoman and do three hundred pages about him or her, being careful to use no verbs. This is style. I think it is the illegitimate daughter of free verse. If you like things jerky this will be your favorite school, for reading it is like running your finger down a wash- board, It goes like this: ‘‘ The ocher river. The greasy planks at his feet. The throb- bing and twisting of his distorted brain. Darkness and sex beating upon his dis- torted brain. Sex. Ah. . A woman’s footfall. A slinking, shawl-hooded figure with splay feet. His brain—his brain, al- ways throbbing. A woman’s hooded figure. A shriek. A shawl carried by the ocher flood. A huddled, flabby woman’s body with grease on the skirt. Glang, Glang, Glang. The patrol wagon. . . Dis- torted brain throbbing in the patrol wagon ” And there you are. Not a real verb from beginning to end. No bother about moods and tenses. Another chapter would be how in his hunger the hero stole the lame child’s parrot and ate it while the parrot screamed verbless sen- tences. And so on. This school is a bit more difficult than the first, because you have to remember not to use verbs. A verb is apt to sneak in. But critics are very fond of it, and if you do novels of this kind you will never be accused of selling your soul to the popular magazines. hese are the dominant schools of the day and their output is acclaimed as art, but they do not enjoy the wide po ularity given to the Disguised Sex, or Veiled Por- nographic School. Books of this school any child may read, and father may fetch them home to make pleasant the evening under the reading lamp. Always they point a moral.’ The method is this: You select all the incidents going to make up a frankly naughty book, and then you add twenty- five per cent of flagrant detail, so that in the end you have chapters which remind one of those paper pamphlets circulated by train boys some twenty-five years ago against the law-—which left no detail to the imagination; that is the first state. You put it all in. When you have done your all to betray the last private preference of your character you sprinkle the whole with side remarks to the effect that this is very wicked and that the wages of sin is death. You bear down on the iniquity of it so no reader can possibly be in error as to your views of such goings on. Then, in the end, instead of having them live happily ever after—as most wicked people do because they know how to enjoy themselves— you bring them to a painful and uplifting end, repentant and self-accusing. This is a grand school for getting the money, but one may doubt if it is art. It is rather too didactic. It savors of the textbook, or at least of Havelock Ellis. The Nosey School of Fiction After this we reach the Exhausted Au- thor School. This is admitted by many to produce one of our highest forms of literary art. Its method is to write a good or bad story ars tg are,worn out. It may be better to do it in a single sitting, be- cause prolonged work makes for exhaustion. When you are so done out you can’t strike another typewriter key, you just stop, and that is all. Wherever you happen to be in your story, you quit, and leave the poor characters to hang there forever, dangling without a thing to stand on. These are the books to which our critics refer when they say, “Mr. So-and-So had the courage to end his book flawlessly; an artistic end- ing.”” As a matter of fact, Mr. So-and-So was blessed with short wind or had failed to go into training for the longer distance. Next we arrive at the Fly Speck or Nosey School. The plot in a novel of this kind is to count the number of finger marks the hero leaves on the guest towel, the number of pickets off the fence, exactly how the hus- band snored and perspired, and the mi- nutist thoughts his wife entertained while she sat up in curl papers and watched him with disgust and wondered what it was about vice that made it attractive, and why people went in for it. This might also be called the Primitive Husband and the Unresponsive Wife School. The woman, as Arthur William Brown says, nearly always dies wondering. But Nosey i is perhaps the best name for it. Intimate details! Doubt- less thousands are enthralled to know how the wife looks with onestocking on anda boil = her knee. This school takes high literary place. The idea is to be different—to invent something new in the making of a book— to discard all the old ideas, good, bad and indifferent, and to do something nobody did ten years ago. You don’t even have chapters. Sometimes you will do seventy- five thousand words without a break of any kind, and sometimes you will number your paragraphs like verses in the Bible, and sometimes you will have chapters, but you will break them up into sections. As I say, these are the most conspicuous and admired of the schools. You will see that I have not mentioned the book which goes along and tells an interesting story in a straightforward way about interesting people. I have not mentioned the book which can be read with enjoyment and which you lay down with regret. Such books are not worth discussing. Books like Lorna Doone, for instance, and Vanity Fair and The Mayor of Casterbridge! No, these books are tainted with something which is admired by all the other arts, but is chased out of the yard by literature. This is im- agination. The Novels of Other Days Twenty-odd years ago we loaded our- selves up with a great mass of misinforma- tion. For instance, we believed that one purpose of a novel, a work of fiction, was to entertain. It was written to give pleasure to people, to tell them a story which would make them forget for a time their troubles, take them out of themselves, and let them live an hour in a world of imagination. We were taught that that was a worthy and admirable thing to do. We believed that a good style made reading easy and not difficult. We knew that there were re- spectable people in the world, and wicked people. We knew there was heroism and cowardice, love and hate. We were brought up on logic, and thought that a book, to be properly constructed, must be built like a house, foundation first and the second story superimposed upon the first. We had an idea that there were things worth writ- ing about and things not worth writing about. In this respect we seem to have se- lected very badly. We thought we knew that imagination was the one thing the world ¢an never get along without; that imagination was the basis of every human endeavor. We admitted squalor and vice and abnormalities, but we did not think that they were universal, or, indeed, general. Sex was as indispensable to us as to these psychopathic schools, and we allowed for human nature and tried to create charac- ters as real as Tess. There was sex in Tess, and there were pigpens, but Mr. Hardy knew how to use them-—or so we thought in our blindness. We had an idea it was worth while to write about real human beings, not creatures out of a nightmare and, as I say, our object was to give pleasure, to tell the truth, to reflect beauty and to do as good and workmanlike a job as our limitations permitted. We were so utterly benighted as to believe that Mrs. Deland’s Iron Woman was a work of art, and we even tried to inject humor into our stories at times—because it seemed to us that people did and said funny things. They don’t—they just lie around waiting to use naughty words out of the dictionary. We tried to bring our novels to a logical conclusion and to finish our stories so the readers were content—and we thought such an ending was art. When we used description we did it because that descrip- tion played some part in our story, and not merely because it was one more disgusting detail. Oh, we were decidedly off on the wrong foot. Because of this, because of the upsetting of my notions of what good literature is and what it is not, I am unable to say if literature is an art. It was an art. But somebody took it and did something to it, and only God in His infinite wisdom knows what it is today.

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lectrily her sewing machine for Christmas TARTLING! Nothing less. One motion of the hand places the Hamitron Brack Home Moror next to the hand wheel, Forever after, the old foot-power sewing machine is an effortless, self-operating electric. You can give no more pleasing pres- ent for Christmas, This amazingly simple motor takes the weary foot pedaling and back-ache out of sewing. Even these to whom doctors have for- bidden the drudgery of the treadle may now enjoy the pleasure and econ- omy of home sewing. No tools, screws, clamps, or belts are needed. ‘The machine is absolutely unmarred, The wheel always starts $1 8°° HamiILTON Sharpens Mixes Cake Beach Merc. THE SATURDAY the right way, and never breaks a thread. Heavy materials, thick seams, many plies, just as easy to sew as the sheerest silks, any speed from a stitch at a time to 800 a minute, controlled by a light pressure of the toe on the speed pedal, tricity is less than one cent an hour. And the cost for elec- With its convenient attachments, ® } round the same motor is also an all home helper. Makes a high-powered fan in hot weather, sharpens knives, polishes silver, mixes cake batter, whips cream, etc. Over a million Home Morors now in use. Abso- lately guaranteed by Hamitron Beacu. at all good electrical, hardware, sewing machine, and department stores. Denver and West $19.00. Descriptive folder gladly sent on request Co., ‘Racine, Wisconsin Polishes Fans Hamilton Beac Home Motor & ike NO Ce EVENING POST December 13,1924 THE LAST NIGHT (Continued from Page 4) she had given. The lovers plighted their troth, an act which in those days was con- sidered almost as binding as a marriage. The old duchess seems to have taken no care to safeguard the girl’s morals, except to take into custody every night the keys of her bedroom. But the lovers had no difficulty in finding a serving maid to steal them away again; and Derham came, ac- cording to Catherine’s own testimony at the time of her trial, “every night to her chamber, bearing strawberries, apples and wine and other things to make good cheer with, after my lady was gone to bed.” Discovery of this happy clandestine love affair was inevitable, and before long it came. Catherine was beaten by the irate ae ey, Derham dismissed to fight in Ire- and. This was the material of Casley’s first act. Hardly had the curtain risen when the author became aware that his interest in his own work had only slept. He had hardly heard the first word before he found that he cared more than he had ever cared before for this child of his brain. It seemed to him as unexpected as if he had never heard of it—to possess all the interest of an unknown work, and yet to be more his own than anything had ever been. He leaned over the railing, absorbed, unconscious. No one in the audience followed the action with an acuter sense of the unfolding of the drama. And when Gertrude, turning to him, murmured ‘‘ How could you say it was | dull?’”’ he asked himself whether he had } actually ever thought so. When the act was over he rose to his feet. “Oh,” cried Gertrude, leave me?” “Yes,” he replied, for he had early in life learned the extraordinary power of mono- syllables. “Of course,” said Gertrude, “‘you are going behind the scenes to congratulate Cynthia Brooks.” He was not, but he did not answer. He was going to smoke a cigarette in the alley in order to get away from Gertrude. Ger- trude would not have believed him if he had “ are you going to told her that his relations with Miss Brooks were so impersonal that he was not at all sure that the leading lady had ever distin- guished him from the head electrician. Yet _it was on account of her enthusiasm for the play that Weyburn had produced it, and it was certainly on account of her sincere, vivid emotional performance that the first act had captured the audience—and inci- dentally the author. Casley’s heart was still beating just a little faster with the memory of her voice as she bade good-by to her lover. Suddenly the stage door opened and Weyburn’s brisk little figure emerged. “Well, Casley,” he said, “what are you doing? Tryis ng to pick up a little unofficial criticism?” “No,” said Casley. Like all experts in the monosyllable, he never gave offense with it—at least not un- intentionally. “What did you think of Cynthia?” “T thought,” answered Casley, ‘‘that it would be impossible. to be any better in every detail than she was.” “IT wish you’d come behind and tell her that,”’ said Weyburn, taking the professor’s arm. “She was saying only yesterday that she had known authors who bawled her out, and authors who flattered her, but never before one who gave her no clew whatsoever as to what he thought of her performance.” Casley smiled. He was surprised and a little annoyed to find that he was pleased at discovering that Miss Brooks had thought about his attitude at all. “T wish you'd tell her,” “that I think she’s superb; behind just yet.” He never meant to go. After Weyburn left him he stood alone, smoking and think- ing how he would never teach again; he would offer his resignation at once—as soon at least as he could be reasonably sure the play was going to last. He had not known how bitterly he had grown to hate his work until he saw a possi- bility of leaving it. he answered, but I won’t go PHOTO, BY H.C. TISBITTS The Franktin K. Lane Memorial Grove, Humboidt County, California

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He started back to his seat before the bell began to buzz in the lobby, and found Caldecott just abandoning it. He felt a mild curiosity to know how Gertrude had succeeded in luring the critic of the great weekly up to the gallery, when it was well known that he always spent the entr’acte smoking on the sidewalk with the other critics. But knowing that Gertrude would say that she did it all for the sake of him and his play, he refrained from questioning her. And almost immediately the curtain rose. The second act took place at a banquet given by the bishop of Winchester. Here the eyes of her sovereign and future hus- band first fell on the miniature beauty of Catherine Howard. By this time Henry had beheaded Anne Boleyn, had married and lost Jane Seymour, and now was bit- terly wony of Anne of Cleves, whose lack of physical charms had angered him from the first. He appears to have fallen pas- sionately in love with Catherine almost at first sight. This act did not go well. The setting was beautiful, as all Weyburn’s settings were; the costumes of the bishop, the guests and the retainers, the gold plate and the pro- fusion of fruits and dishes made a fine spec- tacle. But now for the first time the king appeared. It had not been an easy part to cast. The physical appearance of Henry VIII is so well known that it was necessa to find an actor large and ruddy and vital. The selection finally fell on Brayton Halley, an actor who was not only experienced but who looked the part perfectly—a great, broad-shouldered, red-haired man, with a deep rolling voice. As he strode on the stage in his short furred coat, all embroid- ery and jewels, his flat feathered hat on his head and his thumb stuck in his belt, he looked so exactly like Holbein’s portrait of Henry that the audience gave a cry of delight. Unfortunately, however, Halley’s past had been in slapstick farce. He was a sound actor and eager for the part, so that in re- hearsal, under a wise and firm director, he had made an excellent performance. But on the first night, whether it was the ex- citement of an audience rather above what he was accustomed to or the subconscious effect of a past in which only a laugh was a success, or, as he afterward asserted, his honest conviction that the play needed lightening, he began almost from the mo- ment of his entrance to play Henry as if he were the comic father in a pantomime. The first laugh seemed to drive everything that he had learned in rehearsal out of his mind, and he kept the audience in a continual gale, getting, as he himself boasted afterward, more laughs than the author knew were there. In the second act this conduct did not matter so much. Halley was out of scaie and threw Miss Brooks into the shade, but it was not disastrous. In the third and fourth acts, however, when tragedy, tor- ture and treason and death sentences were the theme, laughs regular and almost con- tinuous were the last thing to be desired. Everyone wrestled with Halley behind the scenes, but it was quite useless; a species of madness seemed to have seized upon him, some of the robust egotism and pig- headedness of the great Henry himself. It was impossible that the other actors should not be affected. Just as round a dinner table one guest who shouts will raise every- one’s tone of voice, so on the stage, one actor who overplays changes the key of everyone's performance. Miss Brooks alone stood out against the infection, and she was soon almost wiped out of existence’ by Halley, who shouted and stamped and spoke directly to the audience when he should have been addressing members of the cast, and even, the great Caldecott said in his review, winked at the boxes; but this was contradicted. But it would be untrue, as even Casley himself recognized, to attribute to Halley the decline of interest in the play as it went on. He himself had destroyed each thread, each theme that carried emotion by his toe exact respect for historical and psycho- logical truth. The audience could not be interested in the play as a love story after the execution of Derham, which took place in the third act. Nor could they feel any overwhelming sympathy with Catherine, at least no complete identification of their noble selves with her, when they found that during the torture of Derham she was far more concerned to know if he said any- thing to incriminate her than in the fact that he was enduring torture for her sake. And worst of all, the play was incredibly long. It was almost half after twelve before the final curtain fell on a_half-empty house—fell on a recognized failure. There is a strange primitive humiliation in the failure ef a play. No one enjoys the printed rejection slip with a returned man- uscript, but that is secret between the author and the editor. But a play is a pub- lic matter and demands an attitude toward the public. Casley felt no profound or soul- shaking emotion—only a wearied wonder that he should ever have imagined he could write a play, a state of mind which seemed to him to prove what he had long sus- pected—that he was entirely incapable of emotion. He exactly exp his mental attitude when he said to Gertrude as they rose, for the exit of the audience was unde- layed by applause, “Well, Gertrude, we never need do that again.” Even Gertrude’s desire to say the kind thing paled before this situation, and they began to make their way downstairs in si- lence; in silence at least on their part. The audience, with that happy unconsciousness that authors exist, were making their com- ments freely and aloud: “Well, they say the first fifty years are the hardest.” “Well, I guess that’s a little too highbrow for me.” “That’s right, dearie, you save the old bean for your business.” “A magnificent production.” “Oh, you can count on Weyburn for that.” “A perfect performance of Cynthia’s.” “T liked the old fellar who did the king.” “You'd like to chop off a few wives’ heads yourself, eh?”’ 53 By the time I get to my fifth, I hope I'll have learned my lesson.” At the foot of the stairs Weyburn’s sec- | retary was waiting. “Could you be in Mr. Weyburn’s office | tomorrow at eleven, Mr. Casley?* We must think of a way of cutting out an hour.” “IT know a way of cutting out four hours,” said Casley. “But that wouldn’t leave us any play,” said the secretary, who was no fool, but had found it safer to be absolutely literal. “Have we one?” said Casley. “Mr. Weyburn thinks so.” “T’ll be there—if I’m alive,” said Casley, and turning to Gertrude said he must get a taxi and he’d take her home. But Gertrude was obliged to explain that she had other plans. In the first entr’acte she had a word with Mr. Caldecott, and in | fact promised to go out to supper with him, supposing that her cousin would be occu- | pied with saying his triumphs, but changed it to his professional duties. She could not let it she had been on the point of | go, however, without some excuse, and she | added: “The Sphere is so powerful, Benedict, I think favorable if you know.” “Ah, Gertrude, be careful; nothing from a French farce, please,’’ said Casley. “ Re- —— Those things do help, rhaps his attitude might be more | member, I would rather fail than succeed | on the grave of a cousin’s honor.” Gertrude, like most perfectly virtuous people, liked a joke of this sort, and was still smiling when she joined Caldecott in the lobby. She was thinking of a way of repeating it to him in what she described in her own mind as a perfectly nice way. Casley, left alone, took a last glance at the photographs on the easel — Halley posed like the great Holbein, Cynthia .in her | crown and queenly robes. “I’d like to have the photograph,” he | thought, “if ———” Outside, the brilliant blue-white lights that had once spelled out the name of the play were turned out, the front of the the- ater was deserted and the street empty, al- though half a block away Broadway was still rolling along on wheels and crowding along on foot, as densely thronged as ever. Casley turned in the opposite direction, moving at his usual long-legged gait. It was by no means the first time in his life that he had contemplated suicide; in fact, the idea was rarely absent from the undercurrent of his thoughts. Life for many years now had seemed to him boring at the best, tragic at the worst. He was entirely alone in the world, in the sense of having no nearer relations than Gertrude; and his cool, critical attitude toward life was inimical to intimacies. People came to him for advice, even for material help; but not for love. (Continued on Page 130) He was without love, | THE SATURDAY EVENING POST May Breath Free 127 At your store Present coupon A Pure Breath Is simply good manners Millions have turned to this NEW way—scientific protection that you carry with you, "TCHERE is no question any more about bad breath. Years ago, it may have been unavoidable, Today, it’s judged unpardonable. Any person who has ever drawn away from another because of it knows just how repellant it is. Now you nee4 not risk giving this offense. Millions are avoiding it in an amazing simple, mew way. What it is May Breath is an antiseptic mouth wash in tablet form; dainty little tablets that you carry with you. Dissolve one in your mouth, that is all. Instantly your breath is purified, given the freshness of May-time. Not a mere perfume; for that simply cries out your effort at concealment. 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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST A Special Offer for a Single Week A Box of Sunshine Biscuits Specialties containing nine varieties. A Box of Sunshine Sugar Wafers containing seven varieties. A Box of Sunshine Animal Crackers. This is an extra gift package for the children. Once a year we make a special price on some of our assortments of Sunshine Biscuits so that you may become acquainted with varie- ties that are new to you. This year the bargain assortment consists of three boxes for 49 cents. The first is Sunshine Specialties Assortment including the very popular sweet biscuit — Hydrox—the chocolate biscuit with the vanilla cream filling. The second is Sunshine Sugar Wafers—seven different kinds. Each one will be your favorite as you taste them because you will find that the one you are eating is the one you like best. The third package is an extra gift this year. It is for the children. It’s a box of Sunshine Animal Crackers. All these for 49 cents for one week only during December. All Sunshine grocers will have them. ee ee —— December 13,1924

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| without | Suicideappealed to | cutting out an | give the playa new | lease of life.

| of weariness. THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 127) without ambition, without hope or fear, | without any form of emotion, and he was | enough of a psychologist to know that emo- tion must be the basis of life. Even the | failure of his play, he thought with a sigh, had given him nothing but an added sense If he killed himself tonight people would say it was over the disap- »ointment of his failure. No one but ae would know how little he had hoped of it. Like all haughty reserved creatures, from Persian cats up—or down—Casley disliked ridicule; but on the whole he cared | very little about the attitude of the world | on any subject. It was his own attitude that mattered to him. In his own estima- tion he was a failure. As a student of history, death was a familiar idea to him—the long futile se- quence of in- dividual lives, of EVENING POST he turned and walked directly back. Of course he might be too late, in which case he should let the whole thing go. He was not going to live through another day for anyone, but if she were still there —— . ollege Professor Suicide for Actress’ Love. . No, that wasn’t right. Grimes would do something better with it than that. He smiled at the thought that it was ny Grimes—Grimes, whom he so heart disliked—who would be most ple at his action. In the alley he passed two young men, who, with derby hats set well down to their ears and Overcoats with collars cut well up to the back of their necks, were giving definite judgments on everything, and call- ing all celebrities by their first names. Thus: “The girl can dance; why put her in a rotten historical play?” December 13,1924 and the door man, without looking up from one of those strangely ancient newspapers which door men are always reading, an- swered cryptically, ‘Number one!”’ As he could not obviously be referring to the number of her visitors, Casley deduced he was giving the number of her dressing room. Immediately opposite him a door stood open upon a tiny lighted room entirely filled with people whe were saying, in various tones, keys and intonations, ‘‘ My dear, you were wonderful!” ‘‘My dear, you were too wonderful! Such tempo! Such authority!” “My dear, you were too beautiful!’”’ “ Dar- ling, your entrance in the second act ——” A stately middle-aged colored maid came out carrying over her arm Miss Brooks’ costume of the last act. Casley stopped her and said, ‘‘Do you think I cial wutk to Miss Brooks a mo- ment? My name is Casley.” The woman sur- prised him by an-

generations, of civ- ilizations, all get- tin nowhere. Nor had he the subcon- scious illusion of aay immortal- ity which makes the idea of dying so astonishing to most people. But he hed 6 lways felt that there was something humili- ating in allowing 30 great a crisis to be thrust upon one choice. him as an act of vo- lition, not an exe- cution performed upon him by an in- solent fate. This idea brought him back to his heroine—the wonderful repre- sentation of fear that Cynthia had given when, as Catherine, she first saw that she was likely to be con- demned to death. Fancy people feel- ing like that about death—tosleep, no more! Inadrawer of his desk he had an instantaneous poison obtained some years before from an unauspect- ing professor of chemistry. How very simple and pleasant and peaceful the idea was! It was per- haps a little unjust to Weyburn, poor fellow; but he was quite capable of hour Then - ably the publicity of his suicide would

Per-

swering with a smile beyond even the friendly cor- diality of her race: “Oh, yes, Pro- fessor Casley, I know Miss Brooks would like to see you, when all these people have gone, age: if you can wait a * gt moment.” Hewassurprised that she knew him and called him by a title not common in theatrical circles except as applied to pianists; but his ego was not nour- ished by such small crumbs, and he leaned, uncheered and unflattered, against the wall, while the hubbub in Miss Brooks’ dressing room con- tinued. Presently the maid came back, and almost as soon as she entered the dressing room again Casley heard a voice with which many weeks of re- hearsal had made him familiar—a voice so low it seemed scarcely to stir the air, and yet so resonant that it would carry round the world, saying good night to everyone or rather saying, “So kind of youtocome,dear so nice of you to like me in the part—suchalovely part, isn’t it?—so sweet of you to come,dear.. Thank you for the flow- ers, Jack—so sweet of you to come tonight. -

haps Weyburn riizht even get his money back. Grimes, the publicity man, would be de- lighted. Cauley disliked Grimes, who was always trying to get him to say and do things which were unnatural to him and, when he refused to do or say them, putting them in the papers anyhow. He had started to cross Fifth Avenue where the green light had just flared, when a new idea occurred to him—namely, that his death might be of real service to Miss Brooks, to whom he felt under certain obli- gations. He had, it was true, hardly ex- changed a dozen words with her; but watching her through rehearsals he had formed a high onan ofher. She was gen- erous and sincere, and was, or might be, a great artist. Heremembered that We burn nad once said of her that all she looted to put her over was a great scandal, Wasn’t it possible, he thought, that his suicide might be turned to some account? The idea of offering her his death appealed to him as an excellent economy of effort. It was a long way back to the theater and he hated crosstown blocks; nevertheless, For a Few Moments it Seemed to Him Not Only Good But Great “Because Wilfred doesn’t know a good play when he sees one.” **Well, he put her on in the Green Girls, and that went big.” “That's what I say—Cynthy can dance!” So little had he been behind the scenes that Casley actually supposed that there might be difficulty in his reaching Miss Brooks, and had been careful to feel in his waistcoat pocket to be sure he had a card which would establish his identity; but there was nothing to check his entrance except a steady outpouring of those who had been before him—the fathers and mothers, the country cousins, the past wives and present sweethearts of various members of the company. Bank presidents and poets and ladies of fashion ali swept by as the author flattened himself against the wall {n the narrow space inside the stage door, all talking and Ya ughing and most of them condemning the play. Finally, in a pause in the procession, Casley managed to call across to the door man that he wanted to see Miss Brooks; The outgoing throng again surged past him. The mai said, ‘ Will you come in, Professor Casley?”’ He stepped in, the maid shut the door upon him and he found himself alone with Cynthia Brooks. Her visitors had not apparently inter- fered with her toilet, for she was sitting in front of her dressing table, clad in a meager white cotton garment more like a doctor’s operating clothes than anything else. Her hair was pulled straight up and pinned in a tight knot on the to f her head and her face was covered Bem Po a layer of biue-white cold cream, Even so, she was beautiful. Her enormous brown eyes in the bright arch of unshielded bulbs that framed mirror shone with wonderful yellow and — lights and her perfect little nose was on Wy more defined by the shining surface. he floor of the little room was littered with telegrams, many of which read * ‘Con- gratulations on your success,” although their dates showed they had been sent hours before the curtain rose. Boxes of flowers, some opened, some with the string (Continued on Page 133) od

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4a . desirable, but so well modeled (Continued from Page 130) still intact, were leaned against the wall or piled on the dressing table. As he entered she gave him a swift keen look—intense, questioning; he did not know exactly what it was, it was so quick. Then she picked up a wad of cotton and began to take the cold cream off her face with large circular sweeping motions. In his youth, in the days when he had cared about life, he had been shy; and though nothing of this now remained, he had the habit of keeping silent until he was sure he had the situation well in hand. So in the pause that followed she looked at him again, and he was astonished to see that there were tears in her eyes as she said, “Oh, your lovely play! Don’t tell me I spoiled it or I shall cry. I never loved any play as I love this one.” It was quite true. Cynthia, unsuspected by any but a few intimate friends, had a secret passion for culture. This part was exactly the sort of part she had dreamed of playing, and she knew now that the play couldn’t last a week. Even Weyburn, the most generous of producers, couldn’t keep such an expensive production playing to empty houses—and they would be empty. She was largely responsible for Weyburn having put it on, for she had fallen in love with it when she first read it. Under its prolixity and lack of dramatic climax, she recognized in it the taste and flavor of real life—a quality which is particularly thrilling against the unfamiliar background of another epoch. She had fallen in love with the play and she had not been entirely unconscious of the existence of the author. Unbelievable as it would have been to him, he had at- tracted Cynthia’s attention from the mo- ment that he had sauntered into the theater and listened with that immobile face of his to the reading of the play. She had set herself a sort of holiday task—to gain from him a mark of human interest—and had totally failed. Then, too, as has been said, she had a genuine admiration for knowl- edge, and Casley represented this romantic ideal to her. And then, perhaps not the least potent element was the fact that he had a strange sort of beauty of his own. It would not be possible to describe him as handsome; yet his looks had for some peo- ple, of whom Cynthia was one, an enormous charm. He was tall and thin and made of iron. His face was long and thin, too; more on the traditional Uncle Sam type than was the curved nostril, and the clean-shaven upper lip pro- jecting a little above the lower—that it would have made a good profile for a coin. His eyes were of a clear light gray, and they seemed to catch a great deal of light and to flare and grow black as lights went up and down. He looked at her steadily and, seeing that she was sincere, he said, with his habitual le sisurely enunciation: “You were precisely and exactly right. As for that scene at the bishop’s party where you first see the king is watching you, you conveyed everything—fear and flattered vanity, and excitement, and a resolution to go on wherever it might lead you. And then to look the part as you do! The lines call you beautiful, and then you come on, and you are! What an extraor- dinary courtesy to the playwright!” She drank in his words, but they both had this in common—that neither was much affected by any outside praise or blame. “It was nice of you to take the trouble to come and tell me,’’ she said. “That isn’t the reason for my coming,” he returned, and looked about for a chair. The only one except the stool on which Cynthia herself was sitting was completely covered with clothes. Cynthia leaned over and threw all these to the floor. But Casley did not respond to the invitation. He leaned on the back of the chair, hoiding his soft hat in one hand as he did so. He stared at her as if he were interested only in the process by which she was removing the cold cream from her face. As a matter of fact, he was interested in that, but even more in the fact that any woman should dare to look as she did then and be so un- conscious. He thought — “What are you thinking about?” asked Miss Brooks. “T was thinking how extraordinary it is that you should be beautiful even like this.” ““Mercy!”’ said Cynthia, as if there were a good many more extraordinary things in the world than that. “Is that what you THE SATURDAY came to say?”’ And she turned her chin up and began stroking her throat with a new piece of cotton. “No,” said Casley; “no, it isn’t, al- though it seems to me more interestin than you epparently think it is. No, f came to say something to you which I can say only to an unusually sensible, clear- headed woman; also on the assumption that you will not interrupt me or attempt to dissuade me.” “Yes—-to all of them,” said Cynthia. At this, Casley sat dewn and laid his hat on the floor, crossed first his legs and then his arms, and began in his slowest drawl: “Good! Then here is the situation: For reasons with which I need not trouble you and which, as a matter of fact, have very little to do with the failure of my play, I have decided not to live until tomorrow morning.” At this, Cyrthia gave him a quick glance; but met by an icy stare from his cool gray eyes, she looked back into her mirror and almost succeeded in going on with her task. “IT was crossing Fifth Avenue on my way home,” Casley continued, “when the idea suddenly occurred to me that my death might in some way be of service to you.” “To me?” exclaimed Miss Brooks. “No? Isn’t there anyone whose throat you'd like cut? For be assured that a per- son about to take his own life thinks lightly of other people’s. Or think how Millicent Mills’ whole success in the theater was built on that young Italian nobleman who so thoughtfully blew out his brains on her lawn. Though I have the disadvantage of being a mere Anglo-Saxon, and coming from rather plain ancestry, I rather fancied that there was something about my being a college professor which that objectionable young man who does your publicity for you might turn into what I believe he pe a stunt. I thought in return for the interest you have taken in my play, and for the wonderful performance you gave of it to- night, I ought at least to offer you the opportunity.” Cynthia had listened to him in silence, but with her eyes getting larger until they seemed to take up all the upper half of her face. It was an important part of her pro- fession to catch an idea, either from an author or a director, and she grasped Cas- ley’s now without asking a single question. “This is terrible!’’ she said. “On the contrary,” replied her visitor, “it is almost entertaining. I am, of course, quite ignorant of such matters; but just to start your mind working, suppose I left a letter behind me saying that you had in- spired me with so violent a passion that life without you had become intolerable. Wouldn’t that be rather—er—advanta- geous?”’ “It wouldn’t be true,”’ said Cynthia, but try as she would she could not keep a faintly questioning tone out of her voice. “No, it wouldn’t,”’ Casley agreed; ‘but then truth seems to have but little to do with anything that our young friend whom I dislike so much He snapped his fingers and Cynthia sup- plied the name. “Grimes,” she said. “Mr. Grimes, of course—with anything Mr. Grimes prints. It isn’t true that you break broncos and shoot mountain lions; it isn’t true that you train marmosets; and yet I have seen all of these statements about you in the papers, accompanied by the most convincing photographs. His imagination seems to run to animals, and I am sure he would enjoy having you photo- graphed with the great Dane or the canary whic h I left you in my will.’ “7 can’t joke about your death,” said Cynthia, and two large tears which had been gathering in her eyes splashed down on the dressing table. ‘‘It’s just that I’m a little unstrung,” she exclaimed politely, for fear that he might find her emotion too personal. “‘My dear child, how charming of you!” said Casley. ‘The only tears that will be shed are shed here before me—so much better than oceans shed after the event. But this is not tragic. I’m doing what I want to, as much as I can be said to want to do anything.” At this moment there was a knock at the door, and the maid came in again to say in a cold blank voice that Mr. Robertson was waiting in his car to take Miss Brooks to supper. “To supper?” said Cynthia, rather an- grily, as if she had never heard of the meal befcre. The maid merely nodded and be- gan to pick up the clothes which Cynthia EVENING POST had flung upon the floor, ‘Now really, Maud, I can’t go to supper with him, Did I sa I would?” ‘ou certainly did,” replied Maud. Remote in some ways as was Casley’s | connection with the theater, he could not help absorbing a certain amount of the gos- sip of the day, and he knew that young Robertson, the son of a banking potentate, was offering Cynthia marriage as a last resort, quite against the wishes of his parents. “Well, I shan’t go,”’ said Cynthia. She took the pins out of the knob of hair on the top of her head and shook her head until her hair fell to her shoulders; then with a few Fag motions she pinned it into an equally minute knot at the nape of her neck. “Tell him I’m exhausted—that I have a splitting headache. Tell him any- thing you like, Maud—oh, you might say I loved the orchids. They were orchids?” “They were gardenias,” said Maud, and left the room, “Maud’s wonderful,” said Cynthia. “*She knows just who I want to see and who I don’t, and how to get rid of them without hurting their feelings. without Maud.” “But you can live without young Rob- ertson?”’ said Casley in his drawl, “Mercy, yes!” replied Cynthia; and she added in aaeddias, ‘only his father was rather rude to me. I couldn’t live But to go back | to what we were talking about, there are | some things I simply couldn’t do, and one of them is to profit in any way by your death. I couldn’ t do that. “It shows,” he said, “what a generous woman you are since you have not asked for the head of Halley, It also shows how well prepared for death I am since I do not really hate him,” He stood up, and Cynthia gave a little ElPaso cry. “Oh, don’t go! Oh, Mr. Casley, you are certain to write a great play some day! Don't o He held up his hand. “If you don’t feel you can use this situa- tion, Miss Brooks,” he said, “you must let it alone.” And he picked up his hat and putting it on his head at its customary slight angle, he walked to the door. “T can use it—of course I can!” ex- claimed Cynthia feverishly. “Only you must give me a moment to think. If it wasn’t used right it would be a terrible boomerang. You oer ive me time.’ “Only till dawn,” Casley. “I really couldn’t give you Mang se than that,’ They looked at each other, she from the dressing table and he from the door. “Would you mind terribly,” she said, “if I consulted Grimesy?” “I’m afraid I should,” replied Casley, “T object to Mr. Grimes being mixed up in any way with my private affairs. Besides, he seems to me a conscientious young man. I fear he would feel it his duty to circum- vent me.’ “T don’t think so where a good story was involved,” said Cynthia. “I have never seen a trace of conscience where publicity was concerned.” Casley shook his head, but the request was so reasonable that he ultimately al- lowed himself to be persuaded. Grimes was reported by the door man to be in Mr. Weyburn’s office, and summoned | thence, he presently appeared. fat young man, but of a firm, polished fat. His expression varied very little, but he albwed his eyes to rove round and round, and even to dart from point to point, prov- ing that he was not a graven image. Thus, though the presence of the author in Cyn- thia’s dressing room surprised him, his onl expression of that surprise was to move his eyes rapidly from one to the other. “Grimesy,” said Cynthia, with her crisp He was a | enunciation, and that tone of authority | which makes actors listened to off as well as on the stage, “ Mr. C asley has a friend who is going to commit suicide tonight, and has very kindly offered it to us as a publicity story.” Instead of darting his eyes, Mr. Grimes now rolled them. “Millicent Mills stuff,” he observed. “Except this isn’t a prince,” said Cyn- thia; and then detecting in her sentence a hint of discourtesy to the professor, she added sweetly, “‘Not that that matters.” “T should say it did matter,” replied Grimes ruthlessly. a prince.” “I’m afraid we can’t make it a this late date,” said Casley. strictly middle-class suicide is of no use — rince at nd if a “A lot better if it were | Is M. OUIS a CL mate Mt who come to El Paso —after traveling the world M* in search of health—tell us that ours is a Miracle Climate. They find in the clean, dry air, almost con tinuous sunny days, moderate altitude and mild temperatures, relief—often speedy recoveries—from tuberculosis, asthma, bronchitis and the debilitated con: tions which bring on these maladics, We are proud of this high record of recoveries and we are glad to ‘cll everyone interested about Fl Paso Our booklet, “Filling the Sun shine Prescription,’ * cells facts that you, or someone vou know, may find of great v al ue, We have nothing to sel Bookle: is free. Edition lim ited. Mail coupoo. 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THE SATURDAY Made w box b The gift that sets men dreaming All the flagging romance of work-a-day man is roused by the lure of real leather. As he sits in his great-chair, eyes half closed, clasped in his hands is a wallet. Slowly, thoughtfully his fingers stroke its smooth breadth and search out the depths of its pockets. To him it is a holster and he a blustering plainsman—the idol of his boyhood dreams. Mounted on his fanciful charger he soon forgets his cares, as the fragrance of real leather greets his nostrils! Gifts fashioned from man’s fabric are always appreciated Especially so are those de can use and carry in fr pocket. Amity Wallets are made from only the choicest leathers by master craftsmen. Their beauty mellows with long vears of service. And their daily use is a constant re- minder of the giver. Amity—the very name means friendship If stamped AMIT it's leather* THE AMITY LEATHER PRODUCTS CO., West Bend, Wis, The Amity Blackstone , The Amity Avistocrat : Made of black Pin Seal. Lined with silk ef mehogeny pigskin, trimmed In attractive silk-lined gife box. Price, h black « alt In attractive silk-lined gift $5.00. A most acceptable gift for any Price, $3.50. Other Amiry pocket man or boy. If your dealer can't supply sks $1.00 and wr. At the better stores ofa" write direct to address above. MITY Nute—the kind of leather stamped on every AMITY product >. © EVENING POST | “Of course it’s of use,” said Grimes. | “Just about the best thing ever happened to you, Cynthia—that’s what it is. Ab- | solutely!”’ Casley examined Grimes as if he had been some ancient palimpsest. “Develop that idea, Mr. Grimes,” he said. ‘‘Why will it be so useful to Miss Brooks?” Mr. Grimes was not one of these people who speak about their specialty without a reasoned background. He answered flu- ently and at once: “The American public loves a pure ac- tress—someone they might, if they had the | chance, bring right into their own homes, introduce to their mother and ask to sit down beside the stove. Well, what pub- licity can ve get for a type like that? None! right when she has attained na Mary Pickford, the American sweetheart. But to get em there—there’s the problem. Publicity without scandal— that’s the American publicity man’s diffi- culty. In Europe, they tell me, it’s different. | They like scandals. Here, too, for certain types, but not Miss Brooks’ type—not the best type. Jewel robberies, aeroplane trips, queer pets—that’s all I’ve been able to hit on. But this idea of yours seems to me valuable. Suicide—suicide on account of rejected love! It must be made clear, you know, that it was rejected from the start. She was cold to him, but not hard.” He turned to Cynthia. ‘‘ You get that dis- tinction, Cynthia, You didn’t mean to hurt him; you were just too pure and good —— “For human nature's daily food,” said Casley. Grimes shook his large round head. “T wouldn’t use the word ‘food,’” he said. ‘‘ Your friend is not a married man, I hope.” He was reassured on this point and fell into profound thought. He came out of his reverie shaking his head. ‘Swell, it would be swell,” he murmured; “but I don’t dare touch it.”’ “You have a prejudice against suicide?” inquired Casley. Grimes dismissed this idea with a gesture. “Everyone knows their own business best,” he said. “No, it’s not that. But whet guaranty have I that he’ll do it? He might change his mind after the papers with the story in it went to press. I couldn’t let Miss Brooks into anything of that kind. That would make us ridiculous. I don’t dare touch it, unless’’—he looked at Cas- ley —‘‘unless it’s you yourself.” “Tam very much flattered, Mr. Grimes,” said Casley, “at your confidence in my aes, * said Grimes, ‘‘ you strike me as a feller “that would mean what he said— neither more nor less,’’ Casley bowed; he was not really flattered—no one is—at being complimented on the possession of a virtue which he knew he possessed. Without the awkwardness of a positive avowal, they fell to discussing the form | which the suicide note should take. This was not easy. Every form which Casley suggested Grimes rejected as too cold. ‘You must get some emotion into it,” he said; “it isn’t like serving notice on your landlady that you’re going to move. You must make the world feel that you’re bid- ding good-by to the great passion of your life because you ourself recognize that she’s out of your class “Oh, Grimesy!” said Cynthia, a little shocked at the mere idea, “Sure,” the relentless young man went on; “out of his class.” ae Farewell, thou art too dear for my pos- sessing,’’ ’ suggested the professor. Grimes’ face lit up. “Now, there—at iast,”’ he said. “‘That’s a good line.” “Not my own.” Grimes was inclined to be magnanimous. “Oh, well,” he said, “we can’t always be original. The point is to be right.”” He glanced at his wrist watch. “ We could still catch the last edition of the morning pa- pers. He produced a pencil and began making notes on the back of an envelope. “I don’t suppose you care particularly about seeing it before I send it in, do you?” “TI am afraid you'll think me interfer- ing,”’ said Casley; “but I intend not only to see it but to write it.” “Yes,” said Cynthia, “Mr. Casley is going to take me to supper. Come round to Bernandini’s in half an hour and we'll have it all ready for you.” Grimes hesitated. The whole trouble, he | thought, with modern American life was | that we don’t trust our experts. Here he December 13,1924 was engaged at what even he thought a good salary to do Miss Brooks’ publicity, and the first big story she had ever had she left to an amateur. He wouldn’t expect Casley to let him deliver a lecture on his- tory, but everyone thought he could do publicity. Grimes felt deeply discouraged and disappointed. He knew by experience, however, that there wasn’t much chance of his changing Miss Brooks’ mind when she had made it up. Besides, he reflected, he would be able to change the letter accord- ing to his own ideas. How could they stop him? So, with a few last suggestions about suicide notes, he went away. Casley, left alone with Miss Brooks, looked at her fixedly for a few seconds and then said, with a manner slightly con- strained, though not exactly embarrassed, a really don’t think I can take you out to suppe’ What?” cried Miss Brooks. ‘You have another engagement? Break it! There's a telephone at the stage door.” He shook his head. “Tt isn’t that.” “What is it, then?” “Well,” said Casley, “I don’t want to. That must seem strange to you when so many men would sell their souls for the chance, but — “Please don’t ‘talk nonsense,” answered Miss Brooks. “‘No one would sell his soul to take me or anyone out to supper. Why do you mind?” “Tt isn’t that I mind,” said Casley. “ Put it like this: If I wanted to take you to sup- yer, I should not want to end my life. It is yecause nothing has the slightest interest for me that I find it impossible to go on.” He was going to develop this idea further, but Cynthia politely but with a brisk firm- ness cut him short. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but if it’s only that, I’m afraid you must. You see, I’ve let everyone else go, and I’m hungry. After all, it can’t make much difference to you one way or the other. You wouldn’t like me to starve, would you?” He sighed and yielded. But outside in the alley, where he was sent to smoke a cigarette while she put on her dress, he re- gretted his concession. That was one of the troubles with being without wishes of your own—you had no mental momentum to opeese to the wishes of others. He did not me Cynthia; she could have no concep- tion how distasteful the idea was te him— a restaurant, people—people who had seen the play—who would want to talk about it, Cynthia herself, so lovely, so disturbingly sincere. It seemed like stepping back into the troubled and bitter waters of life. He thought of his quiet room and the peaceful little packet in the drawer of his desk. He found himself stepping down the alley toward the street with a quick resolute step. A light running step was behind him, and Cynthia called “ Mr. Casley!”” He turned. There she was in an incredibly short time, dressed and ready. Gertrude would have taken five times as long. Her dress was —_ in the extreme; she looked like a child. “You were going to desert me,” she said. There was no use in denying it, and he merely nodded. She realized for the first time how serious the situation was, but nothing in her manner betrayed it. “There’s a taxi,” she said; “‘one of those nice red ones I like.’’ He hailed it and they got in. They drove for some minutes before she burst out with: “I can’t see why you mind just supper!” “TI don’t believe you could see why a per- son should be unwilling to live.” “No,” she answered. “I can’t—not un- less they were terribly unhappy about something. And you're not, are you?” “No, and I never intend to be again.” There was another pause, and then Cyn- thia said, “‘I suppose it’s very silly, but it hurts my feelings that you wanted to leave me flat—like that.” “Really?” said Casley, so noncommit- tally that, there was a hint of a certain im- rtinence in having her feeiings hurt. ““Well,”’ he added, “that is another reason why people in my frame of mind are better out of the way—they hurt the feelings of well-meaning riends who try to do them a kindness.” Cynthia swallowed hard. She had never been called a well-meaning friend before, and she did not like it. They were both silent until the taxi drew up before Bernandini’s. (TO BE CONTINUED)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST $550 The New 6-Tube Super-Zenith (Non-regenerative) Other Models $95 to $350 f Zenith is handled only by sclected : dealers having the exclusive Zenith a” franchise and thereby insuring con tinued service to owners -and now ~- a Radio that will ‘measure up’ years from today Have you been waiting—hesitating to make your final radio purchase? Have you felt that the complexion of radio was shifting so rapidly that a good choice today might be obsolete tomorrow? That time has passed. We offer you today, in the new Super- Zenith set, an instrument that we are abso- lutely confident will “measure up” favor- ably in results with the best sets to be pro- duced for years to come. This doesn’t mean that the final and ultimate in radio has arrived. But it does mean that all of the major difficulties have been overcome. From now on, improvements will tend toward minor refinements. Stop a moment and figure it out. Use your imagination freely—try to con- ceive of something—anything you could possibly ask for in a radio that isn’t in the new Super-Zenith. First of all, powerful local stations mean nothing in the way of interference. You can tune right through them with the new Super- Zenith—bring in far-off points as you wish. The same point on the dials brings in the same station always. In other words, if there’s something coming from Washington you want to hear, you know you can get that station on the same point on the dial where it came in before. The simplicity of operation can never be materially bettered. Only two hands, not three, required for operation. The day of intricate manipulations has passed. You do not want to apologize to your friends. You want quick, sure results, not questions and experimentation with many combinations. There are no batteries—either A or B— required with the new Super-Zenith X. The Zenith Battery Eliminator does away with the battery problem—entirely. The Super-Zenith Duo-Loud Speakers reproduce both high and low pitch tones with a clarity and tonal sweetness heretofore im- possible where single unit speakers were used. The Super-Zenith is, of course, a long- distance instrument—it is an intermediate and local instrument as well. You select the stations you want, and get them. So far as volume of sound is concerned, this is under your control—loud or soft or in between. And as to clarity, there is as much difference between the instrument of today and the ones of a few years ago as between the old one-cylinder auto and our present multi-cylinder cars. Is it any wonder that we don’t hesitate to say that when you buy a Super-Zenith you'll have an instrument that will measure up with the best for years to come? What more could any man ask than this instrument offers? The Super-Zenith X sells at $550. is our highest priced instrument. The Zenith Line comprises, however, every style of case, finish and model, at prices ranging down to $95, Zenith radio apparatus was selected ex- clusively by the explorer, Doctor Donald B MacMillan, when he took it with him to eliminate the greatest hardship of the Arctic —the solitude—and MacMillan, while frozen in within eleven degrees of the North Pole, radioed us, ‘Zenith has united the ends of the earth.” We will gladly send our complete catalogs upon request. ZENITH RADIO CORPORATION 334 S. Michigan Ave. Dept. § Chicago, IIL. This They Cost more ~but they Do more TRADE MARK REG. RADIO NIT Ky

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([hristmas Day And New Years Day dnd Query One Of Che Other 363 Days-Chere Ig Real Need For Parchment Bona & ibs. 8 j°° approximately $00 sheets virgin white—matches all stand If your dealer cannot supply you, Letrerheod size eid envelopes send us $! and by recure mail we will send you a SJb. package poetpaid. If you live in Colo rado, Western of Southern Coast States or out side of the U. S. A., send $1.25. There is no subetivute for this great high quality economy package—Parchment Bond. Try it today Kalamazoo Vegetable Parchment Co. “The World's Model Paper Mal” Kalamazoo Michigan Good Howseher ping Papers M amasocturers of Shelf and Lining Paper, Heavy Waxed Paper ousebold Parchment Tey your dealer first, but & vor ALL. three household rots, wit 4 ee | annet connect, order direct © guaranteed, at A, Woot (oast States $1.75 For the XMAS STOCKING AGem elt Clip junt fits in the toe of Mother's, Dad's, Sister's or Brother's stocking Useful always to keep the nails trimmed and clean. Cute easily and quickly. Pocket size, handsomely nickeled and each in a soft leather case. Fully guaranteed. Only 5@c at your nearest drvg or cutlery store or by mail The H. C. Cook Co., Ansonia, Conn 50 cents the Gift De Luxe Sell Us Your Spare Time for Cash SALESMEN~— Mate $150 monhly eelling only one $10 policy a day' Policy pay« §5.000 and §25 weekly for sick awess of injury. Total cost $10 yearly. Easy to sell with our “ Direct-by-Mail” pian NORTH AMERICAN ACCIDENT INSURANCE CO. 71% Beareli Building, Newerk, N. J. | mutual interest. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST OUR FOREIGN POLICY that have suffered from an ancient dispute the Tacna-Arica controversy between Chile and Peru—came to me telling me of the plan to have this settled by the arbitration of the President of the United States, and expressing his deep anxiety that something might take the settlement out of the hands of the United States. At a court reception in Rome the minis- ters of our sister republics in the American continents discussed with me the Pan- American Conference in Chile, the share of unselfish leadership toward peace and away from suspicion undertaken by the United States, and the treaty to preserve peace in the Americas signed by sixteen American states. I grew accustomed to the passage into or through Europe of American advisers and American relief executives. I grew accus- tomed to proposals that America should almost deste hentet relieve Russia, relieve the Near East, relieve Greece, relieve here and relieve there. I received in my quarters at the Lausanne Conference delegations of Americans who, in spite of what has been said by irresponsible agitators since, asked me if | considered it appropriate for them to send cables thanking the President for what I had done at Lausanne for the Amer- ican cause. After my statement on the American question before the Lausanne Conference, the one clear position taken by any delegate, I received a letter from the only American representative of the Ar- menian Societies, complaining that other nations had let the Armenian cause down, but asserting that, representing the United States, I had hit the nail on the head. I met, in Europe, Mexican diplomats who spoke of the new clarity and friendli- ness of our Mexican policy. “It is some- thing we can understand,” said they. I saw representatives of Cuba who talked about the work of Crowder in Havana and the new opportunities for refinancing Cuba. Panama and Costa Rica had avoided war by an arbitral award of the Chief Justice of our Supreme Court. The five Central American countries were holding a confer- ence in Washington, out of which came a treaty of peace and amity providing for limitations of armaments, for a tribunal of arbitration and nine other conven.ons of i I heard at diplomatic dinners in Europe of the successful offer of good offices by the United States when we invited the presidents of Honduras, Nica- ragua and Salvador to a conference in August, 1922, and averted war. In the files of my embassy there were records of more than fifty new international agree- ments made by my country. The Ignorance of the Learned Naturally enough, I drew from these ex- periences considerable pride. I received the impression that, in terms of practical finished jobs, the United States single- handed had even a better actual record as a ecg ye on her own behalf, and on be- valf of other nations, than the League of Nations, which had side-stepped the Ruhr and backed out of the Corfu dispute. I had counted over on my fingers—first, the one great step toward world disarmament; sec- ond, the one great step toward cutting the economic pod political tangle of Europe; third, the contribution of America of four or five billion dollars in relief goods and relief loans; fourth, the making of more interna- tional agreements for ourselves and for others than ene nation usually makes in half a century, and the furnishing of arbi- tration and good offices in instance after instance because we have the power inher- ent in our détachment; fifth, the final es- tablishment of the United States open-door policy in the Far East, and its extension on behalf of square dealing and preven- tion of exploitation to the Near East and to all parts of the world, a step with which I myself had the good fortune to be associated. And then I came back to the United States and heard certain professors and preachers, certain college presidents and certain ex- officeholders, certain political candidates and certain foreign propagandists telling the good people of my country that the United States is isolated. I came back toa State Department doing the largest humane active-accomplishment business of any in- ternational agency, single or coéperative, | and I learned from some woebegone voices that the United States had no foreign policy. (Continued from Page 7) Of course I know exactly what is meant by “isolation” and by “lack of foreign policy.” Those who use these phrases mean that we do not belong to the League of Na- tions, and that while we do not belong to the League of Nations they will keep their eyes tightly closed to anything we have done or will do for peace and international good will, even if it amounts to more than all the efforts of the League itself; and, of course, I know exactly what the so-called radicals mean when they say we are im- rialistic. They mean that on. the one and they wish us to recognize Bolshevik Russia so that more American capital can flow into the relief and repair and develop- ment of Russia, but that on the other hand whenever American capital flows into South America or the Near East, hungry and desirous for that capital, then we are engaging in imperialistic explcitation. Exploiters and Exploited I have learned something of the meaning of that phrase “imperialistic exploitation ”’ from various corners of the world. If, during the time of America’s own develop- ment, when we successfully sought British capital for codéperation in the development of our West, our mines, ranches and farms, we had suddenly thrown ourselves on our backs and wailed to the skies that we were being exploited by the British, we would have been in the same position assumed by certain groups in China and Korea, the Philippines, South America and Mexico who wail about foreign exploitation. When I was in China a few years ago a prominent Chinese of the bright-boy- statesman school spent an evening telling me of the wickedness of Japanese exploita- tion of China; but later on I met the same man in Tokio endeavoring to induce in- vestors to buy some of the most important iron mines of China. Usually I have found that the loudest cries of exploitation of weaker peoples rise from the throats of those who wish to clear the way for a monopoly of exploitation carried on for their own account. Imperialism in the sense of territorial ex- pansion has proved a bad business. The expense of administration, particularly since the doctrine of self-determination has given peoples not yet fit to govern them- selves an ambition to be let alone so that they may kill one another, far exceeds the income. That kind of imperialism no longer stands an auditing of the books, and even if the United States had the slightest incli- nation toward it, good sense would run a blue pencil through it. In these times mere auditing shows that it does not pay. What is left for us, according to the radi- cal critics of our foreign policy, is for us to forbid American capital or enterprise to go to backward or less developed countries at all. These critics wish us to say to Amer- icans, “If you coéperate with other weaker peoples in the march of civilization and the development of the world, God help you, because we won't.” That would satisfy those who say that our foreign policy is imperialistic. It does not satisfy them that we help Mexico to stable government and then withdraw, or Cuba to stability, then withdraw, or Santo Domingo to good order and then withdraw. It does not satisfy these accusers of imperialism that we loosen all, the reins in the Philippines until there ‘s a threatened runaway. It does not satisfy them that we have taken the world leader- ship in declaring against zones of influence, monopolies, inequality in opportunity or have asked through our fundamental for- eign poiicy for the open-door principle. No amount of patience with snarling, disordered neighbors satisfies these radi- cals. They go on crying out that we ought to recognize Russia so that Russia may have the benefit of the same “tyrannical and hideous” but wholly helpful “exploita- tion” which our capital and management have given upon demand to foreign peoples who have knocked at our doors asking for it. They talk as the Chinese statesmen, skilled in playing one nation against another, talked to me in Peking. They told me of the terrible fact that a certain foreign power had wrested away concessions for a railway. “Who nted these concessions?”’ I said. “‘You did! Who took them and laid them at the feet of these foreigners and asked them to take them and invest their December 13,1924 effort and money in them? You did! Who made money on the side out of the trans- action? You did! If there is anyone con- nected with exploitation of China, it is you. And in addition you are trying to exploit the foreigner who comes to your aid.” The brief fact is that those who see im- perialism and exploitation in our foreign policy are lining up, willingly or unwillingly, with the same forces of crookedness, dis- order, hypocrisy and stagnancy represented by these Chinese complainants, masking themselves as bearers a the flag of liberty, of the cup of freedom and of the salver of democratic self-determination. My experience as an ambassador showed me plainly enough that in this business of exploitation—in the field, called dollar diplomacy —instead of one ahead of other nations, we are sometimes leaning far over the other way. I went abroad eager to help American interests and prepared to stretch my instructions to doit. It made no differ- ence to me whether that interest was the largest American industry, the smallest American missionary, the seller of shoe strings or the bidder for a contract to move the Mediterranean southwest. I ran squarely two or three times into the stone- wall principle that forbade me helping any private interest in any particular way in which the same help was not extended to all possible competitors. I saw opportunities at times to corner and pocket advantages for America; but I had to sigh and let them go, because to take them would have offended the principle of the open door, if not directly, then indi- rectly. I had to do business with some ambassadors and ministers who had been promoted to their places by Downing Street, the Quai d’Orsay and other foreign offices, because certain British or French, or other national business interests, had been served by them in the competition for com- mercial plums and concession sweetmeats. But behind me there was always the stiff and conscientious principle of open play, open policy, open opportunity, open door; and when I hear accusations that our for- eign policy is imperialistic or exploiting or emphatically dollar diplomacy, I am forced to gentle amusement. Short Cuts to Utopia I remember a foreign banker of some distinction who came to me in Rome and said, “If you will join me, a few words will land us a great concession in ———” I replied, “I am sorry; it is a nice grab; but the United States is not in that busi- ness directly or indirectly.” So we see one group accusing the United States of imperialistic foreign policy meet- ing another group which says that the United States has no foreign policy. One group says that we meddle too much; the other complains that we ought to meddle everywhere. One says we are entangled and the other says we ought to be. One claims our hands are covered with the mess and the other says, “Dip in!” Such is the way of the world. While the talk goes on, the State Department does its days’ busi- ness, and, keeping a free hand, continues to serve the cause of peace and conciliation as no other agency in the world is able to serve it, for the simple reason that no other agency has the good fortune of being so detached, so truly free from the snarl of commitments. Thy great mass of Amer- icans have too much common sense not to see it. In spite of that common-sense conclu- sion, another type of common sense is neces- sary. It is necessary to hold a measure of tolerance for an eager minority who still are inspired more by alluring short cuts than by the painful daily uphill climb out of war, who are stirred by phrases more than by facts, who prefer prospectus to performance. Of course, such persons— and we ourselves are after the same end we are all eager to stop war and to make international relations better all the time. Campaigns to show how horrible future war may be are instructive, but not a par- ticularly important contribution to ways and means of stopping war. Slogans which merely call upon the people of the world to codperate, but give no definite guidance, rob the attempts of the world to céoperate of its dignity and reduce effort to a silly mumbling of catchwords. I used to have (Continued on Page 139)

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(Continued from Page 136) many a caller come into my embassy and say “Help Europe.” And I would say “How?” And my visitors would then run their fingers around their collars, but gave no answers. I learned to believe more firmly that it is a great mistake to be so sure of our own .norals that we can go forcing our morals upon others. One will probably run into a foreigner who will say, ‘““Why are you so interested in my countrymer. here in my land, when you show so little interest in him when he comes to America and is a stranger just around the corner?” Gas will probably run into a representative of the new Turkey who will say, ‘“ You ask us to set apart a great piece of territory as a home for the Armenians. If you will excuse it, I demand that you set t aside the state of Pennsylvania for a home for the American aborigines.” Someone who is crusading for the inde- pendence of the Koreans will probably come across a Japanese with a taste for realities who will say, ‘“‘Ah, yes, and we on our part demand that you give independ- ence to the Philippines.”’” Another moralist may meet some benighted person who may say, ‘‘ Please do not force your morals upon us. We already have a set of our own. We do not like political and economic exploita- tion, but moral exploitation is the worst of all.” I learned to believe during my service abroad that it was a great mistake for us to be about offering plans to other peoples, particularly if these plans were furnished only with good will and glib phrases and lacked architects’ drawings to scale, sur- veys and estimates of cost; particularly if the offering is made to those who have already sampled an American cure-all and are still trying to overcome its effects. I know that our good intentions have re- ceived great appreciation abroad, but that the world, seeking moral forces, is now insisting more and more on intelligence as a moral obligation. The truth of the matter is that the work- ing out of international relationship is a long job. No panacea will ever come flut- tering in with the morning mail no matter how eagerly we wait for the postman. Some obscure school child may suddenly become inspired and write out a new work- able plan ready-made, but the chances are against it. We haye wasted tremendous energy alread. y, in shooting our high aims at imaginary bull’s-eyes. I suspect that, after all, our task is a building process—the job of putting brick on brick, constructing a wall against war, and a place where peace and understanding and codperation and fair play can meet and stand on firm foundation. In the meantime Hughes has done a big job and has sprung no trick plays. In the meantime there will always ring in my ears the statement of a distinguished European who said to me when a great conference was in a tight box: “The greatest asset of the world today is the detachment of the United States. All the rest of the big forces are isolated from freedom of thought and action. For pity’s sake, do not join those who are thus isolated.” WITH PENCIL, BRUSH AND CHISEL (Continued from Page 25) asked to play cr to sing while coffee was being served before bridge playing began. Soon after half past ten the ladies re- tired upstairs, the men adjourning to the billiard room. There the Prince engaged in conversation with some, the while others played. So far as I and my work were concerned, I found during that and other visits that no matter how preoccupied the Prince might be, he always found time to send for me and to discuss what he wished me to do. He arranged to be at the church at certain hours, to go over the plans on the spot and to give the matter of the memorial his undivided attention. Often I had occasion to marvel at his extraordinary memory. A quite casual sug- gestion he would remember long afterward and refer to it accurately. One day while I was ms aking a bust of his brother for the Duchess of Coburg he chanced to see it at my studio just before he left for his annual cure at Marienbad, and he made a trifling criticism concerning the coat upon the fig- ure, which he asked me to transmit to the Duchess. At a later visit, long afterward, he asked to see the bust and the effect which his suggestion had produced. It seemed to be customary at Sandring- ham for the royal ladies to bring their pet dogs down to dinner. Both the Princess of Wales and the Princess Victoria habitually brought their favorites, King Charles spaniels. However, the Prince’s bulldog was compelled to wait until his master came to the billiard room later in the evening. That animal was devoted to his master,and his master to him. Excepting at the ‘din- ner hour they were inseparable. And when the bulldog died it took some time before the Prince could console himself with another pet. The Growth of Sandringham As the eve ning wore on, the Prince finally rose and said, ‘‘Gentiemen, I bid you good night.” Whereupon an equerry advanced to escort the Prince out of the rcom. The guests followed. In the hall a servant handed a lighted candle to each one, the Prince shook hands and soon the house was wrapped in silence. Situated in Norfolk about a mile from the sea, Sandringham is said to receive the air direct and unimpeded from the shores of Denmark. The Prince bought the house shortly after his marriage to Princess Alex- andra of Denmark in 1863. Originally it was quite small, but as the family increased one addition after another was made until, in 1871, it was replaced by the building as it is today, a handsome edifice of brick and stone in the Tudor style. Later, as the children married, cottages for them were erected on the estate; Appleton House for Prince Charles—now King Haakon of Nor- way—and Princess Maud; and York Cot- tage for the Duke and Duchess of York, the ‘ehnwee King and Queen. Both of those nouses are quite simple and unpretentious. The grounds, some seven thousand acres, are planted with pine and well stocked with birds for the shooting season. About the house are gardens carefully laid out in long alleys with sculptures in bronze and marble, large vases, European and Oriental, some in Japanese cloissoné, all of which add much to the decorative effect of the park. Not far from the house are the orchards, the vegetable and flower gardens. There are beds calculated to produce certain effects of color at certain times of the year according to the taste of different members of the family. There are pergolas overgrown with roses and sundials of boxwood with the nu- merals in flowers of varied colors. Memorial Trees Some of the Prince’s friends, upon one occasion, knowing the pleasure he took in his garden, commissioned Alma-Tadema to design a large marble bench, such as we often see in his pictures, and to supervise the laying out of the surrounding landscape. That remains a striking and effective deco- ration. Numerous trees have been planted about the house by the royal family and their relations to cummemorate a variety of events, such as births, marriages or for- eign visits—as the inscriptions indicate. Some of the trees, when I saw them, were already grown to full size, while others were still hardly more than saplings. In addition to all this there are almost miles of hot- houses of teakwood which the Prince pre- ferred to steel, and to which he called attention with pride—all richly stocked with flowers, fruits and ferns. Quite close to the palace is the little stone church with its rectory, adjoining a pic- turesque old graveyard filled with ancient moss-covered memorials. Not far away in a secluded corner is a small burial ground for the royal animal pets with small carved stones perpetuating their memories. The little House of God shows all the affec- tionate care which the members of the royai family rival one another in lavishing upon it. Next to the seat of the Princess in the (Continued on Page 141) THE SATURDAY EVENING POST The Gift that fasts a Ufetiong “~ GO cx wll MARDI NED TIP TRADE KUMAPAR — re ss . m Zs nes ie “les ¢ fh OUR life line tells how long you'll live! Look at it! That’s how long Kum-a-part cuff buttons are guaranteed to last! In fact, the new, patented case-hardened tip will outlive you. An assuring thought truly when you buy for yourself; an impressive one when you give a pair to a friend. And tho one pair lasts a life time every man will welcome several de- signs to match his favorite shirt patterns. Already over 10 million men are Kum-a-part boosters. The smartness—the convenience, simplicity and positive grip of the click-open, snap-shut action have won them over. Now with the new improve- ments and a life-time guarantee, why should anyone accept weak imitations or fuss with clumsy, old style buttons! Be sure the buttons you buy are stamped Kum-a-part. It’s bad enough to have an imita- tion, certainly you would not give one. Priced up to $24 the pai Write for Correct Dress Chart “12” The Baer & Wilde Company Attleboro, Mass., U. 8, A MARK REG. U.S snap with the lifetime guarantee

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Beauvais Rug No. 4000 in Chinese design provides a perfect THE SATURDAY EVENING POST setting for this mahogany dining-room suite. Beauvais Rug No. 3978 is only one of many designs suitable for the library. Are you proud of the rugs on yout floors ? © YOUR RUGS give you a sense of real pride D when your friends come to see you? Do these rugs tell them that you have good taste and judgment? Are you willing to have your taste and judgment represented by your rugs? Of Sanford’s Beauvais Rugs this can be said: Never, in questioned. You can be proud of their beautiful a beauty your first appraising glance will assure you of. You can be proud of the clear, rich colors, for Beauvais Rugs are pure wool, pure dyed —and that means perfect coloring. ny home, can their good taste be designs Luxurious in quality You can be proud of the luxurious feel of your Beauvais Rug under the foot—its deep, close pile makes for softness. You can be proud of the smooth, unruffled appearance of the rug even when the children scamper across it—thank the closely woven back for that. You can be proud that there is not a single seam to provide a weak spot where the wear begins. You can be proud that the beauty of this rug is lasting— frequently it wears for twenty years, frequently for twenty-five years. You can be proud that it is the most widely sold rug anywhere; for this endorses your judgment—just as it does the judgment of the countless merchants who sell it. They consider it the best rug value on the mar- ket at its price. Wide range of designs Ask to see a Sanford Beauvais Rug. It comes in the widest range of designs and colors—Oriental or Chinese designs, two-tone effects, and many other exclusive designs inspired by rare and ancient motifs. It comes in sizes from 12 ft. x 15 ft. down to scatter rugs -the 9 ft. x 12 ft. being the most popular. All may be had in matching patterns; all are seamless. The name Beauvais (pronounced Bovay) is stamped on the back. Look for it. Stephen Sanford & Sons have made rugs and carpets since 1838. They started with the highest possible standards of rug making; they have never lowered them—and that is the reason dealers today have so much confidence in these rugs. Most rug dealers and furniture houses carry Sanford Beauvais Rugs. If, however, you cannot procure them, write us and we will send you the name of the nearest merchant who carries them. Valuable Booklet FREE Hlustroted in colors “How to Choose Rugs that Beautify Your Home.” A booklet filled from cover to cover with sugges- tions—how to choose rugs in harmony with your home, how to get the longest wear from rugs, how to determine quality when buying—all helpful in- formation. It is richly illustrated in full colors,and gives you color-harmony suggestions for various rooms. We will mail you a copy free upon request. STEPHEN SANFORD & SONS, INc. 295 FIFTH AVE., DEPT. H, NEW YORK CITY Mills at Amsterdam, New York An actual reproduction of the back of a Beauvais rug ‘ove the c SANFORDS LOOK FOR THE NAME ON Sd THE BACK weave. eAUVALS Rugs December 13,1924 VALE

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(Continued from Page 139) royal pew is the Saint George statuette in silver dedicated to her departed eldest son, the Duke of Clarence. That little monu- ment is an exquisite gem from the master hand of Alfred Gilbert. Every window in the church is a me- morial in stained glass, rich in color and delicate in design, contrasting markedly with the plainness and simplicity of the interior. A small organ, new, but with the profusely carved old case, completed Sand- ringham’s place of worship. The next day was Christmas. At the prearranged hour the valet ap- peared with a tray of coffee or tea. He brought with him the clothes which he had taken the night before, carefully pressed and folded, and laid out what was needed. From nine until ten breakfast was served in the dining room. For this meal the Prin- cesses never appeared. But all the gentle- men came down and, as in other English country houses, whoever arrived was served as soon as he sat down. Generally a mem- ber of the household was present to do the honors at the table. One sideboard was loaded with silver platters warmed by spirit lamps, and under the covers were the many items which constitute the English break- fast—-fish, eggs, fowl, bacon, porridge, sausages—-a vast variety. Upon the other sideboard were spread out the cold dishes, chiefly different kinds of meat, to which one helped oneself. A servant poured the tea and coffee and changed the plates until the fruits were served. No sooner was one place vacated than it was made ready for the next comer. These elaborate meals are probably a heritage of the days when the men were wont to go forth early to hunt or to shoot without pausing for lunch. Persimmon the Pampered After breakfast the entire party went to church. Everyone walked the short dis- tance. The Princes sat in their pews, which flanked the aisle near the altar, the visitors, the household and the villagers taking the others. The service was brief. Unless the pulpit was occupied by a visiting clergyman or some noted divine, the Prince always cut short the time of the sermon to about fif- teen minutes. After church the party walked in the grounds, the Prince noting and commenting upon the many changes and alterations always going on. He took the opportunity of looking them over with his clerk of the works and to explain them to his entourage and guests. Here he lived simply the life of a country squire and seemed to enjoy it thoroughly. When we returned to the house everyone spent the time in his own way—writing, reading or conversing. The Prince at- tended to his correspondence with his sec- retary until luncheon, which was at two o’clock. There being no shooting on this day, the gentlemen were present at the mid- day meal. The Duke and Duchess of Yerk and Prince and Princess Charles of Den- mark also came in. The table arrangements were as impressive as the night before. After lunch we were shown over the estate—all except the Princess, who was THE SATURDAY arranging the Christmas trees. Through the gardens and hothouses we went, then to the dairy, with its pedigreed Jersey live- stock; but the chief attraction was the stables. As a special privilege- we were allowed to see Persimmon, the famous horse that had won the Derby in 1896 and so many other races before and afterward. Persimmon was cared for in truly royal fashion. He had a separate stable to him- self, all lined and padded with leather. He had a particular stable boy to serve him whom he preferred to all others, and a little friend, a pony, which was always with him. He was a temperamental animal, Persim- mon. To insure that he would enjoy his food, everything was done to keep him in good spirits, and that pony added to his well-being. The Prince took a great pride in showing him off and in explaining all the details of his existence. He had the horse brought out, patted him affectionately, and showed us his racing record engraved upon a shining bronze tablet outside his stall. It was a long list of equine achievements. Lord Marcus Beresford also came in for his share of recognition—which he truly de- served, considering the difficulty of the task of breeding race horses. Universal Devotion to the Prince Persimmon, however, seemed to appreci- ate our admiration but little. He was care- fully wrap .ed up in blankets and his legs were neatly bandaged. He became restless and, as there is always danger of a cold ora slip, it was deemed best to restore him to his quarters and to the company of his little friend, the pony. The visit to Persimmon was the culmination of our tour of inspec- tion. Besides, dusk began to fall and, as dinner was to be earlier than usual in view of the Christmas presents to be distributed afterward, we took the path that brought us back to the house most quickly. The dinner was, if anything, even more elaborate than the night before. Besides | the Princes from the cottages, the rector, Canon Hervey, and his wife and daughter were invited. But in saying that the dinner was more elaborate, one must remember that this was not a household where the mistress put herself out to entertain distin- guished guests. Here the hosts were the most distinguished of all present. And this fact seemed to guide the spirit of the house- hold at all times. The silent question al- ways seemed to be: How can we best please our royal masters? The devotion of every- one to the Prince and Princess was almost legendary. And the lead in that devotion was taken by the Princess herself. Her solicitude for the well-being and happiness of her consort was an outstanding fact. She seemed to subordinate not only her de- sires, her pleasures, her views, but her whole | personality to that of the Prince. That atmosphere enveloped the entire life of the household—an atmosphere of and peace. After the early dinner we all went into the big ballroom, where the trees had been set up. This room was one of the latest additions to the house. The trees were arranged upon three tables under the vaulted ceiling and illumined by seemingly Interior of the Church at Sandringham happiness | EVENING POST For the man who appreciates the UNUSUAL The Emery Silcheck OTHING you could give a man would please him more than a box of Emery shirts. Be sure to include the Silcheck . a new pattern of irresistible appeal ... something special even for Emery. An art-silk color stripe over- lays a slender cross-stripe, of con- trasting color, on fine broadcloth that is closely woven and beau- tifully textured. Like all Emery shirts the Silcheck is thoroughly comfort- able. Plenty of room under arms and Tailored to avoid binding. across ¢ hest. Perfect Buttons Pre-shrunk neckband. finish. Fine stitching. Shirts firmly attached. Different sleeve lengths. Comes in neckband style, with separate soft collar-to-match, and double cuffs. $5.00. Other Emery shirts in silks, cords, checks, piques and other fabrics—$2.00, $2.50, $3.00, $3.50 and up, notable for their good taste, fit and finish. Ask for Silcheck will sce you are supplied prompt- the —at better shops, Or we new Emery ly on receipt of money order and dealer’s name. ~ Give neckband size and sleeve length. W. M. Steppacher & Bro., Inc., Makers of Emery Shirts, Philadelphia.

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THE SATURDAY lil HH) " Mi, . = Picture mothers glad surprise when she sees this LIFETIME CLEANER ( YAN'T you picture mother as she discovers this 4 shining servant on Christmas morning? A little hush of expectancy a gasp of surprise... . her face glowing with gratitude.... her thanks.... No more back-tiring, heavy sweeping for mother, no more weary dusting; and yet new brightness and longer life for the rugs and carpets she thinks so much of. Hamilton Beach De Luxe is the latest cleaner development, adding Super-suction to the Motor Powered by a full one-sixth horsepower motor; larger, we believe, than that in any like machine. That makes it doubly thorough, though doubly quick. From corded bumper to handle tip, every detail points to lastingness and quality. With greater reserve power for a long, trouble-free life. Every wanted feature is included in this amazing cleaner, at a price that makes it an unrivaled value. Just a small first payment will bring it for Christmas. Hamilton Beac Vacuum Sweeper To Dealers: Just a line on your letterhead will bring you a sample cleaner for unhurried examination. Also selling facts, figures aad our interesting selling plan. No obligation. Write today. brush. Hamitron Beacu Mec. Co. acine, Wisconsin > EVENING POST thousands of candles. One of the tables was for the grown-up members of the family, another for the children, and a third for the household and the guests. Upon the tables were trees for each indi- vidual present; the largest was for the Prince of Wales, and reached well to the ceiling. The others were in graduated sizes like the pipes of an organ, but still of im- posing height. Then came the row for the ousehold, smaller trees these, and upon a long table lay sorted the gifts for the chil- dren, each lot grouped under an individual tree, which was marked with the name of the recipient. No sooner did we enter the ballroom than everyone rushed forward, anxious to find his place. A wealth of presents lay stacked for each one. There were not only such costly things as jewelry but all manner of lesser objects, decorative, useful or educa- tive and ingenious. Next to a magnificent piece of Limoges porcelain from some crowned head would be a small bit of em- broidery from some humble subject, or pos- sibly a little poem or a drawing which a schoolgirl had ventured to offer. And these small objects brought as much pleasure and happiness as the far costlier gifts from the reat. Everyone was remembered with avish generosity. Everyone received | something that bore a personal touch about it. Months before, it was a matter of serious reflection and devising as to what to give in order to cause the most agreeable surprise. It need hardly be said that even under festive circumstances such as these, eti- quette still surrounded the household. Inevitably, and regardless of all the good will of the hosts, guests and entourage would naturally still hang somewhat in the background. As the doors were opened the children, of course, were the first to rush forward toward that fairy Queen and for most of them their grandmother, Alex- andra, Princess of Wales. The present Prince of Wales was at that time a child of perhaps five. His brothers and sister were younger still. Littie Edvina Knollys was then about ten. And there were a number of other children. It was enchanting to see all those youngsters as they surrounded the Princess standing at their table. Leaping joyously from one present to another, they shouted, exclaimed, compared gifts with one another and kept each pulling his | grandmother or grandfather to his or her tree to show them how generously they had been treated. Omniscient Santa Claus “How could Santa Claus have guessed that I wanted a Persimmon upon which to rock?” would cry a boy—possibly the pres- ent Prince of Wales. And a little girl would exclaim, “And look at mine! How did he know that I wanted a doll called Alexandra, whom I could carry about?” Grown-ups received their gifts with less ostentation, perhaps, but with no smaller delight and pleasure. And even I, stranger though I was, found myself regally remem- bevel: Beneath my tree lay several pieces December 13,1924 of handsome jewelry, a blue Danish porce- lain teaset upon a copper tray with a card from the hand of Princess Alexandra, and a silver ash tray especially engraved for the oceasion and set with the medal I had made for the Prince—my first commission for him. The next day there was festivity for the servants. The distribution of gifts to them was a ceremony that I did not witness. But there was a dance for them in the ballroom, and every servant had the privilege of ask- ing for the honor of dancing with some member of the royal family. There was nothing of the atmosphere of the Admirable Crichton discernible in this ceremony. The servants were all overawed by the honor and there was a great display of shyness and em- barrassment, much to the amusement of those present. The day after, when my visit came to aa end, the Prince sent for me shortly before the hour of departure in order to go over some of the details of the memorial I was making. The Princess also gave me an op- portunity of expressing my thanks and gratitude for a hospitality which had been royal indeed. When i bowed adieu to Princess Victoria she graciously gave me her album and asked me to leave a little sketch, which I can only hope was worthy of its environment. The London Rothschilds Lady Randolph Churchill’s habit of wearing about her neck my little medal with the portraits of her two sons, created a sort of fashion which led to similar com- missions on the part of many other people. One of these, Mrs. Leopold de Rothschild, desired me to make such a medal for her. Her husband was the youngest of the three brothers who headed the great banking house of that name in England. Mrs. Rothschild was not a Rothschild by birth, but a Perugia, a prominent family in Triest. The Rothschilds were already beginning to frown upon a too close consanguinity, and Leopold’s was one of the first marriages outside the family. Noted for her simplicity and unpreten- tiousness, this Mrs. Rothschild was ex- ceedingly popular. She disliked the atmos- phere of glitter peculiar to many of the rich, and inhabited a cottage at Ascot that was a model of homeliness. Much of the popu- larity of the Rothschilds in London was of this Mrs. Rothschild’s making. For the eldest of the brothers, Lord Rothschild, was noted for a curtness of manner that bordered upon rudeness. Of him, too, the story is told that when a certain distin- guished stranger came to see him at his office, he invited him to take a seat, and went on with his work. The stranger after waiting patiently for some time, arose and said, “‘ Perhaps you did not understand, but my name is So-and-So.” “Very well; take two seats, answer. Alfred, the second of the brothers, re- mained a bachelor all his life and collected works of art at a time when they were still easily obtainable. Of the brothers, he was perhaps the best liked, and he had the odd (Continued on Page 145) was the The Baliroom at Sandringham

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST a TAKES THE TIME FROM THE STARS AND PUTS IT IN YOUR POCKET OR ON YOUR WRIST ERHAPS it is because nothing else one can select combines so well a// the qualities which make a gift desirable, that Elgin watches are in such high favor as Christmas gifts. In itself a watch has so much to recommend it—some- thing practical, something personal, something that is a constant reminder of the giver. And if it is an E/gin watch, to these are added the as surance of beautiful design, of long-lasting service and ot time-keeping quality. Kor Elgin is the professional time-keeper and every step in designing and making an Elgin is carried out in the professional spirit. It is this spirit which led to the establishment of the Elgin Time Observatory. There is only one source of precise time the stars. And - ~\ Z Via Elgin Wrist Watches cased in gold, jewel set and gold filled, may be had from your jeweler at a wide range of prices. ‘ELGIN | ~The Professional Timekeeper == all that we know about time the astronomers have taught us. So Elgin goes to the stars for. the precise fime. The Elgin astron- omers reached out to the stars for the time which governed every step in the making of the Elgin watch you select as a gift. * + + Your jeweler will show you Elgin ° P . M Wheeler movement —17 jewel—thin model, si watches in wide vari adjusin ; ned by Elgin ine ety. You will be sur- lower anne 9 Rome. 0 oni a wa prised at the low price for which you can buy a dependable Elgin for a boy~-or a “knockabout”’ men’s watches—simple or ornate watch for a man. You can buy other E’«in up to $76 Or Elgin wrist-watches cased in green gold, white gold, or platinum as accurate as they are exquisite in design. Whichever you buy you, may be sure of this It is a professional time-keeper. With a hint of the stars. 3] eR CELGIN NATIONAL WATCH COMPANY, ELGIN _.U:S°A*

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST December 13,1924 A Gift That Continues To Give Music Masrer for Christmas! A gift the whole family will enjoy. A gift that re- creates in pure, audible tones all that’s best in thought and entertainment, broadcast from five hundred stations daily. Choose from what program you will—the variety is limitless. Whether voice or instru ment, the words or musical notes will pour forth from Music Masrer clear and natural—as though the speaker or artist were there be fore you Music Masrer—the musical instrument of radio—embodies all of the proved principles of sound reproduction. The reproducing unit is extremely sensitive and responds to the faintest impulses. The tone chamber is cast aluminum, unequaled for de- veloping sound waves free from distortion. And the amplifying horn is natural wood, mellow and resonant like a violin. Have you heard Music Master? Your dealer will be glad to demonstrate it for you, or to place one in your home on trial. Dealers Everywhere Connect MUSIC MASTER in Model VI, (14” horn) $30 lace of headphones. ap alpeee Knee Model VII, (21” horn) $35 No batteries required. No adjustments. Model VIII, Cabinet $35 {usic Master Corporation Mekers and Distributors of High-Grade Radio Apparatus 10th and Cherry Streets Chicago PHILADELPHIA Pivtsburgh , Suaeveremmeyerseses “oer ee": RADIO REPRODUCER

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(Continued from Page 142) hobby of keeping a private band for his own enter‘ainment, lending it generously for charitable purposes. Leonel, the young- est, was the sporting member of the family, who maintained the Rothschild colors upon the turf. Of his two younger boys, it was, that I was commissioned to make the medal. One of them, whether Anthony or Evelyn I do not remember, has since fallen in the war, in Mesopotamia, side by side with his cou- sin, Neil Primrose, second son of Lord THE SATURDAY vivid in color, were attributed to Rem- brandt—but in any case, seemed extraor- dinary and unusual. The third, oddly enough, was the kitchen. That kitchen at Ferrieres was a separate building, some dis- tance from the main house. The dishes were conveyed to the house by means of a sub- terranean. railway, with trains of heated cars to keep them warm. The old Baron Alphonse was possessed | of one eye only. He had lost the other at a | shooting party where a friend of his had made the unfortu- | nate shot. As the | Rosebery. Through these London Roths- childs I became ac- quainted with the Paris branch, where also three brothers reigned. The head of the French house was the Baron Al- phonse. I was com- missioned to make a portrait medallion of his only daugh- ter, Madame Maur- ice Ephrussy—with her youthful face and snow-white hair, a woman of striking appear- ance. This portrait had to be done in France, and accord- ingly, in the sum- mer of 1900, I went back and forth across the Channel. The country seat of these Roths- childs, Ferrieres- specialist was op- Et 3 erating in order to 4 save the other eye, so the story goes, the Baron was | heard to moan, | ‘““My God, what must my friend suffer!” Count Witte Possibly the story is true. But so far as I knew the French, the English and the Austrian Rothschilds, they seemed rather con- cerned with them- selves than with | others. Their point | of view toward life | was blasé rather | than otherwise. Their lot was too easy and comforta- | ble at birth and | gave them too little to look forward to sur-Marne, which they occupied the greater part of the year, was about an hour’s distance from Paris. During the Franco-Prussian War, in 1870, it had served as the headquarters of the old Emperor William and his staff, including Moltke and Bismarck. The family still preserves and shows to guests the visitors’ book which all these personages had signed before leaving the chateau. This record impressed me less, however, than three things which have re- mained vividly in my memory in connec- tion with the house. The Kitchen Subway First, there was the famous painting by Raphael, known as The Violinist. This picture, formerly owned by Prince Sciarra, was by him smuggled out of Italy in spite of the strict laws which preclude the expor- tation of great works of art. And the rea- son the picture has lingered in my memory is because then and there my feeling was confirmed that Raphael's fame far exceeds his merit in comparison with his contem- porary Michelangelo. The second object I recall was a room hung with paintings on leather, which, although very striking and and thus bring out deep sympathy for others. The practice’of close intermarriages between relations, often as near as first cousins, was also a detriment to the family. | Its original purpose was to keep the fortune | intact in the family. It proved harmful, however, and the practice has been since | then largely abandoned. During one of my stays at Ferrieres that | summer, Count Witte, then Minister of | Finance under the late Czar Nicholas II, | was arriving for a brief visit. That was an | occasion for a display of wealth such as even among the Rothschilds was not often | indulged in. The Count was met at the | station by the family with a carriage @ la | Daumont, drawn by six horses, two of which | were mounted by riders. Like visiting | royalty, he was shown over the estate, | which was in every respect a model. Witte himself was of an imposing, if somewhat extraordinary appearance. | Though more than six feet in height and large in proportion, he struck one by the unusual narrowness and length of his head. As to feature and beard he was the typical Slav. He spoke French wee gy 6 and his demeanor was that of a person always con- scious of his exalted position. Though my Pramoy Rvwrer Belews Aorewkas ow huey Ko ivewns Be Rary ov Rew Rew Ses Av talons vh ‘ oo scales dw Fowler 0, hovEyvlomal Releves | ‘Mewonw av Ams honaty be de din Dinner Menu — Sandringham, December 24th, 1899 EVENING POST i45 Electricity means better work —and more of it! It's a sensation you won't quickly forget the first time your fingers glide over the hair-trigger keyboard of this clec- ++++++++++++++++ tric typewriter: The faintest suggestion of a touch engages the motor and electricity does the rest. Every stroke has exactly the same speed and pressure; every impression is exactly alike. The result is typewriting unbelievably uniform—as smooth and even as the best printing could be—and stenographers who are not fagged out before the day is over. For the Woodstock Electrite eliminates fatigue that follows the steady tap-tap- tap of the ordinary machine. And speeds up your output immensely. * a * The Woodstock Electrite is a standard typewriter in every way~-standard in size, standard in structure, standard keyboard. It is just another step in the development of the standard Woodstock Typewriter which has been making its mark in the commercial world for years and is now regarded by those who know as the finest typewriter made Write today for booklet and details about the stand- ard Woodstock and the Woodstock Electrite. It's information that every business man, typist and stenographer ought to have. WOODSTOCK TYPEWRITER COMPANY 216 West Monroe Street, CHICAGO f ! | \ WOODSTOCK = sat,

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THE SATURDAY . = The Super-Quality Long Kind A Happy Christmas and a Healthy 26th! RALINGER’S Original Salt Water Taffy is a famous holiday candy, al- ways associated with good times, good health, good flavor. Sea air and sunshine are sealed in every box. The smooth creaminess is especially a delight at Christmas time, when many candies and foods are over-rich. Fralinger’s is pure and wholesome, but not too rich. The 25 assorted flavors fascinate grown- ups and children alike—and there is mo just for the kiddie’s stock > ing, let us send you a box headache or stomach misery afterward. of ten full-size Tasters. En- close 10 re with the attached coupon. You can get attractive Yuletide pack- ages of Fralinger’s at your favorite candy counter. You will find it deliciously fresh. It keeps its full flavor. FRALINGER'S, Artanrtic Crry, N. J. Five Stores on the Boardwalk If you have any difficulty, order direct from us. 6o cents a pound, postpaid, ‘ s : ‘ Paauinor s, SS Adantx City New Jersey Send me a box of ten fulleize Tastere. | am j etlosing ten cent | lw Name Address t— EVENING POST place at the table was such that I could not overhear any of his conversation, I could not help observing an air of serene dignity about him, a trait I had noticed elsewhere, in Rome as well as in London, as peculiar to all Russian statesmen and diplomats. They seemed to assume it in order to show the world what a powerful master they were serving. The Baroness that evening was dressed in black silk and priceless lace, and wore her black pearls, which were famous. They were, in a manner, her Order of the Garter, worn only upon great and exceptional oc- casions. All the Rothschilds were present— Baron Edouard, Gustave and their families. A state dinner at Windsor could not have been more formal. Witte took in the Baroness, and she smiled as much as she was able. This was one of the rare occa- sions when I saw her without her habitual expression of dissatisfaction that seemed almost a perpetual weariness. Such an ex- pression appeared ineradicable in those people, owing to a satiety of all worldly things. There were forty-eight covers, and the table offered the best that any kitchen or cellar could produce. At a certain point in the dinner, when ti.2 host was about to rise and propose the health of the guest of honor, the head butler poured out for everyone a glass of Bordeaux of their own vintage. This, evidently, was such a rarit that the servant showed the label to eac and every guest. The attitude of the old Baron was very amusing. He was a sufferer from gout, for the relief of which a certain diet had been prescribed. In order to maintain his treat- ment scrupulously he was under the sur- veillance of a young physician, who would warn him when he was about to transgress the limitations of his regimen. When the priceless wine was served, however, the Baron lost patience with his young doctor. He threw him a defiant look and told him a thing or two, which evidently proved effective, for the doctor looked down at his plate and the Baron held out his glass to the dispensing butler. The old gentleman sipped his Juscious liquor with such delight that I almost regretted my own palate was nothing more than a passageway to receive some of the necessities of our existence. I noticed that while he imbibed his nectar slowly as if to prolong the agreeable sensa- tion, others emptied their glasses in a few hasty swallows or in one large gulp—much as we partake of the cup of life. Some greedy ones there are, and shortsighted too, who » Saeed of the full contents rashly, in- different as to the effect and natural conse- quences. But others will drink with delib- eration, premeditation even, and will enjoy it the more for having comprehended the fact that, once emptied, the cup will never be refilled. Winning the Baroness’ Gratitude On another of my visits the Baroness had arranged to have a small musicale. The rformer was a Mrs. Howland, an exceed- ingly capable violinist, the attractive wife of the American commissioner to the Paris exhibition of 1900. The time arrived for the music to begin, but there was no accom- panist for Mrs. Howland. Both the hostess and the performer had left that to the other. In her embarrassment the Baroness herself offered to accompany. She con- fessed that she had not touched a piano in many years and for the indulgence of the guests. After the first few bars came a discord and a ‘/. She tried afresh with the same result. The faces of both per- formers were growing. purple and the situ- ation was becoming painful. Someone sug- gested a violin solo—one of those bravura pieces by Bach or Paganini, where the violin itself supplies the accompaniment. This type of music appealed little to an audience that would have relished a valse. The Baroness rose in distress and asked, “Is there nobody in the room who can accompany Mrs. Howland?”’ No answer. “Then,” she concluded sadly, “we shall have to forgo the pleasure of music tonight.” When I felt certain that there was no Paderewski in disguise in the room, I ven- tured to offer my services at the piano. Beginning with my early days in Rome, I had played a good deal to the violin. There, one of my neighbors, a certain Bernardelli, practiced with meevery day. Several of the pieces remained in my memory and enabled us to improvise. And though my playing was not as perfect as might be wished, it had at least the charm of spontaneity. And December 15,1924 it did count for something. For if ever in my life I have come near to being embraced oF a woman, it was then and there. Mrs. owland, who parted from her husband sometime after, subsequently married Sir Edgar Speyer, London head of the inter- national banking firm of Speyer Brothers. The Speyer house was a center of music in London. Even before his marriage Sir Edgar had much music at his own home and started the popular concerts in Queen’s Hall, which drew thousands every night. Lady Speyer had ample opportunity to dis- lay her many gifts, social as well as mus- ical, though she never again played in public except for charity. During the war, Sir Edgar took offense at some veiled gossip and rumors which the universal spy mania brought into being— pardonable enough at a moment when the very existence of a nation was at stake. Even in those dark moments, however, no one high in the counseis of the state either reflected upon or assailed Sir Edgar. Nevertheless, he was offended and chose to give up his baronetcy and to leave the country. In my humble opinion, he had done better to leave the matter alone until a wey 94 and more serene period returned. And if he be a true lover of England, which I believe he is, he might well have taken to heart the advice given by Edward Han- slick, the famous music critic, to his wife when she sang at a concert which he had to review. He said: “‘And now comes the most painful duty that can befall a critic. My dear wife, let me give you some advice: Love and be silent,” The Hospitable Beresfords Since those days at Ferrieres I have not seen Lady Speyer. Perhaps she resented my attempt to help her out of an embar- rassing situation and stiil holds it against me. I am only too conscious of what a poor performer I am and, should these lines come,under her eye, I hope they will carry to her my humble apology. But the subject of music brings to my mind another notable musical , aon of those days, that of Lady Charles Beresford, wife of one of the most gallant and beloved of British admirals. Lord Charles was a porter national hero. When I knew him e had but recently returned from a mis- sion to the Far East on behalf of Sir Thomas Lipton, the object of which was to promote business relations between England and the East. But to remain in complete retire- ment was impossible for Loid Charles, and he was representing a constituency in Par- liament. One could readily understand why he was an idol of the masses. A great- hearted simplicity distinguished his man- ner, and he was always cheerful and ready to do a good turn for anybody. A medal which Lady Charles commis- sioned me to make of him as a pendant for herself gave me ample opportunity to study this delightful man; he was a most agree- able sitter. Music, his wife’s passion, did not appeal to him, and if he was present at her musicales it was only because some visitor there interested him at the time. His joviality and his amiability, neverthe- less, remained unabated. Because he com- manded H. M.S. Condor at Alexandria in 1882, and later, in 1884, the naval brigade in the Soudan sent to the relief of General Gordon, he was sometimes popularly called Condor Charlie—a name he did not like because of its rapacious connotation. Lady Charles Beresford kept open house at her charming villa in West Ham, near Richmond, and every Sunday during the season her many friends assembled there to an always elastic hospitality. There would be music, and sometimes it was doubly en- chanting to those who, after dinner, would stroll in the gardens and listen to the dis- tant sounds in a perfect midsummer night. Art and music, it has often occurred to me, tend to supplement each other and to blend with and relieve each other—like the cold and warm hues on the palette of the painter or like the major and minor chords in music. In fact, creation was founded on this principle of positive and negative; it pervades everything, commencing with the colors in the rainbow, three of which are complementary and the other three oppos- ing—night and day, summer and winter, spring and autumn—each needing its con- trasting counterpart for the formation of a homogeneous entity, the structure of exist- ence. The ancient Greeks understood these laws and called their application the golden (Continued on Page 148)

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148 (Continued from Page 146) rule, by which they established relation- ships in accordance with their advanced ideals of perfection. Concerning the human body, the golden ru'e fixed all its propor- tions —the relation of head to body, to the limbs, of hand and foot to arm and leg, of fingers and toes to hands and feet — all pains- takingly and comprehensively determined. As these fundamertal rules govern all the arts, this may be the explanation of why in one man is combined the ability to express himself in many media. To the artist, music is a necessity and, though he may not know its technic, he has a love for and an under- standing of it. Sir Philip Burne-Jones often came there. Sir Philip’s father, the great Burne-Jones, believed his son to be a finer painter thar himself, which shows how blinding paternal love can be. Still another conspiicuous figure at Lady Beresford’s house was Sir Claude Phillips. His talent as a critic seemed to hover be- tween art and music. He began as a musical critic and turned later to art criti- cism. He was a devoted friend of Lady Charies, and they were often seen at con- certs and the opera together. He lived much among musica) people. And I often wondered how it is possible for a critic to be in daily contact with the very people he is obliged tc eriticize and still to keep that aloofness which is necessary to make criti- cism completely unbiased. Yet Sir Claude seemed popular, both as musical and art critic, and his work in the Daily Tele- graph was held in high esteem. So brilliart, trenchant and forceful was the pen of Sir Claude that he could make or unmake an artist “and stand a critic, hated yet ca- reused.”” The influence he wielded was great. And that brings me to a point. Shall we ever approach a time when we shall be able to de away with critics and rely wholly upon our own wsthetic feeling and judg- ment? Shall we always have to be told by someone who has ne more qualification than anyone else, what in art is good and what is not? What is to endure and what shall perish?. Often when I went to see some of the collections in Paris of a Sunday afternoon I would overhear the watchmen and guards in the museums or visitors of the lower ciasses discussing art perhaps more intelligently than many a critic. With them this was a spontaneous expression of a feeling with which the whole country was imbued, With some, i! not with all critics, it seems to be a process of filling just so much space with print because it is to be paid for. The Trouble With Critics The community of art critics is too often recruited from among disappointed artists, or from art students, or from men who wield a too facile pen from which flow glit- tering phrases as empty as soap bubbles. Those in the first-ramed class are the most dangerous because all their writings sound that note of disappointment, begrudging success to the fortunate ones, while every word serves’ but ‘to stress the fact that “the greatest consclation for the medioc- rity is that the genius is immortal only after his death.” The art critic general y knows little about proportion, color, perspective or technic, all of which are as indispensable as a knowledge of counterpoint is to the musician, even though he be a genius. How many times I have been asked to explain the difference between the lost wax precess and the sand- mold castings, and why the former should be considered art and the latter only craft. Over and over I have elucidated the mean- ing of chiaroscuro or the significance of the expression “eoid and warm color,’ so ex- tensively used among painters and which means so much, Ali this and a thousand other details should have been taught to the art critic as a part wf his curriculum in his preparation for a vocation which, if ex- ercised in the proper spirit, could be as beneficial in its scope as the words spoken from the pulpit. Instead, the critics are apt to live in their little narrow world, not daring to look be- yond its borders lest the glare of light that would flood in upon their vision would completely inundate their obscure, dim corner. Usually each one is noted for the speciai tendency he champions, and so tena- ciously does he do this that he is frequently unaware that a stronger and a cleverer man is stealing from under his nose the bone of contention, which leaves him with nothing THE SATURDAY to gnaw on and necessitates that he search for another bone. Few are broad-minded enough to see good where it is instead of where they wish to find it. The artists’ resentment of the critics is comprehensible, for the. harm of an unin- telligent criticism to an individual or a group cannot be measured. And so often the personal element enters in, the likes or dislikes of a critic for the personality and not the painter. Most of the masters have suffered like lions from the sting of annoy- ing insects. What did not Richard Wagner endure from the barks of a crowd who did not know how to make a better noise? And how virulent were the attacks on Whistler by Ruskin? When I first went to London the echoes of the famous lawsuit still re- sounded in every corner where art was dis- cussed, and the opinions of Ruskin were so highly esteemed that the defenders of the artist were in the minute minority. Now that time has proved Whistler’s worth, the uestion naturally presents itself: Did those attacks do him any real harm? Would it not have benefited Ruskin if he had seen fit to emphasize the good in Whistler which was undeniably there? His undeserved harsh criticisms were about as valuable to himself as if he had cut his name in the bark of a growing tree in the hope that pos- terity might read it. Michelangelo's Little Ruse Michelangelo was not spared disparage- ment, which became so exasperating that he resorted to a ruse. At a place where archgologists were meat he buried one of his statues, after first breaking off an arm. When the marble came to light and was exposed in all its beauty, they sent for the master to point out to him how far more perfect was the work of the ancients in comparison to his own. He submitted to their sarcasm for a time, and then open- ing his cloak, he produced and fitted the missing arm. Some talent is so supreme a gift that to attempt to destroy it or to damn by faint praise would be like trying to avert an avalanche or swim in the rapids of Niagara. At the recent exhibition of Sergent’s work in the Grand Central Art Galleries, the illustrated catalogue contained some reprinted opinions of former displays— eulogistic, of course. But there was ore among them which contrasted sharply in its praise with the later writings from the same pen; continuous commendation had evidently proved irksome and had begun to pall—-hence an almost complete right- about by way of variety. Lord Charles had two brothers, Lord William and Lord Marcus Beresford, keeper of the Prince’s racing stable. Lord William was married to Lillian, Duchess of Marlborough. An American by birth, ey ery of Commodore Price, U. S. N.., she had first married Louis Hammersley, a New Yorker, and after hisde “hthe Duke of Marlborough, father of the yresent Duke. Louis Hammersley had left Ler a respect- able fortune, and with this, after she be- came the Duchess, she embarked upon elaborate improvements at Blenheim. These were later carried on by Consuelo Vanderbilt, the next Duchess. When the old Duke died, his widow married Lord William Beresford. But still she clung to the title of Duchess, which presumably had cost her too much to be lightly relinquished. Her marriage to Beresford proved a happy and congenial one, and their union was even blessed with a somewhat belated son. One day I received an urgent message from Lord Marcus, whom I had met at Sandringham, bidding me come to Deep- dene near Dorking to make for the Duchess a death mask of his brother, Lord William, who had just died. The telegram came too late in the day for me to avail myself of the aid of a molder and, as I did not wish to disappoint Lord Marcus, I decided to do the work myself. It was a dreary journey from Charing Cross in an empty train past midnight. hen I arrived at Deepdene, Lord Marcus and the nurse in attendance were waiting up for me. The Duchess I did pos one: I proceeded with my melancholy task. The making of a death mask is no pleas- ant labor. First of all, the face is lightly coated with olive oil. In the case of a man, the brows, the mustache and beard are covered either with the skin of egg or with grease generously applied. A frame of soft clay is then laid round the head to mark the limits of the cast and to ee the soft plaster from flowing out. The plaster EVENING POST has to be mixed with warm water and a little salt to make it set more quickly. In liquid form it is then applied with a brush and, as it gets harder, with the hand until the whole coois down and solidifies. To re- move the mold it is simply moistened with a saturated sponge. This form the molder afterward uses for making the cast. All this I was obliged to do myself, with the help of only the nurse. nce the task was done, I went upstairs to gain a little rest. To the stranger the house seemed enormous. It was early win- ter, and outside I heard the wind soughing and moaning. So cold and lifeless was ev- erything within and without that I could not sleep. I longed for my cozy studio and the little cheerful fire that awaited me like an old friend. Early in the morning, at the first opportunity, I fled. Yet, in spite of all this, I did not hear from the Duchess. I wrote her once or twice to say that the death mask was gy | but my letters remained unanswered. It was not until sometime later, when I was doing some work for Sir George Lewis, the no solicitor, a man sympathetic to artists, that I happened to mention among others of my experiences, the one with the Duchess. He desired to know all the par- ticulars. Sir George was the solicitor of the Duchess and had the management of her affairs. Very soon thereafter I finally re- ceived from her an apologetic letter with a check. Sir George Lewis, I may add, was per- haps one of the most eminent solicitors in his day. His advice was universally sought and the most important and delicate cases were likely to be found in his hands. To have him on one’s side was already in some d an assurance of success. is prin- ciple was never to advise a lawsuit unless he was reasonably sure of the justice of the cause and the probable result. The money lenders’ act, which was directed chiefly against his namesake, Sam Lewis, and in- tended to preclude the possibility of such vast accumulation of wealth in that busi- ness, was drafted by Sir George Lewis. The foremost contemporary names of his time, including that of the Prince of Wales, — among his clients. His offices in Ely Place occupied two houses, which had been thrown into one and stil! seemed too small. His wife, Lady Lewis, of German origin, was a great lover of art in all its forms. She was among the first of Sargent’s patrons. In his early days, before he became famous, he painted the portrait of both Sir George and Lady Lewis. An entire wall in their house in Portland Place was covered with cartoons by Burne-Jones. Sir George Frampton, the sculptor, modeled the ceil- ing of her drawing-room. Paderewski and Alma-Tadema were intimates and often to be met in the Lewis house. Paderewski never came to town without devoting at least one evening to his friends, the Lewises, who made this the occasion for a big dinner and reception, which strained to its utmost the capacity of even their large house. Laszlo’s Limited Field At about this time Philip Laszlo first made his appearance in England. Though a Hungarian, he had studied at the acad- emy in Munich and set up as a portrait ainter. He had an extraordinary facilit or likenesses and his first epee still painted under the influence of the academy ave excellent promise. His ease was amaz- ing. It was the sort of ease which is far more general among the Italians and the Spaniards. Sorolla once told me that when- ever one cf his pupils shows signs of it, he sets him to cepyihg Holbein until he copies him well. Laszlo was able to handle not only the brush with facility but also his sitters. He knew how to keep in the public eye, and like a clever musician who is some- times able to play himself into the hearts of ple, so Laszlo had the art of painting imself into their hearts. To my own crit- ical judgment his work is overfacile. He has never had the impulse, seemingly, to retire from his endless portrait painting into a seclusion where he might listen un- disturbed to that still, small voice, which every true artist should hear and which should make him long for the day when he will be able to follow its call. I cannot remember any other instance of a celebrated portrait painter, such as Laszlo gave promise of becoming, contenting him- self with turning out faces day after day with a facility which in time must surely become mechanical. December 13,1924 Laszlo first came to me with an introduc- tion from Count Mensdorff, then the coun- cilor of the Austrian Embassy in London. I was asked to help him obtain a studio fora short period so that he could paint a score of portraits or so. As I then had, besides my own large studio, a smaller one near by, I welcomed him as my guest. I saw much of him at that time, and we often had dis- cussions upon art. One afternoon, when his sittings were over for the day, I visited him ahd observed the pile of canvases in all stages of progress which he had already accumulated in a short time in London. “Den’t you feel,”’ I asked him, “like so many of us, that portraiture is only a means to an end—but, after all, it does not repre- sent the very best which is in an artist?” He seemed inclined to with me. “ After all,” I went on, “in looking at the work of our foremost portrait painters— Velasquez, Reynolds, Gainsborough, Van- dyke and Rembrandt —giants in portraiture to be sure, they revealed the true master rather in their compositions. Don’t you agree with me?”’ “Yes,” was his answer. “I grant you that is true. And as soon as I feel a little more independent I mean to return to my studio in Budapest and begin on some work which I have in mind. I see a splendid decorative frieze which I am anxious to do.” “That is fine,” I told him, “and I am glad to hear you say it. Because in my oo true happiness for an artist lies only in those works which he can create in the privacy of his studio, uninfluenced by any consideration other than art in its purest form.” Prewar Diplomacy That was a quarter of a century ago, but I have not yet heard of that frieze of Laszlo’s. I sometimes wonder whether, as he looks back upon his achievements, he does not regret that he has remained so one-sided in the practice of his art. Laszlo, I need hardly say, painted the portrait of Count Mensdorff as he painted the portrait of every other celebrity. Count Mensdorff was an excellent specimen of the diplomacy of his time. The prime requisite of that diplomacy was not so much a fine mind as a strong digestion. Almost all diplomats were in those days alike. Very few stood out for exceptional ability. Baron Trauttenberg, an adherent to the old school, one day wrote in an album: “The duty of diplomacy lies less in the achieve- ment of great successes than in the avoid- ance of great difficulties.” That was the working principle of pre- war diplomacy. And it was by no means confined to the Austrian Embassy, but prevailed in all the embassies I ever knew. For the statesmen of that era this was doubtless a sufficiently satisfactory motto. Count Mensdorff came of a noble family so ancient that it even managed somewhere in its path to pick up a connection with royalty. The house of Leiningen, to which he was related, had at some time become linked with the house of Coburg. Mens- dorff was therefore considered a relation of the British royal family, and was not only persona grata but a favorite. No dinner party, reception or house party was deemed complete without him. He was everywhere welcome—at Cowes, at Newmarket, at Chatsworth, at Sandringham and Windsor. When Count Deym, his chief, died, Mens- dorff was elevated over many heads and made ambassador to the Court of St. James. With so popular a man, it was thought, the cordial relations between the two empires could not help but be maintained. When the -var was approaching, it became evident that the situation demanded someone as adroit in diplomacy as Mensdorff was socially. With that type of man in London and such a diplomat as Austria now pos- sesses in Monsignore Seipel, the priest- statesman, the destinies of the world might perhaps have moved otherwise. The Mens- dorff type had doubtless been a great asset in the days when the fates of empires were settled by a chosen few over the coffee and cigars after a good dinner. But those times had passed, and they have passed forever. Today we live in a world where merit alone is of any account, where the humblest has the same opportunity as the highest born, where individuals can no longer decree the fate of whole nations, but humanity settles such things for itself. And thank heaven for that! Editor’s Note—This is the third of a series of articles by Mr. Fuchs. The fourth will appear in an early issue.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST may explain this added aroma —the remarkable gain in flavor that comes only when tobacco is “aged in wood” HE farmer calls his Burley tobacco “ripe” when it is ready to sell— when the leaf has grown to full maturity, and a tone of brown has crept into the raw green. All that remains—for him—is to cut and hang the leaf in his curing-barn, then to grade and bundle and transport it to auction floor or warehouse. But actually the tobacco has only be- gun to ripen; it will be many more months before it will be pronounced “ripe” by the smoker. For “raw” tobacco is harsh, stinging and bitter; it must un- dergo a radical change before it is ready for your pipe. And it is by the character and thoroughness of this change that you will finally judge its flavor. A seientist once had a theory that this change was due to micro-organisms; and he proposed to collect organisms from high quality leaf, colonize them on in- ferior tobaccos, and put them to work. Thus without regard ' : ‘ to seed, soil, climate, experience of the Copyright, 1924, Liggett & Myers Tobacco Co, farmer, or skill of the A radical change . ragreds eeangé manufacturer, poor must take place in ‘‘raw"’ tobacco before tobacco was to be it is ready to smoke converted in a jiffy Some day science into good tobacco—at an enormous sav- ing in cost. Our method in making Velvet is less spectacular, and far more expensive— but in all our half century as tobacco manufacturers, we have found but this one way to give smokers a full measure of good taste. To use nothing but quality = tobacco, to forego the tempting economies of hurry-up pro- cesses, and to age every ounce of leaf —age it patiently, in wood, for years, un- til itis sweet asa nut and just right for Just what it is that happe ns is still a puzzle to scientists smoking—this is the way we make Velvet, and the way we will continue. There is no question that a change does take place in tobacco—a_neces- sary change, before it is ready for smok- ing. And there is no question that “age- ing in wood” carries this change further There's an unmistaka- ble mellow fragrance and bouquet te “‘aged in wood"’ tobacco. than any other process. Science has not yet explained it fully; it may be cata- lytic, it may be enzymotic oxidation, But the fact remains—when tobacco is “aged in wood,” the bitterness and harshness disappear, and in their place come mildness and aroma and _ richness of flavor and all the qualities a critical pipe smoker demands, So the important thing about the “ageing in wood” method is not the explanation, but the fact that it works—and your ¢ very first pipefal of Velvet will prove it. —the aged in wood tobacco

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5728—18 kt. solid white gold case, hand- t with cight sapphires; $75.00 somely carved; se movement 17 jewel $714-S—18 ke. solid white gold case, hand carved; set with triangular cut sapphires; 17 jewel movement 975 solid white gold case carved; 1 nent 15 jewe! Butova Quality filled 6722—--18 ke , hand jewel mov . $50.00 D355. Burvova Quality white gold filled en- ; 15 jewel movement $28.50 6gi2 graved cas hand 196-14 ke. solid white gold case, carved; 15 jewe! movement Burova Quality filled December 13,1924 Aristocrat of Beauty te frame of a master painting, the bind- ing of a rare book, the case of a Butova Watcu—they are beautiful in themselves, yet they are only the settings for master- pieces within. Inside the exquisite case of a BuLova Watcu is a treasure of truthfulness—a mechanical superiority obtained through American methods of standardization. Each working part is truly standardized, scien- ‘ela ae ye PF OP e §927—Solid platinum hand carved case, set with 46 diamonds and 17 jewel movement..... 20 sapphires; 550.00 17 jewel movement (radium dial and hands). .$75.00 39744—14 kt. solid gold case, Same watch handsomely carved. $85.00 Plain Sterling Silver or gold filled case, $37.50 5969 top; set with 8 diamonds and 6 sapphires, 17 jewel movement. ..... 18 kt. solid white gol case, platinum 6965 —18 kt. solid white top; set with 2 diamon 17 jewel movement Id case, platinum and 4 sapphires, $75.00 474—14 ket. solid white gold case, hand carved; very thin 17 jewel movement.$125.00 17 jewel Butova Quality filled... . .$50.00 £ i) oNEEY,, 4 ~~’ : a. i) Nt Ai

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST — F a thousand-pound steer were used for nothing but carcass meat, there would be approxi- mately 440 pounds of waste. Sold at such prices as ordina- rily prevail, the meat alone would not bring as much asthe steer cost. if the 440 pounds were thrown away (as was formerly done save for the hide and tallow), it would be necessary that live stock be much cheaper or meat prices be much higher. Either the farmer would get less or the consumer would pay more. It is likely that the consumer would pay more. The producer must, in the long run, get back what it cost him to produce, and it follows, therefore, that if by- products were not utilized to take care of part of that cost, it would fall entirely upon the consumers of meat, In other words, the parts uti- lized as by-products come with the animal; the cost of producing the live animal is not affected by what is done with these parts. It is the price which the consumer pays for the meat which is af- fected by the value given to the by-products. Operation on a large scale is necessary in order to save many by-products, as, for example, the endocrine glands—thyroids, pitui- taries, suprarenals, etc. It takes glands from 135,000 sheep to make one pound of suprarenalin, and a pound is worth more than $5000.00. This drug, diluted with water at the rate of 1000 to 1, makes blood- less surgery possible in minor op- erations. It contracts the blood vessels so forcefully that all the blood is driven out of the flesh tissue to which it has been ap- By-products carry a share which other- wise would have to be charged to meat. Meat Consumers Do Not Pay the Cost of Producing Live Stock / plied. It is also a powerful heart stimulant. Small packers could not afford to bother with by-products of the kind described, for tens of thou- sands of animals must be handled annually in order to make prac- tical the saving and processing of such items. A great many of Armour and Company’s manufacturing and selling activities have to do with by-products—processing and find- ing a market for glue, curled hair, hides, calfskins, pelts, wool, lubri- cating oils, soap, violin strings, pharmaceuticals, catgut, ligatures, and numerous other commodities. By scientific research, advanced method of manufacture and by development of markets, one or more of these by-products has been made of value in practically every basic industry. The value thus given to by-products in the packing industry is credited against the cost to the packers of the live animal and reduces thereby the proportion of the live cost which the consumers of meat have to pay. The use to which these products are put, therefore, effects a net gain to live stock raisers and meat consumers, and the result is that meat is cheaper than it otherwise would be. ARMOUR 4nd COMPANY I i 1 compi« ©e series } Ww for answers t CHICAGO eric gne tl WwW h fundamentals of meat p icking iny question about the industry on which you desire information. December 13,1924

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rats—have a chair, sir—yes, I got it—an- swers to name Geraldine —— He turned to Larry Carraway. “Yes,” said the inky Mr. Legg, “I will not join.” Larry stared at him. ‘Join what?” “Anything,” said Mr. Legg firmly. “And that goes.” He raised his voice and roared, ‘Bill, Bill, for the love of heaven, pod t spell ‘pneumonia’ with an ‘n.’” Mr. Legg grabbed up a proof and began to read it with one eye, while he fixed the other on Larry and addressed him. “Yes, sir,” said Mr. Legg. ‘“‘ You give me a pain under the vest. You come into this nice quiet little town that used to ooze brotherly love, and what do you do? . Bill, Bill, for pity’s sake, that head AN- OTHER DASTARDLY CRIME goes on the pig-stealing story, not the Hingley- Hatch wedding. . . . Yes, sir, you fons have turned Billup into a hotbed of hate. Of course I understand your point of view— you get five dollars for every new mem- ber you sign up. What a pity! You look likeaniceyoung fellow too. But you and your crowd have certainly corrupted Billup.” “Me?” queried Larry. 2 ‘I’m not speak- ‘ ing to the King of Sweden, am I? said Mr. Legg, scrib- bling a headline on apiece of copy paper. “Yes, you. Do you happen tc know, i young man, that | Damon Tuttle ; doesn’t speak to his twin brother Pythias any more since Da- mon joined the Princes and Pythias joined the Hawks? And their devotion to each other used to be beautiful to see. You've split the town into two armed camps—that’s what you've done, young man. Please put your foot on that proof there before it blows to hellan- gone.” “Mr. Legg,”’ said Larry, “just what do you think I am?” “A Prince or a Hawk,” responded the editor. “Nothing so ex- citing,” said Larry. “I’m a newspaperman—looking for work.” Mr. Legg laid down his pencil and thrust out an inky hand. “Well, well! In that case, glad to see you.” He scanned Larry’s professional card. “I’ve heard of you,” he said. “Will you give me a job?” “You? On the Palladium-Intelligencer?”’ “Yes, sir.”’ “Young man,” said Mr. Legg, “you've been out in the sun. A cabbage leaf con- cealed in the panama would have prevented your sad condition.” “I’m sane,” laughed Larry, “and sober too. The fact is I need a job.” He told Mr. g jee wanderlust had turned him into a i + gypsy. “I know the feeling, Mr g assured Larry. Then he shouted, “Bill, Bill, if you value your life, never spell ‘ accident’ with an ‘x’ again. Now, Mr. Carraway, tell me why you picked out Billup.” Larry told the editor about the freckled- eared stranger and his signs. “That,” said Mr. Legg, “would be Hod Frick. He’s high up in the Hawks.” When Larry had finished, Mr. Legg said: “T need a man. There’s a real problem here that maybe you can help me solve. I can pay you only twenty a week, but you can get board and room at Mrs. Olsen’s for twelve. If you aren’t really Carraway of the Lance I’ll soon find it out. I know a news- paperman when I see one. I used to work THE SATURDAY Sssssssssshhhh! (Continued from Page 5) on the St. Louis Messenger myself till my arches fell and they wanted to stick me on the copy desk. hen I came here and bought the Palladium-Intelligencer. I was born in Billup, you see; and it used to be one of the sleait ntest little towns in the country, but now —— “Say, what is wrong with Billup?” Larry inqui “It’s got the ssssssssshhhh habit,” said the editor, and not pues in his work, he went on smn a es, sir, Billup used to be a good place tolivein. Any civic project and the whole community was behind it to aman. Main Street just dripped with good will. Fact. And now—weil, you noticed something, didn’t you?”’ a) didn’ t see any doves and olive branches,” Larry said. “No, and rai tell you why. The folks here are going round like a lot of bulldogs with sore noses these days. Half of them are Princes and the other half are Hawks.” “You are Going j to Leave in Complete Charge of the Paper Your Bright Young Assistant, Mr. Laurence Ashton Carraway" “That’s Czecho-Slovakian to me,”’ said arry “tt was to — until six months ago. Well, sir, six months ago into town came two slick fellows from Chicago. Glib— that’s what they were. One of ’em was Grand and Greatly Esteemed Organizer of the High and Mysterious Princes of the Enigmatic Realm of Secrecy. The other was Royal and Solemn Standard Bearer of the Cryptic Order of Honorable Hawks. Oddly enough, they both got here on the same day. One worked the south side of Main Street, the other the north side. They had smooth’ lines, both of them. I ow. They tried them on me. The Princes—to hear them tell it—are the strongest and most secret order in the world, with secrets that would make a porcupine’s quills curl. For ten dollars anyone could be a Prince, wear a purple robe with skeletons embroid- ered on it and learn those terrific secrets. Likewise for ten dollars—don’t forget the ten—any hin. butcher’s assistant or soda jerker could become an Honorable Hawk, wear a red bib with birds on it and EVENING POST lock in his bosom, so the Hawk fellow said, secrets that made the secrets of all the other orders, especially the Princes, look like a page from a oe spelling book. In- deed, the Hawk fellow whispered in my ear that if I joined the Hawks I could certainly look with pity and scorn on the Princes and their puny little secrets, and the Prince assured me that any bona-fide member of his crowd could properly regard a Hawk the same way a bottle of Grade A cream might regard a pan of sour skim milk. Well, I re- gret to say, Billup ate that stuff up. I could see why. Perhaps you noticed that our Main Street is no Draaee “ye ‘I did see a difference,” said . “The most ardent Billupian,” said Editor Legg, ‘‘was bound to notice, now and then, that our Main Street lacked thrills. Its | virtues are the simple, homely ones. those organizers found plenty of material to work on. Wallie, the butcher's assistant, might be able to withstand a purple apron with skeletons on it, but he could not resist the secrets. It sort of made him drunk with power to think he knew secrets that his friend Cliff, in the shoe store, didn’t know. So Wallie joined the Princes, and pretty soon Cliff joined the Hawks, to have some secrets, too, and soon the whole town was full of folks making wigwags at one another and exchanging passwords and trick grips. They got to hating one another—the Princes and the Hawks. Every man in town except me belongs to one bunch or the other. I have to stay neutral. It’s a shame, that’s what it is. It’s ruined Billup. “A sad case,” said Larry. ‘Why don’t you kid the bibs off them in your paper?”’ The editor sighed. “T wish I could,” he said. “But you know how it is in a place as small as Billup. A man isn’t free to do as he pleases. Eve thing I own is tied up in this paper, and itt kidded the Hawks and the Princes the might all stop read- ing it. Besides, how could you possibly kid a Hawk or a Prince? A sense of humor and the sssshhh stuff don’t dwell underthesame hat.” “But there must be some way —— began Larry. “T wish you could find it,”’ said Editor Legg. “‘ Now please take these proofs out to Bill—he’s the | dirtier one—and tell him if he puts the | police-court news in | the social notes | again I'll tear his | tonsils out. I’ve got to write two editori- als, an obituary and a baseball story in six minutes.” Larry Carraway had finished his first day as reportorial staff of the Palla- dium-Intelligencer. He was sitting in his aaa in Mrs. Olsen’s boarding house, re- pe ye from it. He had written halfa mn about a dog fight, a laudatory col- ners about a concert of the Billup Silver Cornet Band, a long obituary of a promi- nent switchman, an editorial of a satiric nature asking tke city fathers why Main Street had been paved with taffy instead of concrete, and full stories about the new pump at the waterworks and the bull calf that had come to brighten the home of the Caleb Prouts. Outside his window lay Billup and the peace of the moonlight was on it. The vagueness of the night had softened the outlines of the houses, Only the slim white spire of the church, rising above the maple trees, was distinct. The windows of the houses were orange-yellow patches of light. Electric “There’s a family behind every one of those lights,’’ mused Lins, and laughed at | himself, for newspapermen, being the most sentimental of mortals, affect to despise sentiment. ‘‘They’re simple, decent folks too.”” He was recalling how cordial and | helvful they had been to him, a stranger, YOUR feet have never, never known what luxurious comfort a foot can enjoy on a biting winter day—until they have snuggled intoa pair of Iron Clads! A soft, fleecy mixture of the purest cotton and worsted yarns that gently nestle to the skin—shutting the win- try weather on the outside. Ask for lron Clad sock No. 212. Woven in the most attractive two- color combinations, this sock has all the style, beauty, and durability for which Iron Clads have been famous for the past 46 years. 212 ‘ : Olive and If your dealer can’t em supply you, send Blue and us your remittance, Grey stating color and 212G ise (OV, . a size (92 to 12, 60c of Grey a pair east of the 212AB ‘ Rockies). We'll pay — the postage. COOPER, WELLS & CO. 212 Vine St., St. Joseph, Mich. | Twice as much Reason him a Cuno for givin atch this Year AND UTILITY LIGHT ' ; Here's another Cuno Gift/ Dont get up from your set . pts your cigar or pipe RADIO IC MATCH attached to your storage bat tery = up your smokes while you listen ~ At Radio * stores or direct in box for'12? THE CUNO ENGINEERING CORP. MERIDEN, CONN. ———_—PRIZES FOR BOYS———— ] Without cost, live boys in U. S. A. can earn Christmas gifts and other prizes by easy selling. Write LA Saturday Evening Peat, Sales Div., 327 In hia, Pennsylrani |

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THE SATURDAY | shame | Having apparent EVENING POST when he had made his rounds that day in search of news. “They don’t seem to hate anybody but one another. It’s a crying this ssashhhh blight. Perhap I-——”’ Larry took a grip on his chin, and that was a sign his brain was working. It was working at high speed, when a knock sounded at his door; no ordinary casual knock, but three distinct muffled raps. “Come in,” cried Larry. Cautiously, slowly, the door opened, and a man insinuated himself into the room. It was the mysterious stranger with the freckled ears. On his tight lips he laid a long narrow finger. “Ssssssssshhhh!” hissed the stranger. “What's the matter?” asked Larry, also whispering. “Is the place pinched? Or is somebody going to sing?” “Ssssssssshhhh!"’ repeated the visitor. He sent a surveying glance around the room, even ere | it sweep under the bed. y satisfied himself that there were no eavesdroppers, he whispered, “The sun riseth in the east.” “Old stuff,” said Larry. “I’ve known | that for years.”’ You give all outdoors | Honorable Hawk?” when you give a Flexible Flyer Every boy and girl longs for a Flexibie Flyer. They know that the “‘speed-king’’ of the hill, the envy of all eyes, is always the fellow with the Flexible Flyer. Flexible Flyer is the strongest, the speediest, the safest sled. ‘The merest pressure of hand or foot on the steering bar guides it. Good- looking, graceful, with all-steel front, grooved-steel runners and a handsome, hardwood top. Thrill some boy or girl with a Flexible Flyer, this Christmas. Look for the trade mark ‘ ~~ ‘ on ihe sicd you Douy Ask your dealer, or us, for Free card- board model showing how Flexible Flyer steers, and how to get an “expert coaster’ button, S. L. Allen & Co., Inc. Philadelphia Dept. 15 Flyer __ “The sled that really steers’ The freckled one drew back, his eyes narrowing. “Then thou art not one of us?” he whis- pered. “I art not,” Larry answered. ‘“‘Who art us?”’ In a whisper that was only just audible, the man made solernn reply: ,’ said Larry, “then you are an “7 oe. Larry contrived to look impressed. “And when,” questioned Larry, “do you honorably hawk?” His manner was re- spectful, disarming. “At night,” the other answered. “‘How do you do it?” The man assumed a look of great mystery. “That is one of our deep and terrible | secrets,” he said. “‘Ah, the Hawks have secrets then?” “The secrets of the Hawks,”’ asseverated the man, “are the most secret secrets in the world.” “What are they?”’ asked Larry, with an air of innocence. The face of the freckled one showed he was inexpressibly shocked. “Ask not, stranger,” he said with dig- nity. “They are for the ears of Honorable Hawks only.” “Oh, come now,” cajoled Larry, “be a good fellow. Tell me one of them—one of the least deep and terrible. I’m dying to know. I won't tell a soul—cross my heart.” For a second it seemed.that the man might comply; then the freckled one drew in his breath, “No, sir,” he said, “I guess not. If I did, do you know what would happen to me?” “No. What?” The man sank his voice to a graveyard whisper and in a quoting voice replied: December 13,1924 “First my unworthy cranium would be severed from my dagger-pierced torso; then my traitorous trunk would be hewed into one thousand and one small bits of equal size, and each bit would be put into a separate bottle and the bottles would then be cast, one at a time, into the vast and bottomless ocean on one thousand and one consecutive nights.” “Golly!” whistled Larry. prove fatal.” “Besides,” added the visitor, “mebbe you’re one of them vile Princes,” “Honest, I’m no Prince,” said Larry. “So the Princes are a pretty vile lot, are they?” eM a viiest,”” averred the man, “‘of the vile,” “Why is that?”’ “Well,” said the visitor, scratching his head to assist his memory, “their secrets is spee-ur-i-ous.” “Spurious?” “Yes, sir. Them Prince fellers mock at the Hawk secrets—and the Hawk secrets are the only true secrets,” Larry sighed. “They must be hot tamales,” he said. “T wish I knew a secret.” The man became suddenly confidential. “Say, brother,” he said, “how would you like to be an Honorable Hawk?” “Me?” “Tt might at ss “But do I deserve such an honor?” “I guess,”’ said the freckled-eared one, “T could get you into the Honorable Hawks.” He cleared his throat. “It costs ten dol- lars,”” he finished. Larry stood up—a decisive gesture. “Cheap enough,”’ he said. “I’m your man.” “Come Thursday night,” said the freckled one, “on the stroke of eight. Up over the hay-and-feed store. Mum’s the word.” “Mum,” agreed Larry, “is the word.” Then—“ But you say the Hawks are asecret order.” “Terrible secret,” the man assured him. “Nobody will know I join?” “Nobody.” “Are you sure?” “Brother,” said the man—he was quot- ing again—*‘if one Hawk was to give away the secret of a brother Hawk, his perfidious cadaver would be roasted on a slow fire and his vitals would be fed to hyenas and he would be dropped from the order forever more,” “Fair enough,” said Larry. take the ten now?” “T do,” said the man, and did. The owner of the astonishing ears slipped away as quietly as he had come. Larry took a fresh hold on his chin and sat con- templating the moonlit landscape. He was deep in thought when he heard another knock at his door—this time five crisp taps. “Who's there?” called Larry. A low voice answered him. (Continued on Page 156) “Do you PHOTO, FROM FREDERICK W, MARTIN, PASADENA, CAL The City of a Thousand Christmas Trees, Pasadena, California

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST The NEW > “ the Jay ~Eye~See CAS ee a Fat a 4 ra al f [ ‘ he AG PREM FO Ose. h \ BONE ‘ - FPO cp 03 c, . aah & T1213)4\510° ’ Aine 1, ih any X “ ] = : ; 7 ° 1 x i} hy - Nite te ee & + + — \ } ». = 52 oa) i = Ny “ili, p ae i Ast sales records indicate that 75% of all the cars bought in 1924 will be out of the hands of the original owners in 1927, either traded, sold or junked. With each change someone 65 takes a needless loss. To the original owner it will average 50% because he must absorb such items as luxury tax, freight, handling charges, sell- ing costs, etc. Thinking reople— bankers, dealers and car buyers —believe this is a tremendous economic waste, a sacrifice to faddish lines, too many models, high pressure selling methods, and bad engineering and construction. If you think this over you will agree.’ Case engineers started years ago to determine \ why motor cars wore out before their time. They s developed and put into operation a scientific method of determining the “Endurance Factor™ z | of every part used in Case cars. Then, by an or- derly process of refinement and improvement, each part was brought nearer and nearer perfec- tion. How certain this progress has been is evi- denced by a recent nation-wide investigation showing that the life of all Case cars then in service was many years beyond the average. CASE Motor Cars rere —— [7 [8 [90s 9 3 - 0011/12/13 14/15 LAEALAP 44 ME THE TEN YEAR CAR ; - j So ie of | Where Will ItBeIn 1927-in 1931- in 19349 With this accurate, fundamental knowledge, the New Case, Jay- Eye-See and Y models, have been designed. If you, too, believe that trading a motor car every year or two is The Endurance Factor of a certain part is determined by dividing the number replaced by the total number in use. If eight transmission shafts are replaced in 10,000 cars in use the “Endurance Factor™ for the shaftis 8 _ 10,000 Every possible step has been taken to reduce this factor in the New Case to the lowest possible point by— 1. Better co-ordination of parts and units throughout the machine 2. The use of the finest and most suitable ma- terials throughout 3. Infinite care and precision in workmanship 4. Exhaustive inspectionof the minutest details, This infallible system has made possible the New Case—The 10-Year Car == .0008 ‘YOUR NEW MOTOR CAR wasteful —if you believe an automobile should give a minimum of ten years of satisfactory, economical transportation, see the New Case. In this new 1o-year car you will find, in ad- dition to maximum economy, that greater sat- isfaction and pleasure that come with owning a motor car that gives the utmost in perform: ance, unfailing dependability, comfort and refined appearance. The Case dealer will be pleased to expiain the design and construction of the one car that’s built with a definite, accurate knowledge of the “En durance Factor” of every part. You must see for yourself this New Case to appreciate how well a car can be built—and drive it to realize its won derful performance and riding qualities. Case Owners need not buy too many automobiles CASE MOTOR CAR DIVISION J. 1. CASE T. M. COMPANY, RACINE, WISCONSIN

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(Centinued from Page 154) “One from witheut who would have speech with him who is within,” said the voice “Then,” called back Larry. “let him who ia without come from without within.” The door swung open gently and a stranger glided into the room. He was a long frock-coated man with an Adam's apple like the Alps and the sadly serious face of a owe, He stopped just inside the door; he raised a bony finger to his face, laid it beside his five-inch nose and sniffed loudiy, twice “Ah,” said Larry, “the gas man!” The stranger, coming closer, let out a sound like escaping steam. “ Sessseeeseshhhh!" he said. “Tl take a case,” said Larry, “if it’s good prewar stuff.” The man's reply was curious. In a tense, significant whisper, he said, “ Washington, J. Adama, Jefferson, “Madison,” Larry grinned. American history was one of his hobbie: “Monroe, J. Q. Adams, Jackson, Van Buren,” declaimed Larry. The man came one step nearer. “Harrison, Tyler, Folk, Taylor,” he hissed. “ Fillmore, Pierce, Buchanan, oln,”’ whispered Larry. “Johneon, Grant, Hayes, Garfield, Arthur,” whispered the man. “Cieveland, B. Harrison, Mc- Kinley, Roosevelt,” came back carry. “aft,” whispered the man. “Wilson,” whispered Larry. “Harding,” whispered the man, “Coolidge,” cried Larry trium- Lin- phantly. “I win! Give me the cigars,” ‘Win? What meunst thou?” The man’s face was creased with a sudden suspicion, “ Wasn't it a game?" asked Larry. ‘A game?" The man was hor- rified. “Why, 1 thought thou art a Prince.” No flattery now,"’ smiled Larry. “1 mean,” said the visitor sternly, 1 High and Mysterious Prince of the Enigmatic Realm of Secrecy.” Very sorry,” said Larry. “I'm not even a low and unmysterious prince,” No smile itvaversed the cemetery countenance of the visitor “Then you don't know what you're missing,” he said. ‘Missing? What? '‘Vhy?” ‘By not being a Prince,” said the rt an ‘Well, what am | missing? T he man’ ‘'s voice waw pail hral. ‘Secrets,”’ he aaid. “Weill, give me a sampie.” The man shied as if he had touched a hot stove “What? Tell one of our secrets darkness? Say, to one in the outer de you kne wo what would mister, happen to me if I did ‘Something Ltt dreadful, I suppose.” r an awed voice, the man spoke: “First, my unworthy cranium wouid be severed from my dagger- pierced torso; then my traitorous trunk would be hewed into one thou- sand and one small bits of equal size + “Don’t tell me,” bre ce in Larry with some excitement, ‘‘that you'd then be boitied and towed into the briny dee R Say, how did you know that?” “Well what else could they do with you?” Larry countered, “I guess you'd better not tell me a secret. Lf all those things happened to you, it would spoil your day. I suppose I'll never get te know those secrets now.” In the voice of one conscious that he is doing a partic ‘ularly handsome act, the man ade jressed Larry. “L might be able to get you into the P rinces, he said. ‘That certainly would be white of you,’ “Of course, it comes high.” “Naturally. How high? “Ten dollars.” “It’s a lot of money,’ said Larry, * ‘and I wouldn't pay it to be just a plain prince. But a High and Mysterious Prince—well, here's your ten.’ The stranger stowed the bill into a vest adorned with a princeiy watch fob the size of a turkey egg THE SATURDAY “The Sublime Royal Court convenes Friday at nine,” he said, “in its august sanct back of Mort Deeley’s livery stable. Wilt thou come?” “TI wilt,” promised Larry. Carraway came illup Palladium- Monday morning Larr inte the office of the Intelligencer humming. “Mr. Legg,”’ he said, “T’ve got news for “What? This early in the morning?” The editor was already inky and his hair — , “What is it?” “You're going fishing today,” nounced. “Me? Fishing?” “Yes, you—fishing.” “Young man, has some fiend in human forrn struck you on the head with some blunt instrument?” asked the editor. Larry an- Pw Buen The Stranger Puiled Away as if He Had Been Stung by a Bee. EVENING POST to read the Palladium-Intelligencer that had been tossed there. A we > hour ordinarily follows. But not that Monday. Billup stared at the paper with bulging, unbelieving eyes; Billup was shaken to its roots Across the top of the front headline in the blackest of bla SSSSSSSSSSHHHH! Billup caught its breath and read: “Editor Roscoe Legg w as away fishing at Buckeye Lake today. He left in full charge of this paper his staff Mr. Laurence Ashton Carraway, of New York and other places. Now Mr. Carraway, being a stranger in these parts, seca himself hard up fer news. So he thought it might be interesting to the readers if he printed in full the se- crets of the High and Mysterious Princes and the Honorable Hawks. No other paper ge ran a type: A Dark Disturbed Look Rushed Over His Face “Not yet,” said Larry. He looked the editor straight in the eye. “Now listen to me, Mr. Legg. You are going fishing at Buckeye Lake today; you are going to stay in the middle of the lake i in a boat all day, far Jroin Billup and the sssshhth stuff. You are going to leave in complete charge of the paper your bright young assistant, Mr. Laurence Ashton Carraway, who will assume entire responsibility for everything. Listen, can't you hear the fish calling?” “But I don’t want to go fishing,” pro- tested the editor. “Oh, yes, you do.” Larry looked straight at him. “You've rio idea how much you want te go fishing. You've no idea how much you ought to go fishing. A clean, healthy sport—fishing.”’ Mr. Legg was studying Larry’s face. The editor smiled. “T think,”’ he said presently, * ‘that a day of fishing is just what I need.” On Monday evening #1 good Billupians went out to their respective front porches in town will have this story, he reasoned, even if there was another paper. “Here are the secrets of the High and Mysterious Princes: “First, you give ten dollars. Five of it goes to the man whe signs you up, five to the Sublime National Sanctuary. Then you bind yourself to secrecy under porta of being cut into small bits, bottled and heaved into the ocean. You are now a Prince. When you meet another if wee you say, ‘Ssssssssssshhhh!’ lay your fin: along your nose andsniff twice loudly. T is is the oo Token by which Princes are known. You then take turns naming the Presidents of the United States. This is known as the Most Sublimeand Occult High ign. You then link little fingers with the other Prince. This is known asthe Most His- toricand Impenetrable Grip. To gain admit- tance to a Sublime Royal Court in August Sanctuary convened—which means a meet- ing in a room back of Mort Deeley’s livery stable—you knock five times, sniff twice and say, ‘Admiral George Dewey.’ December 13,1924 “Once inside, you don a ct cotton Mother Hubb with skeletons on it. Then all the Princes stand in a circle, hold- ing hands, and the secrets begin. The first secret—known as the Sublime Outer Mys- tery—is that they all sing the first verse of Columbia the Gem of the Ocean, backward. The second secret—known as the Sublime Medium Mystery—is that they all recite the Declaration of Independence, backward. The last secret-—known as the Ultimate Mystery—is that all the Princes chant the names of the Vice Presidents of the United States. They all then give three loud sniffs and the ritual is over. Ane — — around, drink hard cider and swap sto “Here are the secrets of the Hontrable Hawks: First, you give ten dollars. Five of it goes to the man who signs you up, five to the Chief National Hawk Nest. Then you bind yourself to secrecy under penalty of being cut into small bits, bottled and heaved into the ocean. You are now a Hawk. When you meet another Hawk, gs grasp your ears with your hands and flap your el- bows, once, twice, thrice. This is called the Mystic Token. You then hold speech with the other Hawk as follows: “First HAWK: The sun riseth in the east. “SECOND HAWK: And it setteth in the west. “First HAwK: East is east. “SECOND HAWK: West is west. “First HAWK: Northis north. “SECOND HAWK: South is south. “This is known as the Sacred Pre- liminary Password. You then link little fingers. This is known as the most Historic and Impenetrable Grip. You then take turns naming the Presidents of the United States. This is known as the Most Sublime and Occult High Sign. “To gain admittance to a Most Secret and Terrible Gathering of Hawks—which means a meeting in the room up over Ed Loomis’ hay- and-feed store—you knock three times, sniff twice and say, ‘Admiral George Dewey.’ “Once inside, you don a red bib with a bird onit. Then all the Hawks stand in a circle, holding hands, and the secrets begin. The first secret — known as the Sublime Outer Mys- tery—is that they all sing the first verse of Columbia the Gem of the Ocean, backward. The second secret —known as the Sublime Me- dium Mystery —isthat they all recite the Declaration of Independence, backward. The last secret-—known as the Ultimate Mystery—is that all the Hawks chant the names of the Vice Presidents of the United States. They all then give three loud sniffs and the ritual is over. They then sit round, drink hard cider and swap stories. “In short, the secrets of the Hawks and the Princes are the same. And this is not surprising, because their rituals, under the title High School Fraternity Stunts, are printed by Solomon, Case Ff Bunce, Chi- cago, Illinois. Price, one dime, ten cents.’’ Inside the paper, under Social Notes, the Billupians read: “Mr. Laurence Ashton Carraway has re- signed his position as reportorial staff of the Palladium-Intelligencer. He will travel in foreign climes for his health.” Larry Carraway had dropped off the train in St. Louis, after six diverting weeks on a paper in Kanab, Utah, and he went to the “gly club to get his mail and talk shop. n a corner of the grillroom he observed a smallish man with biight eyes and white hair accomplishing the feat of eating a Welsh rabbit and chewing gum at the same time. When this man spied Larry he jumped to his feet. The man’s hands gripped the lobes of his ears and he flapped his elbows, once, twice, thrice, Then in solemn tones he said, ‘‘The sun riseth in the east.” “Why, Roscoe !” Larry greeted bim. “How are you? lad to see you.’ “T just ran down to Ag Louis to see some of the old gang,” Legg explained. “Billup is so darned Samia now. ‘Peaceful?’ “Yep; now that the Hawks and the Princes have merged to form the Billup Town Improvement and Good Citizenship Association,” said Roscoe Legg.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST the state coach of Louis XIV was one of the first to have glass windows. But for all its showy carving, it lacked many comforts. ‘Today in a Ps, car with 4 Wilson buitr Body . .- modern families travel as if born to the royal purple. In this great Age of Luxury, the character and elegance of Wilson coachwork set a standard for the judgment of all coachwork. The Wilson craftsmen have been steadily at it for five and twenty years—designing beauty and building strength —lifting motoring higher and higher é into the realm of pleasure! \ &y &y C. R. WILSON BODY COMPANY, Detroit and Bay City, Michigan | pas = = i : Copyright C. R. Wilson Body Company Se LF ‘ ‘ (al . De i tO. on :

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Rooms that have been hard ta keep warm because of unusual ex- posure van be made uniformly comfortable with Oi,-O-Matic THE hes f > G | a ; ae ae TLOMATI( a HLOMATI( Proved for five years No house is too large for Oil-O-Matic. Few are too small. The same burner is used in all installations. “Homes take a quiet, slow motor. Large buildings a slightly faster motor and more burners. Oil-O-Matics have been serving perfectly for five years in Homes, Apartment Buildings, Churches, Bank and ¢ Buildings, Hotels, Y. M. C. A.'s, Schools, Theaters, Hospitals, 3, Factories, News paper Plants, Greenhouses, Garages, etc. Whatever your heating require: ments, Oil-O-Matic will meet them. SATURDAY EVENING POST December 13,1924 } en ICIENCE has found the right way 49) to heat with oil. And proved it for i ay, five years. This way is radically pamtilel different from the old-fashioned methods. It will interest you to see this oil burner that has solved the problem. You need know nothing of mechanics to understand it. So far as nearly 20,000 present owners are concerned there is no heating problem. Their homes are always exactly the temperature they enjoy. They smell no fumes. They see no dirt or dust. They hear no unpleasant noise. They know it is dependable. You, too, will have this experience when you heat your home this scientific way. One right way to burn oil Four new facts about oil burning were first used by our engineers six years ago. They are the now famous four natural laws. They explained the difficulties others were having in trying to heat homes with oil.

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So we built an oil burner in accordance with those laws. For five winters, now, Oil-O-Matic has answered every demand in thousands of homes, large and small. When you buyan oil burner see that it agrees with these laws. If you fol- THE SATURDAY EVENING POST oil heating is a proved success opening or closing a damper. The oil burner itself must measure the amount of air. The fourth law is just as important. Oil can- not burn perfectly without reflected heat. So lining the firebox of your heating plant with brick, assures perfect com- low them you cannot go eT ee bustion. wrong. Here they are: ¢ The four famous laws It is this way of burning oil that has made the use of fuel oil really successful for The first law says that oil No Part Inside the Firebox heating homes. It is the must be broken up into a (he) §©=method foundin OiO-Matic. fine mist. OilO-Matic at- omizes the oil so fine it floats like a fog. After the oil is broken up, the second law demands that it be burned before it touches anything. This prevents carbon and soot. OilO-Matic burns oil in suspension, or mid-air. According to the third law, the amount of air that is mixed with the oil must be exact. Naturally this cannot be left to someone’s Ask to see a demonstration. Note these exclusive features There are other features that make Oil-O- Matic different from any other device that burns oil. We originated and perfected five years ago the Williams Thermal Safety Control. This positive device watches over your entire plant. Oil-O-Matic can’t run at all, always be an lower gravity oils. *Heat Units Average rr Grade of oil per gal. cost per gal. KEBROSENB....0..........-ssccscsccsrseserese 132,858 12c DISTILLATE .. 136,887 8c GAS OIL 138,926 7K FUEL OIL (or Oil-O-Matic)....... 141,790 6c These prices relatively correct g on local market. eS Sar dk tke 1 Al apply on Oil-O-Matic can use any one of the grades and adjusts itself automatically to the lightest or heaviest. Before building Oil-O-Matic, we realized that our burner must make use of the oils. Not only because these contein more units and wwe calen gceeenE it because there will Facts about oil Jnghomnd owe The below shows the number of Unita per wal tees aoevery *The: ken Ys 1 Oil in Industry” ay va Sor nay ue a” Heat wnits are come of gallons. You od oil by measure, not by weight Free Book! Our Heating Plant is Steam [ j Mail this for Please send me at once your booklet, “Automatic Heating,” giving full information about the Oil-)-Matic and special basement plans for new homes. unless it runs right. Not a drop of oil can flow. The motor is stopped. Ignition is shut off. Engineers say this control is the great- est advance in oil burner construction since our application of the four laws. Listed as standard by the Underwriters’ Laboratories Oil is ignited either by an electric spark or a gas flame that remains lighted only about 10 seconds, each time it is required. No gas is used at any other time. Oil-O-Matic burns a cheap, low gravity oil. This gives you more heat units at a lower cost. See chart below for authentic figures on grades of oil. So this perfected way, ap- proved by leading combustion engineers, ends all doubt. Now no one need be without the com- forts of oil heating. Oil-O-Matic can be installed in any good heat- ing plant. Steam, hot water, Phan " xclusive vapor, hot air. ermal Safety This simple device stops the whole Sold on easy terms — cope th thing is working Guaranteed thing The men who install and service your Oi!-O- Matic are all trained men. Most of them are graduates of the Williams Institute of Heat Research. They have experience, facilities, organization, and financial responsibility. They are backed by a substantial, reputable manufacturer. They will be glad to offer you terms if you want them. Our new deferred payment plan carries no interest on the notes. Get the facts now. See it demonstrated. Send the coupon for a copy of “Automatic Heating.” It will answer every question. After you read it you will never go back to coal C. U. WILLIAMS & SON Main Office and Plant, Bloomington, Illinois CHICAGO OFFICE: The Oil-O-Matic Co., 734 8. Michigan Ave. BROOKLYN OFFICE: H. E. Williams, Jr. Co., 835 Manhattan Ave. Dealers Everywhere C. U. WILLIAMS & SON *& P18 Bloomington, IIL. Hor Water 0 Vapor 0 Hot Air 0

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST December 13,1924 COPYRIGHT BY INTERWOVEN STOCKING COMPANY REGISTERED UNITED STATES PATENT OF FICE : Goe and Heel orks

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stuck ’way out. He couldn't walk. We had to carry him and lay him in the grass. We figgered he was going to die, but he didn’t.” “But I mind one as did,” said the first. “He come ashore off a wreck we never see. Got as far as the Sailors’ Home, opened his mouth to speak, an’ dropped dead. We never knowed who he was, nor nothin’, poor cuss !”’ A few years ago one of the patrolmen fvund a fisherman’s boot. He shook it, and bones from two human toes fell out. Search in the breakers revealed three bodies. A dory later came to land—mute testimony of sea tragedy. Two winters past, a man and a boy who had strayed from their fish- ing vessel in a fog managed to make Sable. The boy survived, but the man died. Both were French. “Remember that great wreck o’ the I-talian bark Rafaele?”’ asked a surfman. “That was in 96. She come ashore in a ninety-mile gale. We heard her distress gun, and ’twas all hands out! We wasn’t long getting the boats and the guns hitched up. "Twas some run we made, with five ponies on each boat, down the beach! “The crew was in the riggin’, and the bark was breakin’ up fast, with a most tre-mendous sea smashin’ over her, shootin’ up higher’n the masthead. We fired a breeches line over. Saved all hands, mis- ter, but the last man hadn’t hardly got ashore when she busted in two an’ went down. A close call, that!” The list of ships lost on Sable reads like Lloyd’s Register. Old seafaring men wi recall that a number of the famous clippers died there, such as the Union, Packet and Hannah and Eliza. A very curious incident was that of the bark Myrtle, which in 1840 went ashore, was abandoned, and during a heavy gale got clear of the sands. Without a soul on board she drifted all the way to Fayal! This is one of very few instances of a ship’s ever escaping once she had struck the island. Only seven in all have ever touched Sable and lived to brag of it. From a Lookout Tower A good, soul-satisfying wreck was the Princess Amelia a century and a quarter ago. Some provisions were saved, and all hands lived for two winter months in a hut, till her captain and a few others decked a longboat with canvas and after perils mani- fold managed to reach the mainland for help. Another first-class disaster was the loss, some years later, of the Francis, with the immensely valuable equipage of the Duke of Kent. Every soul perished, first or last; and rich furniture and plate strewed the beaches. But not for long. Wreckers and pirates of the most low-browed description in those days made the island a rendezvous; and these hard-bitten birds soon swooped (Continued from Page 21) down to garner loot from the royal wreck- age. Presently jewels and rare articles ap- peared in fishermen’s cabins on the Nova Scotia coast. Stories were whispered, too, of grim murder—of gently bred folk from the ill-fated ship reaching Sable alive, only to have their throats cut. What stories, if those impassive sands could tell! Dinner ended before the life-savers had narrated half the wrecks they knew, and out we visitors wandered to inspect this most deadly of islands. Look where one would, some glimpse of the sleeping monster, Atlantic, met one’s eye; for at its widest, Sable measures hardly a mile. And steadily booming, the roar of surfs on either shore companioned every thought or word. Ocean is there the one big fact. Even the buildings have a trim nautical tang, with ships’ fittings and furniture. Near the super’s house I found a perfect lady. Very much of a lady she was, portly enough and to spare, gazing with painted smile up into the sky. She, too, could tell a story if she would, this carefully repaired figurehead. No one now remembers what tall ship she once led onward through stormy seas, only at long last to end her days on Sable. Farther stood a patrolmen’s house, where dwell seven bachelors and a cook. Only married men have the outside stations, with the comforts of a garden and chickens; so marriageable girls are at a premium. Up a high dune—where three wild ponies fled with streaming manes and tails—I reached one of the lookout towers. Its lofty plat- form afforded magnificent views of the Atlantic; feather-white surfs tumbling over the bars; all the vast curve of the island, wild and forbidding. Herds of un- tamed ponies browsed over the scantily grassed hillocks or among the pools, some fresh, others salt. Telephone lines strode away, connecting all stations, so that when a wreck is sighted the island’s full man power and apparatus can be assembled. Briny perfumes wafted from surging beaches. Olive and cream-yellow tints pre- vailed, with snowy surf collars all about— a subdued yet appealing color scheme. A pale, wistful, melancholy place, far from the world’s moil; a strange place wherein to live one’s life away. Yet that’s exactly what many of the islanders do—live there always, untroubled by the world. As I was examining some storm-torn signal flags a good-looking young chap bespoke me. Everett Gregoire e said his name was, and one hundred per cent Sable Islander. “T’ve been here fifteen years, sir. Came here when I was only five. No, sir, I never remember seeing a tree or a locomotive, movie or auto. I never saw the inside of a schoolhouse, either. The old folks teach the young uns to read and write. I’ve been studyin’ wireless, and ! can operate pretty THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC good. If I could only get over to the main- land and take my exams I know I could get a license!” Such is one Sable Islander’s ambition. Can it ever be realized? “Yes, sir, I’m a patrolman,” he went on, while I admired his clear blue eyes and fine tan. to cover, on pony back, in thick or stormy weather. Clear days, we just take observa- tions from the towers. “Each of us has thirty-six miles a day | “very beach and | bar has to be covered twice a day and re- | ported on. Fair weather, it’s not so bad. But you take it in a winter gale or a sand storm and it’s about all a man or a can do to face that. "Specially as we lave to get away from our stations before day- | light on the morning patrol, and can’t come | in till after dark on the afternoon one. Sandstorms are the worst, sir.” Havoc of the Sandstorms The islanders dread these more than bliz- | zards. Nothing can restrain that sleety, cutting drift. clear through it. Sand filters through every chink, piling up gray drifts inside the houses and getting into food. Of windy mornings, the islanders have to shovel it away from their doors. Not even the works of a double-cased watch escape it. The Canadian Government once set out eighty-four thousand young pines to hold the sand, but the wind blew them all out ere long. Despite shelter fences, sand buries buildings up to the eaves. It wears all the bristles off pigs’ noses, if let out to root in it, and gives them a high polish. But few pigs are allowed to run at large, because they may eat drowned folk washed ashore. Sheep and cattle die from sand in their A vas “Eleven cows died one year,” explained young Gregoire. “The ponies are wise and eat onl eat it all, and that finishes ’em. Eve tle while we have to drag ‘em o Monkey Puzzle and bury ’em.” Mon Puzzle is Sable’s animal ceme- tery. Odd name—but then, odd island! The islanders, however, are passionately attached to it. Cut off from the world as they are, they look upon this desolate, tree- less strip of storm-bound, fog-shrouded sand far out in the Atlantic as their home. Few ever leave it. “Superintendent Boutilier stayed here nigh thirty years,” continued Gregoire. “Chief Cox’n Naugle’s wife has been here thirty. She come here when she was a baby. Naugle’s been here twenty-two. Lots of us, even as could, don’t care to visit the main once in five years. Maurice Noonan, ‘the father of Sable Island,’ stayed fifty. He helped bury more’n twenty drownded folks. When he was sixty-four, he thought lit- to — 1 Oe Re Sg esd — A Corner of Davy Jones’ Locker he wind-shot sand etches | window glass and sometimes eats holes | the tops o’ the grass, but the cows | Attach this Simple Device to Your Furnace Door and As Much as 20% Those coal gases now going to waste up your chimney are rich in heat value. Every par ticle of partially burned coal among your ashes is so much loss, For only $10, the price of a King Koal Karburetor, you can reduce both those leaks. In thousands, of homes, year after year, King Koal is cutting the annual coal bill as much as 20 per cent. 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First ~ the real reason why you should ride seae+-_ gens te sondide: EE OE aa a [ l NJ , WA aannnngrnnneee i THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ‘Safety on Maso Cords In Mason Cords you'll find the tremendous strength that only manufacturing genius, the best of materials and finest factory facilities could possibly provide. Balloon, Low Pressure Over- size and Standard Size Cords. THE MASON TIRE & RUBBER Co. Kent, Ohio Hull tt, he’d retire, but he couldn’t stand it and had to come back. He saw nigh fifty ships come ashore, and helped save hundreds o’ people. One day he saved the crews of two | ships twenty-five miles apart. That was going some!” The biggest hardship at Sable—strange to say—is lack of reading matter. The islanders read every book and magazine to tatters. If you have any to spare, for heaven’s sake send them to Sable Island, care of S. S. Lady Laurier, Dartmouth, Nova Scotia. Every page will be a life- saver to the life-savers far out on that ieamponkebity barren death trap of the At- antic. Another day I visited the Sailors’ Home, | where shipwrecked crews are kept till taken | off. Once crews sometimes had to stay for | months; but now, with wireless, they’re soon relieved. At times the island has had to make room for as many as two hundred castaways and go on’short rations, even shooting and epee oy | wild ponies. The home contains twenty-four bunks, each in- scribed with names of unfortunate ships and men. Interesting reading, that. Beyond it lies Wallace’s Lake, half a mile wide and eight long—some lake, for a sand bar in the ocean! An islander went with me, in a dory, across this singular lake, under constant watch of very tame and in- quisitive seals. Sable, by the way, is a breeding and basking place for immense mae of seals, all government protected, ike the millions of sea fowl that at various seasons swarm there. Walrus herds, once abundant, have all been exterminated. So would the seals have been, too, if the gov- ernment hadn’t interfered. About fifteen years ago an page yor Halifax firm got a concession to kill some. They did just that—killed some, to the extent of two hundred and fifty thousand head. So the government revoked the concession, and since then the seals have lived in peace, almost as tame as dogs. The Louis XVIII Medal The south shore, across the lake, is a | long, narrow desert of sand, marked only by seals’ flipper tracks, hoofprints of ponies, and weather-bleached bones of wrecks. Against it I saw driving formi- dable bombardments of surf. Sometimes at night surfs like that leap fifteen or twenty feet in air, blazing with phosphorescence. The heavy malice of such breakers will | doom any vessel caught there. Almost at that very spot the Marshal December 13,1924 have survived had it not been for the islanders. Midway of those desolate barrens we found a little wooden box nailed to a tele- phone pole. Our guide took a ticket from the box. “A patrolman’s ticket,’”’ he explained. “Each man leaves a ticket at the end of his beat, and the next man takes it, and so it goes all round the island to the super. Good idea, ain’t it?” Getting Smaller and Smaller And as we recrossed the lake: ‘‘Here’s where two American schooners were lost a while back.” “The surf dashed ’em over here into the lake?” “No, sir, though sometimes the surf’li beat clear acrost, right up to the super’s back door. But the time I mean, a storm opened up the lake, and a couple of Amer- icans run in here for refuge. Next night the sand all closed up again, and there they was, tra . They never got out, neither. You could see the bones of ’em a long time, till the sand swallered ’em. “The sea’ll cut through here sometime for good, and this whole end’ll go. Sable used to be two hundred miles long and five wide, and there’s people livin’ that remem- ber when it was ten miles longer’n it is now. The West Light has been moved back already three times. The last time was only October gone, and now there’s heavy surf over where it stood then. It cost forty thousand dollars and we nigh- hand to lost it. Another fifty years and there may not be any Sable Island—and then God help any ship as hits the bars!” After supper we drifted over to the patrolmen’s quarters, for stories were in order, especially ghost stories. If ghosts should walk anywhere on earth they should on Sable. “There’s a place here called the French Gardens,”’ asserted a tall, soft-spoken life- guard, lighting his pipe. ‘It’s all inclosed with sods, and it ain’t a healthy place to get near at night. Talk about your ghosts!” This sounded encouraging. The French Gardens, I knew, were made by sixty con- victs marooned about 1690 by the Marquis de la Roche. Left there for five years, they built shanties with wreck timbers, lived on seals and wild ponies and berries, fought and killed each other. A dark chapter, in- deed. When France rescued them, only eleven were left alive after horrors, violence | Foch met death, with many others. The and misery indescribable. They were | most famous wreck there was the old brought back and presented to the king, as French frigate L’Africaine, in 1822. The ancient records tell: ‘‘Cloathed from head islanders saved all her two hundred men in a ferocious tempest, going out with life- boats after all the figste’s own had been stove. Far that Louis XVIII struck a medal in ther honor and sent them a big silver cup k imme. with gold coins. Next year the Marsha! Wellington was hurled ashore, with two t:undred and twenty-nine souls aboard, not one of whom would ever to foote in shaggy skins & their hayre of prodigious length.” “And if you walk nigh the French Gar- dens at night,” the lifeguard affirmed, “and whistle the Marseillaise, they'll come up. the dead uns will. It ain’t a very pleasant sight on a dark night, now I’m tellin’ you!” (Continued on Page 165) i ty fees ececneanoe cnet erssrcemmesroccconeccesdunsnenvonenuunsesernnsnasioiosssneninoteteeeeeneevnee WLU ALA iit iti tie ttn; Prt Ty tt) 1) it | ASON NIT > ~ \y 4OCRWOOO & UNDERWOOD, NEW YORK CITY The Lifeboat Must Put Off Until it Has Been Capsized at Least Three Times bree

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—_ Keystone Standard Watch, No. 10 size. Thin model, beautifully made and cased in the celebrated Jas. Boss gold filled case, in white or green. Other styles and sizes at correspondingly moderate prices. =. d x . SATURDAY EVENING POST “Dad!... Gee, it’s just like yours!” No wonder the boy’s delighted. A Keystone Standard watch is a gift that would please any man of any age. It is a thin model—beautifully made —and it keeps perfect time. Cased in the celebrated Jas. Boss Gold Filled Case, in white or green. Never before has it been possible to buy a fine Standard watch of this character at such an extremely moderate price. The Keystone Standard is a design that will always be in good taste. It’s a watch that men take from their pockets with pride and intense satisfaction. Isn’t this just the gift for father, husband, brother or son this Christmas? ¢ Made and guaranteed by The Keystone Watch Case Company, sold by jewelers everywhere. If your jeweler does not have it, write us direct and give us his name Made in America. Write for descriptive booklet. THE KEYSTONE WATCH CASE CoO.,, Established 1853 New York Chicago Cincinnati San Francisco KEYSTONE Standard WATCHES

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December 1/3, 1924 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ednesday 1S Rass nN Bread Day Every Tuesday night, throughout America and Canada, millions of loaves of Raisin Bread are baked for Wednesday. It’s a special baking—the finest of big, golden loaves, filled and flavored with the rich, fruity goodness of Sun-Maid Raisins. Make this inex- pensive mid-week treat a regular feature of your Wednesday menus. Get it fresh from the oven every Wednesday—place a standing order with your baker or grocer. Endorsed by bakers everywhere, including the Retail Bakers’ Association of America, the American Bakers’ Association, and the Bread and Cake Bakers’ Association of Canada

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(Continued from Page 162) “There’s another French ghost on here too,” added a second patrolman. “He's a Paris gentleman as always complains to wrecked Frenchmen about Henry Some- thin’, for banishin’ his wife with that bunch o’ convicks. He walks round the lifeboat shed on the twenty-third 0’ May, in old- fashioned boots with silver buckles.” “Then there’s the ghost of one o’ the judges that executed Charles I,” said an- other, a ruddy and thin-faced man with muscular bare arms. “After that judge es- caped from England, he hid here a long time an’ died here. The twenty-ninth of every May he marches round, singin’ psalm tunes through his nose, and you can hear him above any hurricane as ever blowed!”’ “‘T never seen him,” remarked the soft- spoken lifeguard, ‘‘but I know there’s a tall ghost with new oilskins on, you’ll meet now and again. Also a lady without arms, as walks every Fourth o’ July.” “Don’t know nothin’ about that,” said a sturdy islander, from the hard blue bench along the wall, “but there’s an old man that always rows in Number Four lifeboat, nights. He ain’t none of our island folk. Always pulls bow oar, he do. , He comes mysterious and goes the same “Shaaah! That’s all bom Chief Cox- swain Naugle rebutted. “I been in that boat a hundred times, an’ never see him!” ““Mebbe not, but you can’t deny the Smoky Hut lady!” The Smoky Hut lady seemed well known by all hands “She must ha’ been a passenger on the Princess Amelia, wrecked afore 1800,” ex- plained a staff man, squinting through his smoke. “‘That was a mighty rich ship, with lashin’s of money, plate and jewels aboard. Pretty nigh two hundred drownded, but some got ashore and tried to winter here. Them times, there was plenty pirates round Sable. I reckon pirates murdered some o’ them survivors.” Cap’n Torrens and the Lady Ghost “There was a Cap’n Torrens sent to rescue ’em, but he got wrecked here too. And one day Torrens went into Smoky Hut and see a lady settin’ there with long wet hair hangin’ down her back, like she’d just come out o’ the sea. ““*Good heavens, ma’m!’ says the cap’n. “Who’re you, an’ where’d you come from?’ “She only held up her left hand, an’ he see cne o’ the fingers was cut off. He’s goin’ to bandage it for her, when she slips out the door an’ runs. He after her, but can’t overhaul her.” “You never can, a ghost!” grumbled someone. “She runs to the lake and into it; an’ where she goes to then, blowed if the cap’n can tell. When he cruises back to the hut, though, there she is again, still holdin’ up her hand. An’ by that he reckonizes her as a Mrs. Copeland he used to know. “*Murdered by pirates for your ring, says he, ‘and the finger cut off, to get it! Well, ma’m, I'll hunt them pirates till they’re shot or hung, s’help me! “And what happened then?” asked I, the alien. “Oh, Torrens got on track o’ the ring an’ found it after a while, an’ sent it back to the murdered lady’s friends. But he |! never could ketch them eee, So the poor lady, she’s still walkin’ the sands, holdin’ up her hand, for revenge. There’s | times o’ year when you're almost bound to see her, round Smoky Hut.” “T don’t b’lieve a dog-gone word of it!” grunted Naugle. ‘‘ You can’t tell me there’s ghosts an’ such!” No one answered. Only the long surf against the death-strewn beaches roared and receded, charged and thundered upon the desolate sands where secrets lie that never can be told. Money? What For? Ghosts there may or may not be, but buried treasure is very much of : reality on Sable Island. The place, roperly worked, would be a gold mine. ‘ont Davy Jones’ bookkeeper knows what >, ty lie hidden there. In addition to loot buried by old-time pirates, rich treasures must at various times have been cast upon these | treacherous bars and beaches. Every little | while ancient coins are exposed by the shifting sands. Even while I was there, East Light Keeper Gregoire’s little daughter picked up a big Spanish coin of the long ago, sand-polished like new. Americans would go to excavating, forth- with, but the islanders pay little heed. Fie like doubloons fail to raise their pulses “Money? What'd we do with money here?”’ Naugle one day queried, when I had driven down to West Light to see him. “No store, nothin’ to buy, no way to spend a copper. One man I know went two year an’ never see a red cent. Money’s the least of our worries!” Sable Island is the only place I know | where money seems to have no value. The | men’s pay of about a dollar a day is mostly drawn by relations on shore. The islanders’ compelling motive is service, duty, not cash. Being so far from the world, they dodge not only all money evils—including politics—but also all sickness. They’ve never had any epidemic but measles. “We're rich,” said Naugle, swinging his rubber boot against an empty oil barrel and gazing seaward with clear gray eyes. A typical islander he, with strong brown hands and bronzed face. Dungarees and an | old straw hat gave him a picturesque touch. ““Wedon’t need money; nor medals neither. If some of our fellers did half the rescues on the main they do here, they’d be round- shouldered carryin’ their medals!” But, by way of exception, one islander some years ago let money lure him from Sable. He got that money oddly too. ‘He was a cook, here,’ Naugle told me, “ gettin’ a hundred and seventy-five dollars a year. Well, one day on the nor’east dry bar, he claims he found a bunch o’ men, like pirates, sittin’ on the sand. They had a power o’ money—he said—an’ though they might ha’ killed him, they didn’t. They give him a big whack of it. I think, myself, he just found it. Anyhow, he took it an’ went to Halifax an’ shared up 50-50 with the gover’ment, an’ started in the real-estate business an’ got mighty rich. “Another of our men, too, picked up a package one day on the beach, all water- soaked. He didn’t think much of it, but Roofs and Watts on Sable Istand are Drifted Deep With Sand THE SATURDAY EVENING POST he Rockies Safety— the Gift Supreme HE new streamline model Auto- Reelite makes a most practical and appreciated gift. It is the ideal driving light—spotlight, trouble light and port- able light in one—providing complete protection over every mile of travel for the life of the car. By simply loosening the thumb screw on the bracket, the lamp may be taken to any part of the car, the automatic reel within paying outand retrieving the cord as required. There are no loose parts— nothing to lose—nothing to forget. The cord is held clean, dry and unkinked, never in the way, always ready for use. The booklet’ Legal Lights” gives the automobile “Tight. ing laws of every state. As a spotlight its attractive design, Know the law and save a fine. Sent free on ve- rugged construction and full range guess, assure unequalled satisfaction. From its silvered reflector to the handy switch in its handle it is an article of highest quality. Dealers everywhere are supplying these lights appropriately wrapped in holly paper for gift purpose. If yours cannot, send us his name and we will see that you are supplied in time. APPLETON ELECTRIC COMPANY “1705 Wellington Avenué - Chicago AutoReelites are legal everywhere. Bracket limiting device makes it impossible to acct- dentally throw beam to left of road center *Black with nickel trim, $8.50 All nickel finish, $10.50 - AutoReelite THE ONLY SPOTLIGHT ON A REEL

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Men You Respect Advise a new way of teeth cleaning They've taught millions to fight film M*. RN research has developed i new way of teeth cleaning d it effec some SO na authortt tive, Le tions are have prov adit na clentiats of advising it today. Millions now employ it. The whiter teeth seen everywhere show one thing that it means. In view of al! this, don't you owe yourself this simple ten-day test? How teeth are ruined reeth’s great enemy file be aut ar Film is the that viscous you feel, It mars ther 1 causes most tooth roubles bile and stays. clings te teeth, enters crevices Soon it becomes discolored, then forms dingy coats. That is why t th lose luster Film also holds food sub whic h ferments an It holds the teeth to stance forms acti ack Pepsc in contact with the Protect the Enamel The modern ways late years One dis ot removes it without Dental science has in found two film combatants. integrates the film at One harmful scouring. all Stages formation, Many careful tests have proved these methods effective. A new-type tooth paste has been created to apply them daily. The name is Pepsodent. Dentists everywhere began to ad vise it. Millions saw its benefits. Thus, in a short time, this new method came into world-wide use. Some unique results Pepsodent does more than fight film. It embodies other factors which re- search proved essential. It multiplies the alkalin- ity of the saliva to better neutralize mouth acids. It multiplies the starch diges- dent dis tant in saliva to better di- rates the | ( } integ t 2 } i I cause deca perms bree film, then re gest starch deposits on teeth, by mullions in They moves it with an . : These combined results with tartar, are the chief agent far softer ' than enamel have brought a new dental cause of pyormhea ; Never use a era to people who enjoy , smbatar : Such troubles come film combatant them. Now we urge vou to which contains o . vearly all who do not fight endl uate find out how much they the film mean to you Peps The New-I You'll see cond the and feel coupon for 10.Day ule Note how clean she teeth { using Mark the absen { the viscous film. See how teeth ome white as the flm-coats sappear, You will gain a new conception of what clean teeth mean CUT OUT COUPON NOW Jay Dentifrice 10-DAY TUBE FREE rHt Dept PEPSODENT COMPANY 184, 1104S Wabash A Chicago, Il Mail 10-Day Tube of Pepsodent to Only one tube to a family. just took it home an’ putt it up on a beam to dry, an’ forgot about it. Later, he ned it; an’ what d’you think, sir? was a big lot of Bank of Hasiand notes, Boe as gold. Buried treasure here? I guess there is!” The moving sands are continually re- | vealing unsolved mysteries. A guard re- | cently picked up a scabbard mounted with | gold. About a week before my visit an old | Napoleonic ba onet was found in a dune. Once the islanders uncovered the site of an ancient encampment, with rusty guns, | ish ensign, and human bones; knives made of iron hoops, a tattered Brit- also a shil- | ling. from the reign of Queen Elizabeth. What sea rovers perished there? “Old coffins once in a while come out o’ the sand, an’ bodies, too. We bury all the | skilitons we find right away. We got two fenced graveyards, but if it’s too far to | carry bodies we just bury ‘em in some nice | civil place, with a wooden cross an’ their names—if we can find ’em out. Last year the sand shifted an’ we found a lot o’ rough boxes with skilitons in ’em. Some had wooden shoes on. Frenchmen, I cacke- late. Queer, eh?” Picl:ing up ancient coins and burying the unknown dead are all in the job. So too, betimes, is standing the whole night through, turning the lighthouse lenses by hand. In very cold macier we the mechanism clogs, and the keeper has to swing the heavy French lenses round and round for endless hours. It must be a man’s-sized job in that bitter cold, with a ninety-mile tempest howling through the winter dark, | and with immense seas pounding close be- low, —e slashing against the lantern! But they think nothing of it, and stick. John Gregoire, at East Light, told me he’d been there sixteen years, and was looking | forward to sixteen more. When the Lifeboat Pitchpoled “When there’s a wreck there’s somethin’ doin’!"’ he assured me, as we sat smoking the pipe of peace. ‘‘It don’t take us long to hitch up an’ make a run to the beach. We don’t spare the ponies much then. No S. P.C. A. rules goes, when there’s miles to | make through the sand to a wreck! “Sights, is it? I’ve seen some good ones. Seen a steamer strike the outer bar, wash clear over an’ sink on the beach. I could set here all day an’ tell you the names o’ wrecked ships, on Sable. One o’ the cruel- ; est times was when we had to bury all the | out any face on him crew o’ the Topaze. An’ we buried one man, late last winter, as come ashore with- just long seaweed trailin’ off where it used to be, an’ barna- cles on his boots. ‘Last November,”’ he continued, “the Pelican struck in a gale, come off, an’ drifted down abreast Main Station. We boarded an’ anchored her. Had it bad, sir, | goin’ ashore. Neversee worsesurf. Thought we was gone sure, that time, but we made it. Accidents to life-savin’ crews? Well, we got into kind of a scrape five years ago. Our lifeboat pitchpoled on us. That means the surf was so high it flopped the boat right end for end, upside down. I remember once December 13,1924 a boat done that on the nor’west bar, while our crew was savin’ passengers off a wreck. There was eleven women an’ children drownded. Man named Hance was cox’n. He took it so much to heart that he faded right away after that, an’ died. “As I was sayin’, our boat pitchpoled, a long ways offshore. There was six of us. We was goin’ out to a steamer, the Stanley. But we got rolled out, we did. Naugle, he somehow made land, an’ helped the rest of us in through the surf. We was all as good as dead, but him. Black as coons. I was unconscious, Lynch had his hip broke, an’ the rest—one of ’em, Will Clarey, nigh sixty years old—was all full o’ water. We didn’t get rightly well in a long time.” The One Rule of Procedure “The Skidby took about all we had to give, mister. She struck in a Feb’uary blow, a bad un, an’ sent up flares. She had thirty-two men, an’ we had eighteen, all workin’ together. Three or four hours, things was pretty lively. Our men come on horseback from all the stations, with rockets an’ gear. Dark? I guess it was dark! A night wreck’s the worst kind. We shot a line out, rigged a breeches buoy an’ got all hands off. But I reckon we couldn't of done much more. “Rules about goin’ out? There’s one rule. We got to go an’ keep on goin’ till we've been swamped three times. After that we can quit if we want to—which we mostly don’t. Seems like it’s the Lord’s doin’s that we come through so much danger with so little trouble. That’s the way I putt it, sir. h, yes, we help a lot of Americans. Fishermen, mostly, as have no wireless, an’ come ashore in the fog. We like ’em. Americans are good people. We ain’t for- got Miss Dix, yet.” How many of us, here at home, know the name of D. L. Dix? It’s still spoken at Sable. Miss Dix visited Sable, away back in 1853, saw a terrible wreck and noted that the equipment was poor. Later she raised funds and sent the best of lifeboats and apparatus to the island; and this gift was instrumental in saving very many lives. One of her boats is still in use, and Miss Dix herself will be remembered there as long as Sable Island endures; Sable Island, with its simple code of courage, its one prime rule—‘‘We got to go an’ keep on goin’ till we’ve been swamped three times!” The most exciting day’s work, in autumn, is the annual round-up of the wild ponies for shipment tc the main. Almost every- body seems to have heard about Sable Island ponies, and wants to know more about them. I was no exception. Above all else, I wanted to see the ponies. Well, they’re there, right enough; droves of them. It’s strange to find such, away out in the ocean on a sand heap. Where ever did they come from, in the first place? Nobody rightly knows. You hear all kinds of stories about that. Some say they’re a New England breed. Others assert they’re from France, put ashore— by whom, no one can tell—to provide food for (Continued on Page 169) Chief Cox'n Naugle, Saver of Many Lives and Spinner of Many Yarns At Right —Young Gregoire, Who Has Never Seen a Tree

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST . =. i ’ Ny. oe | ihn oi “we —_ a ase him most ith a travelo'! Christmas shopping is easy when you've writ- ten “travelo” after every masculine name on your list. And with many smart styles and colors to choose from, you can select a jacket or vest that is certain to suit each individual fancy. Don’t forget that “travelo” jackets are made for boys, too. y yr .- a a —~ ~ Mag ces — ee ok a > beet a Se ~ be ae = ee. a* > a. 4 a Se es ~> @/ —— Peckham-Foreman, Inc., 1909-1915 Park Ave., N. Y. C. THEY HOLD THEIR. SHAPE AK > aa “ ——> A

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST December 15,1924 Santa Claus hap for the ‘Head of the House ANTA CLAUS knows, because he has delivered countless cleaners at Christmas a time. Where he brought the Bee-Vac, he has seen many thousands of house- wives relieved of drudgery, have cleaner, healthier homes, and happier families, be- cause the efficient Bee-Vac ever after assumed all the hard work of home cleaning. In the economical Bee-Vac Electric Cleaner you obtain many original improvements— including unusually smooth sweeping action without need of adjustment; powerful motor, enabling deep cleaning; a restful, easy grip afforded by “‘ball and socket’ handle knob; convenient method of attaching large dust-proof bag; easy, sanitary way of emptying dust bag; simple, quick connection of cleaning attachments direct to center of fan cas- ing; and the truly wonderful swing-back, self-cleaning, double brush, which so effec- tively dislodges all surface litter while cleaner is moved forward or backward. $ 5 75 Ask your dealer about the BEE-VAC —the iron with the tilted — handle. You'll like the easy grip and correct balance afforded Complete by this tremendous improvement in electric irons. Any Dealer Is a Bee-Vac Dealer Twelve thousand dealers sell the Bee-Vac. You wiil find one near you. But if you prefer to buy through your favorite dealer, and he does not handle the Bee-Vac, just tell him to order one for you from his wholesaler. You'll get quick delivery, and THREE GUAR- ANTEES protect you against dissatisfaction of any kind. Write for this Book for the Children “Little Frisky Speck O’Dirt” tries hard, but he can’t get away from the Bee-Vac. When the children are wakeful in anticipation of the coming of Santa Claus, you can divert their minds with the adventures of the little rascal told in amusing jingle and pictures. oe Write today for this free book. & Bee-Vac on the Farm The efficient Bee-\/ac saves labor and time in the farm home. Its universal motor operates on either A. C. or D.C. if you have central station power. Or if you own a farm lighting plant, a low voltage motor is supplied with- out extra charge. Make it a practical as well as a merry Christmas.

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\ (Continued from Page 166) shipwrecked mariners. Perhaps some may be descended from stock when L’Africaine was wrecked, in 1822. At times they have been estimated at five hundred; again, as low as one hundred and fifty. In good seasons they increase. When sand blows too heavily over their pasturage they perish. Just now there may be some three hundred. A good many have been eaten at various times. An old record, in 1842, is eloquent: “‘ We got another Fatt horse for to eat.”” They had to be stalked and shot like any game, though sometimes in the early days it was hard even to get within gunshot of them. I trailed a lot of ponies over the island, but shot at them only with a camera. You have to go easy to get near enough for a picture. But you don’t want to get too close, for sometimes a master horse will charge a man; and once they have him down, may stamp on him. When they’re being broken, if they throw the rider they stick around and try to kick him to death. Gentle natures, obviously. Tougher than boiled owls are the Sable ponies, take no shelter at any time, and spend the winter pawing the snow from the harsh ribbon grass. In droughts they can subsist on what moisture they get from the few plants growing on the island. There’s no use putting out water in pails for them; they will die rather than drink it. The dread scent of man overcomes their suf- fering. Even the barn colts—picked up very young and carried to a station—are wild and always bolt when they can. The very blood of freedom courses in all their veins. ‘When sandstorms or blizzards strike, they ‘most generally drift to the lee and form groups with the weak and the young uns inside,”’ a patrolman told me. ‘The old master horse takes the most exposed place. In the old days we used mainland horses for all our work, but of late years we've been breakin’ the ponies for draft animals and ridin’ patrol. We got about fifty broke now. Usually we hitch two ponies and one mainland horse abreast, with the ponies on the outside. They work good, and they’re fine for the saddle, once you show ’em who’s boss. But they never get over bein’ wild at heart, and they like nothin’ better than to bite a man or kick him. We've had some arms and collar bones busted by ’em on this island, I tell you! They’re wiry, ragged little beasts, about twelve or fourteen hands high, big-headed and Roman-nosed, mostly all bays or chest- nuts. The wild horses oi Tartary must be some such animals. As ezrly as 1803 these little fighters were caught and sent to Halifax. Nearly ev year since then some have been shipped, prices running sometimes as high as sixty dollars a head. Now the exporting of ponies is the island’s biggest event—barring wrecks. The sale of them helps pay expenses of the life-saving establishment. A Sable Island round-up is an event you won’t soon forget. It comes when every- thing else has been done, all the freight stored, all the empty oil barrels sent aboard. Those barrels, by the way, furnish a great lark for the island boys. Rolling them off the high sand cliffs, watching them leap and bound to the beach with vocifer- ous dogs in chase is rare sport. An Ocean Round-Up All the boys took part in it, our last day, except one crippled lad. He sat on an old dory, half leaning on his crutches, and watched; just watched. All his helpless life he has lived on Sable, knowing only sand and sea; a forlorn and patient figure of resignation. Not for him a gallop on pony back, or barrel rolling, beach combing, and the like. Year after endless year he has been waiting. All his life he must sit wait- ing—for what? To return, however, to our muttons; in this case, wild ponies. And it is time. Steel- gray clouds, tenuous threats of fog, and white water on the outer bars all were be- ginning to warn the Lady Laurier: “Be- gone!”’ Up at the main station everything was activity; for the ocean rodeo, strangest sight on any island in this part of the world, was beginning to get under way. The pound, along the shore, had been built, with wing fences leading to its mouth. Now the tame ponies—Duke, Beatty, Louise Cavell and many more— were being saddled THE SATURDAY and made ready for the round-up of +g wild kin The ocean cowboys presently sallied out and away. They swung a wide sweep, and returned from miles at a round gallopade, | shouting, driving a swarm of Frebtoned | ponies in panic flight, spurning showers of sand. Some of the fugitives, in spite of yells and maneuvers, dodged the fatal wing fences and went skyhooting off over the dunes. But a couple of dozen found them- selves shortly in durance very vile indeed. From this durance, not all their running, neighing or kicking could free them. “That’s enough now, boys, for this time!” the _ Super directed. ‘Now we'll noose ’em! So men of the sea undertook to noose ‘em. But Sable Island ponies consider it unconstitutional to be noosed and thrown. EVENING POST Your boy will bear the marks Very few Western rodeos have the edge on | what happened. Everybody, human and equine, was sweating freely before the show | had hardly more than commenced. Young- sters on the fences, with vociferation, were getting all the thrills of circus day. Con- fused bawlings arose from various earnest men: “Now you got him!” “No [ ain't!” “Dang his hide, he bit me!” “Look out there, Tom; he’ll kill ye!”’ *’Ware Hoofs! No deaths or broken bones resulted. The | worst casualty was a shirt sleeve that got | —_ clear off. But talk about your sand ing! It showered in machine-gun bursts. the alleged bite was only a nip, but the man — swore roundly that thereafter he’d prefer the south end of a pony. Asa tussle it was the real thing. No wild broncs ever fought harder than those fiery little Sable beasts. It took three or four men, even after the | ponies had been noosed and thrown with a trip line, and properly choked, to get a Bonaparte hitch round their froth-flecked | jaws. Then roping their feet started the battle all over again. "Ware hoofs! They thrashed in stark frenzy. But one by one the fighters were overcome, and with bound | legs were heaved into waiting boats. away with a lift of surf and sles sweep of vay) the captives surged, toward the wait- ingt uady Laurier. h And | ere still greater terrors awaited them. | Hooked by the foot ropes, and with a clat- tering gnar of devilish engines, they soared aloft. They pendulumed inverted over the sea, swung inboard, plumped down on deck. And after that, sailors dragged them into stalls, loosed them and sprang clear of the flailing hoofs. The ponies’ freedom forever ended, now their slavery to man, the abhorred, had begun. “All hands aboard!"’ the order came. Now it was good-by, and a long isolation of months would settle down upon that strange graveyard of the Atlantic, where unknown inka every nation lie. The island’s whole population stood on the beach to see us off. Some of them looked a bit melancholy. After the good cheer and excitement of boat days, perhaps they found the prospect of solitude once more a trifle somber. A few of the husky islanders shoved us off; the launch picked us up, and away over a pearly sea with an angry wound of sunset bleeding along the horizon, we heaved for the ship. Huge cloud banks ballooned over the island, and the bars were growling. Today had been fair, but tomorrow We had stayed long enough. ““Fog’s coming on, boys,” judged the captain, - when we had serabbled up the ladder. ‘‘Get your course. Sou’west from Lichen ass, here, to the point of the East al Sep hat’s the last till next time,” the mate remarked. ‘‘Thick weather comin’!”’ The propeller began to pulse. Three long whistle blasts saluted the island. We swung a wide are and pointed into the north. Sable faded. Evening grayed, and fogs began to wrap us in their wool. As dusk descended, a stab of radiance pierced it from the faithful lighthouse that, come what may, never must go black. Then the fogs wholly took us. Light, island and all vanish And so we left Sable brooding amid her treacherous seas; Sable, that land of men whereof the world, which owes them so infinitely much, hears so very little; that island of strange events and of unheralded, unrewarded brave fel- lows— heroes all! to his grave Look close at your boy’s care- free face and vision what it will show ten years from now. For then it will reveal to you and the world the matured char- acter that now is taking form within him. Will you see the clean lines of courage, the firm lips of determination, the frank eyes of honesty? That depends entirely on what is getting into your boy’s mind right now; on the impressions he receives from the friends and associates of his work, his play and his reading —from the few whom you know, and the many you do not know. Your boy must be guarded from degrading influences that can mar and pervert his char- acter. More—he must learn to guard himself. To this great purpose—the protecting and developing of growing boys— THE AMERICAN Boy is dedi- cated. For a quarter of a cen- tury it has guided, befriended, counselled and chummed with the flower of America’s boyhood on its way to manhood. In fiction tales of throbbing interest it shows your boy the world of industry, art and public endeavor. The pages of THE AMERICAN Boy are peopled with men and boys your son would be eager to claim for friends—whose qualities he would admire and strive to make his own. But THE AMER- ICAN Boy is not one-sided. Contrasted with honor, gener- osity, courage and ambition are the traits your boy might ac- quire just as easily if ignorant of their nature. Here he learns to protect himself. For he sees the cheat, the liar, the sloth, in his true light and despises him en- thusiastically. At this Christmas time, when your boy is uppermost in your mind, what greater gift can you offer than a fine, unsullied man- hood? Today you can start him on the road to it with an understanding, trusted guide— THE AMERICAN Boy. See how eagerly he will wel- come it—how he will revel in its stories, written by the fore- most boys’ authors of the day —how he will comb its articles on all his interests and activities. See for yourself the influences your boy will absorb and make a part of himself. Send us the coupon below. You need send no money. We will mail your boy, or any other boy you wish to see get ahead, the beautifully illustrated current issue of THE AMERICAN Boy. A bill for $2.00, covering a year’s sub- scription, will be sent you later unless you notify us to the con- trary within ten days: Mail the coupon today and your boy will have his copy Christmas morning. $2.00 a year by mail. 20 cents a copy at news-stands. Subscribe for a vear or leave a standing order with your news-dealer. 1 ° \ we SPRAGUE as. — “— , pect copy \ No. a your 84 wend 2 Ane \ Please ene 2 Bow an the ners th \ rus A current ent norll ¥ Pine rec ae \ ot re eo vet 00 ion rece 4 \ a w contr ary ‘ait Te em! 1 \ - b. pill \ \ poy'® Name \ \ Addres® \ \ your Name : with order. \ \ adares® remit $2.00 $2.58 | vee wesletga 2s: f — _— Canada. oe eh OO een —"

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She FLORSHEIM SHOE There are sturdy, heavier built Florsheims for strenuous wear—fine-looking shoes that have the stamina for long endurance —hbuilt for comfort as well as service. eMost Styles 10 hall Booklet, “Styles of the "on “Requet THe FLorsHEIM SHoz CoMPANY Manufacturers - Gimes CHICAGO The Gouriss Hae Style §~104 esse ao See SO aS My A GIFT FOR DAD ~ & ~ oh Me o~ A”. There’s one thing you must give Dad this Christmas for his car—it’s the new STROMBERG S>k. Electrically Driven—Z-7 WINDSHIELD WIPER Keeps your windshield clean and makes driving safe even in the most severe rain or snow storm. A turn of the switch and the Stromberg does its duty without! interference to carburetion. Continueus, quitt and uniform operation at all engine speeds. ‘Spring ten- sion” wiper arm §vith three-ply rubbermaintains constant and even pressure rgainst glass. - Law current consumption. Long life. Easily installed Madé by manufacturers Of the World's Famous Stromberg Carburetor The ideal gift that will be appreciated. Your dealer has it-—or send us your check and we will supply you direct. Stromberg Motor Devices Co.,-69 E. 25th St., Chicago, Ill. Peo e SESS LS SS SSS BEN | spending the better | Musée du Louvre. However, the trip meant | aride in the open without strain on the brain | said, ; | some more tangible record than a frail | photogra | theso beautiful and sad THE SATURDAY EVENING POST December 13,1924 THOSE DEADLY FRENCH SALESPEOPLE ! art of an hour in the or feet, and besides, the commissionaire was | good co mpeny with his droll manner of speech and his refined habit of never speak- ing about money or business, asher American men friends were so apt to do. The gardens of Versailles were indeed charming on that fine June morning. On the way out the madame had gathered from | the commissionaire’s conversation that the palace had once been the home of French monarchs and that Marie Antoinette had | been the wife of one of them, but which one she was not sure. The name, of course, had always been familiar to her, but she was | under the impression that it was merely | some kind of perfumery. Now she knew | better, on the authority of the commis- | sionaire himself. | commissionaire repeated over and over; “of all the queens of la belle France the “Marie Antoinette,” the most beautiful and the most unhappy.” When the automobile stopped before the Little Trianon in the gardens of Versailles the commissionaire suggested that they get out for a few moments, He had, he said, brought his camera along and if madame would accept so trifling a gift he would like to take a photograp h or so of some of the most charming views to offer as souvenirs of her last days in France. Just ahead of them across the grassy lawn was a white marble statue of Aphrodite. | The commissionaire contrived to fall behind a few steps as they approached this piece of sculpture, and just as the lady reached it he stopped her with an excited exclamation. “‘ Let madamearrest herself by all means!” he cried, at the same time unlimbering his camera. “A photograph should surely be made of this charming scene. Madame stands at the side of the veritable statue where so many times stood the so beautiful and unhappy queen of France to mourn the fate of her royal husband during the last sad days. It is as though history were repeating itself!” Madame had no objection. It was not for her to question the commissionaire’s historical information and to inquire how Marie Antoinette could have mourned her royal husband’s sad fate at Versailles when she happened to be in prison in Paris during the last sad days. Besides which, madame had had domestic tragedy of her own, hav- ing lost not only one husband but two. The fact that these losses had been brought about through court proceedings rather than death did not lessen the thrill she felt at being photographed under such touch- ing circumstances. The commissionaire snapped the scene and gravely folded up his camera. “It is enough,” he said simply. On the Dotted Line The ride back to Paris was silent, thought- ful, the commissionaire holding the camera caressingly all the way as though fearful of damaging its precious contents. It was not aging were on the bridge leading to the St. Cloud gateway that he bade the chauffeur stop the machine and then spoke earnestly to his companion. “It is a never-to-be-forgotten day,” he “and surely madame should have h. Would it not be wonderful if she could take back to her home in Amer- ica a reproduction of the veritable statue beside which she and Marie Antoinette have stood so appealingly Madame, still A the spell of history and salesmanship, agreed that it would be wonderful. “It is settled then,” said the commis- sionaire firmly. “I know a great sculptor who can make marvelous reproductions of antique statues. He charges only two thou- sand dollars each. ~ we not say four— one of the glorious Aphrodite and three others as a background for madame when she stands in her own garden at home like {arie Antoinette?” There, on the bridge across the Seine | with the chimney pots of Paris ahead and | the palace of Versailles behind, madame signed an order authorizing the commission- aire to buy eight thousand dollars’ worth of assorted statuary a la Marie Antoinette. (Continued from Page 27) For generations it has been compara- tively easy for Paris to get the trade of the lady tourist. For her there are the beaded bags; the perfumery; the jewelry, real and imitation; the hats and dresses. The dog trade, too, has been well looked after by a multitude of alert shopkeepers featuring in their show windows the latest in dog furnishings. This year there have been two important innovations in the dog line. A score of shops in the Rue de Rivoli and Rue St.-Honoré display full lines of dogs’ rubber shoes for wet weather; also dog blankets, each with a neat pocket on the hip and a lace handkerchief sticking out of the pocket jauntily. But it is not efficient to secure only the trade of the lady tourists and the dogs. Paris woke up to the fact that it was not getting the returns it should from the visit- ing gentlemen, particulaily the American gentlemen. The American husband and father is indulgent toward his females, will- ingly supplying the money for their beaded bags and dresses, but his personal pur- chases have been insupportably meager. On his visit to London he ma indulge himself in a suit of tailor-made clothing or an expensive pipe, but in Paris what does he spend? Practically nothing! He accom- panies his wife and daughter on their visits to the shops and museums. He sits on the sidewalk in front of a café and drinks a glass of wine or a glass of beer at fifty cen- times. For want of more exciting employ- ment he visits each day half a dozen money-exchange establishments to learn what his twenty-dollar travelers’ checks are worth in francs. The Popular Umbrella-Cane Something should be done. Something has been done. The psychology of the American gentleman has been studied. It is learned that he likes to appear chic, but also that he dislikes to be what the droll English call swankish. He will buy for personal use only that which has the ap- pearance of utility, of mannishness. For instance, the matter of a walking stick. The Englishman, the Spaniard, the South American, carries a stick as part of his costume. But not the gentleman from les Etats Unis, naturally the best dressed and the best spender of all. The gentleman from les Etats Unis fears that if he carries a stick he will be considered feeble; or worse than that, foppish. Alors, the thing for Paris to do is to invent a stick that will comprise within itself the chic and the prac- tical. Also the high price. The canne-parapluie is the happy issue of this psychological survey. On the sur- face it is a walking stick and nothing else, sturdy, mannish, authoritative. But sup- pose one is in one’s home city in America and one fears criticism. One touches a spring in the handle, and voila, out comes a beautiful umbrella! One’s critics are si- lenced, for assuredly an umbrella is a prac- tical thing. Fivehundred Paris shopkeepers feature canne-parapluies in their show win- dows. At a low estimate twenty thou- sand canne-parapluies were carried through American customhouses during the present year. One heard in a Paris hotel dining room one evening a scrap of conversation be- tween a Paris business man and a foreign gentleman who was in France to buy mer- chandise for his department store at home. The latter was inclined to be critical of some of the things he had observed. “France is all right,”’ he said, “for art and museums and all that sort of stuff, but what you need is to take your minds off those things and think more about business. I was at a place today where a whole build- ing was used to hold a lot of old dresses and pictures of costumes of Chinese and Japs and Peruvians, and so on, and they told me it was kept up at the expense of the public. In Melbourne we'd throw all that junk into the street and use the building for a factory or something useful!” “But it might be,” answered the French- man, “that the Musée des Habillements is what one calls a paying proposition. When one is in industry one keeps records, is it not so?” The Australian agreed that one did. (Continued on Page 173)

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price 9140) Without Accessories THE SATURDAY EVENING POST As Easy as Turning a Page EAR the beautiful harmony of a Christmas Carol sung in Washington or the silvery chimes of old Quebec. And they come in quickly and positively —no fishing—no fussing —no logging—no uncertainty —if it’s in the air Thermi- odyne will get it regardless of distance. With six tubes that bring in loud-speaker volume and only one controi. Think of it! With one hand you can get any distant station you want. They click in quickly and accurately and always at the same place. Local stations and distant stations cannot interfere with each other and the four verniers are provided to refine the variations in broadcasting and to regulate volume. Ask your dealer to demonstrate Thermiodyne THERMIODYNE RADIO CORPORATION, PLATTSBURGH, N. Sf; Reg, U. S. Pat. Off. a J -qa-——- {Ther-m¥-odyne] against any set he has regardless of price. !f you've never listened in with a Thermiodyne you've never really heard radio. Every set is backed by our ironbound guarantee. i D- 1 Single control 2 No outdoor antenna necessary 3 No directional loop 4 Wavelength or kilocycle pickup of stations, instead of meaningless degrees or numbers 5 No logging of stations, nothing to remember 6 Cannot squeal or howl 7 Cannot radiate 8 Cannot distort 9 Newspapers give time and wave- length The 14 Points of Thermiodyne Supremacy 10 Thermiodyne picks them at the exact setting every time 11 Stations of different wavelengths 4 cannot interfere with each other 12 Six tubes—3 stages of thermionic frequency, detector and two stages audio frequency 13 Distance, volume, clarity, with- out fuss or excuses 14° 180° turn ef single control, like instant tour of dozens of cities —— —————— —f- T we Stations Click in With Certainty and Simplicity DEALERS and JOBBERS Write for full par ticulars regarding franchise for selling the most remarkable receiving set on the market, A few terri tories are still avail able, but act quick};

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST December 15, 1924 M “KAY TIRE CHAINS of Knowing How Have you seen the new McKay Red Bead Bumpers? There’s a type and size for every type of car—all new—all better. Ask your dealer.

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(Continued from Page 170) “And the ladies of your so great Aus- tralia like the styles of France, else you would not come here to buy?” Again the gentleman from Melbourne agreed. “And if the great Paris dressmaker de- sires to bring out a new style to sell to the world and that will keep his hundreds of employes at work it is useful to know what the lady of Mongolia, let us say, wore in the year 1450? At length the gentleman from Australia admitted that the museum of old dresses might not, after all, be a dead load on the French a Great salesmen are not developed in a single generation, and the French were practicing the art while our American fore- fathers shivered and starved on Plymouth Rock. We fought and killed the Indian in New England, while in Canada the French- man sold his personality to the redskin and engaged him in gainful trade. Louis XIV was the first truly great chamber-of- commerce executive, for it was he who con- ceived the idea of selling Paris to the world. When history’s final chapter is written Louis XIV will be remembered not for his wars or his bon mots or his loves, but for his discovery of the fact that it pays to make a city attractive; that trade follows the tourist. But even Louis XIV had a predecessor with a sense for business in the real-estate line that only recently has come to be appreciated. Everyone knows how the re- sourceful real-estate operator in the grow- ing American city often manages things when he desires to turn a cow pasture of the outskirts into a new residential addition, His first move, after clearing off the brush, naming it Brightview and laying off streets, is to build himself a modern residence on the property and force his more or less unwilling family tc move in. This, of course, is to prove his own confidence in the future of Brightview. The next necessary move is to get others to share his confi- dence, and this is best accomplished by in- ducing a few prominent citizens to move there also. Concessions are necessary. A few choice building lots at half price. If sales resistance is particularly strong it may be even advisable to make a free gift of locations to a restricted number on condi- tion that the recipients will erect good- looking houses thereon. Thus Brightview becomes a desirable residence district and the later buyers of lots pay enough to make up for those sold at half price or given away. Henry IV, Real Estater Tt all seems very modern and typically American. It is likely that each resourceful real-estate man who does it believes he originated the scheme, or at least that it came into being not earlier than the Spanish- American War. But listen to the voice of history: Henry of Navarre, whose trade- mark it will be remembered was a white plume, became king of France in the year 1589 under the name of Henry IV. A few years later he decided to build himself a new town house, and chose as a site what was then known as the Marais Quartier, which means in plain English the swamp quarter. Naturally, such property was rather undesirable, but it was cheap, and the resourceful monarch had a few tricks up his sleeve. He first put in a drainage system, renamed it the Place des Vosges, and was ready for business. Thirty-six wealthy citizens of Paris were discreetly approached hy the king’s man of affairs and an identical an. rane made to each. If the monsieur would agree to build in the Place des Vosges a home of a certain cost and of architecture to comport with that of his monarch, his building lot would cost him next to nothing—in exact terms, one Eng- lish pound. Naturally, the thirty-six wealthy citizens were not slow in availing themselves of the opportunity to live neighbors to their king on such bargain terms. Once the king’s house and the thirty-six other handsome residences were completed it was easy to sell the surrounding property at a profit- able figure to the social climbers of the metropolis. With such a heritage it is no wonder the French are good business people. Good sell- ers. Good buyers as well. The case, for in- stance, of the Widow Valquet, who has a prosperous café around the corner from the Palais Royal. For twenty-five years Ma- dame Valquet has been a café owner in Paris. THE SATURDAY At the age of fifty-four she still has the | buoyancy of youth, showing no marks of | time except for a missing tooth here and there. She is healthy and strong because she was country born. Indeed, yes. In her time she has milked the cows, has pitched the hay and even swung the big scythe. Nor has she dissipated her strength in use- less pleasure. In all her twenty-five years | in Paris she has never been to a theater; | only twice to a cinema. sieur, should one waste time and money on such things when there is the more keen pleasure in chatting with one’s clients and watching real life as it passes one’s door on the Street of the Good Children? And why, mon- | Three years ago the Widow Valquet re- | tired from business. Big business it was, | too, for she owned the great café opposite the Montparnasse railway station, with fifty chairs on her terrace and three garcons to wait on the clients. Retiring, she went to live in a petite ville twenty miles from Paris. But fate decreed that Madame Val- = should not stay retired. She has a aughter, very pretty, a replica of what Madame Valquet herself must have been before she lost the occasional tooth. In the petite ville there was a furniture factory. In the factory was a handsome young work- man by name Etienne. The two young | people met, loved and desired to marry. The Plans of the Widow Valquet This dénouement put the situation squarely up to the Widow Valquet, for hand- some young workmen in France do not marry unless they can support their wives in the manner to which they have been ac- customed, and they expect the bride’s fam- ily to way Oo In plain words, one requires a dot. adame Valquet considered the matter deeply. It would not be wise to give the dot in money, because young workmen in factories have not been trained in affairs of finance. Plainly, the proper course would be for her to set the young people up in some kind of business where she herself could look out for them. A café in Paris surely was the thing. Did the Widow Valquet go to an agency and signify her desire to buy a café? As- suredly not, monsieur! When one buys a café through an agency the agency de- mands a commission. Also, the café owner who desires to sell out always asks a greater price when he thinks one is anxious to buy. It is much better to watch the announce- ments in the Petit Parisien, because when one puts an announcement in the journal it is a sign that he is anxious to sell. When one is anxious to sel! he makes the cheaper price. Is it not so? Madame Valquet looked at more than | twenty cafés that were advertised in the Petit Parisien. before she decided on one that seemed to be just the thing. It was kept by a Bulgar. And dirty, monsieur! On the shelves where the bottles stood there was dust of three months at least. The Bul- gar’s trade had run down. Sometimes he took in not more than one hundred francs a day. One wondered why Madame Valquet de- | sired to buy the Bulgar’s café in preference | to others. But ah, that is where the experi- | ence is useful! Just half a block away is located the big store. Already the store has built an addition on the street on which is located the Bulgar’s café. Some day it may wish to take the whole block for a huge building, and then it will be lucky for the person who has a lease in the block. Also, the competition was not bad. The only other café in the block was kept by a lady who is not affable with clients. She does _ not smile when she pours the coffee or wine. Madame Valquet herself has actually seen her receive money from a client without thanking him. Assuredly, a café owner who always smiles will win the clients from one who holds tight the lips, comme cd. The Bulgar, who was a foreigner, could not know these things like a native, but, nevertheless, he asked a good price for his café. Madame Valquet laughed at him. Not offensively, one may be sure, but just enough of a laugh to let him know his price was insupportable. She called his atten- tion to his so trifling receipts. the figure she would give. The Bulgar could think it over. Perhaps he could find some foolish person who would pay him his price. A week later the Bulgar visited her in the petite ville and offered to compromise. But she was adamant. Like the towers of Notre Dame. Like the French Army at Verdun. The Bulgar could keep his café if he liked, | She named | EVENING POST 173 Hii - for Christmas/ ‘A5 TubeTuned Radio Frequency Receiver, made of the finest low loss materials and in a beautiful genuine solid mahog- any cabinet, that is attractive enough for the most pretentious room, and at sixty dollars, economical enoug “4 the most modest. Users claim it is The Greatest Value Ever Offered in a Radio Receiving Set Combines all points essential to the perfect receiver. Real distance reception without that squealing and howling. So selective that once a station is picked up —it can be brought in again on the same points on the dials, whenever you want it. And what's more, All genuine Freshman Masterpiece Pp ‘ Ask y dealer ¢: - Setshavesserialnumberandirade- Jf is Mighty Easy to Operate ‘Stait’one in your home mark os on the sub-panel. The Receiver it number Beware of ae and “ae (has Fres reshman(o. Inc. &Condense, LORIE LM 106 Seventh Ave. New York, USA. IVE Shawknit this year. Its reputation for long wear makes the merely acceptable gift of hosiery one to be long remembered. No one need be crossed off your list, for to buy Shawknit is to practice sensible economy. SHAW STOCKING CO. Lowell, Mass. FINE ~__ HOSIERY ~

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i74 — Medley Fruit OF THE LOOM _ Shirts — THE SATURDAY EVENING POST COLOR GUARANTEED Att US. PAT OFF. soo with collar 8 750 N° shirt is a genuine Needles FRUIT OF THE LOOM Shirt unless it bears this sewed-in label, woven in colors, Color and wear guar- anteed or money refunded. Write for unusual free booklet. L. NEEDLES-BROOKER CO 200 Fifth Avenue New York it takes Needles to make shirts You'll find them at your favorite dealer's, If not, write us. 332 independence Square, Philade!phia, Peana. details. Of course this re- quest does not obhgate me \ in any way. \ *~ Name Street City \iale \ the Coupon sig ste e and Mail tractive. Sendmeailthe \ Today! Spare Time and Easy Work— Good Pay for You! © Rename in brief, you have three of the principal rea sons why so many keen business men and refined women are our local subscription represent- atives for The Saturday Evening \ Mr. Grant Deh. Pritchard of NewJersey Post, The Ladies’ Home Fournal \ 1s pares all day ina large office. and The Country Gentleman. But I ‘. ag — ape oben there are other reasons which will w eve Is, 4 as é 2 ° \ averaged $2.50 an hour extra. prove just as attractive to you: . P er ke ; g The \ Not bad for spare time, is it 1. You need no previous experi- Curtis \ ence to succeed. —e . 2. You do not need one penny of Noone ‘\ Just Clip capital. 3. Profits from the very start. 4. You work just when it suits your convenience. 5. You need not leave your own locality. That's all we can say in this lim- ited space. The next step is up to you—whick is the reason for the coupon. Upon its receipt, we will \ promptly send you all the rest of ~*~ the pleasing details—for there is \ no better time to start than ‘\ now! ~*~ if | and sell his little hundred francs of coffee and vin rouge each day. There were many other cafés for sale in Paris, where the re- ceipts were far ter and where more peo- ple passed the door than in the street where he was. The Bulgar went away. But he came again. The transaction was happily terminated. At the price originally offered by Madame Valquet? Of a verity | at that price and not a single franc more! All this took place a year ago. The daughter of Madame Valquet and the handsome Etienne were married. No ex- pense was spared, even to a wedding voy- age to Toulouse, in the south of France, where the flowers bloom always and life is one long romance. One may have a feeling for the young, even though one’s own ro- mance is long past and though one has lost a tooth here and there. People woke one morning to see a big sign over the door of the Bulgar’s café announcing a change of proprietorship, and Madame Valquet be- hind the counter wiping away the dust of the former owner. Business had already improved when the young people returned from their wedding voyage and the family of three settled down in their new home. It is good to know that Madame Valquet’s arrangements are working out well. The rent is not dear when one considers that for a dollar and a half a day, American money, one has the café on the street level, a large cellar underneath, a room above for the billiard and checker playing, and three chambers for living purposes. Besides which, the lease runs for ten years longer and the big department store will surely need the building before that time passes by. The so handsome Etienne is becoming a good merchant under the instructions of his belle mére. He may have an occasional moment of pique when Madame Valquet takes the glass out of his hand to serve some special client; but she is always careful to refer to him as the patron, and even allows him occasionally to buy the supplies from the salesmen call each day, after she has satisfied herself that their prices are right. The work is divided fairly. The | patron opens up at half past five in the morning. Madame Valquet herself closes at half past twelve, midnight. During the busy middle hours the whole family is be- | hind the counter. Except Sunday. Inex- | orably, on Sunday, Madame Valquet takes a full hour for church, which is good for the soul. Each month the number of clients in- creases. The lady who has the competing café and who does not smile has no increase | of clients; one can see that plainly. The affairs of the family of Madame Valquet go well. Let the babies come now, mon- sieur; one, two, three. There will surely be a dot for each! Department:-Store Methods From the modest ménage of the family of the Widow Valquet to the huge de- partment store speeie the Palais Royal may seem like a change from little business to big business, but one finds the same deadly efficiency in both. The great estab- lishment is gorgeous with its wonderfully trimmed show windows to catch the eyes of moneyed visitors, its gilded dome and its stately floorwalkers in Prince Albert coats. But one realizes in business that one must have the patronage of all classes if one pros- pers completely. Around two sides of the huge building are rows of plain kitchen tables placed on the sidewalks, piled high with bargain goods for the economical client and presided over by eager young men in black skullcaps. Do the kitchen tables detract from the prestige of the Grand Magasin? Assuredly not; a shop is a place in which to buy things, not to sus- tain one’s social position; and one knows that the éstablissement can sell all its mer- | chandise more cheaply if it increases its daily sales by having the kitchen tables on | the sidewalks. No person in a French department store receives a regular salary. Merely a tiny stipend each week to cover the actual cost of food and lodging. What one earns de- pends entirely on one’s sales. Thus each sales person is in a way in business for him- self or herself; and it is well known that one will work harder for himself than for someone else, n’est-ce pas? It is charming to walk past the Grand Magasin on a fine morning, say at about a quarter to nine, when all the employes are gathered about the entrances waiting for time to begin the day’s work. One sees the young man of the | men’s trousers department and the slender | girl of the corset counter snuggling together December 15,1924 in the crowds, arms around each other’s shoulders and cheek rubbing against cheek. Their souls are in their eyes as the bell rings and they give the parting kiss. It is not what one would call in London or New York the businessiike attitude. But twenty min- utes later when one visits the trousers or the corsets will one detect any inattention to business? Assuredly not; for the 2 per cent commission on the corset or the trou- sers speeds the day when the young sales- people may have a ménage of their own and need no longer do their courting on the side- walk of the Rue de Rivoli. Practically all business houses in France are operated on the same plan as the de- partment stores—a small salary to the em- wre with a commission on sales. Where rom the nature of the business it is imprac- tical to pay sales commissions, the employes share in the profits. Government owner- ship finds little favor in a country where human psychology has been a study for centuries. One recalls the reflective words of the big hardware manufacturer in his office in the Rue de Rome. Five Per Cent Profits “All of us, even in France, are natu- rally lazy. One will work only as hard as he must. One may love his country; but if he receives a thousand francs a month salary from his country he will not give it eleven hundred francs’ worth of work. Only in private industry can matters be so ar- ranged that there is the personal incentive behind one’s actions.” Where the French Government does go into industry, as much care as possible is taken to make the recipients of favors earn their money. The tobacco business is a gov- ernment monopoly. Cigars, cigarettes and smoking tobacco are fabricated in govern- ment workshops, but the retailing is done by private individuals licensed by the au- thorities. The price at which each article must be retailed is advertised by the gov- ernment, and woe be to any retailer who charges more than the government price. During the past summer whole columns of the Paris newspapers were given over to the exposure of certain unhappy dealers who had yielded to the cupidity of charging an extra sou per package for a certain kind of cigarettes. One could hardly blame these dealers for their crime when one learned the profit they were allowed to make according to law. The spread between the wholesale price and the retail price is precisely 5 per cent. De- scribed in American terms, the dealer pays nineteen cents for a cigar and sells it for twenty cents! Besides that, he has to lay down his money in advance and pay for delivery. Even at this slender profit there is tre- mendous demand for licenses to enter the tobacco business. The government sees to it that the tobacco shops are located far enough apart to give each one a reasonable clientele, but near enough together so one does not have to walk too far to buy one’s smoke. One has the thought that the effort of making fortunes on a 5 per cent profit may have had something to do with the development of salesmanship into a fine art. For fortunes actually are made in buying cigarettes at nineteen sous and selling them at twenty. Take the lady, for example, who has the tobacco shop near by the Saint Lazare railway station. She owns an automobile, diamonds, a country home outside of Paris; all gained from her to- bacco shop hardly more than ten feet wide and twenty feet deep. But do her wealth and her so big diamond earrings tempt madame to neglect her business or to serve her clients inattentively? Absolutely no! Every day of the year madame sits at the cash desk just inside the doorway, her three young lady assistants ranged behind the counter at her left. No client enters her doorway without a greeting from madame herself and from the young lady whose privilege it is to wait on him. The millionaire in a silk hat, the workman in sabots, the bell boy from the hotel oppo- site, it is always the same. Madame wishes him bonjour as she waves him to the oung lady clerk. The young lady hopes his health is prospering as she hands him his favorite cigar of Havana or his pipe to- bacco of Maryland. Madame trusts he will have a pleasant promenade as she takes his money and bows him out the door. Does madame sell her personality to her client? She does. But also she sells the (Continued on Page 177)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST A Welcome Gift Regardless of present equipment, your Ra- dio-interested friend will appreciate a Superspeaker at Christmas. Its superb performancewillever after inspire his grate- ful thoughts of you. Controlled Volume With a Radio set of only moderate ability, Superspeaker reproduc’ tion of nearby stations might be often stronger than you could possibly need. But there is always the Superspeaker Volume Control. With it you can modify the heaviest message almost to a whisper. Yet it also puts at your command the greater power you need behind your set, as you reach out and sweep the ether for messages from far away. This same Volume Control makes you independent of varying battery strength, and enables you to balance delicately every change in temperature or humidity. Just hear the Superspeaker! Compare it, before you buy, with any other amplifying device, and learn the difference for yourself! A high quality musical instrument handsomely finished in ebony gloss, standing 26 inches high and weighing more than five pounds. No extra batteries or coils. Nothing to wear out. Built complete by a manufacturer whose reputation, resources and ability are common knowledge throughout the industry. Price $30. (West of the Rockies, $32.50). ' JEWETT RADIO & PHONOGRAPH COMPANY > 5684 TwecrtH STREET : Detroit, MICHIGAN pais) A | Superspeaker | Trademark Registered

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176 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST December 15,1924 Preadnaught Sete Double Duty Sire Chains ae ee 9 /} wee The Lever’ Locks the Chain RACTION such as a tractor gives! Three cross chains (not one or two) always on the ground. Safety in highest degree! Start quick without slipping. Slack Stop dead without skidding. Extra mileage too! Dreadnaughts are overweight, made of special alloy case-hardened steel with malleable inner core. There’s a cross chain to every other link See how the patented Blue Boy Fast- | Of rim chain—more chain for your money. Patented oe eg ay vad bevy tory ay ye Blue Boy Fastener locks chains securely to wheels ~ easily put on and as easily removed. they can’t drop off! How about a set of Dreadnaughts for Christmas? All Dreadnaught chains are over- naught “Double Duty”, Dreadnaught weight; last longer. Your garage, “Regular”, and “Super Dreadnaug ve accessory or tire man has all types or he can get them from his job- in stock, including Balloon, Dread- ber. Ask him. THE COLUMBUS McKINNON CHAIN CO. Makers of highest grade industrial chains for ail purposes. General Offices: COLUMBUS, OHIO, U.S. A. In Canada: MCKINNON COLUMBUS CHAIN, Led., St. Catharines, Ont. “A 4 Dealers: Ask your Job- ber’s salesman to supply this display cabinet. Keeps stock well arrang- ed and moving. Has more than doubled chain sales of many hundred dealers. cs yo f +o aie = OEPARIMEN ] | Buy 7 || | Dreadnaugtt | Sire Chains | ins? Tways- Dri The Ground!

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(Continued from Page 174) client to himself. He feels an added sense of importance as the recipient of so great attention. Who knows how many clients there are who enter with the intention of buying only a single cigar for one frane, but who go out with a whole boxful at fifty francs? The number must assuredly be great, for madame’s receipts every day in the year average eight thousand francs! It was in a big and justly celebrated art establishment in Paris that one saw real French salesmanship at its best and dead- liest. A great bronze vase was in the show window, priced at twenty thousand frances, and a stout foreign lady tourist from the near-by hotel came in to inspect it. To an ordinary observer she had the appearance of being a mere looker who sought enter- tainment rather than one who really in- tended buying; but evidently there was something about her that to the expert French eye suggested ready money, be- cause the proprietor himself came forward to wait on her. One’s first thought was that the burden of his enormous black beard would have sapped all his energy, but this was a mistaken idea, because his every movement was light and graceful as that of an athlete. The vase was truly a work of art and the product of the firm’s own studio. The lady must see it under more suitable sur- roundings than the show window, where the turmoil of the boulevard distracted. To appreciate great art one must be detached. The porter would carry the vase to the little room just at the rear. If madame would deign to follow she could view it as though in the silence and refinement of her own salon. The lady followed uneasily, giving the appearance of one who was getting in deeper than she wished. She said something about only looking around, but the remark was lost in the bustle incident to setting up the vase on a little table against the wall with a background of green velvet. The propri- etor stood back impressively to allow the view to take hold. The stout lady inter- jected a discouraging remark. “It’s a pretty piece of goods, all right,” she said, backing away a step, ‘but I guess I'll look a little further before I make up my mind. Twenty thousand frances is a lot of money.” The proprietor put up his hand depre- catingly at this crude mention of money, but his enthusiasm was in no way abated. Such a work of art would truly adorn any salon. Doubtless the madame had many works of art. He would feel personally hon- ored if she should purchase the vase because he knew it would rest among other objects chosen with equal understanding. So many people unfortunately lack the discernment. Is it not so? A Stroke of Genius At this delicate tribute to her good taste the stout lady gave way to the natural de- sire of living up to the compliment. She regarded the vase seriously for some mo- ments, head on one side as though better to appraise the decoration and contour. Hav- ing thus indulged herself she prepared to make her escape. “The piece has some good points, all right,” she said sagely, “but it doesn’t alto- gether suit me. The base of it now. I don’t think the base exactly suits the upper part. I'll look further before deciding.’ It was time for quick action, because she was already turning to leave. The pro- prietor seized upon her last words. “The madame believes the vase to lack the perfect symmetry? I am desolated. But it shall be to usa lesson! I beg madame to wait a little moment. I shall call our de- signer!” An office girl scurried off in the direction of a stairway and the designer arrived in surprisingly quick time, as though he had been waiting for the summons, a tall, hand- some young man who wore a blouse and an “ut 2: Plot Bax wv S &: a5 ‘a Mia SH 5 OS ae Li, C/ — SP ee es %- artist’s tam-o’-shanter cap and carried a drawing pad in his hand. The proprietor told him cog | cellent taste be vase did not suit the ps sags part. The designer was also desolated. He looked at the vase mournfully and passed his hands lightly over its contour a few times as though to get the feel of its fault. ‘‘Madame has a marvelous eye,” he said at length, “to catch at a glance a lack of elegance that escaped me, a lifelong stu- dent of the beaux arts. I had considered this piece wonderful, but perhaps it was only my vanity.” Then a bright thought penetrated his sadness. Eagerly he teridered the lady his drawing pad and pencil. “Tf madame would render me the great favor,” he said, “she will be so kind as to make a little sketch to show just how the base should be modeled to form the perfect symmetry!” The designer and the proprietor stood gravely at attention facing the stout lady, who held helplessly in her hands the draw- ing pad and pencil that had been so unex- pectedly forced upen her. In America it would be said that the buck had been passed to her. Worse than that, she had been led to pose as a critic and now she had to make good. Also, she had been taken into the family, so to speak. Friendly and eager eyes were upon her. The Lady Surrenders She did not want to buy just then. She wanted the luxury of long mornings shop- ping about Paris before coming to a de- cision, and perhaps in the end the greater luxury of deciding not to buy at all. But one will always pay a high price to save one’s face. She took another long look at the bronze vase. “*Maybe I was wrong about the base not suiting the top,” she said slowly. “I guess I was looking at it from the wrong angle. Would you take a check for it?” Both the proprietor and the designer threw up their hands in horror at the ! that the madame of so ex- | ieved the base of the bronze thought of doubting the check of so charm- | ing a client. signature of a prince of England or a direc- tor of the Bank of France. Of a verity they would accept the madame’s check for the beautiful bronze vase. For anything else in the whole establishment. For the estab- lishment itself! The check was written. Sooner should be doubted the | The proprietor gave it the merest glance and tossed it care- | lessly to a determined-looking French- | woman who sat in the cashier’s cage. Then he returned quickly to his client to engage | her in conversation about the she had made. The determin Frenchwoman quietly picked up the check, urchase | -looking put on her hat and walked out thefront door. | A moment later she was in a taxicab and | | y | from “trouble,” take the lid off the Puzzle- Peg box,— away goes “gloom.” Every move of the tantalising pegs takes you farther and farther away from your worries. You go on an excursion of joy. The new Free Book of 104 problems contributed by Puzzle-Peg fans from all over the world, makes the & greatest game value = offered, for 0c. dashing toward the Place Vendéme, where are located the foreign banking houses. The proprietor was still in earnest conversation with his client on the subject of art when ten minutes later the telephone rang in the cashier’s booth. He excused himself to answer the call, re- ceived the brief message, and turned again to his client brightly. ““Madame’s an shall be delivered to her hotel at once,” he said. “It has been a great happiness to wait on one who pos- sesses the so unerring sense for beauty and who is withal so businesslike.” way to a despairing gesture. ple of France pies only be wise in the affairs of business like those of other na- | But it | tions it would be so much better. I is not so. We think only of art, of life, of pleasure!” « Thestout lady went away highly pleased. | The determined-looking Frenchwoman re- He gave | “Tf the peo- | turned from the bank with a sheaf of | thousand-franc notes, which she stuffed into | the cash drawer. The crowd on the boule- vard milled past, thinking only of art, of life, of good business. POXDUs) eer" ev, Beet ! ~ edition t Puszle-fle THE SATURDAY EVENING POST F aa. Men Like This Gift F HE smokes a pipe give him a Locktite Tobacco Pouch and be 100% sure of pleasing. Attrac- practical pouch made. tive leathers, durably rubber lined. At cigar stores and wherever smokers’ articles are sold. us if dealer cannot supply. Ooze Calfskin, Buck or Pigskin Genuine Suede 420 Manufactured and Fully Guaranteed by The F. S. MILLS CO., Inc., Gloversville, N. Y. Grey or Brown Ooze Cowhide, Imported 4 50 Capeskin 1= | } sapsserr>’ \ | | ( Most Write 300 When it’s hard to smile, and you want to get a million miles away —the wonder puzzle of the century. Get the complete Played by foes’ FUN one, makes PACKAGE,’ fun for all. Any one of the 104 prob- fumes pease lems may {oil you for hours. But vag pares Tese-0 nd Eee t c t ora who are sist sor lonely* Pussie-Peg makes the deat fees Al! Lee « ew ll good Game De or sent pos ’ be. oid a S0c. 9 (la Poreien orn bak 73e.) . Countries, $2.60) = ae —_ sua, 2° - Great Fun for A Thrilling Game The Tesbie Patines of Skill Game wo BLOX-O The sensational new game hit—tetally “different.” Play is fast and furious. A 3-ring circus of fun. For sale by all Game Dealers, or sent post-paid direct. Com- ey plete set only... (In Foreign Countries, — a TOSS-O Five skillful tosses of the steel ball may win you a perfect score — but even the best players find such a score as rare as the per fect bull's & ie in marksmanship f par in golf—a no-hit game in baseball, etc. If you like a con test of real skill, you will enjoy Toss-O immensely, Played by any number of per sons. At all Game Dealers (Cn Foreign Countries, 35c) ZOO-HOO Educational and amusing for the children, it becomes an ex ceedingly difficult and absorb ing Puzzle for grown-ups, by simply removing one disc Folks of all ages have endless fun heiping “Wash,” the colored Zoo keeper, to get hie animals back in the proper cages. Com wete at Game Dealers 50 — Cc Cn Porcign Countries, 75¢) "S ‘LUBBERS £ BELL.MFG. CC. The Fun Jactory 721 SECOND AVENUE CLINTON, 1OWA eee

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THE SATURDAY

Have You a Radio‘‘Fan” On Your Gift List ? Give him this new Cabinet Audiophone. He'll thank you every time he tunes in. Its full, round voice is so natural you want to look inside for the performers.

Its “voice”’ is not a phone unit. It is an adjustable electromagnetic device that gives pleasing quality to the most powerful tones, yet is as sensitive as any loud speaker ever built. For distance “fishing’’, or for volume on concerts, it gives you radio at its best. Genuine mahogany. Size 17 x 10x 1014, just right for top of radio set or phono- graph. Price, $30.00 at your dealer’s. Other Audiophones at $25.00, $20.00, $15.00 and $12.50. The Bristol Company, Waterbury, Conn. Bristol AU DIOPHONE LOUD SPEAKER

Mr. Edwin L. Hamilton New York

Our Plan ay You, Too SOK more than thirty years Mr. Edwin L. Hamilton of New York was Traveling Secretary of the Railroad Y. M. C. A. While engaged in his life work of service, he decided to extend his usefulness by making good literature more easily available to his hosts of friends and neigh- So he became a subscription representative for The Saturday Evening Poste The Ladies’ Home Journal and The Country Gentleman. And he quickly found that it paid—paid so liberally that he is now working for us under a weekly salary contract. If vou < 1 : never nad any hors. in spare an hour or so now and then—even though you have “xperience — you'll be interested in the special cash offer we have to pay you for local orders. It’s yours if you will only send the coupon, “ye . pewceesecowcecceccce -Clip and Mail eocccecccccccecesceng Demet 2 oe 1v . + THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY ' ; 330 Independence Square, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania ; ; Please send me ail details of your offer. This request, of course, in no way obligates me. : + a ’ ' 1 Nan 1 ‘ ! ' ' | Sty ' ' ' ' ' ; City State : Lecce ene eee eee eee amen aas Se aeeneeeaad EVENING POST December 13,1924 TRAFFIC IN SENTIMENT (Continued from Page 15) great boxes of ribbon and fragrance back that she might have the money to live on | instead. This Florabelle was chiefly fic- tional, but even at that a comparison is interesting. Florabelle of the six best sellers gave up her flowers that she might eat and buy clothes. Nancy of real life gives up her lunch money and her silk stockings that she may have something pretty to look at instead. Nancy is the symbol of what has hap- pened in the florist trade. No one has set it down on record as to what hero first in moment of exigency gave vent to that slogan, “‘Say it with flowers.” But the florist is the man who will insist that he deserves to go down in history with the creators of “‘Don’t give up the ship,” “Damn the torpedoes!” and all those other famous little sayings that have made American history. For these simple words, wasting their lives all these years apart in a dictionary, have in their coming together | made history in floristry. Armed with this slogan, it must be owned that the flower merchants deliberately set out to make a nation say it with chrysan- themums, with roses, with gentle spring posies or however its heart might fancy. A national advertising campaign was in fact instituted to teach the public just how very many languages a simple bloom might | speak Did the undertaking succeed? The ice man paused, after putting a thousand pounds into the florist’s re- | frigerator. | bouquet? “How much will it cost me for a nice My oldest girl's confirmation is | next Sunday morning.” At ten o'clock, on his second round of the | day, the postman stopped to ask, “You | folks telegraph flowers everywhere, don’t

you?” “Yes, that’s right.” Anonymous Offerings “I'd kinda like to send some upstate to our Annie. Just had a letter from her. She’s right in the midst of her final exam- inations, an’ she’s nervous. You know, we'd kinda like to let her know that her ma and me are sure she’s coming through with flags flying, see?’’ There are persons buying flowers today who never dreamed of buying them before! They invest in culture, in the niceties of life, in sentiment—call it what you will. As purveyors of the intangible to a na- tion reputed by its neighbors and somewhat boasted by itself to be hard-shelled and material-minded, the florists have doubled their business in the past five years. Besides being a merchant dealing in com- modities which have color, dimensions and highly marketable fragrance, the florist must play expertly the réles of a high priest of beauty and a trusted confidant as well. Like an oracle, he must know the last word in what is truly expressive. Like the priest, the doctor and the lawyer, he is daily eee of secrets which he must never tell. At least he must never translate these confided matters except to the radiant or pensive posies which wait in their vases to be sped on their appointed errands. Even the delivery boy must go about his business discreetly. It is not unusual for him to be given a plaiz box, devoid of any identifying labels, with the name and ad- dress of a certain lady printed thereon, and to be instructed briefly, ‘‘ No information!” In case he may be questioned, the young- ster’s answer will be as bafflingly vague as even a taxi driver could furnish. Although a fat tip is dangled before his eyes the de- livery boy will maintain with naive in- nocence, ‘A man gave me the box on the street. I never saw him before.’”’ That’s his story, and that’s all there is to it. A Rose a Day A broker has two favorite women friends for whom he has provided charge accounts at the same flower shop. It happens occa- sionally that both of these women visit the shop at the same time; yet neither is aware of the existence of the other. Recently there was the death of a woman drug addict, evidently of the figurative underworld. A florist sent funeral flowers on the order of a customer duly recorded in Manhattan’s Blue Book. What bond could there have been between these two? The florist wondered, but did not comment. He never comments. The scandal which flares up in the inner circles of society perhaps astonishes even the intimate friends of those concerned but does not surprise some florist. The shocking, unexplained suicide of a person of prominence, to which newspapers devote columns of speculation on the mystery undoubtedly a certain florist knows the cause of this tragedy. A brighter side to the traffic of a great city in sentiment is the visit to a Lexington Avenue flower shop of one of the young business women who spend part of their lunch money each day on the purchase of a single rose. At 12:05 daily she comes in as regular as a clock. ‘What's the matter with Miss M today?” they say if on some rare occasion she doesn’t appear. You may be sure Miss M——— never gets the worst of the bargain when she buys her single posy. What does she do with it? Well, long ago she confessed that about all she does with it is to take it back, and put it in a bud vase on her desk. She likes the look of it, she says. It makes her desk look like a parlor. It in- spires her to keep it clean. (Continued on Page 181)

PHOTO. BY UNDERWOOD & UNDERWOOD, N. ¥. C. A Fieral Lady's Stipper, One of the Unique Floats in the June Flower Festival at Geneva, Switzertand

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 179

This Novelty Christmas Box of Norris Candies with a sumptuous Christmas wrapper. Note the greeting card in the corner. This Norris Variety Box of Delicious Candy in Christmas Wrapper with space provided for personal greetings

A 4 A) Get it from your dealer—if he hasn't it you can order from us, direct by mail, for only $1.50 per pound. C C d IVI HRISTMAS CANDY wrapped ready for giving NE of the time-taking tasks of Christ- butter, cream, velvety fondant, and other ; mas is wrapping up the gifts. toothsome goodies that inspire the tongue Think of the convenience of this exquis- to praise. ite candy gift-box, ready packed in a beauti- Your dealer can probably supply you, but ' ful holly-decked Christmas wrapper! ifhe hasn’t the Norris Variety Box in stock, Notice that there is a convenient and _ we offer you the privilege of ordering direct appropriate gift card printed on the corner —for you really must have one of these of the wrapper. All you have to do is to wonderful Christmas packages either for a SELECTED CENTERS address and sign it. No bother to wrap _ gift or for yourself. Use the coupon below. Pasay ace der (Assorted Chocolates) or tie this exquisite gift package, either— Your order will be promptly filled, postage Page cuimevet orp ores ee ne ee it is all ready for you to present on Christ- prepaid, with a guarantee of absolute satis- ewe, bay Rang igh above eed ee ee mas morning. faction or your money refunde {. ens FS cere The Norris Variety Gift Box, appealing Order by the Dozen or Gross f in its wealth of beauty and resplendent with Many people find in the Norris Variety CHOCOLATE CREAM BRAZIL NUTS Nuts imported direct and cracked freshly as used ach nut indi vidually enrobed in fondant and coated with chocolate $1.50 the pound. WON) ka

the shimmer of its gold and mauve and tur- quoise, delicious in its wonderful goodness, truly expresses the spirit of Yuletide cheer. Whether in fact it’s for the sheer quality of the candies themselves or for the beguil- ing beauty of their packet, here is the gift certain to tempt and to delight. You will revel in the goodness of the Variety Box—twenty-two distinct varieties, each one a subtle contrast, each one in itself superlative of its kind. Here you will find in great profusion the use of almonds, Brazil nuts, pecans, walnuts, fruits, chocolate, YT ate on SP eae shia Ss <<a N

Variety OF EXQUISITE GIFT CANDIES » . : Rosenstein gap ae sisi sor we ieceihaicaiis alt ma Box just the kind of gift they have been seeking for groups of friends—just the kind of candy that big executives may choose for those whose efforts deserve an expression of real appreciation at Christmas time. In such instances it is well to order through your dealer by the dozen boxes or by the gross .... If your dealer hasn’t the Variety Box order direct. Where else, indeed, could you find so impressive and pleasure-giving a gift at so slight a cost? $1.50 the pound, packed in 1, 2, 3 and 5 pound sizes. NORRIS, INC., ATLANTA, GA. fa.) Box Name Address City

© Norris, Inc

NORRIS, Inc., Enclosed find $ $1.50 per pound, One, two, three and five pound sizes Dealer's Name 1924 CHOCOLATE COVERED NUTS AND FRUITS A very popular package, being an assortment of all nut and fruit centers. The fruit cordial pieces are protected with foil wrapping $1.50 the pound. ATLANTA, GA. for Variety Boxes at State

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180

A year ago, the four-wheel brake question hac largely resolved itself into an academic and specific dis- cussion as to the soundest, safest, surest principle. Today, in the light of the way the Lockheed Hydraulic principle has literally swept the industry, there is no mistaking the decision which engineers have made Less than a year ago, Lockheed Hydraulic Brakes had been adopted by a single motor car manufacturer. Today, twenty-eight motor car manufacturers are answering all braking problems with Lockheed; and that nurnber will grow greater. Lockheed Hydraulic Brakes have so weil demonstrated their superiority that engineers and manufacturers who heretofore could see no neces- sity for four brakes, are now lining up for Lockheed. All engineers, and every student of engineering, accept as axiomatic the basic principle of Lockheed operation. This principle is the 17th Century law of Pascal, fundamental in hydrauiic practice:—The pressure exerted upon any portion of a fluid enclosed in a vessel is transmitted undiminisheci equally to all surfaces. Lockheed utilizes a liquid com- pound to transmit to each of the four brakes, equally and undi- muinished, the pressure exerted at the foot pedal. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST That means brake equalization, positive, permanent and automatic —precisely the same braking effect at each wheel—the one essential to safety and certainty with four- wheel brakes. That is the big result of Lockheed Hydraulic Brakes so far as the operator of the car is concerned. But the incidental results are of large importance to owner, engineer and manufacturer. The Lockheed system is simplicity itself. It does not require lubrica- tion; it does not require adjusting for equalization; it does not call for a complicated layout of equalizers, toggles, linkages and what-not; it does not set up rattles and squeaks as time goes on. Today the public recognizes the superior efficiency of Lockheed Hydraulic Brakes. Today the motor car industry recognizes Lockheed as the one identity in the field of four-wheel brakes. Much of your motoring safety and satisfaction depends, of course, upon brakes, and it is entirely pos- sible that you have in mind to buy some one of the 28 cars which are now Lockheed equipped. Whatever the car you prefer, be sure to ask the salesman whether it carries Lockheed Hydraulic Four- Wheel Brakes; and if it does, be assured that it represents the final word in modern braking efficiency. Hydraulic Brake Compary, Detroit, Michigan C The Answer | LOCKHEED Tour Wheel Brakes HYDRAULIC >

eee

ae

Above—-Note the complete absence of lubrication points, and the beautiful simplic- ity of the Lockheed Hydraulic Four- Wheel Brake layout. Q = a dt ae |

ft-go nt - é4 December 13,1924 On One Car Last Year; On TentyLExght Today | Contrast These Two 4-Wheel Brake Systems Below—Typical mechanical four- wheel brake lay- out. Note the great number of points needing lu- brication and the complication of rods and linkages. ' GREASE » S 7 GREASE GREASE ®! | *GREASE SREASE™

“GREASE GREASE ; ®. GREASE S<eeces ewe ------

L emma

ont -—» hi Hi ~ ' ee oe ps ae * ' i ! ! ' ! ! ' ! ! ! i ' 1 ! ! 1 Ses

Page 183

(Continued from Page 178) If Cinderella knows the open sesame to the flower shop these days, Pollyanna often shyly drops in for a visit as wd. One afternoon a very plainly dressed little girl entered the spacious store of a floral firm catering to an exclusive clientele. Delivering up a quarter which had been tightly clenched in a small moist hand, she asked a salesman for the prettiest flower she could buy for her mother, who was ill at home. The salesman, won by the earnest little face, showed the child one pretty posy after another with as serious interest in her likes and desires as he could have granted a Park Avenue customer with a monthly ac- count running well into three figures. He soared way beyond the class of the twenty- five cents the little one had presented to him. Her eyes danced when he displayed a giant yellow chrysanthemum. A few seconds later the gorgeous bloom was hers, packed with olay tissue in a white glazed box on which was embossed in golden let- ters the firm name—a box which itself cost almost as much as the amount she had tendered. Two weeks later the mother of that small girl came into the shop and opened an ac- count, giving a name which often appears in the society columns. The little girl, it seems, had eluded her nurse to make the purchase at the florist’s. Since that time her mother has been a consistent buyer of flowers at this particular shop and the florist has been more than repaid for not selling but giving of the largess of senti- ment on that November afternoon. The florist plays the réle of peacemaker every day in the week. Over the telephone there came to the florist from a young benedict an order for flowers for his wife. The florist suggested the variety of roses of which this young matron was fond; the man assented, and over the wire there could be detected a slight break in his voice as he added, “‘Send them to her at her mother’s house. She’s there at present.” The Peace Makers The florist shook his head sympatheti- cally as he picked out a dozen of the finest roses in stock for the lovely, willful young woman in question. Less than a year ago he had made her bridal bouquet; further back, he remembered the rare variety of orchids he had obtained for her coming-out party, for he had been the family florist for years. Daily for more than a week the florist spoke the husband’s cause in the language of the choicest blooms, anxiously hoping for success. Then one morning the husband telephoned, apparently not attempting to restrain the surging glad note in his voice as he revealed that his wife had returned to him. And the florist was glad too. The traveling salesman came into the flower shop in a terrible hurry—he was leaving for Chicago that morning. To the florist he confided, as will many men in love, that he had been coming along splen- didly with the lady of his dreams, but un- fortunately last night they had quarreled; much against his will he was leaving town today, but a man’s work is his work, you know. THE SATURDAY Now he wanted a different assort- | ment of flowers for the lady each day, and | he handed over a series of notes, one for in- closure with each box, and to be sent ab- | solutely in the order designated. He admitted that he’d sat up most of the night composing these vastly important sellin talks. With the florist’s aid he sapected them to get across—so that all might be well on his return. The classic request of the famous blue- coat messenger service of course continues | to be, ‘Could you send a boy quick? We have no one to mind the baby.” woman who at the last minute telephoned a rush order for a corsage of sweet peas, “and have the boy get my dress from the cleaner’s,”’ found a florist just as obliging. No Card Inclosed It was on one recent autumn morning that a man in a quandary called his florist. Over the wire came his problem: A woman friend in a far-distant city had just under- | gone an eye operation; he wanted to send his message of sympathy immediately. But he did not want to send flowers, poignant reminders of a beauty from which his friend was shut off. The florist thought a minute. That afternoon, to the bedside of a woman ina ae six hundred miles away there came a basket of the choicest fruits. Many busy people have acquired the habit of telephoning the florist and letting | him do the rest. The majority of these cus- tomers furnish the flower shop with a sup- | ply of their personal cards, which are kept on file, to be inclosed with their flower or- ders. For others the florist writes the name on a card, with possibly a desired message. There are some who are not content to say | it with flowers, but add lengthy wordy ef- | fusions. It is not unusual for an order taker to resort to shorthand in order to get down the veritable letters that will be given over the telephone—the longest often be- ing for inclosure with an inexpensive order. Many gift boxes are sent out without a card inclosed, according to the customer's instructions. In most cases the recipient evidently knows whom the flowers arefrom, but often a telephone inquiry comes to the florist: “I just received a box from you, but there was no card’’—the feminine voice conveying an implication of the florist’s carelessness. Looking up the order, it is found to be marked, “No card.’’ So the florist replies, “No card was to be sent, madam.” “But you must tell me who the flowers are from,” insists the voice. petulantly. “I’m sorry; it was a cash order, and I do not know,” is the florist’s invariable polite response. Who supplies Manhattan, the greatest flower buyer in the world? Where do all the blooms come from? But the | EVENING POST a ae a The New York Times—and light Picture shows a corner of the handsome new composing room of the New York Times. Principally, they are grown in Long Is- | land, in New Jersey and in Connecticut. An army of experienced cutters descends upon the greenhouses every afternoon, tak- ing its daily harvest. Later the blooms are packed with the requisite care demanded by the various sorts; roses in paper bundles are crowded into wooden boxes, with . a Behe; Porn PHOTO. BY UNDERWOOD & UNDERWUOD, WN. Y. C. Springtime Near Haariem, in the Netherlands —a Wave of Color as Far as the Eye Can See and a Fragrance of Millions of Blossoms That Hangs Everywhere Over the Fieids Every worker in it en- joys the advantages that only an adequate Work-Light installa- tion can supply. No glere, no deep shadows, no fatiguing red rays to complicate their work. te ETTING the news” is not the problem over which news J papers puzzle most. The hardest thing the publisher does is to get that news to you before its market value has been lost. hundreds of thousands of copies in the hours between dark ness and dawn. A highly keyed crew must give their best to do it, and work every minute under artificial light. Often it means the manufacture and delivery of On less than a moment's notice, they may have to “make it over.” Murder, fire, or ‘presidential utterance happening ten minutes before quitting time must be in the paper. Alibis don’t go. It must be out on time. About all that the editor can think of is: “Get it to the machines!” There are linotypes, monotypes, saws, metal pots, steam tables, rows of hulking presses. No factory works under greater pressure. Few do finer work. The New York Times uses Cooper Hewitt Work-Light. So do the Chicago Tribune, Detroit News, Cleveland Plain Dealer, Cincinnati Post and many others. Plants of all kinds use Work-Light because it does definite things that ordinary light does not do and is not expectec do. Light that “keeps eyes wide open” more than pays for itself wherever it is installed. Ask for the Work-Light booklet. Coope: Hewitt Electric Company, 125 River Street, Hoboken, N. J. COOPER HEWITT 1 te s1@C. H. BE. Co. 19% The Hot Water Bag without attention. Mr at once—today—now! Cold Weather Coming —! | This means a large demand for "S a tremendous repeater with universal appeal. Heats itself,—stays hot all night made $26 the first day. @Collect large commis sions inadvance, RADIO PACK sells on sight. It is the marvel of the age, We want a Representative in your section. Write for selling plan RADIO PACK go. INc. it 152 W. 42nd Street, New York City Make him happy this Without Hot Water Chris tmas G. C. Lea of Sandusky / |) men With a Telephone Stand in rich brown on India |_Jersey City pom ens emer Forget-Me-Not | Packed in Special Christmas Box ii Uf your dealer is unable to supply, we will send prepaid upon receipt of $2.00 | The Jersey City Printing Co. Manufacturers of the Standard Calendar An Ideal Gift Your radio fan will appreciate a Valley Battery Charger as a Christmas gift. It is just what he needs to keep his radio storage batteries fully charged so that he need never miss a program The Valley Battery Charger will com- pletely recharge any radio battery over- night. Plugs into light socket like a fan | or other household necessity. Just as easy to operate. Takes about a dime’s worth of current for a full charge. Quiet in operation. Pull six ampere charg- ing rate. No liquids or bulbs Send for detailed descriptive folder VALLEY ELECTRIC COMPANY 3100 §. Kingshighway St. Louis, Mo, REMINDER | CALENDAR Anartistic ornament worthy of a | place in the best appointed | office or home. Stand in | solid brass. Pad printed paper with gold edges. Desire New Jersey _ |

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THE SATURDAY For You—For Your Friends The gift that keeps coming —coming the whole year through; The gift that keeps giving—giving something always new. That cift, doesn’t it? comes V continuous What is this gift? ever asked entertainment, That’s the easiest question you The answer is a year’s subscription for ery nearly being the ideal Christmas one which lasts all year and brings inspiration and help, The Saturday Evening Post The All-Year Gift And how much does it cost? Only $2. (Foreign $6.) And for this two dollars, the friend whom you choose especially to delight will receive more thrills and laughs “solid stuff” than an d Thu I leasure. he can sday evenings in 1925 manage on all the a Christmas-to-Christmas Then, to each of your friends whom you so remember, we will mail an ment card, cer your name. exceptionally beautiful gift announce It will be sent to arrive in the Christmas mail, entirely without charge to you. Two Other Desirable Gifts For any woman — The Ladies’ Home Journal 12 issues $1 (Foreign $2.50) For any man—T4 e Country Gentleman $2 issues $1 (Foreign $2.50) Fron please order at once to these three publications you can select sure-to presents for all your Christmas list. Mail your THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 329 Independence Square, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania N “PROPP” | one Genuine Withou Trade Mark we) veur Xmas lree pwURT Bt pai @ial ru gai § 9 = : & AL, 2” and DEPARTMENT STORES 2 INSIST THAT IT 3E A “PROPP” SET { | PATENTS. Write for free Guide Books and “RECORD OF INVENTION BLANK” Send model or sketch of your in- vention for Examination and Instructions FREE. | Victor J. Evans & Co., 727 Ninth, Washington, D.C. NOODLES JOLIET MACARONI CO. - For Particular People + Joliet, Ill. EVENING POST cracked ice scattered between the pack- ages; orchids are packed in tissue; the gardenias and camellias, very fragile, are carefully tucked away in cotton to prevent bruising. Early in the morning—at four or five o'clock, according to the distance of the ower from New York—the caravans of ower-laden trucks get under way, to con- verge upon the ferry entrances to Manhat- tan Island. Their destination is the whole- sale cut-flower market, which is located in a small area extending from Eighteenth Street to Twenty-eighth Street, adjacent to Sixth Avenue. Here the commission men open for business at six o’clock, and for the next few hours greet the stream of buyers from the retail establishments, who wander past counters piled high with blooms and make their daily selections. It goes without saying that the buyer’s job is a most responsible one—peculiarly so in this case, because he is investing money in perishable stock. But no matter how care- fully he purchases, there will be a margin of unsold stock. What becomes of the blooms that linger in the retailer’s vases beyond their time? Is there a tremendous waste, due to unsold flowers? Strange to say, the waste is usu- ally not so great as would appear at first glance. There is a large use for the open flowers. Roses are an example. They are cut in bud and, according to variety, will last from several days to a week. The rose which re- mains unsold till its petals open into full bloom is not sent out in gift boxes; but it is just what is wanted for the funeral piece, because it is at its largest and makes its best showing. So it is funeral work that takes care of the open flowers to some ex- tent. Those that are not used in this way are rarely thrown out; instead, they are given away—-to workers for religious and charitable organizations, who pay calls reg- ularly to receive flowers; and sometimes these still pretty blooms that have lost their first freshness are sent to hospitals. The Passing of an Old Favorite A few years ago if you had asked * ‘What is the ultimate gift in flowers?”’ the reply would undoubtedly have been, ‘‘American Beauties.’”’ They were the ne plus ultra, the acme of luxury. There were other beautiful | roses, but for the sporty spender nothing else satisfied “ American Beauties, and tie a red ribbon around ’em! But Mr. Manhattan doesn’t demand this variety of rose today. The occasional calls for it are nine times out of ten not from a regular flower buyer, but from the man who is still swayed by the legend, the man who for once in a blue moon would plunge lav- ishly. And he will be surprised, probably, by discovering that no American Beauties are to be seen among the array of roses at the flower shop where he inquires, even though it may be in a wealthy neighbor- hood, because this rose is no longer in de- mand by those who can afford it. In the metropolitan area of New York you will rarely find half a dozen shops with a vase of American Beauties on display. Some days only two or three dozen of these bleoms come into the cut-flower market to supply entire Manhattan. There is still some demand for the old- fashioned bouquet, which was originated in former days by florists who did not have the splendid long-stemmed flowers of to- day, and therefore arranged these solid clusters of blooms inclosed in lace paper. These bouquets are expensive because many | flowers are required and because they are | very tedious to make, as much time being consumed as it takes to make ten or twelve | of the modern corsages. | Women buy more flowers than men do | today. But men are better customers be- | cause they buy more quickly. Miss Gloria, vastly patronizing, sweeps into the flower shop. She runs riot amid a bewildering array of blooms, seeking to gratify her desire for whatever she fancies represents luxury. “Oh, I don’t want those!”” She turns up her nose at some lovely spring flowers—and the florist mentally hazards that she once lived in a small town and had them growing in the back yard. Finally she selects a December 13,1924 fifteen-dollar spray of orchids and pins it on her coat. “The violets you sent me the other day weren't at all nice,’’ she remembers to com- plain with the air of one who will not be imposed upon. : “Tt’s too early for them now,” the florist explains apologetically ; “they’re never so good in mild weather.” True enough, but Miss Gloria didn’t know, not rea ally being a violet lover. That was why she wanted them—because they were out of season! The Florists of Fiction It must be pointed out here that the women to whom charge accounts at the florists are so prodigally extended must not be confused with the Florabelles of fiction referred to earlier in this article. The legend of Florabelle ran that she had to de- cide with a firm and practical mind con- cerning a situation over which she had no control. Admirers foisted so much gor- geousness in blooms upon her, she felt obliged to go in league with the florists. In case of an order they notified the young lady by telephone instead of by the box of blooms, and the amount invested minus the florist’s profit was credited to her. In case the admirer personally selected his offering and saw it on its way she would turn the box back immediately it reached her door, and with the flowers back in their containers the next few minutes, ready for sale again, no one was ever the wiser. Many a fiction writer has picturesquely sketched this young woman into his novel of life as it is lived in New York, and this beautiful but worldly-wise young lady has tripped across many a page of the maga- zines. But the florists disavow Florabelle. No one knows where she came from. It can safely be asserted that flower shops today are conducted on much higher business standards than this interesting myth would imply. But aside from the ethics of the thing, how would it be possible for any young lady to make such an arrangement when there is a florist in nearly every block and she could not dictate to her admirer from which shop he should purchase? In addition, the spender who bestows flowers lavishly upon fair lady friends has his own florist. And, as a matter of common sense, no florist would jeopardize the continued business of that account to accommodate any young lady. Analysis shows the scheme impractical. The initiate, even though he might be skeptical of the florist’s business integrity, will decide that in these days when gold digging has been reduced to such a fine art, such a game would not be worth the trouble. In the past there has been some amount of graft paid out by less scrupulous flower shops, as well as by butchers and bakers. This was known as the butler graft. A but- ler who would throw to the flower shop a great deal of patronage and who would order flowers far in excess of what were really needed for table decoration would put in his appearance monthly and demand a commission, under the threat, of transfer- ring the account elsewhere. If a merchant will become a party to it, such petty graft will often be carried on when the manage- ment of vast affluent households is virtually intrusted to servants. Reputable flower shops, and other shops as well, are nowa- days refusing to take part in such practices. The great peak seasons of the florist busi- ness are Christmas and Easter, when months of normal business are crowded into days. he Christmas rush is the less over- whelming of the two holiday times for the florists, because the people have been educated to shop early and they carry this lesson into their purchases in the flower shops. They are far more willing to have early deliveries. Then, too, unless Christ- mas falls in the latter part of the week, it offers the interim of Sunday for a breathing spas for the florist. But in all Holy Week there is no breathing space. Easter week! What the World Seriesis to a pitcher, what election time is to a news- paper, that Easter week is to the florist. A grim time of labor and fatigue to the (Continued on Page 185)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Liana atin ace atin coed cree! ante axtinee tnee metho echt edn mache’ me and onde onde SII I I I I I Oy IR I I I

Morgan Linen Case Ms75 4 \ a } Fae , Se i { ( se ow ‘| { i 4 ——<—, | —7 i) ip ‘| Fo iy — st ¢ 3 — , \ 4 ( \ ‘ 4

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Many things you miss when you are

1 Morgan Breakfast Nook M391 ry ry 3 Na wee : FS } a i a i : :, 4 i ‘ . 4 .. . ¥ wr - me ie Zag v7 = KITCHEN = = . < 99+ 12-0" Aes - eae Ts » 8 bee. fi ee Manges Ws Wedgewood , cane Live Roar, gabkg awe Room Myat 7Os3) um Orn aE , | ee eee Morgan Plan Suggestion No. 1A

Main Floor Plan content with mere Woodwork” There isn’t anything too good for your home, espe- cially when the best costs no more. Surely you will not let a little carelessness spoil those rooms you have so eagerly planned—so often visualized in your mind's eye. Select woodwork of known quality. If you want your entrance to be architecturally charming, yet sturdy against the elements, there is a way. Jf you want your doors to be rich in beauty, en- hanced by the tracery of artistic wood, yet built to hang true for many years, there is a way. If you want your china cupboards, cabinets, breakfast nook, trimmings, etc., to be in complete harmony, to be built like fine furniture, to have the most charming finishes in stain, paint or enamels, there is a way. closets, It is to keep in mind that woodwork isa fixture; that it cannot be changed or made over er dis- carded like an unsatisfactory rug or chair. It is to specify MORGAN-QUALITY—to insist, firmly, upon having the Morgan mark, like this, WORGAN, on each piece If you do this, happy iiitee are bound to follow. Your entrance, your stairway, your bookcases, your china closets and cabinets, the doors and trimming, your breakfast nook,

all will have the stamp of quality—the touch of architectural harmony—and you will have something that will serve you and satisfy you for years. The Morgan name is the outgrowth of over 60 years of service to home owners and builders. It Serco ren stands first for quality. It calls to ———]! mind great factories, vast tracts of ||| fine timberland, an ever-ready source of most beautiful woods at lowest ea | price. It is also emblematical of a perfected system of Standardized Manufacturing which involves de signs, woods and sizes, by means of which “quality” cost is reduced to a most unusual minimum. It is because of this combination of reasons that, while assuring you the finest of quality, Morgan products are really inexpensive. They save you money as well as regrets.

Morgan Medicine Cabinet Max We invite you to investigate Morgan-Qual ity Products. See your local Morgan dealer. He will gladly help you. Also, let us suggest that you get a copy of our famous book, * Build- ing with Assurance,’ now owned by thou- sandsof home lovers. It isdescribed at the right. °MORGAN™~ QUALITY” STANDARDIZE Morcan Woopw Morcan Company, Oshkosh, Wis., Morean Sasu & Door Company, Chicago, IIl., D WOODWORK ORK ORGANIZATION New York City Detroit, Mich., Cleveland, Ohio

Morcan Mitiworx Company, Baltimore, Md., Jersey City, N. J., Greensboro, N, C ORGA Look for this mark on every Morgan Product

Before you baat sour new homeget

Mader Book on Home Building Nore: The house illustrated above, with complete floor plans and description, will be found on page 24 Building with Assurance ’—Second Edition — con tains information you need to help you cut costs, save time, avoid mistakes and get more for your money. “BUILDING WITH ASSURANCE” indorsed by over 15,000 authorities In this great book are shown homes of all types, in full colors, with floor plans. Besides, you get help on room arrangement, interior decoration, floor cover- ings, lighting, heating, plumbing and landscaping. Mail coupon for prospectus “Building with Assurance” is not for genera! dis tribution. It is for earnest home lovers, Our pro spectus tells all about it-—shows specimen pages of beautiful homes in color, with floor plans. The pro spectus is gladly sent to those who mail the coupon i78 $—— . 2 — — Address nearest office, Dept. N.-12 ny, Oshkosh, Wisconsin Sasu & Door Company, Chicago, Illinois Morcan Mititwore Company, Baltimore, Maryland Gentlemen: I am a home lover, so please send me at once a copy of your beautiful prospectus which describes “Building with Assurance.” Compa MorGan Morcan Name Address Town 5 ky OR es cn dates vis Business. 5 ok ct ea dbs Cub ape a pee ibe natn

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| FERRE ae of “~ “| The Biggest Things in Kadio Joday ee ae ony, pam sans —' — SS = — . be — * ‘ “ — ae . . ike Cull G4 OOM bs oA — € a on The little device on the left (8* x 6" x 3") is the B-Liminator which takes the’ place of B batteries. $35 (without tube). Its companion is a Timmons Talker, the remarkably beautiful cabinet type loud speaker with horn Type A, $35.00. ca a ee ee concealed; noted for its superior tone purity and volume Timmons Talkers and B-Liminators HERE is nonatme that has more rapidly crowded to the +f front rank of the radio industry than the name Timmons. The Timmons products illustrated are now established as two of the most important examples of the tremendous progress made by radio. Timmons quality also built into a more T B-L iw ) ented May 15, 19 " : . 4 nodest cabinet for th vay lane deere Present or prospective radio set owners cannot afford to thrifty buyer who real- pl 1B he t p “Te . + ¢ . 2 . s the advantages of vane ene entrant be unfamiliar with the new receiving satisfaction made concealing horn end ing house current . chanism but fers ¢ sf cdh your 110 von, possible by these two remarkable products. They are sold loud speakte at « lower © cycle ligt ocket price. Type N, $18.00 by good radio dealers most everywhere. No reputable radio jobber or dealer can profitably fail to consider the important influence of these two products on radio sales now and in 1925. Descriptive printed matter and details may be hed by any responsible person upon request. TIMMONS RADIO PRODUCTS CORPORATION \ 19 GERMANTOWN =— — \ EVER Y TIMMONS RADIO PRODUCT IS ABSOLUTELY GUARANTEED ll PHILADELPHIA a eens gee THE SATURDAY EVENING POST December 15,1924

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From actual photographs Happy Hours are the ones your boys and girls will spend on this new combined swing, trapeze and flying rings; healthy, happy, contented hours, playing at home—building muscle, developing good lungs correctly. is ideal for boys and girls, 3 to 14 years old. Sturdy—will hold 500 pounds; will last a lifetime; quickly put up in any doorway—easily moved —fully adjustable —can’t mar or scratch your woodwork. New FREE illustrated book, “ The Doorway Gym,” shows simple, in- teresting exercises; tells youngsters how to amuse their muscles. Write today, make your children happy and healthy. eSfandard PREsseD StEEL CO. Box H, Jenkintown, Pennsylvania Ask to see “The Busy Kiddie” in department, toy and sporting goods stores. If they don’t have it, write us direct. AL Dr SIMMS Cs Arch and Ankle Supporter : IMMEDIATE RELIEF from FOOT TORTURES EVEN in acute conditions you gain instant relief. The ACTUAL CAUSE is removed. Enjoy all forms of exercise without a trace of pain. You really get a pair of NEW j Dr. Simm’s Arch and Ankle supporters replace disorganized bones, hold the arch in position, immediately relieving painful preesure, and as you walk the weakened muscles are strengthened and foot troubles corrected Physicians and Surgeons recommend them. AT YOUR DEALERS or sent prepaid, $1.50 each; $2.75 a pair. SATISFACTION GUARANTEED or money refunded State shoe size. FREE descriptive circular on request. CHARLES QUENZER, Inc. Est. 66 Years Suite 201 Quenzer Bldg. 79 Reade St., N. Y. C. —gi he GAME for Xmas ~—%7 ee SA! Instructive, entertaining for young and old. Learn about radio stations while play ing. Attractive gold engrossed case and in- structions. See your dealer or send 75c to RADIO GAMES COMPANY Nothing will be more appreciated as evi- dence of your thoughtful- ness than one of these Im- “ orted PLATININE ‘i ATCH CHAINS. They look and wear like stylish, high priced platinum chains. Will Not Tarnish. Two styles,—one for coat lapel, another acrogs the vest. Order either or both NOW,—still time for Christmas delivery anywhere. Money back if not satisfied. Send price with order or pay postman. H. A. BERTHOLD, Importer, 111 FIFTH AVE., New York City ANT WORK won? Earn $18 to$60a week Retouching photos. Menor women, No selling or canvassing. We teach you, guarantee employ- ment and furnish Working Outfit Free. Limited offer, Write to-day. A ft Studios, Dept. J Sheridan Rosd, Chicago THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 182) breaking point for everyone associated with the handling of flowers, from grower to salesman and delivery boy. In the flower shop men and women clerks are on their feet constantly for twelve hours of waiting on customers, then work- ing half the night in preparation for a busier day on the morrow. Two days of work crowded into each one, as the crescendo of business nears with the approach of Good Friday. If a flower shop a gets away for a few hours of sleep on Good Friday night he counts himself fortunate. He has had a little rest in preparation for his big- gest day—the day seemingly without end, which commences at seven o'clock Holy Saturday morning and continues without a break until from four to six o’clock Easter Sunday afternoon. After the last belated customers have gone their way on Saturday evening, the preparation and packing of orders continues throughout the night. Men who started making corsages at ten o'clock are still me- chanically making corsages when the dawn of Easter Sunday appears. If they are very lucky then they may be able to srstch an hour’s rest on their wooden workbenches. Unceasing labor at top speed is demanded— of youths and men who have had only one hot meal a day for several days past; whose fingers are sore with the constant pricking of thorns and numbed by the con- stant handling of flower stems taken from cold water; who are chilled by the damp- ness and low temperature maintained for the preservation of blooms and plants; who are groggy from lack of sleep. All over New York at every flower shop, large and small, you will find the same fever- ish panorama in the hours which usher in Easter. It is the great inside drama which each year must be enacted to prepare New York for that spectacle which she herself in turn gives, the pageantry of Eastertide. The parade on the Avenue with the church bells ringing their hallelujahs, the services at chapel, church and cathedral before flower-decked altars—no florist may see this gorgeous parade, no florist may be one of those who make up the huge congrega- tions; but he has done his part to provide the beauty of it all. There is no Easter or Christmas celebra- tion for the florist. He is excluded from taking part in any of the joys of the chief holidays of the Christian world, and ac- cepts this as a matter of course. But he rather envies those who can listen to the hosannas of choirs on Easter Sunday morn- ing. And if he is a family man he would give a great deal to see his youngsters hang- ing up their stockings on Christmas Eve, and not have to delegate all the duties of Santa Claus to his wife. Mother’s Day Now to consider the profit side of these peak days. ‘That the florist must coin money at these times is the belief of the average person who ne holiday prices. But, strange to say, the profit is often ac- tually not in proportion to the volume of business done; at times, owing to various conditions, the percentage of profit is even less than in normal business times. For one reason, the florist pays the grower higher prices. Is the grower profiteering? The only reply to this is that if the grower did not get high prices at these times of exces- sive demand he could not make enough to keep up his greenhouses and supply flowers at a moderate price the year around. In addition to paying higher prices the florist faces excessive overhead costs that mount up in the course of taking care of the added business. He must make adequate compensation to his regular employes; also extra help must be hired, which is often in- competent and usually wasteful. There are deliveries which require the employment of dozens of boys, besides the delivery cars which the florist has—especially at Easter, when thousands of exquisite corsages must all be delivered at practically the same time. The corsage for milady cannot arrive too early, but it must surely be there by a goodly margin before the church bells ring. Congested traffic conditions in New York make it impractical to load an automobile with boxes the last of which could not be delivered until hours after the first had reached its destination. In the minds of many Mother’s Day has proved a bonanza for the florists. To some extent this is true, as the addition of any day to be marked with flower giving is bound to help the florist. But the day has EVENING POST had one large handicap—the fact that it | originated with an idea that embraced only | one particular flower, the carnation. The | custom was to wear a white carnation if one’s mother were dead, or a colored carna- | tion if she were living; to this was added, | shortly after, the custom of sending one’s | mother carnations as a remembrance of the day. A beautiful custom, surely, and an idea to be commended, but impracticable in its carrying out. _ The overwhelming demand for carna- tions upon this one day had the inevitable result—the skyrocketing of prices, the law of supply pre demand being immutable. As a result, the florist was given a black eye because of the persistent charge that he was profiteering in the name of sentiment. This charge was certainly undeserved; it is a fact beyond dispute that on this day the florist paid the grower, through the com- mission men who handle his product, more than the ordinary retail price for carna- tions. But pres 2 also the grower’s side. In order to be able to supply an unprece- dented demand for a mee ) sea he had to grow vast numbers of carnations, and those that could not be forced to flower for that | day mostly remained unsold. The public had to pay enough to cover the loss on these. Tocombat this unwarranted charge of prof- iteering, the florists have resorted to edu- cation of the public in this regard. Transatlantic Flowergrams On the eve of Mother’s Day last spring a man came into a large flower shop, inquir- ing, ‘How much are your carnations?” The tone of his question informed the florist that his prospective customer was prepared to 7 “* Profiteer!’’ ‘We have no carnations, sir.”’ “No carnations?"’ The man was visibly taken aback. ‘‘ Why, I thought—I wanted a dozen sent to my mother. Are you sold out?” He seized upon this as the probable explanation. “No,” responded the florist; “we refuse to carry them at this time because of the high prices eaused by the excessive demand. We do not wish our customers to purchase them with the feeling that they are being robbed. But does your mother like carna- tions ey oe Wel —f a “It is my experience that a majority of women don’t, judging from the moderate demand throughout the year. It’s the senti- ment you want to express, isn’t it? The remembrance of mother? Then why don’t you send ‘her a beautiful box of assorted spring flowers? In this case I can give you full value for your money. Or perhaps your mother has a preference for roses?’ The sale of a five-dollar box of flowers was quickly made; and the man left that shop feeling more kindly toward the florist than he had upon entering. Of course not all florists take such a rad- ical stand to the extent of handling no car- nations whatever at this time; some fear that they have customers who will not be | satisfied with anything else, and must have | these blooms for that reason; others see | only the profit involved and are too short- | sighted to realize how much harm the | profiteering charge may do them and the business as a whole. If prohibition has changed the character of the florist industry the advent of the flowergram has revolutionized it. When Cyrus W. Field laid his mighty cable under the sea he probably did not stop to think that some day it would be the means of transporting to some young lady taking her summer vacation in Lucerne the news that her young man in Forest Hills, Long Island, was still thinking of her, as told by the rose. Such strain is, however, laid upon the cables nowadays. Along with the international-trade eommunications | and world news, flutter the heartbeats of | oung men in collegiate trousers. The code | is not hard to decipher, Strange how we all knew it when we wished our way through daisy fields in June and how in spite of flowergrams there is nothing new under the sun. The code—it is simple. The language of flowers. In a Fifth Avenue shop one day last May an ex-soldier ordered Mother’s Day flowers sent to a town in France. “That was the French home where I was billeted for eight months during the war. I’d do that if it was my last cent. She was a wonderful old lady.’ In the drab cemetery of a North Dakota town the neglected graves of a certain old couple whose kin had wandered far afield Know that YouCan Play Y measuring your natural musical ability, this famous, free, new Holton Talent-Test tells you how easy it may be for you to win success on this easiest-to-learn of all saxophones. In just a few interesting minutes any unsus pected gift is brought to view. You determine, to your own satisfaction, how near you really are to new and endless hours of pleasure, social eminence, and even increased income if you choose. Thousands have done so. In fairness to yourself, accept this opportunity. Your request for copy of this booklet brings you Aposinene: Saat ensktiag you to the . alent-lest in the privacy of any FREE BOOK Wolton dealer's studio, or in tells how your own home, with the aid fest is of our copyrighted phonograph siven. record, on which the Talent-Test is recorded. FRANK HOLTON & CO Elkhorn, Wis America’s Greatest Band Instruments Holton SAXOPHONE Frank Holton & Co., Elkhorn, Wis. © Without obligation, | want to determine my talent for the easy-to-learn Holton New Revelation Saxo phone. (Check if interested in any other instrument) ‘ + j ! Cornet (.) Trombone () Baritone ( ) Trumpet ( ) i Name ore. aoe t Bereet AGGI OCR sinindececnnnnninientasibiuninimaaae Town enema” oC Atlanta Biltmore ATLANTA, GEORGIA Where Traditional Hospitality Is Kept Ever Flowering. Flawless Bowman Service. Per- fect cuisine---extremely moderate prices. 600 handsome outside rooms,with bath, single $3.50, $4 and $5; dou- ble $5.50, $6, $7 and $8. Write for illustrated booklet P. Atlanta Biltmore Hotel Company HOLLAND B. JUDKINS Vice Pres.— Manager MEND YOUR TOP WITH - STi K°TITE The gum side sticks instantly and permanently to open or enclosed auto tops. Goods match your top and side curtain material. Mends all holes. Nine years tested and approved Carry for safety Repairs tubes and radiator hese in emergencies. Outfits 25c and SOc. Long strip across bows 7 5c, at dealer's; or postpaid from 313 Main St, Cincinnati. THE CINCINNATI AUTO SPECIALTY CO. Clark’s Around the World and Iediterranean Cruises an. 20 and Jam. 31, 1925; 122 days $1250 up 62 daye 0 up. Summer Cruise (Norway, Spain, Haly), July 1. 3 days $550 up Specially chartered new oil-fuct Cunarders; inclusive rates. Specify program desired FRANK C. CLARK, Times Butiding, New York

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i86 MISS OUIDA PETIT of Weat Virginie is wearing The Girls’ Ciub aemile. She knows! The Money Women Dream Of! DE you like to ask for money? I'o explain to husband or father or brother what you want to buy? Most of us don’t. We want our own money: money that comes easily; money it doesn’t “hurt” to spend; money for pretty and useful things, too. Have you felt this way? Have you dreamed of $10.06 or $25.00 extra a week? Or even more? There's a way you can earn it. A pleasant way, original with The Girls’ Club! No upsetti 1g of your home! No interference with your position downtown. No fees to pay! No train ing necessary ! From $5 to $200 a Month “OO good to be true? Not a bit of it! The Girls’ Club way of earning money is “the woman's way.” Fifteen thousand women are profiting by it naht now Come join us! There's plenty of room and plenty ef money for you. We'll send you full details about our plan, as soon as we receive from you the coupon below. And let me whisper that you'll be glad, about January 1, if vou send it today THE MANAGER OF THE GIRLS’ CLUB $25 Independence Square Philadelphia, Ponnsy vania Please tell me how | can make money by your plan. Name Street Cy Mate THE SATURDAY EVENING POST December 13,1924 bloomed suddenly bright with flowers—be- We are apt to think of the florist’s as an | gyyjeeeeees eee] cause of a few words spoken by a business essentially modern industry, with its back- man in a shop on a busy street in New York. ground of a vast acreage of greenhouses, its When Wilbur Wright died, in 1912, flow- extensive use of refrigeration, its universal ers were sent all the way from New York to service with flowergrams. In these respects | Dayton, Ohio—a fifteen-hour trip by train. it is modern, but the use of flowers—indeed, The distance was seven hundred miles. some of our present floral customs—goes When Lenine died in Russia, in January, back to ancient times. The Egyptians, the 1924, flowers for his funeral were ordered Greeks, the Romans—all were familiar in New York. Thedistancewas around five with floral decorations. Flowers still show- thousand miles; but distance had ceased to ing form and color were found in the open- | be a factor. Transit of the order could be ing of the tomb of King Tutenkhamun. | responsibi made in twenty-four hours. The rose was the Romans’ favorite flower, Three thousand florists, banded together and it is said that Nero spent vast sums on | | as members of the Florists’ Telegraph De- these blooms. livery Association, make possible the deliv- There has been much talk, often in dis- | ery of flowers all over the civilized world by paragement, of America in comparison wire. As a matter of course, each member’ with the beauty-loving countries of the Old | has put up a cash bond as a guaranty of World. Yet does one usually see flowers on ty He is bound in honor to fill the restaurant tables in Continental Eu- | | all Sowenstans received, with asscrupulous rope? And in France and Spain the use of | | care as he expects will be given the tele- artificial flowers for funeral pieces is wide- | graph orders which he in turn sends out. spread, in contrast with the soft beautiful Complaints in regard to flowergram service pa with no funereal look, furnished by are, as a matter of fact, comparatively few; the modern American florist. | Possibly and in the rare instances when a customer there is no beauty like unto the beauty of expresses dissatisfaction, whatever adjust- the Riviera, with its miles upon miles of ment is possible is made. narcissus, violets, roses and jasmine. Mil- | So vast has this phase of the industry _ lions of tons of fragrant beauty there—but | become that the florists have established only for what purpose? Perfume. In | their own clearing house to handle the col- America we do not sacrifice the beautiful lection of the millions of dollars’ worth of for our yy we derive much of it syn- flower orders filled by telegram. To this thetically from coal-tar products. | clearing house, which is located in Detroit, Americans do buy sentiment to a much MHASTINGEORE AL GLASS WINDOws of All Me ~ Fo they re seat, attractive an .. ar Replace ir tattered « elluloid for real clase you can see thra. Keep out wind rain, dust. enow and cold. Won't rattle Fasily pet on A million in use Look fow the ame on the frame. At good acoemory dealers everywhere = yg 3x tf - x $: Masti NGS s ‘Mec: c SOMPANY Hastings. Mich each florist reports every flowergram which vaster extent than their European neigh- he has filled, the lists of incoming telegraph bors, Americans do give up their dollars for orders being sent in every ten days. These beauty, as attested by their annual expen- are credited to the florists filling the orders, diture for flowers. But before we take too and charged to the florists from whom the much pride in this it must be stated that orders were relayed. Clearance of accounts we spend more than three times as much | is made monthly. A florist whose incoming for artificial beauty and artificial fra- orders exceed those he has sent out receives grance—that is to say, for cosmetics and a check for the difference from the clearing perfumes. house; if his outgoing orders are the greater The florist believes that this ratio will he sends a check to balance his account. In change. It remains to be seen how success- this manner the sending out of thousands ful he will become in selling sentiment and of individual statements is eliminated. its side line of accessories to Americans. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (More Than Two Million and a Quarter Weekly) 1S 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 December 13, 1924 Cover Design by Charles A. MacLelian SHORT STORIES PAGE Sssssssssshhhh !— Richard Connell 5 A Friend of the Family—J. P. Marquand x All Dressed Up— George Weston 10 Foreheads Villainous— Ben Ames Williams 12 Alive and Single— Hugh MacNair Kahler 16 Doubling for Cupid— Nina Wilcox Putnam 18 Joe Yorick Strives to Please— Thomas McMorrow 22 Lotor the Lucky— Herbert Ravenel Sass 42 ARTICLES Our Foreign Policy— Richard Washburn Child 6 After Lenine—What?—Jsaac F. Marcosson 14 Traffic in Sentiment 15 The Graveyard of the Atiantic—George A/lan England 20 With Pencil, Brush and Chisel—Emi/ Fuchs 24 Those Deadly French Sales People!— J. R. Sprague 27 Inventions That Pay Well—Chester T. Crowell . This Literary Business—C/arence Budington Kelland 4 Gk 40 SERIALS The Last Night (In three parts)—Alice Duer Miller . pe RIES. tee Barter (Second part)—Henry C. Rowland re + va eae MISCELLANY Editorials ; eit ery Short Turns and Encores . 2 A REQUEST FOR CHANGE OF ADDRESS must reach us at least thirty days before the date of issue with which it is to take effect. Duplicate copies cannot be sent to replace those undelivered through failure to send such advance notice. With your new address be sure also to send us the old one, inclosing if possible your address label from a recent copy. ps Hectrica Indicating strument Authorities Since ss F=J The general appearance of the Weston Instant-Change Radio Plug has been imitated—but ex- perienced radio fans judge by re- sults. Weston results, service, handiness, popularity, have in- spired Weston imitations. The Weston is the original auto- matic radio plug that you can change from one set of cord tips to another, complete, in Jess than 5 seconds. “Positive’’ connection plainly marked. All radio dealers arid most musi- cal instrument dealers carry it. Make sure you get the Weston. Send for booklet. It will interest you. Weston Electrical Instrument Co. Radio Dept. Newark, N. J. WESTON STANDARD-The World Over For Christmas— Ask Him For One! On Christmas morning, when the curtains are pulled aside and the tree in all its splendor is disclosed to the happy, expectant, children; be sure that among their gifts, they will find a Hohner Harmonica.’ There’s nothing like good music for Christmas; and there’s nothing like a Hohner for good music. Get a Hohner Harmonica today—50¢ up— and ask for the Free Instruction Book. If your dealer is out of copies, write M. Hohner, Inc., Dept. 195, New York City. If you want a musical treat ask to hear Victor Record 19421, by Borrah Minevitch. | OHNER ARMONICAS Svracuse, N.Y. New A = Hotel Base reine with bath, servidor, cculoting in water. Rates $3.00 up. Sample S\JTACUSE Fm st30%e'eta0 R.P. BRAINARD, Managing Director BO a ot 6 ee eee

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ive one of these Ansco Cameras for fun at Christmas and all through the year Remember this is merely a printed roduction of the real photograph.) ry Make him really proud on Christmas morning with a Semi-Automatic

ERE’S a man’s gift: one of the finest, newest and most original cameras ever made. The Semi-Automatic winds its own film by pressing down the lever conveniently located near your left thumb when you hold the camera in position. The Sems- Automatic inds its own film. Priced at $30 with R R. lens, $40 with F.7.5 Of course, “he’’ would be proud to own this “*motor-camera” that takes six pictures in quick succession if you wish without losing your sub- ject while you turn the camera around to wind it by hand. So now you just enjoy picture taking! Semi-Automatics are equipped with the choice of two lenses which prices this camera at $30 and $40. It takes pictures size 2% x 44. The de luxe Automatic Che $75 Automatic is one of the most famous cameras in the world. The motor is connected with the shutter release so that when one picture is taken the next exposure automatically winds Now you will have no blanks and no 1 into place. double exposures. Takes pictures 2'g x 44%. ny ae ee mera : . . ‘ automatical winds This new invention is as startling an improve- its own film which is ment in cameras as the self-starter was in auto- as great an aid to er tghia th mobiles. It is a self-winding picture-taker that na en Hed takes six pictures in six seconds if you wish men. Price $75

Give your boy a real roll-film camera for $1.00 HE Dollar Ansco is the best buy in the world and when you see the crisp, clear pictures it pulls, you'll want to buy one for yourself to fill in for one of your finer cameras if it’s forgotten on a snow-fght or walk. Be sides, it’s little The Dollar out, uses regular roll-film just like expensive folding cameras and takes fine pictures size 154 x 2) that make dandy enlargements. and it’s economical. Ansco is strongly built inside and

That coupon above will bring it to you im mediately if your dealer is all sold out of them

So—now—its easy to get good pictures ANSCO CAMERAS & SPEEDEX FILM

_ t's casy to get ep ' f you don’t know anything about cameras. Pictur Size 54 Not Because of its good looks, the quality of its pict »w price and the fact that it is sure to please, t! wf s an ideal gift for Christmas. Hf your dealer n't supy ise th ipor

een ents a

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1H THE SATURDAY EVENING POST December 13,1924 With this new Ex Toe New way to knit toes—perfected by Holeproof—does it. Here's welcome news. for men who like to wear good hosiery, No longer throw away socks with the legs still good, but with toes hopelessly worn through or uncomfortably mended. A big improvement has been made. It gives you 3 to 4 times greater wear—in hosiery of real style, handsome appearance,snug- times! The Ex Toe fitting neatness. And so saves Clever, new reinforcing across and over top of toes. Multiplies strength 3 to 4 Can't even see it unless you look very closely. When you do find it, though, you know the socks will give at least tripled wear! At regular prices! There has been no advance in price because of this Ex-Toe improvement. You get all the style, all the durability in every part, for which the name you 60% to 75% on hosiery expense. Five hundred tests gave us those figures! Where 90% of socks have worn out Ie’s another Holeproof achievement-—called the Hole- proof Ex Toe.. Clever reinforcement, by a new knit- ting method, right at the toe. That's where 90% of socks have worn out. You can’t possibly feel it. Holeproof stands. Expert work- manship, careful inspections, the use of highest- quality silks and other yarns account for that. Go to any good store selling men’s hosiery, and ask for Holeproof Ex Toe. Silk—75c and $1.00; also in other materials. Wear one pair and you'll have a brand new idea of hosiery economy. MADAM: If your men-folks miss seeing this piece of news, call their atten- tion to it. Better yet, buy a pair of Holeproof Ex-Toe Hosiery for them! ffoleproof ffasiery —silk socks wear 3 to 4 times longer! You save 60% to 75% J A box of Ex-Toe hose for him—and one Christmas gitt problem is solved DEALERS: —with the new long wear Holeproof Ex Toe Holeproof losiery Company, Milwaukee, Wisconsin (Patents pending If you haven't Holeproot Ex-Toe styles in stock, get in touch with us immedi- ately! Wire, phone, write Holeproof Hosiery Company of Canada, Limited, London, Ont. © H. Hl. Co.

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Oe Sr Salad Fork Ice Cream Fork Individual ITHOUT, bright winter sky. Within, glow of hearth gayness of holly and mistletoe . . . laughter . . . and “1847 Rogers Bros.” in keeping with life’s happiest moments! Naturally this finest silverplate is selected for gifts at holidays, weddings and anniversaries. Constantly it graces well-set tables everywhere. For more than three-quarters Orange or ] 1 Cold Meat Forl Grape Fruit Spoon | of a century the most fastidious hostesses have appreciated its beauty and durability. To-day, as always, it represents the peak of good taste! Your dealer has “1847 Rogers Bros.” in a number of patterns (the Anniversary is illustrated) and In a Variety of pleces to encourage correct table setting. For further illustrations of the Anniversary and other patterns, write for folder Z-9o. INTERNATIONAL SILVER CO., MERIDEN, CONN. INTERNATIONAL SILVER CO. i]

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Re ye ied oar . Tat ae Sr = Sa in ee On . os ‘* j at - Victrola No. 360 Walnut, $235; electric, $275 Other styles $25 to $1500 The finest gift of all! The gift that keeps on giving—that keeps on giving something new. For no matter what kind of music you may want or when you may want it, a Victrola Instrument and Victor Records give you every kind of music—better. The most brilliant opera house in the world can offer no such great company of artists as that shown above, but every Victor Record made is made by an artist of distinction in some particular field. From the great music of the world to the most alluring dance or the trickiest bit of jazz—the names that everybody knows, the names that really count—are found on Victor Records. Let the nearest dealer show you. Victrolas are listed from $25 up— and any one of them will play any of the nine thousand Victor Records. There is but one Victrola and that is made by the Victor a for these Victor trade marks eg or Victor Talking Machine lO Camden,N. J. “HIS MASTERS VOICE” Victor Talking Machine Co. of Canada, Ltd., Montreal